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Homecomings and other complications
“La famille c’est la richesse de la vie.”
[Family is the wealth of life.]
—A French Saying
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Morning, June 14, Plumwell Park, near Milton Kaynes.
Jack stepped out of the stirrup and stood by Athena, stroking her nose. He straightened his pelisse, removed his shako, and looked about. The Park, so full of memories of his childhood, stirred him as he handed the stable boy Athena’s reins. When his parents died in a carriage accident, his brother, the presumptive Marquess of Tellingworth, Robert Tramaine, was at Eton, then Oxford. It had been his mother’s sister Catherine, his aunt Cathy, who had agreed to take Jack under her wing.
He strolled across the front lawn, dominated by the massive oak he had climbed so often. He patted the trunk where he’d carved his, Emily’s, and their friend’s names. His cousin and family friends had visited often, particularly in the summers, a company of adventurers. Aunt Cathy had waited to send Jack off to Eton for several years, instead providing tutors. He was forever grateful to her for that dispensation. He’d been free to roam the estate and surrounding fields and villages, determining his own escapades and investigations. While termed, ‘mischief’ by most of the family, and some even considering him a nointer, it proved a better education than anything Eton had to offer.
At the manor steps, he spied through the hedges, the infamous pond, more a small lake, ducks of all kinds dotting the waters. He chuckled remembering Lady Mimolette’s affected “The Ducks” in relating his misadventures. He sighed. Wonderful memories, fascinating experiments.
Before he knocked, the doors opened wide. “Welcome home, Master Jack!” Standing in the doorway was a gnome of a man, older than Jack remembered, his beard now gray around the edges of a wide grin. Rowdy had played the father he’d lost when young. “Oh, oh, pardon me, Lord Major Tramaine.”
Waving away the apology, Jack clapped the man on the back. “Rowdy, you old cadger. How the heck are you?” As Jack listened to the answer, the housekeeper, Mrs. Trout, bustled out to greet him, followed by the cook, Mrs. Belevier. For a time, the four happily chatted in the hallway, each full of news and wanting to hear all about his wartime experiences abroad. He had come home.
Jack frowned, realizing he hadn’t seen the butler. “Where is Aycock?”
Mrs. Trout tsked, and said, “He retired and went to live with his family in Milton Kaynes.” She then related how they hadn’t been able to find a new estate steward. “Left for a better position last month. “Rowdy here has been playing both parts, but things aren’t getting done.” She looked apologetic at him. “He has done yeoman’s work.”
“I will talk to Aunt Cathy about it.” With that, Jack asked to see her.
The three nodded in response, growing glum. Mrs. Trout offered to take him up to her. The room was dark. As they entered, there was a low ‘woof’ and slowly a hound rose and walked to him, tail wagging languidly. “Boozer, is that you?” Jack fell to his knees and petted his old friend. They had enjoyed many a romp when he was young. “You, dog, have collected some gray too.”
“Jack Tremaine, show yourself, young man.”
Chuckling, hearing the old refrain when he was called to accounts. He stood at attention, facing the woman sitting up in the bed. “Aunt Cathy, I’m here and presentable, hands washed—and behind my ears.” They both laughed. He bent over and gave the old woman a hug and a kiss.
Aunt Cathy wasn’t the lady he’d left eight years ago. She’d shrunk, hair turned gray and her skin thin. Yet her eyes were bright as ever, and her smile as he remembered. “My goodness. Don’t you look grand in your uniform . . .and healthy as a horse.” Mrs. Trout left them with the promise of tea.
“A cavalry trooper always enjoys equine health.” He pulled up a chair by the bed and took her hand. “So, how are you?”
She shook her head. “Just like you. Never one with polite distractions.” She gazed at Jack a long time, until he was afraid she wouldn’t answer. “You’ve become more solid, I can see it. Not so fluttery around the edges.”
“Oh, even with my fur lined collar?”
“You’ve grown up, is all. I’m glad to see it.”
“Now, who is handing out the polite distractions?”
Aunt Cathy’s lips faded in and out of a smile for a moment. “I don’t know what is wrong with me. The doctor doesn’t know either. I’ve grown so weak.” She shrugged and ineffectually smoothed the bed cover. “I’m just old, I guess.”
He rose and pulled back the window curtains, letting in some light. “Well, first, let’s brighten up the place.” Sitting again, he said, “Have you been outside?”
“You’re here.” She glanced at the wheeled chair in the corner, then took his hand again when he returned to his chair. “That is enough.” She studied his face as though she meant to memorize it. “You really should shave off those whiskers. It makes you appear like some wild brigand.”
“For a soldier, that’s a very useful impression.”
“Well, not for a gentleman.”
“Who me?” When she looked ready to chastise him, he said, “Let’s go outside for a stroll.” He grabbed the wheeled chair and rolled it next to the bed. “I will have Mrs. Trout get you ready.”
“We haven’t had a lift built yet.”
“No matter, I will take you down the stairs. The bumps and shaking will do you good.”
Before she could answer, he was out the bedroom door to find Mrs. Trout
~ ~ ~
Jack pushed the chair, thankful it was along a well-packed gravel path. “You have to admit, Aunt Cathy, we have ourselves a rare June day and not one to spend indoors.”
“Well, after I survived the expedition down the stairs, yes, it is.”
“I thought it all went rather well, particularly with the entire staff at the bottom of the stairs holding their breath, waiting to catch you. Their looks of disappointment when we made it without a disaster was, to use a favorite word of yours, precious.”
“John Tremaine, you are insufferable.” His aunt chuckled and straightened her blankets. “Let us go to the gazebo. That has more stairs, ones you can practice going up before you return me to my room.”
“Yes, ma’am . Jack signaled Rowdy who had been following. He galloped off to bring the tea. Once seated in the gazebo, they sat in silence, taking in the grounds and lake where shelducks, mallards, pintails, and shovelers swam in harmony.
“How long can you stay?”
Jack had feared this question. “I am not sure. I have to return to London today. My troop is to escort the Russian Emperor, King Frederick and grandees around London tomorrow and then to Almack’s tomorrow night. Hopefully, I will return Thursday as the Blues do the honor of escort duty to Guildhall, then.”
“The Blues?”
“The Horse Guards. I will see Uncle Percy about finding you a new steward and butler.”
“Will you have a look at the books, see about the tenants, and how the crops fare?”
Jack sighed. He dreaded the necessity, like agreeing to hard labor, boring tedium, without access to gallons of brandy. “Of course. When I return. I will have several such escort duties until after the Grand Jubilee, but there will days in between where I can see you.”
“What do you plan afterwards?” Again, that question.
“Well, afterward I can take leave for at least a few months. Would you like that?” When she nodded enthusiastically, he said, “After that, we’ll see. It depends on where the regiment goes.”
“That sounds wonderful. We can invite friends and enjoy the rest of the summer.”
After Rowdy brought the tea and scones, for a while they talked of old times, his many pranks, and misadventures. His aunt smiled, pointing out that his tree house still stood on the other end of the lake. “Those fourteen yew trees you planted to commemorate your fourteenth birthday are doing well.”
“Yes, they were still small and spindly when I’d left. Now, they’ve created the border of what is an impressive alley lane.”
“Yes, slow growing. I wanted you to plant a tree you couldn’t soon climb. Now that they are tall, I fully expect you to act your age and refrain from scaling them.”
“We’ll see. I’ve never been this old before, so I am unsure how to ‘act my age.’”
Aunt Cathy shook her head at him and continued to reminisce. The sun was touching the tops of his yew trees when his aunt, with a cheerful wave of her hand, said she needed to return to the house.
As he pushed her chair, his aunt said, “Jack,” without saying more. From experience, Jack knew it meant she was going to say something of import. “I have made out my will.”
When she said no more, Jack replied, “A wise precaution.”
“Aren’t you going to ask about it.”
Jack stopped and stepped in front of her with a wily half grin. “Ma’am, I know you want to tell me whatever is at issue. I see no need to work my diaphragm needlessly.”
She scrunched up her face. “You take all the pleasure of making such weighty pronouncements. Very well, I am leaving Plumwell Park to you.”
“Aunt Cathy—”
“It brings in £3,500 now. With better management, as in the past, it can produce twice that for a family.” When Jack said nothing, she pursed her mouth, squinting up at her nephew. “I refuse to leave it to my profligate of a cousin, Oakley, a distant cousin in all regards.”
“Aunt Cathy, we had this conversation when I went off to war. Those horrors haven’t changed my views. I would shrivel up coping with the dull day-to-day obligations of a landed gentleman. It isn’t the life for me. Too many of my Oxford and military acquaintances report growing fat, gaming and drink being their primary activities, all to scare away the tedium.” He couldn’t tell her that being near the family, with their low opinion of him, something he couldn’t seem to change, would strangle him. He loved his family, and they’d been exceptionally good to him.
Regardless, he never met their expectations. He’d thought being gone for several years might change their opinions. Obviously not. He certainly didn’t want to disappoint Aunt Cathy or the family, but that is what he seemed destined to do by just being himself.
Seeing Jack’s intractable expression, Aunt Cathy slapped the arm of the chair. “I won’t change the will. You will have it, regardless.” Then she sighed. “You were so happy here. It was your home. I can’t imagine you not being content here now.”
“I was a child then. This small world was an endless adventure when I was a boy, free to explore—thanks to you. Now, it would become a prison,” he glanced at his aunt, “sooner or later.”
Aunt Cathy gave him a hard look, one of disappointment that hurt to see. “We can talk more later” was how she closed the discussion.