JANE HAD BEEN worrying ever since she received Milly’s hastily written letter telling her of Sir Mortimer’s death so she was relieved when her two babies arrived in her drawing room, smiling and looking quite themselves. And when Felix gave them a little formal bow and said ‘Mr and Mrs Cartwright, Mrs Jerdon, ma’am, pray allow me to present my wife, Lady Fitzwilliam,’ she gave out such a squeal that she made Nathaniel jump.
‘’Tis the best possible news,’ she said when the tale had been told. ‘But I don’t understand it at all. Did he change his mind, do ’ee think?’
Felix had been pondering that question too. ‘I doubt that very much,’ he said. ‘I’ve never known him change his mind about anything, once it was made up, and I’m certain you haven’t either. No. I think he was waiting for me to come to heel. He was a man who expected to be obeyed, you see. He thought I would give in.’
‘And now you’ve come into your own instead,’ Jane said, ‘and quite right too. And just think, you’ll be living a few miles away instead of being in London all the time.’
‘And in that beautiful house,’ Mary Jerdon said to Jane. ‘Who’d ha’ thought that, Jane, when we were walkin’ in the gardens all those years ago, you and me and our little Milly? Such a thing never entered our heads. And now …’
‘Did you visit the house, Mrs Jerdon?’ Felix said. ‘I never knew that.’
‘That’s on account of we were allus below stairs,’ Mary Jerdon told him, smiling. ‘Keeping our place.’
‘Well, now you must visit above stairs,’ he told her, ‘as the grandmother of Lady Fitzwilliam.’
‘How this ol’ world do change,’ Mary Jerdon said, shaking her head in the wonder and bewilderment of it.
‘We shall live in London too,’ Milly said, grinning at her. ‘We have a house in Charlotte Square. We’re going there tomorrow. This is just a short visit because we’ve got a coach to catch.’
‘But you’ll come back very soon,’ Jane said. ‘Won’t ’ee, my dears?’
‘As soon as ever we can,’ Felix promised. ‘We would stay here now if it were possible. But I have clients to represent and my word is given.’
There was so much to talk about on that journey back to London. It would take time and a great deal of conversation to digest the enormity of the change that had shifted their lives.
‘We can tell Polly that we don’t need her any more,’ Milly said. ‘What I’ll be uncommon glad to do.’
‘We will tell them both that our plans have changed and that we’re going to live in Charlotte Square,’ Felix said. ‘And we must be there by Friday morning because Sarah and Emma are coming to visit us then.’
‘But you will be in court, will you not?’
‘Indeed I shall, but it is you they are coming to visit. You have to be fitted out with a suitable wardrobe, so they say, and it must all be completed before we return to the Manor, and I can’t put that off for there is a lot to be done there and the sooner I start on it the better.’ She looked a question at him, so he explained. ‘I must inspect the place and see what needs attention. An estate needs a deal of upkeep, you see. You neglect it at your peril. And when that is done I must visit the farm and see what is needed there.’
I never thought an estate would mean so much work, Milly thought. When she’d lived in the house it had always seemed to run itself. Not that Felix was the least bit deterred by everything he would have to do. Quite the reverse in fact. He looked confident and happy, his thick hair positively bushy and his eyes shining. It was as if he was growing into someone else, which was very curious. He was still her dear Felix, of course, that hadn’t changed, but he had become suddenly and rather obviously powerful. It was daunting but very attractive. Whatever else, she thought, burnt chops are the least of our worries now.
Sarah and Emma arrived in the Livingston carriage and four on Friday morning and whisked her off at once to visit what they called ‘a first-rate house’ to choose the materials for her new dresses. It was a very impressive establishment, and far more like a gentleman’s townhouse than the sort of draper’s shop that Milly was used to. They were greeted at the front door by a footman, who bowed them into what he called ‘the premier magazine’ where an elegant lady in a silk dress and a small lace cap was waiting to greet them. She knew Lady Livingston and Lady Smithson Lumley by name and curtseyed to them at once, saying she hoped she could be of service to Lady Fitzwilliam. Then having settled them into three comfortable chairs she produced a dozen rolls of sumptuous silks and velvets for their inspection. Lady Fitzwilliam had never seen anything so gorgeous in her life but her sisters-in-law took them calmly and set about choosing the most becoming.
‘We must consider them in daylight and candlelight,’ Sarah said and the silken assistant swayed her head to show how well she agreed.
There were full-length mirrors on every wall of the room, stretching from the sumptuous carpet under their feet to the moulded ceiling above their heads and Milly stood in front of the nearest one while the assistant draped the cloth over her shoulder and arranged it so that it hung in elegant folds that caught the sunlight that streamed in from the long windows. Then they progressed to another mirror at the opposite end of the room where a chandelier full of lighted candles revealed how well the cloth would look ‘gracing a supper or a ball’, as the assistant put it.
‘We will choose three,’ Sarah told the assistant, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
But it took a long time before Milly could make up her mind which three she preferred because they were all so beautiful. And when the choice had finally been made, the entire process began all over again while she picked silks and muslins and figured cottons for half a dozen day gowns and carriage gowns and promenade dresses. And then, while her head was still spinning with colours and textures, she had to choose the styles and trimmings she wanted from a huge pattern book of the most fashionable on offer and, even with Sarah and Emma to help and advise her, it was past twelve o’clock before they left the establishment.
‘If this is what it’s like being a lady, I’m not so sure I like it,’ she said to Felix over their beautifully cooked dinner. And she was only half joking. ‘I’m worn out and I’ve still got chemises and shoes and stockings and bonnets and caps and gloves and pelerines and heaven knows what-all to get.’
‘It is important to be well dressed, my darling,’ Felix said. ‘That is how you will be judged I fear and I mean you to be judged well. You will have a lady’s maid to dress you when you get back to Foster Manor and she will notice everything you wear and will report on it to the rest of the house. I want them to think of you as a lady from the first day. Apart from which, you are very beautiful and jewels and velvets will set you off to perfection.’
‘But I shan’t feel like myself,’ Milly complained and then she felt that she was being ungrateful because all these grand clothes were going to cost him a lot of money. ‘What happened to Dumma-dumma?’
‘She is always there,’ he told her seriously. ‘Always there and always dear to me. The clothes are merely her adornment. You do like them, don’t you?’
‘I’m sure they will be very beautiful,’ she told him. ‘I only hope I can do them justice.’
She travelled to Foster Manor with a trunk full of new clothes and considerable apprehension and was welcomed like the lady she now was and rather enjoyed it, especially as the lady’s maid Mrs Denham had chosen for her was young and shy and very much in awe of her.
‘We are back in Foster Manor and getting along very well,’ she wrote to her mother the next day. ‘I have a lady’s maid. Imagine that. Her name is Margaret and she grew up in Scrayingham and is very patient and gentle. When Felix has finished his inspection of the estate, you and Nan and Mr Cartwright must come here and hear what we have planned.’
It was an extremely thorough inspection. The house was explored from top to bottom and notes made in nearly every room – faded curtains needed replacing, the old-fashioned bed in the master bedroom was to be discarded, the kitchens were too dark and the stove ‘downright antiquated’, the tiled floor needed considerable repair.
Only the nurseries passed his rigorous test and that was because the nurseries bewitched them. Within seconds of walking through the door, they were back in the days when they’d been children there. They stood together beside their old rocking horse, stroking its mane and running their hands along its flanks.
‘All those rides,’ Felix said dreamily. ‘Do you remember?’
‘Every single one,’ Milly told him. ‘I used to sit up behind you and hold you steady, when you were so little you weren’t even walking.’
‘Do you think the tops and hoops are still here?’ he said, looking towards the schoolroom door.
They were and so were the globes and the child-sized chairs and the little round table where they’d all sat and listened to stories.
‘My dear heart alive,’ Milly said. ‘Not a thing’s been changed.’
And there was the old familiar view from the schoolroom window. They walked across the room hand in hand to enjoy it, while Mr Glendinning lurked at a discreet distance and kept very still, aware that they were sharing childhood memories and that Lady Fitzwilliam must have been one of the children who visited the house when Sir Felix and his sisters were small.
The next day they inspected the park and Milly admired it all over again, and the day after that they took the dog cart down to the farm and the village where Felix said there was a great deal of work that needed to be done and the bailiff made a note of everything he said.
On the fourth day he decided that they had earned a rest and after a leisurely breakfast he said he thought he would go to the library and answer his letters of condolence. So Milly went with him and settled herself on one side of the library table to write a long letter to her mother, while he sat opposite her, busy with his own correspondence. After a while he looked up and gave her a languid, loving smile.
‘Are you happy, Dumma-dumma?’ he asked.
They’d been so busy she hadn’t stopped to consider whether she was happy or not but now that he’d asked she knew that she was more contented than she’d ever been in her life. ‘Uncommon happy,’ she said, ‘although I still find it hard to believe.’ And she got up and walked round the table so that she could kiss him.
He held her about the waist and smiled again. ‘I find it hard to believe too,’ he said. ‘You make an excellent lady of the house, my darling.’
She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘In that case, could I suggest summat to ’ee – as lady of the house?’
‘Fire away.’
‘While you’re making changes and alterations,’ she said, ‘I think you should think about changing the lighting.’
He understood her at once. ‘To gas light.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘’Twould be a much brighter place with gas light – think how good the light is in Charlotte Square – and it would make all the difference in the world to the kitchens, especially on a dark day.’
It was a sensible and obvious idea. ‘I will do it,’ he told her. ‘A letter to the chairman of the gas company, I think.’
He didn’t know it, but a letter would not be necessary because one of the directors of the York Union Gas Light Company was already planning to see him.
Mr George Hudson had been very pleased to hear that Sir Mortimer Fitzwilliam was dead and had been succeeded by his young son. ‘Happen he’ll be more open to a sensible negotiation than his curmudgeon of a father,’ he said to Lizzie. ‘I shall write to him directly.’
Which he did and got an answer back, remarkably quickly, suggesting that they should meet. It was a satisfactory start.
He dressed for the meeting with more than usual care, knowing how important appearances were when you were dealing with the gentry and his first sight of the new master of the estate showed him how sensible his choice of clothing had been, for the young man into whose presence he was ushered was most elegantly attired, in a green frock coat, very expensive doeskin trousers and the whitest cravat he’d ever seen. He was even better pleased to see what a slender young man he was – tall, yes, but apart from that, there was nothing of him and he was extremely pale, with hair like a girl’s and such a silky moustache it was nothing more than a shadow. You could blow him over with a puff of wind. By the end of one swift glance, he was full of his own size and importance and perfectly confident of getting what he wanted.
‘I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Sir Felix,’ he said, beaming as they shook hands. ‘Your father and I were at the point of agreeing a deal when he was so sadly taken from us. A little matter of some land I wished to purchase for the new railway to Scarborough that is currently being planned. I brought the proposal with me, sir, should you care to see it.’
‘I am fully cognisant of the details of your proposal, Mr Hudson,’ Felix said, smoothly polite. ‘I have of course acquainted myself with all such correspondence as was ongoing at the time of my father’s death.’
That was a blow. He’s not as frail as he looks, George thought, and changed tack at once. ‘If that is the case, sir,’ he said, ‘happen we may proceed to business.’
They proceeded and although he wasn’t entirely aware of it at the time, the great Mr Hudson was tied up in legal knots. Such land as was needful for the building of a railway line would be leased to Mr Hudson’s company for a term of twenty-five years, with the provision that a ‘halt’ be built just south of the village and the farm so that his employees could make use of it. The price was declared reasonable by Sir Felix before Mr Hudson could object to it or even begin to barter. It was all over in half an hour and Felix shook hands with the quietly satisfied air of a barrister who has just won his case.
‘There is one other, rather lesser matter we might also discuss while you are here,’ he said. ‘You are a director of the York Union Gas Light Company, I believe.’
George agreed that he was.
‘I should like to bring gas light to this house and the surrounding farms and cottages,’ Felix told him. ‘Could you put the matter in hand for me, perhaps?’
As he was trotted back to York in his smart carriage and four, George Hudson was annoyed to realize that the deal he’d just signed was not as advantageous as he’d expected it to be and certainly not as he’d thought it was when he was putting his signature to it. In fact, if the truth be told, he’d been outwitted by a slip of a boy. The thought was altogether too shaming to be entertained for long so he set about reshaping it. By the time he arrived back at Monkgate, he had decided that he had struck a most advantageous deal and was, as usual, a man to be admired and congratulated.
And so those two great boons to nineteenth-century life, gas light and the railway, were coming to Foster Manor, as Felix was delighted to tell Milly’s mother and father and grandmother when they next came visiting.
They were most impressed but Nathaniel laughed when Milly wanted to know if the new railway would be built by the spring.
‘Railways take an unconscionable amount of time, what with planning and raising capital and waiting for a bill of approval,’ he told her. ‘It’s possible the first section of track might be up and running by 1842 but earlier than that I couldn’t say.’
‘What’s so special about next spring?’ Jane wanted to know, for something about her daughter’s face was alerting her to a delicious possibility.
‘By next spring,’ Milly told her demurely, ‘according to Mrs Hardcastle, who knows about these things, you will be a grandmother, Ma, and I thought a railway would be convenient should you want to come and visit the baby at any time.’
‘I shall come and visit that baby, railway or no railway, even if I have to walk every inch of the way,’ her mother told her, springing at her to hug her and kiss her. And then the room disintegrated into a peal of delight and such hearty congratulations that Felix went quite pink. What a good life this was turning out to be.
The great Mr Hudson was dressing for his farewell dinner as Lord Mayor. It was a raw November evening so he was glad he would be wearing his robes and his chain of office. He stood before the long mirror admiring his image, brandy glass in one hand and cigar in the other. There was no doubt he looked the part, solid and wealthy and dependable in his expensive jacket and his white waistcoat, with a white cravat the equal of any cravat he’d ever seen, even the one that young Sir Felix had been wearing and all of it set off by the rich red and thick fur trimming of his mayoral robe. ‘Aye,’ he said to himself, ‘tha’s done well, lad.’ And now he would be wined and dined and thanked for all the good work he’d done. He was licking his lips at the prospect.
It was a very fine dinner. Excellent fish, roast goose, plenty of wine. And better still, there was a vote of thanks to finish it off. As the master of ceremonies struck the floor with his stave to call for attention, George stroked his waistcoat pocket where his gracious acceptance lay folded, written and ready, and turned his face towards the speaker ready for praise and adulation.
It was a bit of a disappointment to see that it was Mr Leeman who was rising to his feet. The man was a Whig, which was the wrong party for a start, and one of their local solicitors with a reputation for a sharp tongue. But he smiled at the assembled aldermen and counsellors and began well.
‘My Lord Mayor, ladies and gentlemen, it has fallen to me to propose the vote of thanks to our outgoing Lord Mayor, Mr George Hudson.’ There was a shuffle of interest and a ripple of applause from the Tories. ‘Mr Hudson has proved himself to be one of the most notable holders of that office, as all of us here could bear testimony. I feel sure there are many in our company today who have benefited from his endeavours, as I am equally sure he has himself.’ That was a bit pointed, George thought. And unnecessary. ‘His exploits have brought him fame and renown.’ Quite right. Now tell us about them.
It was a list rather than an approbation. He read it from the notes in his hand. And when he’d finished, he laid the paper on the tablecloth and looked round at his listeners. ‘Had Mr Hudson stepped down last year, when it was the correct and constitutional time for him to do so,’ he said, ‘I would have proposed a vote of thanks to him and I would have meant every word. However, Mr Hudson did not step down when it was the constitutional time for him to do so. Mr Hudson contrived to remain in office, unconstitutionally. Now I have to tell you, Mr Hudson, sir, I am delighted to see you go.’
The Whigs were cheering and banging the table but the Tories were on their feet, booing and hissing and shouting ‘Shame!’, ‘Retract, sir!’
Mr Leeman had been prepared to raise hackles but the strength of their opposition was greater than he expected and that, combined with rather too much wine, made him suddenly angry. Within seconds he was too angry for moderation. He turned to face his hecklers, red in the face and shouting back. ‘Shame on you, sirs,’ he yelled. ‘Do you think we’ve not taken your measure? Oh no, sirs, we know you, we know what you are. You are bought men, every one of you. You bow down before the golden calf of Hudson’s wealth. You bow down and worship it. Shame on you!’
His audience was making such a noise, either booing and shouting or cheering and shouting, that his voice was only intermittently heard. It took nearly five minutes and a great deal of banging before the master of ceremonies could restore order. As soon as there was a hush he proposed the vote of thanks, asked for a show of hands, counted them in an extremely summary fashion and declared it carried. Then, as was customary, he offered the floor to the outgoing Lord Mayor.
George was so angry he was shaking. How dare they do this to him! And at a dinner held in his honour, what’s more. Had they no sense of what was proper? It was disgraceful, insupportable, despicable! They should be downright ashamed of themselves to treat a man of his calibre in such a disgusting way. He’d never heard anything to equal it. He wrapped his red cloak around him and stood to face them out, his face puce and his eyes bulging with rage, a bull ready to charge.
‘Oh yes, you may mock and bay,’ he roared at them. ‘Let me tell ’ee, mockery is the mark of unimportant men. The mark of unimportant men. I know just the sort of men you are.’ And when they roared back at him, ‘You are actuated by a littleness of feeling. A littleness of feeling which, when it is exhibited in its deformed state, as it has been this day, is utterly and totally disgraceful. Utterly and totally disgraceful. For what are you, when all’s said and done? Toadies, that’s what you are. Toadies who tout for meals and invitations, which is another disgrace, toadies who resort to backbiting when they don’t get their own way, toadies who invent conversations which never occurred. Shame on you! You’re a disgrace to the name of aldermen and councillors.’
He was still shaking with anger when he and Lizzie got back to Monkgate.
‘How could they do such a thing?’ he said, slumping into his armchair. He was too distraught to get ready for bed. It was enough just to sit down. ‘How could they? After all the good things I’ve done for this town.’
‘Jealous,’ Lizzie said, her face full of sympathy for him. Poor George to be shouted out like that. He was right. It was disgraceful. ‘That’s what. They’re nasty jealous. Don’t you tek no notice of ’em.’
‘They would never have done that to Sir Felix,’ George said, remembering how calm and self-assured that young man had been. ‘No matter what nasty thoughts they might have had, they’d have stayed polite wi’ him. But they think they may torment me. Well, they’ll have another think coming, that’s all. I’ll show ’em.’
‘Course you will,’ Lizzie soothed. ‘You’re twice the man of any one of them.’
‘Happen I should buy a country seat,’ he said. ‘Make myself a landowner, a man of property. That’d show ’em.’
‘Yes,’ Lizzie agreed, yawning because she was tired after all that to-do. ‘So it would.’
‘I shall give it thought,’ he said.