Nouveau Riche (A Poor Man at the Gate Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Mr Rockingham had the stables extended, sir, backwards, towards the barn where the winter firing is kept. Four rows of twelve, sir.”

  “Forty-eight; do tell me, why?”

  “Mr Rockingham liked horses, sir; he believed that any gentleman should take an interest in things equestrian. He had bought in a pair of mares in foal and had intended to buy more, and a good stallion to breed his own hunters for the pack he wished to form. You need, sir, to take a decision on what to do next. Wilkins is head groom and he can explain, sir.”

  “Head groom – how many?”

  “Two more grooms, sir, and four lads.”

  Another two hundred pounds a year in wages.

  “I am sure the gentleman had a brain – did he sit upon it, perhaps?”

  Quillerson snorted, was seized by a fit of giggles.

  “Here is Wilkins, sir.”

  Tom peered at the little wisp of a man in front of him, five feet tall and whip-thin; bow-legged, he noted – he would be!

  “What is the problem, Wilkins?”

  “Thirty-six empty boxes, sir, and not enough of anythin’ to do. We got six ridin’ cobs, cocktails, good enough, well-mannered workin’ ‘osses. We got two van ‘osses what does for the gig and a pair of Welsh drivin’ osses for the carriage. Besides that, the two mares and their fillies – not bad ‘unters. So what does us do next, sir?”

  “Sell the hunters – I have no use for them, except, ah… do you happen to know if Lady Verity ever rides to hounds?”

  Not a mouth twitched – though all on the estate knew exactly what might be going on there.

  “No, sir. Her young sister do, rides like the wind, she do, but Lady Verity ain’t that good on a ‘oss. I reckons as ‘ow Mr Parker would buy all four, sir, and be glad to.”

  “Good. See to it, please, Mr Quillerson, and do remember that he is a neighbour!”

  “A fair price, sir, to both parties!”

  “A stables is a stables, when all is said and done – there is very little else to be done with it. You talked of breeding our own heavy horses, Mr Quillerson, for the farms. Could that be done here rather than across at the Home Farm?”

  “Wilkins?”

  “Suffolk Punches, sir? Big and powerful – they did use to have a pair of they at Grafham House when I were a boy and first went to work – lovely girt old buggers they was! Yes, sir, we could do it, with just a little bit of rebuilding round the back doors, so as to take they out to the fields quietly like of a morning, not clattering across the yard, like, and waking you and ‘er Ladyship up at dawn.”

  They both ignored the slip of Wilkins’ tongue – it was easier.

  “Do you know where we could buy breeding stock, Wilkins?”

  “Nope, no idea, sir, but I can ‘ave a word with Charlie Barney and ‘e’ll be able to lay ‘is ‘ands on the best and at a fair price, too. We bought two of them cobs from ‘im, sir, last year.”

  “So Mr Quillerson told me. Do you want to keep all of the lads on, Wilkins? Will you have work for them?”

  “Not for all four, sir; best we gets rid of two of they, and I knows which two as well, sir. No worry there, sir, I’ll deal wi’ that!”

  “A visit to Newton at Home Farm next, Quillerson?”

  They walked nearly half a mile from the Hall to Newton’s farmhouse, separate from the Hall’s grounds and with its own track leading down to the Thrapston road.

  “The avenue was not to be used by mere farm wagons, Mr Quillerson?”

  “Their carts would have cut up the surface, sir; as well, they look so untidy and can drop mud – and other substances – which will cling to the wheels of the gentry. It is unusual to find the Home Farm so far from the big house, sir, it is certainly not modern practice, but it might have been in Elizabethan times when the estate was built – I do not know.”

  “Neither, of course, do I.”

  “The Home Farm, as the name suggests, produces the great bulk of the Hall’s foodstuffs, so must be mixed, sir. The farm supplies the beef, milk, cream, butter, cheese; pork, bacon and hams; geese, ducks, chicken and eggs, these from the pastures. The arable provides brewing barley and soft and hard wheat – flour for cakes and for bread, sir - and hay and oats and beans for the stables. Besides that, cabbages, peas, beans, roots, asparagus, onions, strawberries and raspberries from the garden-fields and apples and pears from the orchard. There’s half a dozen skeps of bees as well, and there’s a white peach tree and three English walnuts which produce some years. Mr Rockingham was going to build succession houses, under glass, for pines and peaches and nectarines, eventually.”

  “That may have been a sensible idea, Quillerson – I enjoyed the fruits of the Sugar Islands, we could look at the cost of that in a future year.”

  Quillerson nodded – he was not at all sure about growing foreign fruits in England – it did not seem quite the correct thing to do, implying that foreigners might in some way have better things than God had decreed for England.

  They met Newton who bowed and smirked and scrubbed at his hand before daring to shake with the lord and master; he was a short, plump, smiling and desperately ill-at-ease little man, unsure of himself and expecting to be taken at fault at any minute. He would never advance an opinion of his own, for fear that it might be wrong or unpopular, would never take an action without first having it confirmed by the bailiff – he could never be at fault if he avoided all initiative. With a little more education he might have made a good clergyman – a friend to all and too weak to stab any back – but as a modern farmer he was quite without value, incapable of learning new or forgetting old. He led them round his acres, nervously voluble, explaining everything, repeating himself whenever silence fell, stopping in mid-sentence if he thought the master’s mouth was about to open, and agreeing with anything said to him. Quillerson took Tom away before he could lose his temper.

  “He is quite useless, sir – but Mr Rockingham enjoyed his company, found him flattering, I believe.”

  “Can we get rid of him?”

  “He is an employee, sir, not a tenant, and could be dismissed without notice or explanation.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “He has an elder brother, sir, who is a yeoman farmer to the south of Higham Ferrers, about eight miles from here. He could take refuge on his farm while he tried to discover an occupation; the wife and two boys would have a roof over their heads, at least. He is no more than thirty years of age, sir, should be able to find something; he is literate, should be capable of doing something in the clerking line.”

  “Good – get him out of here. Give him six months’ salary and pay the cost of a cart to take his chattels with him. How do we find a replacement for him?”

  “We do not, sir, I would venture to suggest; I would be very willing to move into the house and take over the Home Farm as my direct charge. We could build our Model with no need to pass our instructions down to an underling, who would not be best pleased that I was interfering almost every day in any case.”

  “A farmhouse without a wife, Mr Quillerson?”

  It was generally accepted to be impossible to farm as a single man – kitchen, dairy, gardens and poultry all needed a woman’s hands.

  “Alice Nobbs, sir, granddaughter to the parson, by his younger son who died ten years ago, is very willing to become my wife. She is no more than seventeen, sir, but we have been very good friends for years – I think she made up her mind to marry me when she was ten! That was about a year before I realised the same.”

  “Then I can only wish you joy, Mr Quillerson, and suggest you call the banns as soon as you can.”

  Quillerson looked as if he wanted to say more, to ask whether he could reciprocate the good wishes; it seemed presumptuous to him, however.

  “In answer to your unspoken question, Mr Quillerson, I have not asked her yet!”

  Book Two: A Poor Man

  at the Gate Series

  Chapter 2

  The rain continued fo
r three days, unbroken, slowly turning the fields and road to clinging mud. Tom went to church, greeted the three ladies together, made brief and meaningless conversation in public and came away politely. On Monday morning Brown attired him in heavy boots and gaiters, breeches and a short jacket – shooting attire, he said – but it was evidently no weather for dog-walking and he spent an hour alone before retiring to the fireside. On Tuesday the familiar figure was there, a few minutes earlier than normal, stretching out along the road, the dogs restless – almost raising a trot – after their days inside.

  “Good morning, Lady Verity!”

  “Mr Andrews! A better morning at last. Samson and Delilah have been demanding to get outside since dawn.”

  “Yes, I was glad to see the sun again myself, ma’am – I was missing my exercise, too! I feared for a time that I would not see you again before you went off to London.”

  “Not till Friday, Mr Andrews. Will I bring the dogs to you on Thursday or will you come to the House to collect them?”

  “It might be better for you to bring them – if they decided they did not wish to accompany me then I would be at a loss to drag or carry them. Besides, it would give me the opportunity to welcome you to the Hall – though I understand you will not enter its doors unchaperoned!”

  “Indeed yes, sir – except at my Mama’s side I could only enter as a married woman.”

  He caught her eye and smiled. Her ready blush rose but she did not look away.

  “I would very much like you to do that, Lady Verity – to become my wife and mistress of the Hall. I am no hand at making speeches, I have never tried to before, but you are beautiful and very clever and I would like nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life – I know I would enjoy my life much more than I do now. I hope you would be happy, too – I am not sure exactly how to go about it, but I would do my best to make you comfortable and easy in your lot.”

  “Highly romantic, Mr Andrews! You are quite right not to talk of ‘love’, sir – for I suspect neither of us are sure of that, or what it is, even – but I have a great deal of liking for your company, sir, and I think I could live a very happy life with you. I have talked about the possibility with Mama – for, of course, you are a great catch! She agrees that I could be more than content in your company, sir, and she firmly believes that I would like to be mother to your children! Not, of course, that as an unmarried maiden I should so much as be aware of such a possibility, or so society holds.”

  “Society can be very silly, Lady Verity, or so I am told, for, as you know, I have no first-hand knowledge to draw on. May I visit your father and request your hand in marriage, ma’am? For I would very much like to do so, and at the earliest possible date!”

  “Father is fixed in London for the whole of the Season and probably some weeks after – the war demands his presence on the Board nearly every day. I will speak to him on Saturday, and send you a letter immediately – will you be able to come to town to meet him?”

  “Tell me when and I shall hurry to your side – with pleasure, anxious to receive an answer!”

  “I am of age, Mr Andrews – no! Thomas! I can, therefore, give you my answer myself – I shall be very pleased to marry you, as soon as you wish, but I would very much like you to obtain my father’s consent; if he refuses it then there must be a breach with him, which I would regret bitterly – but I cannot imagine he will do so. Will you pay a call on my mother tomorrow? I am sure she will wish to greet you as a son – and I will have the opportunity to kiss my betrothed – which I am not prepared to do on the highway, sir! You can be absolutely certain that the instant you took me in your arms three-quarters of the village and every farmer on the estate would appear marching down the road with a band playing! Nothing in the countryside happens unseen!”

  He laughed, accepting the truth of her words – he had already become accustomed to being the centre of attention on the estate – there was always an interested eye watching his every move.

  “Then, Verity, my dear, I shall not even grasp your hand in public, though I would very much like to take you in my arms this instant. Could we tentatively make arrangements to marry just as soon as you are settled back in Northamptonshire? Where would you like to go on a wedding trip, my dear? I would like to introduce you to my oldest, closest friend and associate, Joseph Star in St Helens, a man who fought with me and saved my life more than once – but the industrial north is hardly the most obvious of places to go.”

  “I have never seen a foundry except at a distance in Kettering, and obviously no mills or mines. I would like to go to the north and see where you made your fortune and to meet Mr Star, for if he saved your life then he must be a friend of mine! We could perhaps spend a few days there and then travel into the Lakes? Truly Romantic, that!”

  “So it shall be, Verity – I shall order a pair of carriages and we shall patronise the best hotels – I shall leave all in the hands of Brown and he will make sure that his ideas of my consequence are met. A suite for us, the best of servants’ rooms for him and your maid – no less will do for him!”

  “But I haven’t got a maid of my own, Thomas!”

  “You will have, my dear – my consequence as the Master of Thingdon and the successor to the great Mr Rockingham demands that my lady wife shall be formally attended!”

  “I should have realised, sir, though I doubt I could follow such an example successfully, but I shall endeavour – I should hire at least three maids and a lady companion, I believe!”

  They laughed quietly, neither doubting that Rockingham would have regarded such an excess with favour.

  “Shall I arrange to put on a maid, my dear, or would you prefer to?”

  “You are quite intent that I must have a maid, Thomas?”

  “Very much so – you will have better things to do than take care of your wardrobe, Verity.”

  “Then, if I may, Nurse is about to be turned off now that Lady Anne is emancipated from the schoolroom, and I would like to keep her about me, and when I have a baby of my own, sir, she will take charge of the nursery again.”

  “Tell her so, my dear, it will no doubt relieve her mind of worry.”

  “Mr Andrews proposed marriage to me this morning, Mama.”

  My lady smiled hopefully.

  “We thought he might. Have you given him an answer?”

  “I accepted him, Mama, and we intend to wed as soon as may be after the Season when I’m back in Northamptonshire.”

  “I am very glad for you, my love – I think he will make you an excellent husband and I believe you will find him kind and generous in every way, and that includes in the bedroom as well!”

  Verity was surprised, a little shocked – her mother had never even hinted about such matters before.

  “I am sure he wishes to get me into a bedroom just as soon as he can, Mama, but I believe he values me for more than that.”

  “Do not belittle the importance of your bed, my dear! Minds certainly may meet, but flesh has its role to play – and a very pleasant role it can be, if you let it. Keep your husband – and yourself – happy in bed and the rest of life can go much more smoothly. Will he come here before we go? I should like to talk to him.”

  “Tomorrow morning, Mama.”

  “Mr Andrews – Thomas – welcome to the family, sir! I am sure the Marquis will say the same and hope you will travel to London to see him, probably next week. There will of course be a number of business matters to discuss with the Marquis…”

  “I am aware of that, ma’am – I am sure we can come to an easy agreement.”

  She smiled happily, such an understanding young man, truly a gentleman to be welcomed into the family!

  “You are intending to wed Verry after the Season, Thomas – have you given thought to the possibility of marrying in London? Not a huge Society wedding, but a semi-private ceremony at which a number of her friends could be present and could meet you – and be pleasantly surprised. The ceremony would be pri
vate for any number of good reasons – other than the truth, that is – your old grandmother has recently passed away, perhaps? That would do – it cannot be one of our family, because everyone knows us!”

  Tom laughed delightedly – there was to be no pretence on the Marchioness’ side it was clear.

  “I would be very happy to be married as soon as possibly may be, ma’am, and your plan seems excellent to me. I shall be able to make arrangements here over the coming week or so – I would wish to see one or two changes made and I still have to hire a housekeeper – or, would you wish to do that, Verity? You will have more contact with her, after all.”

  The Marchioness nodded her agreement, said it could be done, she knew of a very good person in Finedon, recently let go from a household in Kettering, the master dead and the mistress moved to Weymouth to live in a small house on her own. She then found an excuse to leave the room, commenting that she would be at least ten minutes away.

  Verity closed the door behind her mother, laughing in her turn and bright red in the face.

  “We have yet to celebrate our betrothal, Thomas – Mama seems to think we should!”

  She had no knowledge of kissing a man, and was awkward and confused when their lips met; she was happier to be held in his arms, head on his shoulder. Then his hands slowly moved from their decorous placement.

  “Oh! Should you touch my chest like that, Thomas?”

  “I would like to touch all of you, my dear – but not till we are wed, perhaps?”

  “Yes, that would be best, because I am not quite sure…”

  “You may be sure that I shall do nothing you dislike, my dear. Another kiss, before your mother comes back?”

  Tom returned whistling quietly to himself, pulled up on the front driveway and handed the reins of the gig to the stable lad and walked quickly to the estate office.

  “When do you plan to move into the Home Farm, Quillerson?”

  “Parson Nobbs has agreed to publish the banns from this Sunday, sir, so we shall be wed three weeks from then. I shall move in on Saturday, in fact, Newton’s leaving in two days time.”