Estate business stopped me going down to the Royal Oak as I’d intended, but to my surprise early the following morning Mr Baines called on me before I left home and set off for the House. I had been hard at work in my study since seven dealing with paperwork, and was just about to go down to the kitchen in search of coffee when William, my servant of all indoor work, announced that I had a visitor. Marty Baines was one of the last people I’d have expected to come to me, being important enough in the village to expect me to go to him. Short and delicately built, he was as dapper as the owner of a gentlemen’s outfitters. He greeted me with a polite but by no means toadying bow. I responded in kind.
‘I was just about to take a cup of coffee, Mr Baines. William! Could you bring it to us in the morning room? The sun is very pleasant there at this time of day,’ I added.
Baines looked around him as I led the way, with so much interest I suspected he’d never been in the place before. Instead of sitting down, he went to the window, as if checking that the estate gardeners were acquitting themselves well. He nodded his approval before taking the armchair I indicated.
‘I hear you’re interesting yourself in young Maggie Billings,’ he said, but then paused while William came in with a tray.
‘Thank you, William. I’ll pour. I don’t suppose we’ve got any of Mrs Arden’s biscuits left? Yes, a plate would be excellent.’
The boy bowed himself out.
Baines laughed. ‘He’s clearly got an eye on a career up at the House when Mr Bowman retires.’
‘He’ll have to grow a few more inches,’ I said ruefully. ‘Her ladyship prefers tall footmen. It’s a shame. He’s a bright boy, and deserves to do well.’ I waited while William served us with as much grace as if he were indeed Bowman. ‘Thank you. Now, Mr Baines, what can I do for you?’
‘It’s not so much you helping me as me helping you, Mr Rowsley. But before I tell you what I know, I want your word you mean well by her. Maggie. I think you understand me.’
I met his eyes. ‘If I loved a maid enough to get her with child, I give you my word I would have married her before I put her in that situation.’ He nodded. I was to continue. ‘Mr Baines, neither of us is in our dotage. But I cannot imagine either of us … she is almost young enough to be my daughter.’
‘As if that stopped some men – indeed, I read of some who find youth a positive, indeed the only attraction, in a female. Imagine, it is still legal to have sexual congress with a girl as young as twelve! I marvel, Mr Rowsley, I marvel. My wife and I had a daughter of that age. They were both struck down by a cholera outbreak in Manchester.’ He paused to drink his coffee. When he put the cup down, he was calmer, though it rattled in its saucer. ‘That’s why I moved here. I couldn’t bear to stay in a place where so many I loved and respected died like animals.’ For a long time he looked not at me but into what I suspected was the past. ‘I ramble, Mr Rowsley. All I came to say was that I heard from a fellow Baptist, a minister who runs an Ebenezer chapel in a poor part of Wolverhampton. Mr Ianto Davies, a man with Welsh passion in his veins and his sermons.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘He found a girl sleeping in the chapel porch. He and his wife took her home, and cared for her as best they might. She slept a long time. When she was well enough to talk, she told them she was looking for an aunt, a respectable widow, to seek sanctuary. They escorted her there – it was a disappointing street, they say, but the widow’s house was clean enough, and she consented to give the girl a roof over her head. The child refused point-blank to say anything about her family, and implored her aunt not to reveal where she came from. But Ianto did catch a name. Maggie.’
‘This is news indeed!’ I said. ‘But I sense your friends do not believe that all is well.’
‘Mr Rowsley, I plan to go to Wolverhampton myself tomorrow: would you care to accompany me? The train journey doesn’t take long. Such a boon, these railways, though his late lordship fought tooth and nail against them …’
I must make sure everyone had their instructions not just for today but also for tomorrow. First I headed to the Home Farm. Everyone was going about their business with a sense of purpose. Even the animals seemed to be on their best behaviour. Alf, however, let the side down with a truly disreputable hat. He was scratching the ears of a magnificent Welsh boar, sire to an apparently endless stream of piglets produced by our Shropshire sows, but broke off to tip the offending headgear. The boar objected. The scratching resumed. We discussed everyday husbandry leaning side by side on the gate.
‘Have you heard from young Luke?’ I asked at last.
‘I was hoping you might tell me when he’d be back,’ he countered. ‘I’m not much of a one for reading, gaffer, so it’s rare I gets a letter from him – maybe if his lordship chooses to stay away for months, not just weeks, at a time. And someone will read it to me,’ he told the pig, shame lowering his voice.
‘You must be very proud of him,’ I said before he could apologize for being unlettered.
‘Aye, he’s a good enough lad. Had to box his ears a bit when he was a youngster – I dare say Mr Bowman had to. But not now. Service suits him – wouldn’t have suited me, would it, Arthur?’
The boar apparently agreed.
‘I’d have thought you’d be the one telling me what the lad’s doing,’ Alf observed reasonably.
‘His lordship’s too busy to write just now, I should imagine.’
‘Oh, ah.’
The two simple syllables conveyed a wealth of meaning, very little of it appreciative of any pressures that might constrain his lordship.
Unable to argue I turned the subject to the enjoyable prospect of the next cricket match before setting off to harangue and cajole the rest of the workers in pretty well equal measure. There was no sign today of Mrs Billings.
‘Indeed, Luke did have a temper when he was a lad,’ Bowman agreed later that afternoon, when I spoke to him in his pantry. ‘But – we speak in absolute confidence, do we not, Rowsley? – seeing his lordship in his rages did a great deal to reduce the frequency of Luke’s tantrums. It was as if his lordship held a mirror up to them, and the lad did not like what he saw. Between ourselves, he is wasted here. He would grace a gentleman in a … in a distinguished public role.’
‘You never had that ambition yourself?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I had hopes of his late lordship, I will confess, until he settled down here and closed his town house. Then I knew it was not to be. A man becomes set in his ways, does he not? You, for instance, will ensure all is in good heart on his lordship’s land and then seek to run one of the grand estates – I can imagine you at Chatsworth or Blenheim, if not for your next post then the one after that.’ He paused. ‘I have to confess I have not yet discussed my hopes for Mrs Arden with Mrs Faulkner yet. I wondered – I have to admit – if someone else might have engaged her heart.’
My answer was almost truthful. ‘I have heard no rumour of that. In any case, should you not be approaching the lady yourself? However good a friend to her Mrs Faulkner may be, she might not have access to the deepest secrets of her heart.’ But had I seen joy in Mrs Arden’s eyes when I gave her that rose? I truly hoped it was only the happiness of having a friend.
It was time to turn the subject. ‘Does his lordship never give any indication of his movements?’
Bowman looked amazed. ‘Why should he? The House must always be in perfect readiness for its master. Likewise for her ladyship. It is a matter of pride to us indoor staff that whatever the whim of our employer we are always prepared to indulge it.’
I acknowledged the implicit rebuke with a bow. ‘Of course. You are quite right.’
‘Do you care,’ he began, obviously accepting my apology, ‘for a glass of sherry?’
At five in the afternoon? ‘Forgive me if I decline. I have work to organize for tomorrow. But will you excuse me if I don’t explain now? It’s news I should give to everyone together.’
I chanced to return to Mrs Faulkner as I returned to my office, to which she gestured: might we speak in private?
She declined to sit, asking, ‘Do you think the problem of Mr Bowman and Mrs Arden may have gone away? At least he has not spoken to me. I wonder why he has changed his mind? Perhaps he’s spoken to her already and we are to have a betrothal!’
I shook my head. ‘I fear he fancies her affections are already engaged.’
Absolutely still, she looked at me. ‘Are they? And are they requited?’ The message was clear.
I said carefully, holding her gaze, ‘I value Mrs Arden as a dear friend and as a colleague. But that is all. And I truly hope that that reflects her feelings – if any – towards me.’
In the ensuing silence a lot more was said.
A tap at the door announced the arrival of a tenant farmer.