Dorothy Elbury - The Officer and the Lady

At first glance there appeared to be nothing amiss with either of his legs, since they were both encased in the strapped knee-high leather boots that were common wear among countrymen. In fact, it was not until the sound of Beresford’s approaching footsteps caused the young man to hurriedly lay aside the coach lamp he had been polishing and scramble awkwardly to his feet that Beresford realised that he was having to support his weight with a stick.

He motioned the young Chadwick to return to his seat, ignoring the discomfited flush that covered his face. Both men were well aware that it was normal practice for an employee to remain standing in his master’s presence but, in this instance, Beresford was disposed to do away with protocol and, catching sight of the wooden bench beside Chadwick’s chair, sat himself next to the young man.

‘My name is Beresford,’ he announced, somewhat unnecessarily, since his identity was hardly in question. ‘May I take it that you are Ben Chadwick?’

‘At your service, Mr Beresford,’ the young man faltered. ‘Was it my father you were seeking?’

‘In a moment, Ben,’ said Beresford pleasantly. ‘I thought I would have a few words with you first, if I may?’

Ben nodded in surprise. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘I could not help but notice that, although you are fully booted, you are not able to bear your weight on your right leg. I imagine your injury still causes you a great deal of discomfort?’

‘It is improving daily, sir,’ came Ben’s flustered reply. ‘I pack the boot with clean rags but, after a while, there is a certain amount of friction which makes long-distance walking impossible at the moment—I try to make myself useful in other ways though,’ he added, defensively. ‘I do the milking and keep all the tools and tackle in order.’

‘Pray do no think that I am criticising you, Ben—far from it,’ Beresford assured him. ‘I merely wanted to assure myself that you had received the full benefit of all available medical treatment—I understand that it is possible to have special surgical footwear fitted, for instance.’

‘Somewhat costly for a man in my position, sir,’ said the young man with a grim smile. ‘I dare say that that sort of treatment is probably considered to be standard procedure for the likes of Lord Uxbridge and his ilk, but, seeing as it takes Father all his time to cater for our basic necessities, I think the last thing he needs is me badgering him for fripperies of that sort!’

Beresford regarded him seriously for a moment or two. ‘I understand that you were a lieutenant with the 7th Light? Can you still mount a horse?’

‘Aye, that I can do, sir,’ affirmed Ben, adding bitterly. ‘Not that I get much chance to ride these days, if Wentworth has anything to do with it.’

‘Well, I am happy to inform you that you need no longer concern yourself with that particular problem,’ Beresford replied, rising to his feet. ‘In fact, that is mainly what I wanted to speak to your father about—is he within?’

Ben directed him to the rear of the farmhouse where he found Chadwick senior tending vegetables in the kitchen garden. Eyeing the displaced manager’s activities with considerable interest, Beresford was surprised to see that Ben’s father was far more agile than Wentworth had given him to suppose.

At Beresford’s approach, the elderly man straightened up, took a kerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands.

‘Welcome to Thornfield, Mr Beresford. Miss Priestley informed me of your arrival.’

The man’s well-modulated manner of speech made it quite clear to Beresford that both Chadwick and his son had been the recipients of a good education and, on an impulse, he reached out and grasped Chadwick firmly by the hand.

‘Miss Priestley has been informing me of quite a few things too, Chadwick,’ he told him. ‘It seems that we have something of a problem on our hands.’

‘Perhaps we had better go inside, sir,’ the man replied carefully and, ushering his visitor into his neat little parlour, he motioned him to take a seat.

‘How the devil did this Wentworth manage to get such an upper hand here?’ demanded Beresford, as soon as Chadwick had sat down. ‘And, more to the point, what on earth possessed my father to appoint him over you?’

‘As a matter of fact, he did no such thing!’ replied Chadwick, with a sigh. ‘Wentworth was originally taken on as head gamekeeper, shortly before my dear wife was struck down with an inflammation of the lung and, since Sir Matthew was adamant that I should spend the greater part of my working day with her, he was obliged to hand over a good many of my outside duties to Wentworth. Sadly, my wife did not recover from her illness and…’ He paused momentarily and passed his hand across his eyes. ‘For several weeks I was somewhat—how shall I put it—distracted.’

Although Beresford gave a sympathetic nod at Chadwick’s attempt to conceal his natural distress, his mind was reeling in disbelief at hearing of this new and totally unexpected facet of his father’s complex personality.

‘I had hardly begun to take up the reins again,’ the man went on, ‘when I was notified of my son’s battle injury and impending arrival. This, of course, necessitated me travelling down to Harwich to collect him. By the time we returned, Sir Matthew had suffered his heart attack and Wentworth was already beginning to make his presence felt and, although I expressed my concern to Miss Priestley, I confess that I was too preoccupied with my son’s welfare to do anything about it.’

‘Which was perfectly understandable, in the circumstances,’ Beresford assured him. ‘What can you tell me about my father’s death? He had a heart attack, you say?’

Chadwick nodded. ‘For some time his doctor had suspected that Sir Matthew suffered from an abnormal pressure of the blood and had been bleeding him regularly during the weeks preceding his death. I understand that he had just returned from his usual morning ride when it occurred. Apparently, Wentworth found him lying in the yard next to his mount but, by the time he had raised the alarm, your poor father had expired!’

The discovery that Chadwick actually seemed to mourn his father’s death stirred Beresford’s curiosity. ‘Do I take it that you were quite happy to be in my father’s employ?’ he asked.

‘After almost twenty years it would be surprising if Sir Matthew and I had not managed to reach some sort of an understanding,’ replied Chadwick cautiously. ‘And, if I may say so, I am surprised that you should consider it necessary to ask such a question! Those of us who chose to remain in his service for so many years would soon have sought alternative employment had he not been a just employer, I can assure you!’

‘I rather seemed to get the impression that certain members of his family were somewhat less than enamoured of him,’ returned Beresford drily.

Chadwick eyed him thoughtfully. ‘There is some truth in what you say, Mr Beresford,’ he admitted. ‘Sir Matthew had a very short temper and he was not one to suffer fools gladly. Some might say that he was a hard taskmaster but, over the years, I discovered that it was simply a downright refusal to accept slipshod work or any form of incompetence or ineptitude. However, so long as one performed one’s job well, one would eventually earn his respect—Miss Priestley will vouch for that!’

Beresford was silent. Having, for so many years, harboured such strong feelings of anger and resentment towards his father, he now found himself in something of a quandary as to understanding the real nature of the man and, as he was forced to remind himself, with very little likelihood of discovering the truth behind the enigma.