A Civil Contract

Chapter XIII

five days later, Adam left London for Lincolnshire, promising to return within a week. He did not ask Jenny to accompany him, nor did she suggest it. He told her that he was going on business connected with the estate; and she answered that he must not think himself bound to hurry back to town if it should prove to be inconvenient to do so. He said: “I won’t fail you! Isn’t there a rout-party looming, or some such thing?”

“Oh, yes, but it’s of no consequence! If you should still be away I can very well go with Lady Oversley.” She added, with a gleam of humour: “I must learn to go to parties without you or we shall have people saying that we are quite Gothic. I expect I ought to set up a — what do you call it? — cicisbeo!”

“Not if it would mean my tripping over him every time I entered the house!”

She laughed. “No fear of that! Though I did once have an admirer. He thought me an excellent housekeeper.”

“A dull fellow! But I must own I think so too.”

She grew instantly pink. “Do you? I’m glad.”

It seemed to him pathetic that she should be pleased by such a mild tribute; he tried to think of something else to say, but she forestalled him, turning the conversation away from herself by asking if she should send the necessary order to the stables, or if he preferred to do it himself.

“No orders,” he said. “I’m going down by the Mail.”

“But — When we have our own chaise, and the boys — perfectly idle, tool — and the Mail won’t carry you to Fontley itself!”

“No, it will set me down at Market Deeping, where Felpham will meet me with the phaeton. As for the postilions, I must own I think it ridiculous to keep them kicking their heels at your expense. Does your father insist on their employment? Why don’t you turn them off?”

“They need not kick their heels,” she said. “They are not here only to serve me. That’s not as Papa meant it to be when he engaged them for us.”

“Well, they will serve me as well as you when I take you to Fontley later on.” He saw her compress her lips, and said, after a moment’s hesitation: “Leave me some little independence, Jenny! I don’t question your expenditure, or wish you to forgo any luxury, but you mustn’t expect me to waste your father’s money on personal extravagance. Don’t look so troubled! there’s no hardship in travelling by the Mail, I assure you!”

“No, but — Your father did not do so, did he?”

“My father conducted himself as though he were as wealthy as yours. His example is not one I mean to follow — even if I wished to, which, believe me, I don’t! It really wouldn’t make me happy to live en prince, as he did, and as you, I think, would like me to.”

“You must do as you wish,” she said, in a subdued tone.

He did not pursue the subject. The ice was too thin, nor did he feel able to make her understand what he could not explain even to himself. His personal thrift was illogical: to travel in a public conveyance, to drive his father’s curricle in preference to the glossy new one provided for him, to make no unnecessary purchases, gave him only the illusion of independence. He knew it, but in the middle of the luxury that surrounded and stifled him he clung obstinately to his economies.

It was a relief to escape from the splendour of the house in Grosvenor Street, to be alone, to be going home; it was even a relief, when he reached Fontley, to see a worn carpet, faded chintz, a chair covered in brocade so old that it would rip at a touch. There were no modern conveniences, no mirrored bathrooms, no Patent Oil Lamps, no Improved Closed Stoves in the kitchen: water was pumped into the scullery, heated in an enormous copper, and carried in cans to the bedchambers; all the rooms, except the kitchen, where an old-fashioned oil-lamp hung, and blackened the ceiling with its fumes, were candle-lit. The house in Grosvenor Street blazed with light, for Mr Chawleigh had installed oil-lamps even in the bedrooms; but at Fontley, unless the candles were lit in all the wall-sconces, there were miles of dim passages, and one carried a single candle up to bed, guarding its flame from the draughts.

The Dowager had tried for years to induce the Fifth Viscount to renovate Fontley, asserting, with truth, that its shabbiness was a disgrace; and when he had returned to it from the Peninsula Adam had heartily agreed with her; but, escaping from the cushioned splendour of the town house, all the inconveniences of Fontley seemed to him admirable, and he would have received with hostility even a suggestion that the frayed rug in which he caught his heel should be replaced. He did not quite acknowledge it, but in his mind was a jealous determination never to allow Chawleigh-hands to touch his home; shabbiness would not destroy its charm; Chawleigh-gold would destroy it overnight.

But his acceptance of decay did not extend to his land. Here he wanted every modem improvement he could get. He might indulge foolish sentiment over a torn rug; he had none to waste on an ill-drained field, an outdated plough, or a labourer’s cottage falling to ruin; and had Mr Chawleigh shared his love of the land he might have been willing to admit him into some sort of a partnership, overcoming his pride for the sake of his acres. But Mr Chawleigh, fascinated by mechanical contrivances, had no interest in agriculture. Born in a back-slum, of town-bred ancestry, there was no tradition of farming behind him, and no inherited love of the soil. How anyone could wish to live anywhere but in London was a matter passing his comprehension, but he knew that the nobs (as he phrased it) possessed country estates, and since an estate added greatly to a nob’s consequence Adam’s value in his eyes had been considerably enhanced when he had learnt from Lord Oversley that he was the owner of a large one in Lincolnshire, and of a mansion which figured in every Guide Book to the county. Lord Oversley spoke reverently of Fontley. Mr Chawleigh had no great opinion of antiquity, but he knew that the nobs set store by it, so it was obviously desirable that Jenny should become the mistress of an ancient country seat. In his view, this meant a palatial residence, set in extensive gardens, with such embellishments as ornamental water, statuary, and Grecian temples, the whole being surrounded by a park. Had he considered the matter, he would have supposed that a farm to supply the needs of the household would be attached to the mansion; but that the owner should concern himself with its management he would have thought absurd, and even improper. As for the rest of the estate, he knew that in an agricultural district this must consist largely of farms, which were let out to tenants, and from which the overlord drew a large part of his subsistence. In his opinion, it was a poor source of revenue. No one was going to make Mr Chawleigh believe that there were fortunes to be made in farming: as far as he could see, it was as chancy a business as speculating on ’Change. In any event, it was not for the overlord to meddle in such matters: whatever had to be done was done by his agent. “Gentlemen,” said Mr Chawleigh, like another before him, “have no right to be farmers.”

William Sidford, bailiff, was not quite sure, either, that he approved of Adam’s interest in what had never interested his volatile parent, although he had welcomed the advent of a master who not only listened to what he had to say, but who seemed to understand that only ruin could result from wresting every penny it would yield out of the land, and ploughing not one penny back into it. He had felt hopeful, at first, of being able to check the rot he had been deploring for years; but after spending the better part of four days in the Sixth Viscount’s company he was attacked by qualms. His new master was chuck-full of modern ideas, which he had got out of books. William Sidford had no time to waste on books, and he approached new theories with extreme caution, since it stood to reason that what had been good enough for his father and his grandfather must be good enough for him. Not that he was an enemy to progress: when my lord talked of road-making, under-draining, and embanking, he was heartily in agreement with him; and he was by no means averse from adopting the Four-Course System. But when my lord began to talk about Tull’s Drill, and such new crops as swedes and mangel-wurzels, it became apparent to him that it was his duty to check him. Such notions might answer: he didn’t say they wouldn’t, nor that the Tullian Method wasn’t a good one; but one thing he could tell his lordship, and that was that he wouldn’t find the Tullian Method in general use amongst those who might be supposed to know their business. Having been accustomed all his life to see fields that were luxuriant in summer barren, and often flooded, in winter, he found it difficult to adjust his mind to my lord’s ideas: winter crops were certainly desirable, but it would cost a mint of money to make it possible to grow them; and as for the enclosures my lord talked about, he didn’t know, he was sure, but he had heard it said that enclosures made for poor lean people.

“But, according to what I have read,” said Adam, “it is rather the open field system that does that, because it means winter idleness, with no hedges to plash, ditches to scour, draining to maintain, or drilled crops to keep clean.” He added, as William Sidford looked doubtful: “You’ve told me — and I’ve seen for myself — that there’s much distress amongst the farm labourers.”

“That’s so, my lord, but it’s on account of the low prices. I disremember when the times were so sickly,” Sidford said. “By what I’m hearing, there’s upwards of two hundred country banks have stopped payment — like they did a matter of twenty years ago.”

These last words were charged with significance, and referred, as Adam realized, to the financial crash of ‘93, in which the Fifth Viscount had been disastrously involved. It was plain that William Sidford thought the time ill-chosen for unnecessary expenditure. He began to grumble about the Corn Laws, and the Property Tax, but to deaf ears. Adam interrupted him suddenly, saying: “Wasn’t my grandfather very friendly with Mr Coke of Norfolk? Would he be willing to advise me, I wonder?”

William Sidford could advance no opinion, but none was expected, the question having been rhetorical. Adam brought the conference to an end, saying, with a smile; “I’m woefully ignorant, am I not? I must go to school again. In the meantime, set in hand, if you please, the work upon which weare agreed.”

William Sidford left him to the task of composing a letter to Mr Coke. Mistrusting the cross-country mails, he sent it by the hand of one of his grooms. It was productive of an instant response: Mr Coke held the Fourth Viscount’s memory in affection, and would be happy to advise his present lordship to the best of his ability. He suggested that Adam should honour him with a visit to Holkham immediately, if that should be convenient to him. Detecting the cordiality underlying the formality of Mr Coke’s reply, Adam decided to take him at his word. He despatched a brief note to Jenny, informing her that his return to town would be a trifle delayed; and set out for Norfolk.

The apprehensions natural to a modest young man thrusting himself upon the notice of his grandfather’s old friend were instantly overcome by the warmth of Mr Coke’s welcome. Mr Coke, living in the inherited splendour of Holkham, was a shrewd man of simple tastes and forthright disposition. He had succeeded to the property of his noble kinsman, Lord Leicester, on the distaff side, and instead of scheming to get the Earldom revived, he had applied himself to the task of improving and developing a large estate whose rent-roll amounted to no more than two thousand guineas. Today, rather less than forty years later, it more nearly approached the sum of twenty thousand pounds, and the handsome young man of whom no one had heard had for long been a power in the land. He had never made the least push to get the title revived: he was content to be Mr Coke of Norfolk, and neither his wealth nor his unchallenged supremacy in the agricultural world altered his kindly, unpretentious character. He entertained all sorts at Holkham, from Royal Dukes to quite insignificant persons, and treated everyone alike, without ceremony, but with a genuine desire to make his guests comfortable. In this he was ably seconded by his youngest daughter, who kept house for him. Within a very few minutes of having his hand warmly grasped, and a likeness traced in his countenance to his grandfather, Adam felt at home, and by the time he had spent an evening in his host’s company he found himself able not only to ask for advice but to take Mr Coke far more deeply into his confidence than he would previously have believed to be possible.

The problems besetting him in the Lincolnshire fens were not precisely those which had confronted Mr Coke in Norfolk, but Mr Coke’s knowledge was not confined to the conditions of his own county. He gave Adam wise counsel, conducted him over his own experimental farm, and patiently instructed him in the intricacies of successful agriculture. When Adam left Holkham, he carried with him, besides a sheaf of notes, a head crammed with so much information that he felt slightly dazed. It would take time to assimilate all he had learnt: meanwhile, one fact only stood out clearly: to restore his acres to prosperity would entail the expenditure of far more money than he could hope to raise.

He reached London late one evening, and in a conscience-stricken mood, having overstayed what he felt to have been his leave of absence by a full week. He found Jenny in the drawing-room, at work on one of her chair-covers, and paused on the threshold with such an expression of apprehensive guilt on his face that she burst out laughing, and exclaimed: “Oh, you look just like a naughty little boy found out in mischief! How can you be so absurd?”

He laughed too, but said, as he came across the room to bend over her and kiss her cheek: “Well, that’s precisely what I feel I am! I beg your pardon, Jenny: it was infamous of me! Didn’t I promise I’d come home to go with you to some party or another?”

“Yes, but I told you it was of no consequence: I went with Lady Oversley.”

“You are a great deal too forgiving. An agreeable party?”

“Yes, very. Naldi sang, and I met an old acquaintance there — a girl that was at school with me, and is married now to a Mr Usselby.” Her eyes narrowed in amusement. “I couldn’t but laugh inside myself! I’ve never clapped eyes on her since she left Miss Satterleigh’s, but you’d hardly believe how enchanted she was to meet me again, now that I’m Lady Lynton!”

“What an odious female! I hope you gave her a set-down?”

“Oh, no! Why should I? I’m sure it wasn’t to be wondered at,” she responded. Her eyelids lifted as the butler came in, bearing the massive silver tea-tray. This was set down on a table before her, and, having satisfied herself that a plate of freshly-made macaroons stood upon it, she nodded dismissal, and began to make the tea.

“How comfortable this is!” Adam remarked, sinking into a chair. “I thought you must have had tea more than an hour ago, and had quite made up my mind to it that I should get none — for I shouldn’t have dared to ask for it, after my abominable perfidy!”

“Well, what a notion to take into your head!” she said. “As though you might not have tea whenever you chose to call for it in your own house! Oh, you’re joking me, are you? I have a very good mind to hide the macaroons from you!”

“Not my favourite macaroons as well?” he exclaimed. “Jenny, that’s coals of fire! What made you think I should arrive tonight? Or is it just a lucky chance?”

She did not tell him that she had given orders for macaroons to be made every day, but only smiled, handing him the plate, and asked him if his business at Fontley had prospered.

“Well, not entirely, perhaps — but never mind that! I went on to Holkham, you know. I wished you had been with me: you’d have liked it, I think. They are the kindest people. Just Mr Coke, and his daughter: a very unaffected, intelligent girl. I was charged with all sorts of civil messages for you, and pledged myself to take you there for the Holkham Clippings, in August. Ah! I’ve had no tea like this since I left town! You don’t know how often I’ve yearned for it! Exactly as it should be! Thank you! Tell me what you have been doing since I left you! Not drudging over that stitchery all the time, I do trust?”

“Oh, dear me, no!” she responded. “I have been going about a great deal, I promise you. besides receiving more morning-callers than I looked for.” She paused, longing for the courage to ask him what had been engaging his time at Fontley. He enquired, instead, who had been her morning-callers. Her countenance betrayed neither hurt nor chagrin; tacitly accepting his reserve, she began to enumerate her visitors, adding one or two caustic comments which made him laugh.

He was glad to discover from her account of her activities that she seemed to be finding her feet in society. She had attended several parties, visited an exhibition, driven in the Park with one of her new acquaintances, and had even ventured to invite the Adversanes to go with her to the Opera, though not without misgiving. “But Brough told me they don’t rent a box, and it seemed a shame ours should be standing empty, when it was Alceste, which Lady Adversane was particularly wishful to hear, so I plucked up my courage, and asked her if she would be so kind as to go with me. She didn’t take it amiss, so I was glad I’d done it.”

“I expect she was very much obliged to you. It comes as news to me, however, that we rent a box at the Opera House. What do we pay for it? Or don’t we?”

Her colour rushed up; she cast him a wary glance, faltering: “Papa thought — It was a present for me, because he knows I’m fond of music. I’m sorry!”

“Why should you be? It’s I who owe you an apology: I ought to have attended to the matter — but I expect your box would be rather above my touch! I believe one is obliged to pay four hundred guineas for a quite inferior box, which I feel sure yours is not.”

She was silent, her face wearing a wooden look which he had come to recognize as a sign of discomfiture. His own colour rose; ashamed of having allowed his temper to ride him, he said penitently: “Now I do owe you an apology! Forgive me — or give me a trimming! Why don’t you? I certainly deserve that you should!” She gave him instead a tiny shake of the head, and a tremulous smile. He said, with quick compassion: “My poor dear, you’re too patient, and will soon have the devil of a husband on your hands if you don’t take care! So you went to the Opera, and enjoyed it, I hope. What else?”

It was a moment before she could recover her balance, but she managed to do it, and to respond, with a little chuckle: “Well, I went with Mrs Usselby to a lecture by the Memory Man!”

“The what?”

“Memory Man — I’ve forgotten his name, but he is all the crack, I promise you! He teaches one how to remember everything, by supposing rooms with compartments — fifty to each room! Someone said he had reached the seventeenth room, but a Mr Frampton, who came up after the lecture to talk to Mrs Usselby, said he would wager he would be in a puzzle if he were asked to say what was in the forty-seventh compartment! I don’t think there’s anything more to tell you — except about the Peace Celebrations. There’s a great deal of what your Aunt Nassington calls tracasserie about the White’s Club ball, because by some means or another the Princess of Wales has contrived to obtain tickets for it, and the Prince Regent declares he won’t go to it if she does. I don’t know how it will be, or what the truth is, and I don’t believe anyone does, for everyone has a different story to tell about it!” She paused, drew a breath, and said, with a slight effort: “The civic banquet is fixed for the 18th. I don’t know if you recall — if you would wish — ”

He came to her rescue, anxious to make amends for his previous ill-humour. “Yes, to be sure I do. You were so kind as to invite Lydia to town to see all the lions go in procession to be fed. I think you said your father could procure a window for us. Has he done so? Lydia will be thrown into transports!”

“Well, she is!” Jenny disclosed, thankful to have cleared this fence, and speaking in a far more relaxed tone. “If only your mama will consent to let her come to us! I had a letter from Lydia yesterday. It seems they are pretty well established in the new house, so that there’s no reason why Lydia can’t be spared for a few weeks — particularly as she says your mama has met an old acquaintance with whom she is so excessively pleased that she talks of inviting her to stay in Camden Place, to bear her company. Apparently, she is living in straitened circumstances, and — and — ”

“Toadeats Mama?” he interpolated.

“Well, that’s what Lydia says,” Jenny admitted. “In fact, she says Mrs Papworth is a Mrs Quarley-Bix — but that I don’t at all believe.”

“Good God, I hope not! So Lydia comes to us?”

“I do hope she may, but she says that Lady Lynton has certain scruples — not liking the notion of Lydia’s travelling without a proper escort, and not being able to spare Miss Poolstock to go with her.”

“I’d give much to read Lydia’s account of this!” he commented.

She laughed, but shook her head. “No, she didn’t say I might show it to you. so I shan’t. And I’m sure it is very natural that Lady Lynton should he anxious. The thing is, couldn’t we send Martha, in our own chaise, to fetch her? Do you think it would answer?”

“What I think is that is nothing more nor less than a piece of fudge!” he replied impatiently. “As for your sending Martha, nonsense! Pray, why should you be expected to spare your dresser?”

“But I’m not expected to,” she argued. “It’s quite my own notion. I perfectly understand your mama’s feelings — for the maid that waits on Lydia is far too young to answer the purpose, you know.”

“I don’t — and nor do I know why a young maid won’t serve as well as an older one for such a simple journey. If Lydia were obliged to spend a night on the road it would be another matter, but it’s no such thing. Send your chaise, if you wish (though that’s nonsensical tool), but certainly not Martha!”

She said submissively: “I won’t, if you forbid me, but I wish you won’t! I’m afraid Lady Lynton won’t let Lydia come to us otherwise, and only think how disappointing! I should like so much to have her with me: indeed, I’ve been making all sorts of schemes!”

He was as much pleased as surprised. “Do you really wish it? You’re sure she won’t be a charge on you?”

“A charge on me! I should think not indeed! It will be the most delightful thing imaginable, to have her company, and to take her to see the sights! Do, pray, let me offer to send Martha!”

“If you really wish to, of course, but I think it by far too good-natured of you, and I don’t care to see you imposed on in such a way.”

“Well, what a thing to say!” she exclaimed. “As though your mama would dream of doing so! I’ll write to her immediately. She saw Martha when we were at Fontley, so she will know that Lydia will be perfectly safe in her care.”

She was mistaken. The Dowager, replying with the utmost graciousness to her letter, could not reconcile it with her conscience to permit her young and inexperienced daughter to face the hazards of travel without male protection. Only a Mother, she added, could enter into her sentiments,, or appreciate how much it cost her to be obliged to deny her dearest child the offered treat.

“Upon my word!” exclaimed Adam, handed this missive to read. “Mama playing off her tricks! Depend upon it, this is nothing more nor less than a determination to keep Lydia dancing attendance on her. It is too bad! Now what’s to be done? Am I to go down to Bath to fetch her? Is that what you wish?”

“Would you do so?” Jenny asked diffidently.

“Yes, I suppose so. What a bore! Very well, I’ll contrive to go somehow or other — though when I’m to find the time I don’t know! I’m to take my seat on Tuesday, and we seem to have a host of engagements besides. Don’t tell Mama I mean to fetch Lydia! No doubt it will be best to take her by surprise.”

In the event the Dowager was taken more by surprise than Adam had foreseen. Mr Chawleigh took a hand in the affair.

Mr Chawleigh, according the plan for Lydia’s entertainment his approval, had been following the progress of events with great interest. He saw nothing but what was praiseworthy in the Dowager’s scruples; and when what seemed to him a very easy way out of the difficulty presented itself he seized upon it, delighted to be given the chance of enacting Providence. Adam came home one afternoon to be confronted by a stricken bride, who raised apprehensive eyes to his face, and faltered: “Adam, I must tell you! I didn’t know — I never meant — I’m afraid you’ll be vexed, but indeed I couldn’t help it!”

He put up his brows enquiringly. “Shall I? Try me!”

“It’s — it’s Papa!” she blurted out. “He has gone to fetch Lydia from Bath!” She saw the look of astonishment in his face, and hurried on: “He sent a note round to me by one of his clerks, just as he was leaving town, so I couldn’t stop him! It seems he has to go to Bristol on business, and he wrote to say you needn’t be in a worry how to find time to fetch Lydia, because he means to return by way of Bath, and will bring her up to town himself. He doesn’t understand — that is, he only wishes to be helpful, Adam!”

She ended on a note of entreaty, dreading his displeasure. There was a moment’s silence, while he struggled with his emotions. They were too strong: he gave a gasp, and burst into laughter.

She had only the dimmest perception of what made him laugh, for she was not quick to perceive the ridiculous, and she was not assailed, as he was, by a vision of Mr Chawleigh’s descent upon the house in Camden Place; but she was too thankful that he was amused rather than vexed to care for the cause of his mirth. She smiled doubtfully at him, and said: “It’s one of his surprises. I told you once how he loves to give one splendid surprises, didn’t I?”

“You did, Jenny, you did! Oh, if only I were there to see it!”

She considered this, and said quite seriously: “Do you think her ladyship won’t let Lydia go with him?”

“No, my love. From what I know of your father I confidently expect to see Lydia within the week!” he replied, in a shaking voice.