Chapter 13

 

That autumn of 1813 faded into winter. The year turned. Soon enough, the snow and sleet of January and February gave place to milder weather conditions, and the greys and browns of winter were gradually replaced by the fresh greens of early spring.

One sunny Friday morning in March, as he and she walked in the knot garden at Easton Hall, Rayner looked at his elder sister critically. He did not like what he saw. She looked so tired! Pale, listless and wan, she wore her weariness like a garment, a heavy, shapeless shroud of dull, black worsted, which weighed her down, and made her every step drag almost painfully.

But she refused to rest, saying she wanted — indeed, needed — to be kept busy. Rayner feared that far from merely keeping busy, she was literally wearing herself out.

For, after the death of her mother, she had virtually taken over the management of the Birmingham factories, going into town three days a week to speak to their managers, to discuss new projects, and to find yet more ways to increase profitability.

After her father died, however, she began to spend six days a week there, breathing in the smoke and fumes of the great industrial city, and suffering its extremes of heat and cold, its near–deafening clangor by day, and its lonely silence in the watches of the night. Rayner feared for her health, and said so.

She heard him patiently, then shook her head. ‘Don't ask me to slow down,’ she said. ‘I must keep myself occupied.’

‘All the same, you could take some time off. You might enjoy just a little recreation, now and then.’

‘No.’ Jane turned away. ‘If I'm idle, I start thinking. If I think too much, I fear I may run mad.’

 

‘Did you ever write to him?’ enquired Rayner a few days later, as he and Jane sat together in the dining room at Easton Hall, lingering over a gloomy supper, and all alone save for one other.

‘Yes.’ Jane shrugged. ‘I scribbled a short note.’

‘How did you know where to direct it?’

‘Mrs Graham's maid mentioned to my Sarah that her mistress had been to visit them. After Isabel was confined, you understand, she became very ill. Owen sent for her mother. I simply asked Mrs Graham where they lived.’

‘I see.’

‘But that reminds me. My dear Rayner, I've been meaning to ask you this for a long time. Now you are Squire of Easton, where do you intend to live?’

‘I don't really know.’ Looking up from his cheese and fruit, Rayner let his gaze wander all around the dark, panelled dining room. Lit by at least three dozen large, white candles, it still seemed dismal, and gravely forbidding. ‘I haven't thought about it much.’

He reached for his sister's hand. ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Do you wish to stay here at Easton Hall? Or would you consider coming to live in my house, to keep me company?’

‘I think I should prefer to stay here. For the time being, anyway. If you don't mind.’

‘Stay as long as you please. Look — if you wish, I'll make the old barn over to you. Lock, stock and barrel. How about that?’

‘You are the squire, Rayner!’ The reproach in Jane's voice was gentle, but unmistakeable. ‘Surely, your place is here?’

Perhaps. But, as he rode home through the damp twilight, Rayner decided there was no way he could go back to live in that old mausoleum. Even to oblige his beloved sister Jane. He had never liked Easton Hall, which was an old–fashioned, Tudor manor house not at all to his modern taste.

After a disastrous fire, it had been rebuilt using up–to–date methods of construction and draughtproofing, but it was still a gloomy place, full of shadows and ghosts. So, although it was admittedly much warmer in winter than many a newer house, Rayner had long since decided he preferred his own home, with its large windows, light and airy rooms, and lofty plastered ceilings, which reflected rather than absorbed the candle light.

* * * *

‘Rayner? What's the matter?’ asked Jane. It was Lady Day, the beginning of the financial and legal year, and she had called on her brother expressly, to seek his permission to buy a piece of land adjacent to one of the factories. Here, she thought, they might build some houses for the foremen and their families. ‘I know we will need to mortgage a farm,’ she'd continued. ‘But when I spoke to Mr Harris about it, he told me that would be a small price to pay. These days, land in Birmingham doubles in value every couple of months. The time to buy is now.’

‘I wasn't querying your judgement. Not at all.’ Rayner shook his head. ‘You should have been the son,’ he sighed. ‘You're the one who understands commerce. You exhaust yourself in the management of the factories and the estate. But all that simply bores me to tears.’

‘I have to keep busy. You know why.’ Narrowing her eyes, Jane looked at her brother appraisingly. Long past noon, he was still in his dressing gown which, straining at the seams, strove valiantly to meet across his belly. This was of a magnitude not often seen in a man still in his twenties, and not otherwise fat. ‘Perhaps,’ she went on, ‘you should take some exercise, too. But anyway, what's making you so gloomy today?’

‘I was thinking of my father and mother.’

‘Oh.’ Jane looked down at her mittened hands. Still clad in the deepest of mourning, these days she was far too thin for unrelieved black to become her, and she looked like a witch. But she evidently did not care. ‘What were you thinking?’ she asked, carefully.

‘That it was wonderful how they managed to live together so happily, for so long. They never quarrelled, did they? Nor fought, nor hurt each other in any way.’

‘Why should they have quarrelled? They loved one other.’

‘Loving someone hardly guarantees he or she will make you happy. Or content.’

‘No.’ Jane sighed. ‘Oh, Rayner!’ she cried, ‘I miss my father so much! I still talk to him, you know. Every day, I consult his wishes, or ask his advice.’

‘You were his favourite child.’

‘He was my dearest friend.’

‘More dear than — ’

‘Owen?’ Jane glanced up. ‘Yes. Even more dear than Owen.’

‘Even when — ’

‘Oh, yes. Of course.’ Sadly, Jane smiled. ‘When Owen and I first asked his permission to marry, and he refused it, I knew what you and Maria thought would happen next. You expected me to sulk and grumble. To exclaim against his cruelty, and try his patience night and day.

‘But although I complained and wept on Owen's shoulder, in my calmer moments I understood. He refused to allow it because he loved me. He knew Owen and I could never be happy together, even if we were miserable apart.’

Rayner frowned. ‘You're quite sure of that?’ he demanded. ‘Maria and I were equally convinced that you were made for one another. Though the disparity in your fortunes was a difficulty, to be sure.’

‘To my father, that was the least of it. The fact is, he thought Owen feckless and unprincipled.’ Plucking at the lace on her cuff, Janes sighed. ‘When my cousin returned from India, he tried to see improvement. Perhaps he tried too hard, for he saw amendment and change where there was none.

‘But you see — he could not admit that Owen was shallow, and weak! He could not let himself doubt that I would be able to respect my husband! For he knew that if I ceased to respect and honour, I would also cease to love.’

‘Ah.’ These ideas gave rise to some most uncomfortable reflections, and Rayner thought it wise to change the subject. ‘I intend to let Easton Hall,’ he announced. ‘Unless, of course, you have decided to live there permanently?’

Jane merely shrugged. ‘I don't much care where I live,’ she replied.

‘Do you not? Then come to live here, as my companion.’

‘I — I don't think I would wish to do that.’

‘Why on earth not?’

‘Rayner, you know I love you dearly! But don't you think our characters and tastes are rather too different for us to live together amicably, day after day after day?’

‘Perhaps.’ Rayner bit his lip. He knew perfectly well what his sister meant. These days, his home was sometimes little more than a boarding–house–cum–brothel, for to assuage his loneliness he frequently had large parties of friends to stay, amongst whom were actresses, the better sort of women of the town, card–sharps, gamblers, drinkers — in short, loose–livers of every kind. In their squalid but lively company, Rayner ate, drank and diced, and forgot his many cares.

‘I would like to buy my own house, I think,’ his sister was saying now. ‘In fact, I have recently heard of one which might be the very place for me.’

‘Oh? So tell me — where is this place to be found?’

‘It's near Easton Hall. On the toll road to Dereham Bridge, to be precise.’

‘Let's go and look at it, then!’ Rayner grinned. Now, the empty afternoon stretching gloomily ahead of him was offering an outing, a diversion, a treat. ‘Let me throw on my clothes, and we'll go. Cromford?’ Jane's brother poked his head out of the drawing room door. ‘Where is the man? Cromford, I say!’

So, while Rayner's valet dressed and powdered his master into respectability, Jane ordered the carriage. Brother and sister climbed in, and off they went.

‘How did you hear of this place?’ demanded Rayner, as they bowled along.

‘Quite by accident.’ Jane shrugged. ‘Last week, I had occasion to visit one of the cottagers, whose daughter is sick. I arranged for my maid to send over some jellies, jars of soup and other nourishing things, then I asked Mrs Adamson if they still had sufficient fuel to keep a fire burning in the poor girl's chamber. For I know that at this time of year, stocks do tend to be low.

‘John Adamson said that was no problem. The rector had told him he could fell the old apple trees in the orchard of The Ash Grove.’

‘I see. But does the owner of the place not object?’

‘The house is empty. The freehold belongs to the rector of Dereham Wells. He may do as he wishes with his own apple trees.’

* * * *

The Ash Grove turned out to be a small, square, lime–washed cottage, in a village a mile or two beyond the northern boundary of the Easton estate. Originally built for the rector's elderly, widowed mother, since her death it had been sadly neglected. The roof had sprung a dozen leaks, the plaster was stained, and the woodwork was rotting quietly but inexorably away.

As Jane and Rayner entered the cobwebbed vestibule, Rayner stumbled against the banister. It collapsed. Clearly, the stairs were unsafe. So they confined their explorations to the ground floor, where they found mouldy panelling, damp carpets, and mouse droppings everywhere.

But, quite obviously, the house had once been pretty. Once, this decaying ruin had been a cosy home. The latticed windows were grouped charmingly in large, light bays, and in the little parlour, some once beautiful Chinese wallpaper hung in dusty shreds. Parts of it still retained its original colour and texture. Might it be saved?

Leaving the house, Jane walked in the garden. Closing her eyes, she saw herself here in summer time, tending her roses, tying her vines, cutting flowers for the house.

Or even bending over her beehives. Netted and gloved against attack, a smoke canister ready in her hand, she watched while the gardener's boy abstracted the dripping, golden combs.

She would grow currants, she decided. Plant raspberries and gooseberries, make jams and jellies, chutneys and preserves. She would take in orphan girls, and train them to be dressmakers, or lady's maids. She might even —

‘Jane?’ Rayner touched her hand. ‘This place is derelict,’ he whispered. ‘It needs so much — ’

‘It could be repaired.’

‘But only at great expense! For what you would spend on this ruin, you could bespeak a beautiful new house.’

‘Why?’ Jane turned to him. ‘I like this one,’ she said, firmly. ‘In fact, I like it so much...’

‘I see.’ Shaking his head, Rayner smiled. For today was the first time since Ellis had died that Jane had shown any real interest in anything personal to her.

Now, however, animation brightened her sapphire–blue eyes. Now, a flush of excitement kindled her pale cheeks. ‘When were you hoping to move in?’ he enquired.

‘As soon as possible,’ Jane replied. She thought for a moment. ‘How long would repair and refurbishment take?’

‘I'll speak to George Robbins, in the office at Easton Hall.’ Catching some of his sister's enthusiasm, Rayner's dark eyes glittered, too. ‘I'll ask him to get over here first thing tomorrow, and give his opinion. But I would imagine the work could be done fairly speedily. Within three months, this place could be habitable again.’

‘Excellent!’ Jane actually smiled. ‘Then I'll speak to the reverend Mr Fowler today. I'd thought of offering him two hundred pounds. Does that seem reasonable to you?’

‘Offer him a hundred and fifty first. But look, I'll speak to him, shall I? Jane, listen!’ For, seeing Jane was about to object that she could arrange the purchase of a small house without his officious interference, Rayner placed an index finger against his sister's lips. ‘I know you are perfectly capable of negotiating with the parish priest,’ he continued. ‘But let me do this! It will distract me — and, God knows, I have as much need of distraction and employment as most men.’

On the way back to Easton Hall, Jane relapsed into silence. Obviously, she was thinking hard. ‘Choosing chintzes already?’ teased Rayner. ‘Laying down carpets, and selecting pots and pans?’

‘No. Not just yet.’ Jane turned to him. ‘Do you think of her?’ she asked. ‘Do you miss her still? If she were to come to Warwickshire — if she sought an interview, then went down on her knees and implored your forgiveness — would you take her back?’

‘No.’ Rayner shrugged. ‘What about you? If he arrived here abject and wretched, if he prostrated himself at your feet, would you pardon him?’

‘No, I would not.’

But now, brother and sister glanced away. They could not look one another in the eye without blushing the deepest of scarlets. For each knew perfectly well that the other lied.

* * * *

Rayner instructed lawyers, summoned builders, and retained a surveyor on site. Expert opinion estimated that basic repairs to the cottage, which was fortunately quite structurally sound, could be made by Easter. The place would be perfectly habitable by late May.

‘So, in the meantime, we will take a holiday,’ he declared. ‘There will be no time for you to mope or reflect,’ he added hurriedly, well aware that his sister was about to object. ‘We will be constantly on the move, so all those new sights and sounds will engage your attention continually.

‘As for the factories and the estate — we employ managers and bailiffs, do we not? They can earn their wages in earnest, while you and I are away.’

‘But where shall we go?’ demanded Jane, bemused.

‘We'll tour the West Country. We'll reconnoitre the area round about the Mendip Hills, we'll explore Somerset, and Devon — we'll maybe even go as far as Cornwall, if we choose.’

‘How will we travel? Post?’

‘Post? Certainly not!’ Rayner shuddered gracefully, in patrician disgust. ‘We ourselves will take the smaller barouche, while your maid and my valet can travel with the luggage, in my father's old coach.’ Shaking his head, Rayner grinned. ‘They should enjoy that.’

‘But if we take two carriages, and two sets of horses, our expenses will be great.’

‘No matter.’ Rayner grimaced, in fastidious distaste. ‘I have a horror of sharing my travelling accomodation with servants. One can hold no intimate conversations, nor even relax in comfort, with their great, lubberly feet planted in one's way.

‘Now, I have made a study of the country through which we shall pass. The roads vary from quite dreadful to tolerable enough. Bearing this in mind, I thought that instead of travelling through Gloucestershire, we could go down the Wye Valley and cross the Severn at Newport. Thus, we might explore the Vale of Glamorgan en route. We could visit some parks and gardens in Monmouthshire and South Wales.’

‘South Wales?’ Jane met her brother's eyes. ‘Would that be such a good idea?’ she enquired, somewhat doubtfully.

‘Well — I know you would not wish to encounter a certain person on your travels. No more would I! So, we shall not be calling on Mr Morgan and his family, of that you may be perfectly sure.’

‘All the same — ’

‘Jane, I will not have my pleasures circumscribed by anyone! Let alone by the likes of him!’

‘But — ’

‘My dear sister, listen to me. When Mama died, and my father was so distracted that we had fears for his sanity, I took it upon myself to write the usual letters. Then I cleared out my mother's desk, and also wrote to everyone with whom she had corresponded within the previous five years.

‘A Mr Lloyd of Pontypool was among those correspondents. He wrote me the most charming letter in reply to mine. Apparently, he was quite devoted to Mama. More to the present purpose, however, he extended a cordial invitation to her children to call upon him, at any convenient time.

‘If you look over the maps, you will observe that Pontypool is very well placed for a break in our journey. I propose to write to Mr Lloyd, and ask him to give us shelter for a day or two, before we take the ferry to Avonmouth or Portishead.’

‘I see.’ Looking at the maps and plans which littered Rayner's desk, Jane saw her brother was quite right. Pontypool would indeed be a convenient half way house. ‘Very well,’ she agreed.

To Pontypool, therefore, they would go.