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

by Andrew Wareham

  “A good glass, Sir Thomas, better than any in my cellar, sir – but then, I am hard-pressed to keep any cellar at all. Almost impossible to survive the taxes and Poor Law and all of the burdens upon the agricultural man of today!”

  “I inherited my cellar with the estate, Lord Lutterworth – one of the very few skills of my predecessor was his ability to judge a wine, not an art I had the opportunity to develop in the nature of things.”

  “Of course, Sir Thomas.”

  The Honourable George swigged his glass down, impervious to its quality, or otherwise; he stared unblinkingly at Tom for almost a minute, then entered the conversation.

  “What’s that on your face, Sir Thomas? Did it hurt?”

  His father tried to hush him, looked apologetically at Tom.

  “My scar, Mr Lutterworth? A keepsake from service at sea in the American War, when I was younger than you, I believe, sir. It is one of those things that happen in war, sir.”

  “I wanted to be a soldier, but Papa would not let me. He said that men sometimes got hurt. I think he was right, don’t you?”

  “I believe he may have been, Mr Lutterworth. I think that is another arrival, Lord Lutterworth, and I should go out to the hallway, sir. Will you join me?”

  Lady Serena was stepping down from the driving seat of her phaeton, passing the reins across to her groom and instructing him to mind his manners with Sir Thomas’ head man. Her horses were of much better quality than the Lutterworth’s, bloodstock in their prime to judge by the baron’s sour muttering.

  “A matched pair! Four hundred guineas, if she paid a penny, Sir Thomas! All very well for those with no other call on their purses and no sense of responsibility! It’s an easy life for some!”

  “’Morning, Lutterworth – I see you’re as happy as ever!” She turned to Tom, stood back to allow the cousins to greet each other. “You must be Andrews, I presume. How do you do, Sir Thomas!” She thrust her hand forward and Tom shook, half bowing to match her.

  “How do you do, Lady Serena! Welcome to Thingdon Hall, ma’am. Do feel free to give your own instructions in the stables if you wish, ma’am, though I think Wilkins is quite competent – I am no judge myself and rely upon his skills. Will you come inside, ma’am? I believe Lady Verity is upstairs with Lady Lutterworth at the moment.”

  Verity met them in the hallway, apologising for her absence and inviting Lady Serena to come upstairs and change and refresh herself.

  “Beckwith has put a maid to your service, ma’am, thinking you would not bring your own with you.”

  “Haven’t got one! Can’t abide to be fussed over – no need at my age, anyhow! Never was anything to be looked at and, pushing fifty, I’m never likely to be!”

  Lady Serena was almost as tall as her brother and whip-thin, her face sun-browned and wind beaten; she was outfitted in a new but unfashionable dark green riding habit, the colour doing nothing for her; she was not dressed to attract the eye.

  “You look well, girl! Haven’t seen you in two years but you look as if wedlock’s doing you no harm. In the family way yet? You’ve got that look about you!”

  “Only two months, I think, ma’am – too early to say anything, from all I am told – I have not yet spoken to my mother.”

  “Don’t blame you! I intend to do the same. What sort of chap is he? Ugly enough with that scar, but I like the feel of him – same with a horse, you can get a good idea of the temperament just by looking at the way he stands. Worth a million, they say – good idea to get that one in the family. Is he?”

  “He will be – I think our income is about ten thousands at the moment, ma’am and he tells me that when this Depression is over – not that I am at all sure what such a thing is – we will grow three or four times bigger in short order.”

  “Well done! I told your father he was a fool to marry for love when he could have taken Daventry’s girl with thirty thousand in her purse – at least you showed more sense than him.”

  Verity laughed and shook her head.

  “I let him speak to me for the good he would do the family, but I fell in love with him well before we married, ma’am, in the first five minutes I talked with him out on the lawn at Grafham House in fact. Silly! Just like a foolish novel, not a sensible woman at all.”

  “Even better – if you are going to fall in love then you do very well to pick on a millionaire. How’s that brother of yours?”

  “Rothwell?”

  “Him, the young fool.”

  “Just that, ma’am. You will be able to see him yourself, he is due to arrive this week, if he remembers the correct roads to travel.”

  “Brandy, I suppose, that and the French pox together will rot any man’s brain. Mary Lamb wrote me that he is in a bad way and that your Thomas had kept him out of the sponging house, or so it was presumed. She says he’ll be in his coffin before the twelvemonth is up.”

  Verity nodded, he had seemed very unwell when she had last seen him at her wedding. She wondered what the French pox was – Thomas would know.

  Thomas did know, and was forced to give the explanations he had previously avoided; she felt sick.

  “Dirty little beast! I shall have to wash my hands every time I come near him! I trust Mama will burn the bed-linen after he leaves!”

  “It happens, Verry – especially to not very bright young men set loose in Town, one understands. Your brother Frederick stands to become heir as a result – is he any more intelligent, do you believe?”

  “A little, but he seemed more mature when I last saw him, probably for having his profession to make a man of him. Should he give up the sea, do you think, Thomas?”

  “Eventually he must. Not before he must however – the West Indies may well be a safer berth than London. I must go, my love, Brown will be having a fit, I must be properly turned out for dinner.”

  Dinner was long, formal and tedious; the food was excellent, the wines very good, and the conversation banal at its very best. In deference to Lord Lutterworth the dinner was presented in two removes, a la English, six dishes in each, a turkey central to the first, a pair of ducks the second, accompanied by soup and various forms of beef and lamb cutlets and pork shoulder and spitted pigeons and pies and side dishes of vegetables and various sweets. The Honourable George gorged himself on them all, surfacing occasionally to say, ‘very good’ and call for sauce; he was already well-fleshed, would be rotund by forty.

  Lord Lutterworth ate sparingly – his digestion was unused to such rich living, he said – and maintained a monologue on modern manners and modern times, both equally distressing; occasionally he ventured into politics and the war and announced himself unable to comprehend why they had not invaded France and put an end to the insolence of the peasant rabble there – they could not possibly fight without the leadership of the nobility.

  Lady Serena ate selectively but well, enjoying her food and commenting that she rarely entertained and never had the occasion to spread a table so well; she enquired of Lutterworth whether he would be leading his tenantry in the new Volunteers, ready to take the field in the event that the French so far forgot their place as to invade themselves. Lutterworth would leave the military field to those best suited to it – he lacked the experience, he regretted, and his son was not fit for such an endeavour, willing though he might be.

  Lady Lutterworth said nothing, though she several times gave the appearance of incubating a thought; she peered anxiously at her son whenever his glass was refilled and once went so far as to raise an eyebrow in dismay. Tom was reminded of a broody hen, was thankful only that she had not bred a clutch.

  The ladies withdrew and port was brought to the table, followed by the good brandy; the Honourable George succumbed within the hour and was helped upstairs by the footmen, tucked tenderly into bed to snore the night away.

  “Boys will be boys, Sir Thomas!”

  Tom smiled and agreed, said that it had happened to them all, amazed at the older man’s capacity for his cognac
, he drinking three or four to Tom’s one.

  They joined the ladies, found conversation to be flourishing, Verity’s eyes meeting his in despair as she listened to an account of the unreliability of the servants to be found in Leicestershire, of their idleness and dishonesty and demands for shoes and foodstuffs which they inevitably wasted. Lady Serena was sat back, laughing very quietly to herself.

  “Who arrives tomorrow, Verry?”

  She yawned and stretched and pressed herself against him in her big bed, almost ready for sleep.

  “The Masters, from Wales, somewhere in the distant West, Carmarthen, I believe, where they inherited on the maternal side, he being a younger brother of my father who married very fortunately – financially, that is. Three days, at least, on the road, more likely four, impossible to travel at all in winter, I am told; a pity the wedding could not have been delayed till Christmas! She is a saintly hag – full of love for her fellow-man, but… None of the others are due before Saturday, thankfully. We should take the Lutterworths to Grafham House tomorrow morning, and then you can walk the estate with them on Thursday, ride out on Friday before dinner at Grafham House. No shooting or fishing on this estate, unfortunately, but Georgy-Porgy is easy enough to entertain – just give him a bottle and a plate and he will be happy. Time to go to your bed, I believe, sir! Good night!”

  Tom ambled through the dressing-rooms to his own lonely couch, as decorum demanded, never two heads on a pillow for the servants to see, dropped into instant sleep, exhausted by his day. He had been busy for three hours before the first of his guests came down to breakfast at eleven next morning.

  The Grafhams were suitably pleased to meet the Lutterworths and found a greeting for Lady Serena and Tom came away – he had to be at Hall to greet the guests when they arrived, and he was able to put in an hour with Quillerson and the accounts, which were less distressing than he had feared, the bulk of the expenses for the year yet to come. The Masters arrived by post-chaise in mid-afternoon, Lord and Lady Frederick and Miss Jane, all tired from their days on the road; a second chaise in convoy carried valet, two maids and baggage, crammed in higgledy-piggledy, the menials expected to be fresh and alert and instantly ready to serve.

  “A pleasure, Sir Thomas! I asked brother George to put us up with you for wanting to see you and sit down over a glass of an evening. A matter of coal, Sir Thomas, interests in South Wales towards a place called Rhondda, which you probably have not heard of. It seems that the family might be able to work together, don’t you think?”

  “It would be a pity if we could not, Lord Frederick.”

  Tom smiled and spoke a few words with Lady Frederick, in her forties, like her husband, plump and vague, apparently, but with a veiled, piercing eye that saw everything, including her daughter greeting George Lutterworth. Miss Masters was about twenty, Tom thought, fair-haired like most of the family, but without the striking good-looks of her cousins; she was, in fact, desperately plain, possessed of a round, puddeny face and a flat figure – if she had a chest her dress concealed it admirably – and she had the mannerisms of a gawky schoolgirl coupled with an unattractive titter – she had, he concluded, been born an old maid. She was probably not very clever either, he thought, for she was able to hold a conversation with young Lutterworth and one very likely had to be naturally stupid to do that.

  “Admirably suited, my love!”

  “What did you say, Verry?”

  “They would make a good couple – Lord Lutterworth must be wanting to marry him off soon – there has to be an heir and she has some money and will never find a husband otherwise.”

  “But you can’t allow them to breed! My God! Think of their offspring! You could probably swap one of Delilah’s puppies for anything they produced and no-one would ever tell the difference in looks or intellect!”

  “There has to be an heir, Thomas, the name cannot be allowed to die.”

  The name might be worth preserving but the bloodlines certainly were not – however, in all probabilities nothing would come of it, a casual meeting at a wedding.

  The two young people were seated together at dinner that evening – natural enough, Tom mused, to put two of an age together to entertain each other, but he mistrusted the look on Verity’s face – she was matchmaking in earnest. Entering the withdrawing room later he saw Lady Frederick sat next to Lady Lutterworth, the pair deep in conversation. Jane was at the piano, its first use since its appearance the previous month, making a creditable attempt on a Mozart sonata, not perfect, Tom judged, by the frown on her face, but one that showed a degree of talent and application; he was surprised, having written her off as a nothing. He wandered across casually as she came to an end, congratulated her and enquired what the piece was – he had very little knowledge of music, he confessed.

  “Oh, Sir Thomas, I am sure you are a true music-lover,” she gushed, tittering her best. “It is a Mozart, new to me, one I would wish to practise. I see you have scores by Clementi and Haydn as well – Mama has very few modern pieces. I shall, with your permission, Sir Thomas, play several of them whilst I am here this week.”

  “Of course, you will be very welcome.”

  He glanced at George, sprawled on a small settee, mouth open, gazing at nothing, almost asleep; he had left the brandy unpunished this evening, presumably at his father’s orders so that he could join the company, but he seemed to have little appreciation of music. He listened with some enjoyment but very little understanding to the next offering – just what was the difference between a sonata and a fantasy? It was pleasant to have music of an evening, there was so much to learn and he would enjoy ending this particular ignorance; he wondered if it might be possible to hire the services of a resident pianist, it would only be a hundred or two a year. Perhaps it would be seen as vulgar, showing away – he must take Verry’s opinion on the matter.

  “A ‘cello as well, no doubt, sir, and a violin besides, so as to play trios?”

  “Not a good idea, ma’am?”

  “Prince Esterhazy has his own orchestra, and Mr Haydn to write his music!”

  “And I am not an Austrian prince and quite probably should not indulge myself so. A pity.”

  “It would not go down well locally, I am afraid, Thomas, would certainly be seen as unusual – unless, perhaps, you were to engage an organist for the church, there is none at present, and he could be housed here and play of an evening as a part of his duties and to make him a living, for the church would be hard-pressed to pay twenty a year. If he was to be given a cottage on the estate then he could sing for his supper, as it were.”

  “Then I shall put the word out that an organist is required – how does one do so, by the way?”

  She did not know, doubted that there would be many locally – a letter to Mr Michael in London, perhaps?

  Lord Lutterworth and Lord Frederick were both agriculturalists, possessed in the latter case of more land than Tom but far from an urban market; they walked Tom’s acres with him, discussing his improvements and making a few suggestions and commenting on their own difficulties.

  “We tend to be pastoralists in West Wales, Sir Thomas, sheep especially, for lack of flat fields to take the plough as much as anything.”

  “Have you thought of horses, Lord Frederick? We have the devil’s own job to come by heavy horses hereabouts; I am trying to establish a breeding stud for Suffolk Punches and at the end of a month’s endeavour my man thinks he may have tracked down a stallion and a couple of mares he might be able to prise away from their present owners. They are difficult to come by – a stud could well be very profitable.”

  “In Wales? Nothing bigger than a driving horse, Sir Thomas, though there is a call for small pit ponies to go underground.”

  “The same in the Lancashire pits, my Lord, but I have to say that I do not like the way the animals are treated too often – where the men are poorly paid the animals receive more kicks than oats, I believe, all of a piece! Still, you can be sure to avoid that prob
lem in your own collieries, I believe.”

  My lord had no comment to make on this.

  “Is that a tile drain being laid, Sir Thomas? I have heard of them, have not seen one in use.”

  Mrs Beckwith was waiting as they entered the house and went upstairs to change.

  “Sir Thomas, I have taken Betty away from the bedchambers and put her to work downstairs for the while.”

  Betty? One of the younger maids, a pretty girl but not the most resolute in disposition, not well able to stand up for herself…

  “Mr Lutterworth?”

  “Yes, Sir Thomas – he managed to catch her in a corner yesterday – hands all over her but no worse, yet.”

  “Keep her well clear of him. It would make too much of a fuss if I took a horsewhip to him, I think.”

  “Yes, sir, though it should have been done long since! I intend to ask Josie to do her rooms instead, if you could see your way clear to slipping her an extra guinea or two – no better than she ought to be, our Josie, and well capable of dealing with two Mr Lutterworths – probably at the same time!”

  “I think my Lady might be upset if she thought there was any carrying-on occurring, Mrs Beckwith.”

  “Then we must make sure it does not come to her ears, Sir Thomas!”

  “Quite right too, Mrs Beckwith. Tell Josie that she will be well looked after if she will do us this service, and give her my thanks as well. Also tell Betty that she will have another ten pounds in her purse at Quarter Day and ask her not to complain to her brothers if she has any – we do not need the scandal they might cause, however rightly.”

  What a nasty little shit the brat was, Tom reflected, and, because he would become the seventh Baron Lutterworth, he was to be indulged and supplied with a bed companion in the hope that this would limit his predilection for rape. Better to take the castration pliers to him, geld him like a horse that was not fit to reproduce, but instead he must be married off, encouraged to breed more in his own image – for a moment Tom wondered if he could fall out of his bedroom window, by accident, but it might stir up a scandal, cast a cloud over the wedding – better not.