Andrew Wareham - The Death of Hope

“Good milk, sir.”

Neither lady nor Mr Baker were in the habit of drinking goat’s milk. The gardener was much in favour – it left more for him and his family.

Inspection disclosed a small rowing dinghy with a pair of oars forlorn in the middle of the boathouse.

“Might be you would want to buy a yacht, Miss Primrose.”

“I think that decision might be left to Richard, sir. I do not know if he is still of a nautical mind.”

They looked out over the little harbour, one small coaster all that was present.

“The fishing boats will be out, I must imagine, Mr Baker.”

“Don’t think there are many, Miss Primrose. From what the lawyer told me, they are distant from the best grounds. Might have a few local crabbers, not much else. The ship will carry grain, I would think, though not much at this time of year. Fertiliser perhaps, though most of the potash is going to munitions these days. House coal in bags, perhaps. Timber for building. Always a call for cement, I suppose. I do not know much of the local trade, Miss Primrose.”

It was considerably more than she did.

Mr Baker suddenly stood square, pulling himself up straight to perform an unpleasant duty. Primrose wondered what he had done, what he was to confess.

“I do ‘ave to say, Miss Primrose, as what I ‘as gone further than what I said.”

She noticed that his carefully learnt English crumbled under stress.

“What have you done that is so very awful, sir?”

She smiled her best, to his delight.

“Knew it wouldn’t be so bad, Miss Primrose. Thing is, the house comes with a farm, the two sold together and the seller not willing to split them up – you takes the one, you gets the t’other, you might say. His lawyer says as how it’s because there ain’t no farmhouse for a freeholder to live in. Ends up, Miss Primrose, as how there’s the better part of five hundred acres besides!”

“That is a lot of land, sir.”

“Well… It is and it ain’t, you might say. It ain’t big enough to make a man a good living and it’s too big to be a smallholding, and nowhere to sell eggs and vegetables and stuff anyhow. So, it ain’t neither one thing nor another. That was why, I think, they had trouble selling the place so that it came to me as a bit of a windfall which was why I bought bigger than I was going to for costing much the same.”

She considered that last sentence at some length, decided it made sense.

“So, we have five hundred acres of wheat fields, Mr Baker.”

“No, Miss Primrose, not as such, for most of it not being land as will go down to wheat. Pasturelands, the bulk of it, down along the side of the sea and the creek. From what the lawyer said, no more than fifty acres of grainland, and that mostly better for barley in these parts, for going down to the brewery at Fakenham what buys it.”

Primrose summoned her slight knowledge of agriculture.

“Cattle or sheep, sir?”

“Beef cattle, was what the man told me.”

She suspected that neither she nor Richard would be in the way of herding cattle.

“I expect there will be a local man will pay a rent for use of the acres, Mr Baker. If not, well we can keep a horse or two and perhaps a little dairy herd. Are there cottages to the rear?”

“Six of them, little places, Miss Primrose. The Belgians has got three of them just now. Staff quarters up in the attics as well. Plenty of space for a groom and a cowman, if you wanted such.”

Neither considered the cost of running the land for pleasure – it would be insignificant, they were sure.

They came away satisfied, assuring the Belgians that they would take up residence as soon as the war permitted a wedding.

“Colonel Baker will come home for a few months at some time, I do not doubt, Bouchard. He will be needed to train another battalion, or something, no doubt. When he does, we shall be wed and I will come here to live.”

They hoped it might be so, and soon.

“I wish to ask for your daughter’s hand, sir.”

Simon had sought an interview with the elder Parrett soon after arriving at the mansion. His request had been expected and was most welcome.

“I had hoped you might, Captain Sturton. I have no doubt that Alice will delight in your proposal. So do I. You will be a most welcome member of the family. I have an idea of your financial standing, naturally, having some slight acquaintance with the City. Form demands that I must ascertain that you can support my daughter.”

They laughed together.

Simon dropped into the little speech he had prepared.

“I am heir to the Perceval viscountcy, as you know, sir. I am also sole legatee. My uncle assures me that all of his money will come to me. As an exact sum? I do not know. I suspect we are talking in excess of the million. There will be almost no land – a house in Kent with a few acres of park and perhaps a small farm, sufficient for ponies. We have broken the entail and are in process of selling almost all of the farms. The old house down in Dorset – which I have never seen – has already been taken up by the War Office.”

Parrett nodded gravely.

“Very sensible, Captain Sturton… Come now, I believe I can call you Simon, can I not?”

“With pleasure, sir. There are still those who believe in the Land, my uncle tells me. I am sure they are wrong. Farming in England will never pay for itself.”

“So my grandfather believed, Simon. He bought this house and would not touch the acres that went with it. Sold them all. Clever of him! We have prospered ever since, because we did not have the drag of farmland emptying our purses.”

They basked in the appreciation of their own wisdom.

“My income, sir, is three thousand a year plus my pay. A comfortable sum on which to keep a wife, I believe.”

“Ample, Simon. Will you hold your own house or use the property in Kent?”

“I have yet to speak to my uncle on that, sir. Whichever, I do not doubt that I can cope.”

“Agreed. Alice is a younger child, of course, will come with her bottom drawer, as they say, and some thousands, but no income of her own.”

Simon had assumed such.

“My Will leaves the bulk to my eldest son, naturally, but there will be legacies to each child, in the neighbourhood of fifty thousand. I trust they will survive to receive them. All three boys have now gone off to war.”

“Your eldest as well, sir?”

“He took a commission last month. He could not remain here in effective idleness, he said. To an extent he is right – having no land is a benefit but leads to a lack of occupation for us. I use managers in the City, as you know, so there was nothing for George to do in the ordinary way of things. No difficulty in time of peace – London close to hand, he keeps rooms in Town and occupies himself as any young man of leisure might, sport and clubs and such. With the nation at war, he found he could not remain at home. The more so, of course, for his youngest brother, your ‘Polly’, distinguishing himself as he has done. Your much decorated presence is also something of an embarrassment, as you will appreciate. His second brother is in the Trenches now. He could not stay at home.”

“Which regiment has he joined?”

“The Suffolks. Our own county regiment, as is right. I believe he sailed from Dover yesterday. Six weeks at the depot learning the ropes is normal for a young second lieutenant.”

The word was that the life expectancy of new lieutenants was measured in weeks. Perhaps one half died in their first month of service in the Trenches. Those who survived the baptism seemed to last a long time, or so it was hoped.

There was nothing to say.

“Have you heard from Polly, sir?”