Читать книгу The Earl and the Hoyden - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 6

Chapter Two

Later that day Roland fetched Travers, and they went on foot to inspect the big house. ‘I might as well go and see what needs to be done,’ he told him.

Taking the great key his mother had given him, he unlocked the stout oak door and stepped inside. Even the dilapidated state of the exterior did not prepare him for the interior. The downstairs rooms had been cleared of anything of value, leaving only the heavy old Jacobean furniture, which had long gone out of fashion; there was hardly a stick of decent furniture left and most of the carpets had gone. The walls were bare of pictures, though it was easy to see on the faded wallpaper where they had once hung.

Travers followed him from room to room. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, Major,’ he said. ‘It could be a villa in Spain after the Frenchies have done with it.’

‘Yes.’ It was far worse than he had expected. How had it got like this? What had his father been thinking of to let it happen? Surely his mother was mistaken and it had nothing to do with Cartwright and a worthless strip of land? An unwise investment made by his father, perhaps. But if that were so, why had Mountford not advised him against it? His mother was right, a visit to the lawyer was called for, and the sooner the better.

They went up the wide, curving staircase and wandered about the first floor, containing the main bedrooms, the gallery and the ballroom, followed by the caretaker who had arrived from nowhere and seemed to think it his duty to be in attendance. The bedchambers were dank and those hangings that remained smelled of damp. A mouse scurried along the wainscot and disappeared down a hole. ‘What on earth happened?’ he murmured.

‘Happened, my lord?’ Old Bennett was clearly agitated.

‘Oh, I do not expect you to know,’ Roland told him.

‘No, my lord, but it grieves me to see the old place like this. We are all glad to see you home. Amerleigh needs you.’

The man’s words brought home to him that he could not please himself, that there were others involved, servants and tenants and those in the village whose livelihood depended on the work they did, directly or indirectly, for the estate. How had they been managing? The thought that some of them had gone to Mandeville incensed him, especially if this desolation was any of Cartwright’s doing. No wonder his father had wanted revenge.

‘Seems to me, Major, you’re going to need some blunt,’ Travers said as they locked up and left to go back to the dower house.

He should have reprimanded the man for his impertinence, but he was only stating a fact and they were more than master and servant: they were friends, comrades in arms who had shared bad times as well as good. ‘Yes, Corporal, I think I will.’

‘There’s the French gold…’

The day before the battle at Vittoria, millions of dollars, francs and doubloons had arrived in the French camp and Lord Wellington, who knew of it and was always having trouble paying his troops and buying supplies, had been anxious to lay his hands on it, but unfortunately the troops had found it first and in the aftermath of the battle had stuffed their pockets and knapsacks with it. The 95th was no exception; though Wellington had threatened to punish anyone who looted, there was no stopping them. Travers had returned to their billet with his pockets jingling. He had used some of it to buy himself out of the army in order to accompany his officer home.

‘I can’t take that,’ Roland said. ‘It’s yours.’

‘No, it ain’t, not rightly. And it seems to me you need it more than I do. There’s been many a time you’ve helped me out of a scrape.’

‘Thank you, Travers, but I doubt if it is enough to do more than scratch the surface of the problem.’

‘Then scratch the surface, sir.’

He laughed suddenly. It was good to have a friend, but talking of French gold reminded him that he had a little nest egg of his own, given to him by a grateful Spanish Count the first time he had been sent behind the enemy lines. His work done, and wanting somewhere to hide up before trying to make his way back to his own lines, he had taken refuge in the stable of a large villa and hidden himself in the straw. A dog had found him early the next morning, yapping its head off until its owner appeared. She was young and frightened, but he had soothed her and assured her he meant her no harm. He had only wanted somewhere to sleep. She took him into the kitchen and while the cook gave him a good breakfast, she went to fetch her grandfather.

Count Caparosso was an elderly man, wearing old-fashioned satin breeches, an embroidered coat and a bag wig. He was also very nervous. The French were near at hand and he was frightened for his granddaughter. After giving Roland a meal and asking him all about himself, he had asked him to take Juanita to safety. ‘She has an uncle in Coimbra,’ he had said. ‘Take her there. I shall pay you handsomely.’

‘Do you not wish to go yourself?’

‘No, I am too old to travel and I must stay and look after the house as best I can until this dreadful conflict is over.’

Roland had hesitated. The journey would not be an easy one, bad enough on his own, but with a gently nurtured girl it would be doubly difficult. The Count had seen his reluctance. ‘She is my only joy,’ he had said. ‘The jewel of my bosom, but I dread what would happen to her if the French find her here. I am an old man and I would not be able to defend her.’

‘How do you know you can trust me?’ Roland had asked him with a wry smile. ‘I might be as bad as the French.’

‘No. You are an honourable man, I can see it in your eyes and the way you are so courteous to Juanita.’

‘She is a lovely young lady and deserves every courtesy.’

‘So you will take her?’

It was necessary for him to make a start and so he had allowed himself to be persuaded. Juanita and her maid were given into his care, and though he had protested he wanted no recompense, his host persuaded him to accept a small bag of jewels and an ancient carriage pulled by two very scrawny horses. But it had been a good disguise after all, and though they had had one or two scary moments, he had brought his charge safely to the house of her uncle. He had become very fond of her by then and they had parted with a promise from him that if he were ever in Coimbra again he would call. He had done so once, over a year later, only to find she had married her cousin and died in childbirth. Poor little thing, she had been no more than a child herself.

Apart from a diamond ring that he’d kept, thinking that one day he might marry, he had turned the jewels into ready money in Lisbon, surprised and delighted to discover they were worth a small fortune. He had banked the money, intending to save it against the day when the army no longer needed him and he had to settle down in civilian life. Believing he would not be welcome at home, he had planned to buy a farm, work the land and breed horses. Together with his annuity and half-pay, it was enough for him to make a good start. Must he give up that dream for this rotting mansion? But the rotting mansion was his birthright and his responsibility; he could not please himself, not anymore.

‘I think I shall move in at once,’ he told Travers as they wandered about the almost empty rooms, followed by Bennett, hanging on their every word for a morsel of information that might indicate what his lordship intended. ‘It behoves the Earl of Amerleigh to live at his country seat, not at the dower house with his mama. Besides, there is very little room there.’

They went up to the attics where they found a couple of old beds with damp mattresses, one or two cupboards, a sofa and some uncomfortable chairs, which even the creditors had disdained. ‘Fetch it all down and make up two bedrooms,’ he told the two men. ‘You will need to take the mattresses down to the kitchen and dry them off by the fire. And light fires in all the rooms to air them. I will be back later.’

He set off back to the dower house to acquaint his mother of his decision. She was dismayed and tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant. ‘If I am to restore the Hall to what it was, I must live there,’ he told her.

‘How can you do that without servants?’ she said.

‘I have Travers and Bennett.’

‘You will make yourself a laughing stock.’

‘I will be a bigger one if I stay here, attached to your apron strings.’

She sighed. ‘Shall you take Mr and Mrs Burrows back?’

‘No, you need them. I will take on a woman from the village. Do you know of such a one?’

She thought for a moment. ‘There is a Mrs Fields. She used to work at the King’s Head, but lost her position over some dispute with the landlord. I never had a meal prepared by her, but I have heard she is a good plain cook. As long as you are not contemplating entertaining…’

He laughed. ‘That I am not. Will you do the necessary for me?’

Having agreed, she insisted on making up a parcel of clean bedding for him and gave him a basket containing a cold cooked chicken, a meat pie and a boiled ham. ‘You will starve if left to yourself,’ she said, forgetting, or not realising, that he was perfectly capable of subsisting on his own, and had been doing so for the past six years with the help of Travers. ‘I will have Mrs Burrows make something up for you every day until you take on a new cook.’

He thanked her with a kiss and left.

It was not the discomfort of the lumpy bed that had kept him awake that night, but the knowledge that he was in the devil of a fix. There was no money in the estate coffers and the only income was rent from the tenants and he had no doubt their holdings had been neglected too and would need repairs. The money from the sale of the jewels would only stretch so far and then what was he to do?

However, he had always maintained there must be mutual affection in a marriage, which was why, he supposed, he was still single. He had met no one to whom he could give his heart and now he wondered if he ever would. And if his heart was not engaged, could he bring himself to look for a wealthy bride? Would the women around here all be like Miss Cartwright—mannish, spoiled, arrogant? There was only one way to find out and that was to mix socially and assess the situation. But putting the estate to rights must come first.

He was used to rising early and it was no hardship to get up at dawn, eat a Spartan breakfast and set off on horseback for Shrewsbury. He planned to see Mountford, have a look for furniture and carpets to make the principal downstairs rooms of the Hall presentable, and buy himself some clothes.

It was a mild spring day and he stopped on the way to admire the pink-and-gold sunrise over the hills. He breathed deeply and continued on down into the valley to Scofield. As he approached the Cartwright mill, he could hear the bell, warning employees that time was running out. They came hurrying along, men, women and children, streaming in through the open gates.

He reined in to wait for them to pass before proceeding. Some of them noticed him, pointing him out to their fellows, others bobbed a knee or touched a forelock. Two of the girls he remembered seeing in Amerleigh. They were probably daughters of estate workers. He smiled at them. ‘Good morning, young ladies.’

They stopped and giggled, then, remembering themselves, dipped a curtsy.

‘You come from Amerleigh?’ he queried.

‘Yes, sir, I mean, my lord.’ It was the older of the two who answered him.

‘Tell me your names.’ He asked because he thought he should know all his people, and they were still his people, even if circumstances meant they had to work in the mill.

‘I am Elizabeth Biggs,’ the elder said. ‘This is Matilda.’ Her sister, too shy to speak, looked at her feet.

‘And do you enjoy your work?’

‘It’s work, ain’t it?’ Beth said. ‘Better than the workhouse anyday.’

Everyone had gone into the mills and the clanging of the bells had suddenly stopped. ‘Oh, my, we’re late.’ Beth grabbed Matty by the hand and ran towards the gates just as they were being closed. Roland watched, expecting the gatekeeper to hold them open for the girls, but they were shut in their faces. They stood for a moment, then turned sorrowfully away, their shoulders drooping.

‘Why doesn’t he let you in?’ he asked them.

‘No one goes in after the bell stops,’ Beth told him. ‘We lose a day’s pay. It’s to teach us not to be late.’

‘But you were not late. You were here, ready to go in. If I had not detained you…’ He stopped speaking and reached in his pocket for his purse. ‘Here,’ he said, offering them half a crown. ‘I made you late, so I must recompense you.’ It was more than the day’s wage they would lose and they hesitated. ‘Go on, take it,’ he urged, holding it out.

Beth accepted the coin, murmuring her thanks, and they scampered away just as Miss Cartwright bowled up in her curricle.

She drew up beside him. He doffed his hat. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

‘What was the matter with Beth and Matty?’ she asked. ‘Was one of them not well?’

‘No, they were shut out for stopping to speak to me.’

‘Nonsense!’

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am?’ It was a question, not an apology, uttered stiffly.

‘I mean you must have misunderstood.’

‘No, I do not think I did. I spoke to them and they stopped to answer. It was a brief exchange only and the gatekeeper could see them quite clearly. He shut the gates in their faces. If that is how you treat your employees, Miss Cartwright, then I pity them.’

‘Save your pity for your own employees, my lord,’ she retorted and drove up to the gates, which were immediately opened for her. She disappeared through them and they were shut behind her, leaving him staring at the words Cartwright Mill painted in large letters on them.

Charlotte left the curricle in the yard where a small boy came to walk the pony away and look after it until she was ready to leave again, and went in search of William Brock. She was seething. To be criticised by the Earl of Amerleigh over her treatment of her employees was the outside of enough. At least she was employing them, which was more than could be said for him. ‘What is your policy over latecomers?’ she demanded.

He looked puzzled. ‘You mean the hands who are late for work?’

‘Yes, the hands.’

‘They are locked out, ma’am. It’s to teach them punctuality, Miss Cartwright. They are rarely late more than once.’

‘I assume from that you mean they lose a day’s pay.’

‘Yes, of course. It has always been so. All the others mills do it.’

‘Not this one, Mr Brock. The two I saw turned away today are good workers and now we have lost their labour for a day. That is not good business sense.’

‘Their looms are not idle, I can find good weavers who can manage two at a time.’

‘Not good enough. In future, you will instruct the gatekeeper to take the names of those who arrive late and you will see that they are deducted half an hour’s wages for every five minutes they are late. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said resentfully.

‘Good, now let us get on with the business of the day.’

They went on to discuss other matters, then she inspected the looms, peeped into the schoolroom where the young man she employed to give the children an hour’s tuition during the midday break was preparing his lessons. She could not afford to take all the children off their work at once, so they came to him in two shifts. They were given a good dinner and then settled down to lessons. Any that showed promise she intended to send to school. She hated employing children, but knowing that not to do so would harm their families, she tried to make their working conditions as pleasant as possible.

By the middle of the afternoon, she had done as much as was needed and, sending for the curricle, drove herself to the Shrewsbury office of Robert Bailey, her mining engineer, to talk to him about opening a new level. The encounter with the Earl that morning had added to her annoyance with him and made her all the more determined to thwart him. He was a thorn in her side. For the first time in her life she was being illogical and unbusinesslike, but she could not help it. She did not care what it cost, she wanted that new adit.

‘If you do not mind my saying so, Miss Cartwright,’ the engineer said. ‘You are thinking like a woman.’

‘I am a woman, Mr Bailey.’

‘So you are, but you have always figured things out like a man, pros and cons, objectively.’

‘And who is to say that I am not being objective now? The deep level is causing problems with flooding, so we need to abandon that and sink another. There is lead down there, you know it as well as I, and lead commands a very high price, so we weigh that up against the cost of bringing it to the surface and we arrive at the conclusion that it will take less than three years to make a handsome profit. And it will give work to many.’ Even while she was arguing with him, she was picturing Roland Temple, Earl of Amerleigh, standing where the engineer was standing now, telling her he would have his land back. When she had extracted all she could from the mine, she might offer to sell it back to him at a highly inflated price. She wondered if he would try to raise the money or give up. Why did she sense the Earl was as stubborn as she was? And why, oh, why did it matter?

Charles Mountford, who had been the family lawyer ever since the late Earl had inherited the title twelve years before, was in his forties, dark haired, dark eyed and dressed in black. He had been expecting his lordship, he said, after the usual greetings had been exchanged. ‘Please take a seat.’ He indicated a chair placed on the other side of his desk, then he sat down and began shuffling papers. ‘May I offer condolences on the demise of your father,’ he said. ‘And congratulations on your coming into your inheritance.’

‘And what exactly is my inheritance?’ Roland asked him. ‘Apart from the title, that is.’

‘Amerleigh Hall and its domain—very little else, I am afraid.’

‘I thought as much. Tell me what happened. My mother said something about a lawsuit.’

‘Yes, that has been unfortunate.’

Unfortunate for whom? Roland wondered; not for the lawyers, he was sure, but he did not speak aloud. ‘Tell me how it came about.’

The man coughed as if reluctant to begin, then, seeing Roland’s look of impatience, made a start. ‘The estate had not paid its way for many years, harvests had been poor and taxes heavy on account of the war, and in order to recoup the late Earl invested in stocks that he hoped would make a quick profit, but they failed, leaving him with heavy losses.’

‘Did you advise him to buy them?’

‘No, I did not.’ The man was outraged by the suggestion. He was very small and wiry and his bony hands were continually on the move as he spoke. ‘I do not know who advised him. It might have been Cartwright, but if he did, he did not take his own advice, or he was high enough in the instep to absorb the loss. As soon as I heard what had happened, I begged his lordship to retrench, but he would not. He continued going on as he always had, entertaining lavishly, buying the latest fashions for her ladyship, maintaining horses and hounds—for he was Master of the Hunt—and gaming. The more his pocket pinched, the more he gambled and the more he lost.’

‘And all this happened in the last six years?’

‘No, my lord, it started while you were at university, but he would not have told you of it even if you had been at home.’

Roland acknowledged the truth of that. ‘So when Cartwright came along with a lifeline, he seized it?’

‘Yes. Unfortunately he did not envisage you would not agree to the arrangement. Naturally, Cartwright demanded the money back. The Earl did his best, sold off a few paintings and ornaments and managed to find the initial capital, but Cartwright refused it. He wanted a vast amount of interest as well. He was a businessman, he said, and money was a commodity like anything else and should make a profit. Your father had deprived him of the profit he expected, namely a title for his daughter, so he was entitled to make it another way. He offered to expunge the whole debt in exchange for Browhill. The strip of land was nothing but heather and scrub, so I advised his lordship to agree. Soon after that Cartwright began successfully mining for lead…’

‘Poor Papa. That must have galled him. According to my mother he thought he had been tricked into parting with the land and Cartwright knew there was lead there even before he suggested taking it. Is that true?’

‘I have no way of knowing. It was enough that your father believed it. He thought if he could recover the land and take over the mine, the profits would be enough to set all to rights. After all, there was a war on and lead was needed for ammunition, not to mention for roofing, piping and paint.’

‘Are you still pursuing the suit?’

‘I have had no instructions to the contrary. Of course, if you should instruct me otherwise…’ He stopped to look enquiringly at Roland.

Roland had been prepared to drop it, but the notion that his father had been bullied into agreeing to the transaction when he was far from well made him hesitate. ‘Tell me, when the bargain was made, was it wrapped up tight? No loopholes?’

‘That is what we have been endeavouring to discover, but Cartwright was far from co-operative and I have no reason to think his daughter will be any more so. My dealings with her have led me to believe she can be stubborn. And as money means nothing to her…’

‘On the contrary, I think it means everything to her.’

Mountford gave a twisted smile of acknowledgement. ‘She has that from her father. He made a fortune trading cotton, sugar and slaves.’

‘So she would not mind losing a few pounds fighting me.’

Mountford shrugged. ‘Who is to say? Do you want me to continue with it?’

‘I will think about it and let you know. Now, what about the house and its contents? Could they not have been saved?’

‘As soon as the Earl’s problems became common knowledge, the dunners were on the doorstep. Tailors, vintners, jewellers, saddlers, butchers, those he has lost to at the tables, not to mention estate workers and servants, all turned up, wanting to be first in line for whatever was going. I was obliged to advise his lordship that simple retrenchment was not enough.’ It was said apologetically. ‘He stubbornly refused to sell, but in the end he did allow himself to be persuaded into moving into the dower house, letting it be known it was on medical grounds and as soon as his health recovered he would return to the main house. The Hall was put up for rent, but no one came forward and he was obliged to realise whatever assets he still had, except the house itself and the rest of the estate, to pay everyone off.’

‘And have they all been paid?’

‘I believe so, yes.’

‘That, at least, is a relief.’

‘If I were you, my lord, I would endeavour to sell,’ Mountford went on. ‘There must be someone who has the blunt to restore the place.’

Roland was reminded of Charlotte Cartwright. How she would crow! She might even put in a bid herself. He would not give her the opportunity. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am surprised at you suggesting such a thing. I will bring it about myself.’

The man gave him a tired smile. ‘It will cost a great deal.’

‘I am aware of that,’ he said, standing up to leave. ‘I will find the wherewithal.’

His next call was at a tailor’s shop where he bought two new coats, two waistcoats, pantaloons in superfine and riding breeches in soft leather, several shirts, a dozen muslin neckcloths, and a pair of Hessians, arranged for them to be delivered, then he returned to Amerleigh, and, with Travers, set off to inspect his domain.

The estate was large and included dairy farms on the lower ground and sheep grazing higher up and some woodland in between. It had never occurred to him that it would not continue to dominate the surrounding country and its people for centuries more, not even when Cartwright had turned up and bought up the neighbouring estate, pulled down the old house and built an edifice that had the locals wide-eyed with astonishment. He was a mushroom, the detractors said, and like a mushroom would flourish for a day and then be gone. How wrong they had been. It was Amerleigh that would crumble before Mandeville unless he did something about it.

They rode round the village, noting that there were few people about. ‘All working at the Cartwright mill,’ the smithy told him when he asked. ‘’Twas the only work they could get when his lordship let them go.’ He spoke to one or two of the older women who remembered him as a boy and welcomed him home, convinced that now he was back, the jobs would return and the repairs to their cottages be put in hand. From the village, he made his way to the Home Farm where Ben Frost gave him a catalogue of grievances, which did nothing to improve his despondency: his barn leaked, the window casements on the farmhouse were rotting, and, what was worse, a wall separating his sheep from the road had collapsed and the animals were straying onto the highway. Roland promised he would do what he could and then set off up to Browhill to take a look at the disputed land.

The mine was set in the side of the hill. There was a great wheel-house in the centre of the site and several brick buildings were scattered about, one of which had a very tall chimney from which a column of smoke drifted. The sound of their horses must have alerted its occupant, for he came out to meet them.

‘My lord Temple,’ he said, recognising Roland. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You can show me round,’ Roland said.

The man was middle aged, with a stooped shoulder and a distinct limp. His name was Job Bunty and he had once been an Amerleigh gamekeeper, shot, if memory served Roland correctly, by a poacher he had tried to arrest. The man picked up a lantern from a niche in the rock and lit the candle inside it with a flint. ‘This way, my lord.’

‘Is it worked out?’

‘No, my lord, but it’s got mighty deep, two hundred foot and more. After all the rain we’ve had, there’s a deal of water down there and the pumping engine don’ seem able to shift it all. Mind your head, my lord, the roof’s low.’

Roland did not need telling; the lantern cast an eerie glow over a narrow tunnel running steeply downwards. They had to proceed in single file, almost bent double. And then it suddenly opened out to a huge vault. Roland stepped cautiously forwards and, taking the lantern from Bunty, swung it over a great void, noticing the ladder attached to the side, disappearing into the murk below his feet. He picked up a stone and dropped it down the hole. After several seconds he heard the splash. ‘Come, let us go back and you can show me the rest.’

Back on the surface, they passed several men who had just come up from a different level and were extinguishing the candles stuck on their hats. Two young lads, stripped to the waist, were pushing a loaded truck on rails. Their guide led them to the washing floor where the ore was separated from the dirt and other minerals in running water. ‘In Mr Cartwright’s day it was done by small boys,’ Bunty told Roland as they walked on. ‘But Miss Cartwright won’t have them standing in water in bare feet and now it’s the bigger lads who do it and they are provided with boots.’

They arrived at another building where the ore was crushed to prepare it for smelting, work which was done by women, usually the wives of the miners. Next was a blacksmith’s shop, where the smithy sharpened the miners’ picks and drills, and the changing house, where the single men lodged, which was ill lit and gloomy. Everything was covered in fine, grey dust. They were just going to walk up the hill to look at the smelting mill when Charlotte arrived on horseback. Seeing the two men, she dismounted and strode over to them. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded without preamble.

‘Assessing the situation,’ Roland answered lightly.

‘Oh, I see, you still think this is Amerleigh land.’

‘Naturally I do.’

‘Then you are mistaken. I would have expected your lawyer to have told you that.’

‘He told me that it was wrested from the late Earl under extreme duress.’

‘I know nothing of duress.’

‘No, I can understand you would not even know the meaning of the word,’ Roland said. ‘But I can tell you no gentleman would have dunned another in so vindictive a fashion.’ His emphasis on the word gentleman was not lost on her.

‘And no honest man would renege on a debt,’ she retorted.

He wondered if she knew exactly how the debt had occurred. ‘My father offered the capital sum back, but your father insisted on exorbitant interest.’

‘There is nothing illegal about that.’

‘No, but my father would have found it given time. He was not given time simply because your father was set on making himself more money from the deposits in this mine.’

She laughed, wondering if there were any truth in what he said. ‘I suppose I am to take it that you are going on with that ridiculous claim.’

He had been wondering if it was worth the time and money, not to say stress, the lawsuit would involve. Thinking about what Mountford had told him, it seemed to him his father was as much to blame as Mr Cartwright. The old Earl should not have spent the money he had been given before making sure his son would do as he wanted, and when he had not, should have offered it back immediately without being asked, then Cartwright could not have dunned him. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other, a silly squabble that should never have occurred. Roland regretted that he had been involved, albeit unwittingly. On the other hand, if the mine really did belong to the Amerleigh estate, the profits could certainly be put to good use. ‘You could revert the land to the Amerleigh estate and then there would be no need for the lawsuit to continue.’

‘Certainly not,’ she said, determined not to give an inch. ‘I am about to open up a new adit. Now, please leave. I am too busy to argue with you.’

Roland bowed and returned to his mount, followed by Travers, doing his best to keep a straight face.

‘You may laugh,’ Roland told him as they rode back to the village. ‘She is a veritable shrew, but I shall get the better of her, you shall see.’

‘Oh, I am sure you will, Major.’ Travers found it difficult to give his master his proper title, but Roland did not mind that. As far as he was concerned he was going into battle and it was one he might enjoy, considering no one was likely to be killed because of it.

‘Miss Cartwright, ’tis madness,’ Jacob Edwards told her the morning after her encounter with the Earl at Browhill. He had been summoned to Mandeville to be told she wanted to release funds for a new shaft to the Browhill mine. He was a young man of thirty, dressed in an impeccable dove-grey morning coat and pristine shirt. No one seeing him would have believed he had once wandered barefoot about the village lanes in torn breeches. ‘It is not like you to go on beyond the point of a venture making a profit.’

‘Profit is not everything.’

This statement made him laugh; it was so unlike her. ‘If not profit, what do you hope to gain?’

‘Gain nothing,’ she said, ‘but keep everything.’

‘I am not very good at riddles. Pray explain.’

She began pacing the room impatiently, swishing her grey skirt about her as she turned at the end of each perambulation. He watched, admiring her shapely figure and striking features. He had admired her for years, ever since he had come across her as a child, but she gave no indication that she was aware of it or would consider an approach by him. In her eyes he was simply her factotum, someone to carry out her orders, occasionally to advise, never to look on with affection. He doubted she was capable of it.

‘I do not want Amerleigh given the slightest opportunity to repossess it,’ she said.

‘The land might have been part of his domain, but he never mined it, nor did his father,’ he said. ‘The late Earl never established a claim to mining rights.’

‘Would he need to, given he owned the land?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Then find out.’

‘Very well, ma’am.’ He bowed himself out and she soon followed. She had spent the morning at the Scofield Mill, supervising the loading of barges with bales of cotton cloth, to be taken to Liverpool by river and canal for loading on to the Fair Charlie. She hated the name, but as her father had chosen it to mark her birth, she would not change it. As soon as it was safely aboard, she had returned home to meet Jacob Edwards. Now, with an unaccustomed hour or two to fill, she decided to go for a ride. Not for a single minute did she admit, even to herself, that she hoped she might meet the Earl. The confrontation the day before had roused her in a way that nothing had ever done before. Accustomed as she was to making deals, striking a hard bargain, taking it for granted her orders would be obeyed, it was a refreshing change to have to fight for something. It was the battle itself that put the gleam into her eye.

She went to the kitchens, sent May to the stables to ask Dobson to saddle Bonny Boy, then, taking a basket, filled it with a can of milk, some eggs and a jar of cook’s homemade preserve, all of which she intended to take to Mrs Biggs. The poor woman had recently had another baby and she was struggling to manage since her husband had lost his position as under-gardener at the Hall. The two oldest girls worked at the mill, but they could not earn enough to keep the whole family.

‘It is the Earl’s responsibility to look after his people, not yours,’ Cook told her.

‘Yes, but Beth and Matty work for me. I must do what I can to help them. Besides, I doubt the Earl has had time to see to such things and from what I have seen of him, his pockets are to let.’

‘How can that be? He is an aristocrat, is he not? They always find money from somewhere for what they want. If not, they fall into debt and think nothing of it.’

Charlotte knew this to be true, especially of the late Earl. It was why his heir had come home to desolation. She could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. But that did not mean she was prepared to see the villagers suffer. She had been helping them and would continue to do so. She went up to her room to change into her riding habit and put on her boots, then went back to the kitchen to pick up the basket. Five minutes later she was walking her horse down the drive and out of the gates in the direction of the village, balancing the basket in front of her on the saddle.

Mrs Biggs, who had seven children, lived in a little cottage near the church. Until he had been turned off by the late Earl’s lawyer, her husband had been a conscientious gardener who did his best for the family, but since then he had become low in spirits and very bad-tempered. He did not like charity, but for the sake of the children was forced to accept it. Charlotte tried to go when he was not at home, in order not to embarrass him.

Mrs Biggs bobbed a curtsy and accepted the basket with gratitude. ‘Will you stop and take some refreshment?’ she asked, as she always did.

Charlotte knew that providing her with refreshment would mean others in the family going short and she would not have dreamed of allowing that. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Biggs, I have other calls to make. How is the little one?’

‘All the better for what you bring, ma’am. We all are. Do you think that now the new Earl has come home, he will re-engage the staff?’

‘I am sure I do not know, Mrs Biggs. Let us hope so.’

She stopped to cuddle the baby, unmindful of her expensive clothes, and to talk to some of the other children before leaving, telling Mrs Biggs to send one of them back with the basket another time and she would give him a penny for his pains. She loved children and longed for some of her own, but to do that she must marry and, as she had forsworn to do that, she must put all thought of being a mother out of her head.

Leaving the cottage, she decided to ride further afield and set off through the village along the lane that ran beside Amerleigh Hall, intending to go up through the wood and on to the hill. She reined in when she saw workmen mending a broken wall beside the road. One of the men looked up at her approach and she was surprised to discover it was the Earl himself in overalls. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ she said coolly.

‘Miss Cartwright,’ he answered and waited.

‘My lord, I am surprised to see you mending walls.’

‘It needs doing,’ he said, wondering what censure was coming next. ‘Mr Frost’s sheep have been straying onto the road, so he tells me, and I enjoy working with my hands. It is calming.’

She slipped from the saddle and, picking up her trailing skirt, walked towards him, leading Bonny Boy. ‘I can understand you need something to calm you, my lord, and building walls is certainly a creditable occupation, but there are men in the village without work. Their families are suffering because of it. Could you not have employed one or two of those?’

His face darkened with annoyance. ‘Whom I employ is my affair, madam.’

‘Of course.’ Antagonising him was not the way to influence him, she realised. ‘But I am concerned for the people who once worked on the estate, and because you have but lately returned, I thought you were perhaps unaware of their desperate plight.’

He wiped his hands on his overalls and walked over to stand in front of her. ‘I would not have made a very good officer if I remained blind to what went on around me, Miss Cartwright. I am very well aware of the state of affairs in the village.’

‘Then you will think about re-employing the men? There is one in particular, a man called Biggs. His wife has recently been delivered of her seventh child and they are at their wits’ end.’

‘When circumstances allow I will do what I can.’

His words confirmed her suspicion that he was pinched in the pocket; no wonder he wanted her mine and the profits it made. ‘Thank you. Does that mean you intend to stay?’

He laughed. ‘Would you have me gone again so that you may ride wherever you like, acting Lady Bountiful?’

‘That is not, nor has ever been, my role, Lord Temple. But starving people do not work well or willingly.’

‘I am aware of that, Miss Cartwright, I do not need a lecture.’

He could not explain to her, of all people, that it was not callousness that held him back from helping the villagers, but the necessity to conserve his resources. He wondered why she had not married; she was still young and her wealth must surely be a great inducement. Could it be that prospective suitors were put off by her habit of saying what was in her mind and interfering in their affairs? If she had been anyone but who she was, he might have enjoyed working with her to help the villagers. As it was, enjoyment was the last thing on his mind.

She was about to remount when she became aware of a carriage being driven very fast along the lane towards them. She hesitated, waiting for it to pass, at the same time realizing that there was a small child on the road. She let out her cry of warning, but Roland had seen him too and dashed into the road to rescue him.

Charlotte watched in horror as the coachman tried to pull the horses up. They reared over the man and boy. The coach slewed round and toppled over and Roland and the boy disappeared. The coachman was thrown down beside the wall, which knocked him senseless, and the screams of the vehicle’s occupants filled the air as it turned over.

Charlotte dashed round the overturned coach to the spot where she had last seen Roland and the boy, but was overtaken by Travers, who had been working on the wall with his lordship. The horses were struggling to stand and he quickly released them from the traces, but there was no sign of the Earl or the boy. ‘Major!’ he shouted.

‘Over here.’ The voice, though breathless, was surprisingly strong and came from the ditch on the other side of the carriageway. A moment later, his lordship’s head appeared, followed by the rest of him, carrying the senseless boy in his arms. ‘Had to pull him into the ditch,’ he said calmly, laying the boy gently on the grass beside the unconscious coachman. ‘I think he might have a bump on the head. He’ll come to his senses directly.’ He looked up and saw Charlotte standing uncertainly beside him. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, my lord. Are you?’

‘Nothing but a bruise or two.’

She knelt down beside the boy, aware that a portly man dressed in a coat of blue superfine and nankeen pantaloons was climbing from the overturned carriage. He had lost his hat and his hair was awry and he was very angry. ‘Imbecile!’ he shouted, addressing Roland. ‘Letting your brat wander about the public road like that.’

‘I think he is but slightly injured, sir,’ Roland said coolly. ‘But I do thank you for your kind concern.’

‘Yes, well, he should not have been in the road,’ the man said, recognising the put-down for what it was. ‘Did he not hear us coming?’

‘No, he could not,’ Charlotte put in. She had recognised the six-year-old Tommy Biggs, who had come round from his fright and was looking from one to the other, trying to understand what was being said. ‘He is deaf. But your coachman has no business to be going at such a speed he was unable to stop in time. Tommy could have been killed.’

‘Are you his mother?’ The man reached in his pocket and withdrew a purse.

‘No, I am not, but that is not to say his mother would not appreciate some recompense. She is poor and doctor’s fees will come hard.’

The moans coming from the coach grew into a wail. ‘George, am I to stay here all day while you bandy words? Help me out.’

The man gave Charlotte a handful of coins and turned back to the coach. A head had appeared in the door of the vehicle, which now lay on its side, one wheel still gently spinning. The woman’s round face was bright red, her hair such a vivid orange Charlotte could not believe it could be its natural colour. And it soon became apparent, as her husband struggled to haul her out, that she was exceedingly fat.

‘Can you look after the boy?’ Roland asked Charlotte. ‘See that he does not move until I can examine him properly. I had better see to the passengers.’

‘Of course.’

He left her to lend the fat gentleman a hand and together they pulled the lady free with a great display of petticoats and set her upon her feet on the road.

‘You are unhurt, ma’am?’ Roland asked.

‘I am bruised black and blue,’ she retorted. ‘And will undoubtedly suffer considerably, but I do not expect you to concern yourself with that. Be so good as to send for another conveyance to carry us forwards. We are in haste…’

‘That much I had deduced,’ Roland said wryly. ‘But you know what they say, “more haste less speed”. The delay will undoubtedly outweigh the advantage of the speed you were driving. I am sure your coachman will agree with that. When he regains his senses, that is.’

‘And a little less of your impertinence, if you please. If you had kept your child under control—’

‘The child does not belong to his lordship,’ Charlotte said and watched with a broadening smile as the woman’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

‘His lordship?’ she managed at last.

‘You have been directing your abuse at the Earl of Amerleigh,’ Charlotte went on, throwing a glance at Roland, who had turned away to hide his laughter.

The woman swivelled round to look Roland up and down as if unable to believe this rough-looking man in the faded overalls could possibly be a member of the aristocracy.

‘The lady ain’t bamming,’ Travers put in. He had been busy catching the horses, which, apart from a tendency to take fright, were unharmed. ‘So you’d be wise to address his lordship with more respect, especially if you want him to help you.’

‘Oh, I do. My lord, I cannot think what came over me. The shock, I suppose. Please forgive me. I took you for—’ She stopped, not daring to put into words what she had taken him for.

‘It is no matter, ma’am,’ Roland said, doing his best to be serious at the woman’s complete volte-face. Then, to Travers, ‘Do you think we can right this coach?’

‘Don’t see why not.’

The two men, both exceptionally big and strong, strode over to the coach and, with a great deal of heaving and pushing and rocking of it, managed to turn it back on to its wheels. Roland went all round it, examining it carefully. ‘I think it could be driven,’ he said. ‘If you take it slowly, it will carry you to the next posting inn.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ the woman’s husband said. ‘But Greaves is in no case to drive. Perhaps your man…’

‘What about it, Travers?’ Roland asked. ‘Fancy tooling a coach, do you?’

The corporal, busy harnessing the horses again, looked up and grinned. ‘Very well, sir, but what about the wall?’

‘We will finish it tomorrow. Miss Cartwright and I will carry the boy home and deliver him safely to his mother. I am sure Mr…’

‘Halliwell,’ the man said. ‘James Halliwell, at your service, my lord. I will furnish your man with the wherewithal to return home.’

‘Then I suggest you help Mr Greaves into the coach, and off you go.’

‘Inside?’ Mrs Halliwell squeaked, looking at her coachman, who was now sitting up, but still looking decidedly dazed. She obviously thought it was beneath her dignity to ride inside with a servant.

In the event Greaves disdained the comfort of an inside seat and insisted he would be perfectly at ease sitting beside Travers on the box and proved it by getting shakily to his feet and climbing up there. Mr and Mrs Halliwell clambered in and Roland secured the broken door with a strap and they set off, walking the horses very slowly and carefully.

Charlotte, still kneeling beside young Tommy, watched them go, then turned back to the boy, who was moaning softly.

‘Do you think he is hurt anywhere beside his head?’ she asked, stroking the boy’s muddy cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I do not think he can speak because of his deafness.’

Watching her, he suddenly realised he was seeing a very different woman from the one he had hitherto encountered and could not help gazing at her. Gone were the strong features, the firm jawline, the glittering eyes, the coldness of the hoyden, and in their place was a mouth that was tenderly soft and eyes full of warmth, as she comforted the boy. It was most disconcerting. He pulled himself together to answer her. ‘A doctor will be able to tell,’ he said. ‘We must send for one at once.’

‘I will fetch Dr Sumner. It will only take a few minutes on Bonny Boy.’

‘Very well. I will carry the boy to his home if you tell me where that is.’

‘The thatched cottage beside the church. His name is Tommy Biggs.’

‘Biggs?’ he queried, as he helped her to mount. ‘That is the name of the family you mentioned, is it not?’

‘Yes, it is,’ she said, surprised that he had remembered it. She had not thought he had even been listening.

Unfortunately, Dr Sumner was out on a call, but his housekeeper promised to give him a message as soon as he returned and Charlotte had to be content with that. She emphasised the urgency and rode back to the Biggs’s cottage where she found Roland sitting on a stool beside a dilapidated sofa on which the boy was lying. Mrs Biggs, her face white and drawn, admitted her and then went to stand beside his lordship to look down on her son. Two toddlers hung on to her skirts.

‘How is he?’ Charlotte asked.

‘He seems confused. His lordship has said it often happens after a blow on the head, but it should not last. I do not know what would have happened if his lordship had not been there, ma’am. He could have been killed. He should not have been so far from home, I don’t know what got into the little devil.’

‘He is like all small boys, Mrs Biggs,’ Roland said. ‘Into mischief, and the fact that he is deaf does not alter that.’ He smiled at the boy and was repaid with a brave grin in return. ‘He is a plucky little fellow.’

‘The doctor is coming,’ Charlotte said. ‘I left a message.’

‘Oh, but, ma’am, I ain’t sure tha’s necessary. He’ll be his old self by and by…’

‘Better be on the safe side,’ Charlotte said, knowing the reason for the woman’s reluctance and producing the coins Mr Halliwell had given her from the pocket of her habit. ‘The man with the coach was most apologetic and anxious to do what he could to help. He gave me this to pay for a doctor and anything else Tommy needs.’

‘Oh, thank you, ma’am. Perhaps it would be best to have him checked over…’

Again she offered refreshment and again was politely refused and Charlotte and Roland left soon afterwards, with Charlotte promising to return to find out what the doctor said and if there was anything else Tommy needed.

‘You do care for those people, don’t you?’ Roland said, taking up the reins of her horse and leading it, obliging her to walk beside him.

‘It would be a callous person who did not.’

She was still on her high ropes, he realised, trying to teach him his duty, to make him feel guilty. He decided not to rise to the bait. ‘Enough to take on their welfare?’ he queried.

‘The two oldest girls, Beth, who is fourteen, and Matty, who is a little over a year younger, are my employees. You met them. I am told you gave them half a crown.’

‘So I did. Your mill hands, shut out because they were too polite not to answer me when I spoke to them.’

‘One cannot let tardiness go unpunished,’ she said. ‘But I have told Mr Brock that, in future, anyone who arrives late will not be locked out, but will lose half an hour’s pay for every five minutes. After all, I am the loser when their looms stand idle all day.’

He laughed. Her good deeds seemed to be tempered with self-interest. But was that really true? She seemed genuinely concerned about the boy, and the look of tenderness on her face when she had been comforting him had showed a gentler side to her nature that stayed with him.

‘There is nothing wrong in that,’ she said, stung by his laughter. ‘Everyone must do the work they are given.’

‘Even me,’ he said.

‘Yes. It was fortunate you were working or you would not have been in a position to save Tommy’s life. It was a brave thing to do.’ It choked her to say it, but it was nothing but the truth and she was always one to give credit where it was due.

‘I am a hardened soldier, Miss Cartwright, used to carnage, but you did not flinch when I handed the boy over to you. Other young ladies would have swooned away.’

She laughed. ‘And then you would have had two patients instead of one and no one to ride for the doctor. I am not such a fribble, my lord, and I never have been.’

He could readily believe it. He stopped and bent to cup his hands for her foot. She sprang astride the saddle, giving him a glimpse of a well-turned ankle, settled her feet in the stirrups and took up the reins.

‘Good day to you, my lord,’ she said, trotting away, leaving him standing looking after her, stroking his chin in contemplation.

He could not make her out. Was she still the spoiled, imperious chit of his earlier acquaintance or had she changed? Until this afternoon he would have said she had not changed one iota, but would the spoiled hoyden have concerned herself with the problems of a poor family? While they had been waiting for her, Mrs Biggs had sung her praises, telling him how generous she was and how without her they would be in dire need. He was unsure if the woman was deliberately trying to make him feel guilty or was too simple to realise how her words sounded. While his father had been ill and his mother too mortified by their straitened circumstances to go out and about, Miss Cartwright had been free to act the lady of the manor and perhaps she was not inclined to let that go. He chuckled to himself. If he had married her when his father suggested it, that was just what she would have been.

The devil of it was that their paths were bound to cross, living so close, and it was wearying to be for ever sparring, especially if they both wanted to do good by the villagers. They had to find some kind of harmony to their day-to-day encounters. He would do well to adopt a soft approach and avoid argument, leaving that for when the real battle began.

He turned and strode back to the Hall. There was a little more furniture in the house now, a proper dining table, a few chairs, a desk and some beds, but it was still minimal and the marble-floored entrance hall contained nothing but a small table and a faded Sheraton chair. He had instructed builders to make repairs to the roof where it let in the rain and to make good broken window sashes, but he had not yet put in hand a full-scale refurbishment. He wondered if he ever would. There he was, an aristocrat who had to watch every penny, trying to do justice to all his people, while that hoyden had more money than she knew what to do with. Paying lawyers would not trouble her at all, but it would drain his own minimal resources. His head told him to let it go, but his own stubborn pride resisted. The profits from that mine would make all the difference, not only to the restoration of the Hall, but to the tenants and villagers who looked to him to keep their dwellings in good repair. Was ever a man in such a coil?