Meridon

29

Lady Clara had told me that I was fit for London society and I had doubted her when every move I made in Sussex was somehow subtly wrong. But once we were in London she criticized me very little, and I remembered with a wry smile how Robert Gower would never criticize a performance in the ring. It was the rehearsals where he was an inveterate taskmaster. In the ring he smiled encouragement.

Lady Clara was like that, and my life in London was like one long performance where I showed the tricks she had taught me and relied on her to skim over the errors I made. She covered for me wonderfully. When a young lady went to the piano to play and turned to me and said, ‘Do you sing, Miss Lacey?’ it was Lady Clara who said that I was training with one of the best masters and he insisted that I rest my voice between lessons.

They all nodded with a great deal of respect at that, and only the young lady at the piano looked at all put out.

Dancing I was excused until we had been to Almacks, some sort of club where I should dance my first dance with Perry.

Sketches were loaned to me from the schoolroom and Lady Clara insisted that I squiggle my initials at the foot of them, and had them framed. They attracted much praise and I thought my modesty was particularly becoming. The embroidery which was cobbled together by the governess in the schoolroom as an extra unpaid duty I left scattered around the drawing room, and Lady Clara would sweetly scold me in front of visitors for not putting it away. My flower arrangements were done by one of the parlourmaids who had once been apprenticed to a flower-seller. Only my horse riding and my card-playing were entirely my own and they were skills from my old life.

‘Far too good for a young lady,’ Lady Clara said. She wanted me to ride a quiet lady’s mount and offered me a bay from her stables. But I held true to Sea and she sent down to Sussex for him. The stables were around the back of the house, down a cobbled street. Some afternoons, when Lady Clara was resting, I would wear a hat with a veil pulled down and sneak round to the stables to see him. I was not supposed to walk out without a footman, the horses should be brought to the door. But I did not trust the London stable lads to keep his tack properly clean. I was not sure they were reliable about his feeds and his water. To tell the truth, I simply longed to be with him and to smell him and to touch the living warmth of him.

Lady Clara would have known within a few days what I was doing. She said nothing. I think she knew, with her cunning common sense, that there was only so much I could bear to be without. If I had to live without the land, without travelling, and without the girl who had been my constant companion since the day I was born, I had to find things which would make me feel as if I touched earth somewhere. Sea, and sometimes Perry, were the only things in London which seemed real at all.

I was allowed out riding early every morning, provided I took a groom as a chaperone and did not gallop. When the clocks were striking seven we would trot through the streets which were busy even then. Down Davies Street, across Grosvenor Square which was dusty from the building work, and along Upper Brook Street to the park where the green leaves were looking dry and tired, and some of the bushes were yellowing at their edges. Sometimes the gate-keeper at the Grosvenor Gate lodge would be up, and tip his hat to me, more often only the groom and I were the only people in the park. There were ducks silent beside the still pond, there were great flocks of pigeons which wheeled around us. One morning I heard a low rushing creaky noise and looked up to see a pair of white swans circling the water and landing with a great green bow-wave of stagnant water cresting against their broad white breasts.

On Wideacre at this time of year I thought the berries would be very bright and ripe in the bushes. The nuts would be in thick clusters on the trees. In the London park there was fruiting and nutting going on, but it seemed more like a diversion. It hardly seemed a matter of hunger, of life or death. The squirrels in the trees and the ducks by the reservoir seemed like stuffed pets, not like live hungry animals.

The groom rode behind me at half a dozen paces, but I was as aware of him watching me as if he had been a gaol keeper. Sea longed for a gallop but I had to keep him on a tight rein. The noises of the city puzzled and fretted him, his ears went back all the time as we rode home through the crowded streets. When I rode him down the cobbled mews and left him in his stables I thought he looked at me reproachfully with his great dark eyes as if to say that the place he had found for us, that night when we had been quite lost, had been better than this. I would shrug as I walked home, as if I were trying to explain in my head that we had to be here. He had to live in a street filled with other stables where rich carriages and beautiful horses awaited their owners’ commands. Among all that wealth and elegance I could not understand why I did not feel triumphant. I had wanted the best, the very best. And now I had it.

Perry would never ride with me in the early mornings. He was out too late every night of the week. Sometimes he went to gambling hells, sometimes he went to cock pits or boxing rings. Once he went to a riding show and offered to take me. I said I did not want to go, that his mama would not approve of me going, and he went alone. I did not even ask him who were the riders and what tricks they did.

He did not rise until midday and would sometimes take breakfast with us dressed in a brilliant-coloured dressing gown. When his head was aching badly he would take strong black coffee cut with brandy. When he was well he would drink strong ale or wine and water. Whether he ate well, or whether his hands were shaking and his face white, his mama never seemed to notice. She read her letters, she chatted to me. One time he was swaying in his chair and I thought he might faint, but Lady Clara never said one word. She never tried to check his drinking. She seldom asked him where he had been the night before. He grew paler and paler every week of the Season, but Lady Clara seemed to see nothing but her own pretty reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece; she watched no one but me.

I met Juliet and her governess that first evening. She came downstairs to be introduced before dinner, but she did not stay to dine with her mama. She made her curtsey to me without raising her eyes, and when she was told that Perry and I were to marry and that she and I would be sisters she gave me a cold kiss on the cheek and wished me very happy.

I made no effort to get on closer terms with her. I did not want a sister.

Lady Maria arrived in a flurry of ostrich plumes the first morning after our arrival.

‘Expensive,’ her mama said coolly as she fluttered into the room. Maria kissed her and then stood back and twirled around so that Lady Clara might see the full effect of a blue velvet walking gown, blue jacket, blue hat and blue feathers with a dark fur cape thrown over the shoulders.

‘Vulgar,’ Lady Clara said simply.

Maria laughed, not at all abashed. ‘Where’s the pauper-heiress?’ she demanded.

Lady Clara frowned and affected deafness. ‘Sarah, may I present to you my daughter, Lady de Monterey. Maria this is Miss Sarah Lacey.’

Maria gave me a gloved hand and a look as cold as ice. ‘I hear you and Perry are to be married,’ she said coolly. ‘I hope you will be very happy I am sure.’

I smiled, as cold as her. ‘I am sure we will,’ I said. ‘I believe you are newly wed aren’t you? I’m sure I wish you very happy.’

We stood smiling at each other as if we had lemon slices in our mouths. Lady Clara stood back as if enjoying the spectacle.

‘How is Basil?’ she asked briskly, pulling the bell pull for morning coffee.

Maria unpinned her hat before the mirror and patted the tightly crimped blonde curls into place. She turned and made a face at her mother.

‘Just the same,’ she said. ‘Still working, working, all the time; just like a tradesman.’

‘A rather successful tradesman,’ Lady Clara said wryly. ‘He did not quibble about the price of that ball gown which you wrote to me about?’

Maria beamed. ‘I slipped it in along with a whole lot of bills from his estate,’ she said. ‘Compared to a forest of trees which he is planting I am positively paltry.’

Lady Clara smiled. ‘It would be as well not to play that trick too often,’ she warned. ‘You’ve only been married a quarter.’

The maid set the coffee tray before me and then waited to pass the cups around when I had poured them. My hand was as steady as a rock and I did not spill a drop. Lady Clara was watching me from the corner of her eyes. Maria had forgotten I was there.

‘I’m flush now,’ she said airily. ‘I had this quarter’s dress allowance and I doubled it last night playing vingt-et-un at Lady Barmain’s. I had such a run of luck, Mama, I vow you would not have believed it! Four hundred pounds I won clear! You should have seen her ladyship’s face! She was nearly sick when I rose from the tables a winner. They say she rents her house on her winnings at the table, you know. I must have cost her a month at least!’

Lady Clara laughed her sharp London laugh, and Maria told her some more gossip about people whose names I did not know, but whose vices and sorrows, drink or gambling or unfulfilled desire, were the same in high society as in a showground.

I was surprised at that. In my first month in London my greatest lesson was that there was less difference than I had seen when I had been at the bottom, the very bottom of the heap of society looking up. I had been dazzled then by the cleanliness and the food they ate, at the fineness of the gowns and the way the ladies were so dainty, and dressed so bright. But now I too was washed and fed, and could talk in a high light voice as they did. I could curtsey to the right depth, I could spread a fan and smile behind it. I could mince across a room, not stride. They were all signals, secret code-words, as impenetrable as the signs of the road which tell you where it is safe to camp and where you can poach. Once I had learned them, I had the key to a society which was the same as that of a fairground: nothing more and nothing less. They were drunkards and gamblers, wife-beaters and lovers, friends, parents and children; just the same. The greatest difference between the world of the gentry and those of the landless was just that: land. When I had been on the bottom of the heap I owned nothing and they had taught me to think the worse of myself for that. The only thing which had brought me to the top of the world was land and money, they would forgive me everything if I remained rich. I would never have got beyond the area railings if I had stayed poor.

And while I rode Sea on my lonely way in the park in the mornings, or watched dancers swirl around on the floor while the clock struck midnight and footmen yawned behind gloved hands, I recognized more and more that the wealth of the ballroom and the poverty of the farmyard were alike unjust. There was no logic to it. There was no reason. The wealthy were rich because they had won their money by fair means and foul. The poor were poor because they were too stupid, too weak, or too kindly to struggle to have more and to hold it against all challenges. Of the people I met every day, only a few had been rich for many years, the vast majority were quick-wined merchants, slavers, soldiers, sailors, farmers or traders only a generation ago. They had succeeded in the very enterprises where Da had failed. And so Da had grown poorer and more miserable, while they had grown rich.

I did not become a Jacobin with these observations! Oh no! If anything it hardened my heart to Da and those like him. It strengthened me. I was never going to fall out of the charmed circle of the rich. I was never going to be poor again. But I saw the rich clearly, as once I had not. I saw them at last as lucky adventurers in a world with few prizes.

And, by the way, for all the extravagant profits they made, the wealth they earned, not one of them worked half as hard as we had done for Robert’s show. Indeed few of them worked as hard as feckless, idle Da.

It took me only a month to see through the Quality life and thereafter I was not afraid of them. I had seen Lady Clara condemn a woman for hopeless vulgarity and cite her bad connections, and yet include her on the guest list for a party. I learned that a great many mistakes would be forgiven me if I could keep my wealth. And all the little obstacles which they liked to invent: the vouchers for Almacks, the proper costume for presentation, the sponsor at court – all these things were just pretend-obstacles to weed out those with insufficient capital or land, to challenge those who did not have enough money for three tall ostrich-plumes to be worn once, for half an hour of an evening only, to complete the formal court gown.

But I had enough money. I had enough land. And if I forgot how to hold my knife once or twice when I came across a new dish at dinner, or if I spoke a word out of place, it was quickly forgotten and forgiven to the beautiful rich Miss Lacey of Wideacre.

They thought I was beautiful, it was not just the money. It was the fine clothes, and how I rode Sea in the park. The young men liked how I walked with them, long easy strides and not the hobbled minces of usual young ladies. They called me a ‘Diana’ after some old Greek lady. They sent me housefuls of flowers and asked me to dance. One of them, actually a baronet, asked me to break my engagement with Perry and become engaged to him. He took me into a private room as he led me back from the ballroom and flung himself at my feet swearing eternal love.

I said, ‘No,’ brusquely enough and turned to leave but he jumped to his feet and grabbed me and would have kissed me. I brought my knee up sharply and I heard the hem of my gown rip before I had time to stop and think what a young lady should do. Lady Clara came spinning into the little lobby room in time to see him gasping and heaving on a sofa.

‘Sir Rupert! what is this?’ she demanded. Sir Rupert was white as a sheet and could only gasp and clutch his breeches.

Lady Clara turned on me. ‘Sarah?’ she said. ‘I saw Sir Rupert take you from the supper room, he should have brought you back to the ballroom. What are you doing here?’

‘Nothing, Lady Clara,’ I said. I was scarlet up to the eyebrows. ‘Nothing happened.’

She took me by the elbow and dragged me over to the window. ‘Sarah! Quick! Tell me what took place,’ she hissed.

‘He grabbed me and tried to kiss me,’ I said. I hesitated. I did not know how to tell her what had happened in genteel language.

‘And then?’ Lady Clara prompted urgently. ‘Sarah! The man is one of the richest gentlemen in England and he is rolling on the sofa in his mama’s house! What the devil has happened?’ She clutched my arm hard and her eyes suddenly widened. ‘Don’t say you hit him!’ she moaned.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I kneed him in the balls. He’ll recover.’

Lady Clara let out a shriek of laughter and clapped her gloved hand over her mouth at once. ‘Never say that again,’ she said through her fingers. ‘We are leaving at once.’

She tucked my hand under her arm and swept me from the room without pausing to say a word to Sir Rupert. She nodded regally to his mama from the other side of the ballroom but did not deign to bid her farewell. A surprised link boy was sent flying for our carriage. Lady Clara would not let me speak until we were in our own house with the door closed behind us, then she sank down into a chair in the hallway and laughed until she gasped for breath. When she lifted her head I saw her eyes were streaming.

‘Oh Sarah!’ she said. ‘I would not have missed tonight for the world! Never do that again Sarah! Scream or faint or have the vapours. But don’t do that,’ she paused. ‘Unless it’s a common man of course. But never attack anyone over the level of a squire.’

‘No, Lady Clara,’ I said obediently.

She looked at me keenly and stripped off her evening gloves and smoothed the skin under her eyes. ‘Did he offer to marry you?’ she asked acutely.

‘Before he grabbed me,’ I said. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘But you are betrothed,’ she said.

‘I didn’t forget it,’ I said. ‘He asked me to break my promise to Perry and I said I would not.’

‘You prefer Perry,’ her ladyship stated.

‘Yes,’ I said truthfully. ‘I do.’

‘Even though Sir Rupert is good-looking and pleasant,’ she said.

I paused. ‘He is,’ I agreed. ‘But I think Perry suits me better.’

I would have said nothing more, but Lady Clara was curious.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why Perry rather than Sir Rupert?’

‘Sir Rupert is passionate,’ I said. ‘He thinks he is in love with me. He would want his passionate love returned. I cannot do that.’

‘And Perry is content with nothing,’ Lady Clara said, her lip curled slightly.

‘Perry and I are friends,’ I said defensively.

‘You have never kissed, he has never touched you?’ Lady Clara asked.

I felt myself blush slightly. ‘We neither of us want that,’ I said. ‘It is our decision.’

She nodded. ‘Does he have a woman?’ she asked. She rose from the chair and slung her fur wrap down and went to the stairs.

‘No!’ I said, surprised. I had thought of Perry for so long as a man quite without desire that I was almost shocked that his mother – whose view of him was so acute – should have thought him capable of having a mistress.

She paused, one delicate satin-shod foot on the lower step. ‘I suppose he can get an heir?’ she asked crudely. ‘He’s not impotent, d’you think, Sarah?’

My face was as hard as hers. ‘He knows his duty,’ I said. ‘He knows he has to.’

Her face softened and she smiled. ‘That’s all right then,’ she said, as if the inheritance were all that mattered. ‘Good-night, my dear.’

I said good-night and watched her as she went lightly up the stairs to her room and shut her door.

I thought of the show and of the women I had seen with Da. Of Zima and of Katie the whore. And I thought that never in my life had I seen a woman as beautiful and as cold-hearted as the woman who was to be my new mama, when I married her son.

The late nights did not make me weary. I woke every morning when the clatter of the street outside my bedroom started, and the day after the ball was sunny and I was glad to be up early and take Sea out to the park.

The weather was getting colder. I shivered as Sea trotted down the cobbled road towards the park. The groom beside me had a blue muffler around a blue chin and looked as if he would have preferred another hour in his bed.

Sea’s ears were back, as they always were when we were riding in town, but they suddenly went forward and he gave a ringing neigh of welcome as a square figure on a heavy bay horse pulled up as if waiting for us at the end of the road.

‘Will Tyacke!’ I declared, and my heart lifted with delight.

He was beaming, his face bright with joy at seeing me, and I reached out my hand to shake his. If we had not been on horseback I would have flung my arms around his neck and hugged him.

‘How are you?’ he said at once. ‘How are they treating you here? You look pale, are you happy here?’

I laughed and put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Stop!’ I said. ‘I am quite well. I was out late last night so perhaps I do look tired, but I am happy enough. Is everything all right on Wideacre?’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Well enough. We’ve ploughed and planted winter crops. The apples did well, and the plums. We’ve enough feed and wheat to get through the winter. Things are well at home.’

I swallowed a lump in my throat. Will seemed like a messenger from another world, I could almost smell the cold autumn air of Wideacre on him. I thought of the house nestling in the parkland and the trees turning yellow and gold. I thought of the beech trees going purple and dark and the animals coming down from the higher fields.

‘Does the land look nice?’ I asked. It was a foolish question but I did not have the right words.

Will’s smile was understanding. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘The roses at the Hall are still flowering though it’s getting late in the year. The Fenny is high, you’d hardly recognize it. The trees are turning colour and all the swallows are gone. The owls call very loud at nights. The moon has been very bright and yellow. I miss you.’

I drew my breath in with a little hiss and froze. Will’s gaze dropped from my face to his horse’s mane. ‘I’ve come to town on business of my own,’ he said. ‘But I promised myself I could come and find you and tell you this. I understand that you wanted your Season, that you wanted to see what the Quality life was like.’

He paused and then went on softly, persuasively. ‘You’ve seen it now, you’ve seen it all. You’ve been to balls and danced with lords. Now you should come home. I’m come to tell you that, and I’ll escort you home if you’ve had enough of being here. Your bedroom is ready at the Hall. You could be home by nightfall. We’d all be glad to see you back.’

A cart loaded with milk churns came noisily down the street and Sea flinched and I had to steady him. ‘Come to the park with me,’ I said. ‘Sea needs exercise.’

Will nodded at the groom. ‘I’ll take her,’ he said. ‘Away and get yourself something to eat. You look half clemmed.’

‘I am that,’ the man said gratefully and pulled his dirty cap in my direction. ‘Shall I come round to the house for the horse when you’ve finished your ride, Miss Lacey?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring him back.’

He wheeled his horse and trotted down the street back to the stables, and Will and I turned towards the park, riding abreast.

Will told me other news of Wideacre, a baby had been born and was to be called ‘Sarah’, the vicar had been away for a week and was greatly put out on his return to find no one had attended church for the curate he had installed in his absence. A vagrant had come through the village begging and had stolen all the linen off the washing lines. The gypsies were back on the Common where they always camped. They were early which was the sign of a hard winter.

‘Everything the same as ever,’ Will said with a smile.

We rode side by side in a sedate canter. Sea remembered the races on Downland and Common and threw up his head and wanted to gallop but I held him back.

‘And you?’ Will asked. ‘Is it how you expected?’

I shrugged. ‘It passes the time,’ I said. I shot a sideways look at him and then I told him how it was in truth. I told him about the pleasures of the new life: the dresses, the hats, the morning rides. I told him about the extraordinary people who were accepted as normal in this odd new world. I told him about the young men, and I made him laugh until he had to cling to his horse’s mane when I told him about Sir Rupert left gasping on the sofa clutching his balls.

‘And Lady Havering? And Lord Peregrine?’ Will asked. ‘Are they good to you?’

I hesitated. ‘As much as they can be,’ I said. ‘Lady Clara is as cold as ice. I’ve met kindlier women laying-out paupers. She cares for nothing but the Havering estate and the succession.’

Will nodded. ‘I heard she cared for her oldest son well enough,’ he said. ‘The one that died.’

‘Aye,’ I said crudely. ‘Men are always more lovable when they’re dead!’

Will laughed at that. ‘But Lord Peregrine,’ he said and his voice was carefully bright. ‘Do you see much of him now? Is the engagement still on?’

I nodded. I did not look at him. ‘The contracts are with the lawyers,’ I said. ‘I will marry him, you know.’

Will was looking straight ahead, down a little avenue where the pale yellow fronds of the chestnut trees made an archway over our heads. We were quite alone and the clatter of the town in the early morning seemed far away.

‘I thought you might meet someone you fancied better,’ he said. ‘I thought you were using him to get yourself comfortable in London – that you’d throw him over when you were settled.’

I smiled a little wry smile. ‘You think highly of me, don’t you?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘It won’t be the first time a girl’s jilted a milksop,’ he said. ‘I thought when you had a chance to look around you’d see someone you fancied more.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever have a fancy for a man.’

‘Hard luck on the man who loves you,’ Will offered neutrally.

‘Very,’ I said. I shot a sideways look at him. ‘A disaster for the man who loves me,’ I repeated. ‘If he married me he would find me always cold. If he did not he could waste his life in loving me and I would never return it.’

‘Because you loved her, and now she is dead?’ he asked very quietly.

I flinched as soon as he even neared the pain that was as sharp and fresh inside me as the evening she died.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Perhaps because of that. But even before, long before that, I think it was already spoiled for me.’

‘Lord Peregrine gets short measure then,’ Will said.

I smiled. ‘He gets what he wants,’ I said. ‘He’s cold. He doesn’t like women much. He’s mortal feared of his ma, he likes me because I don’t fuss him and want petting.’

‘He’s an odd one,’ Will suggested.

I frowned. ‘He’s a drunkard, I think,’ I said. ‘And I think he’s a gambler. He was well enough in the country, but now he is out every night and I think gambling has a hold on him.’

I paused, thinking of men I had seen at fairgrounds losing everything they owned on the turn of a card. ‘I am afraid it might get to him,’ I said. ‘I should like to take him away.’

There was an open stretch of grass before us. We let the horses’ stride lengthen and then Sea threw his head up. I caught his wildness in a moment and in my mind, my gypsy-brat voice said, ‘Damn the rules,’ and I let Sea go. The ground seemed to leap from under us, and I heard Will yell with pleasure behind us as his horse gave chase. We were in the lead, and Sea was going as if he wanted to gallop all the way to Sussex. I had to steady him, I had to pull him up. We were nearly by the road which intersects the park. It would have caused talk if I had been seen galloping, and that with a working man.

Sea blew out softly, but he was not winded. He could have gone on for hours. I could tell by the feel of him that he was puzzled that we had stopped so soon.

Will’s big bay thundered up to us and spattered us with mud as Will pulled him up.

‘That’s better!’ Will said. ‘That’s the first real smile I’ve seen on your face since I’ve been here! You should gallop more often, Sarah.’

I shook my head, still smiling. ‘I’m not allowed,’ I said.

Will said something under his breath which sounded like an oath. ‘Not allowed!’ he said. ‘You’re the squire of Wideacre. Why take these damned rules? Why take this hopeless man? You say yourself he’s a drunkard and a gambler. Haven’t you had enough sorrow and trouble without taking on a fool as well?’

I turned Sea’s head homeward, and I bit back a quick and angry reply.

‘I need to run my own land,’ I said carefully. ‘I need a husband so I can live as I please without Mr Fortescue’s old chaperone, or anyone bothering me.’

Will nodded, but looked like he wanted to interrupt.

‘I can’t marry an ordinary man,’ I said. ‘You know why. I’d drive an ordinary man mad within a week. I’ve no love to give, and I want none. I can manage Perry. I can keep him from gambling and from the drink when we live in the country. It doesn’t matter that he is a weak fool. He’s kind-hearted enough, he’s gentle with me. I can manage him. He is the only husband I could deal with.’

Will looked at me carefully. ‘He might like lads,’ he said bluntly. ‘Had you thought of that?’

‘What?’ I asked. I pulled Sea up and stared blankly at Will. ‘Lads?’

Will cleared his throat in embarrassment. ‘Don’t be so daft, Sarah, for the Lord’s sake,’ he begged me. ‘I just thought you should think about it. He might like lads. You know. He might be a gentleman of the back door. You know!’

I exploded in a shout of laughter. ‘A what? A gentleman of the what?’

Will was scarlet with embarrassment. ‘Now have done, Sarah,’ he said. ‘You should think about this. You’re going to marry him and you won’t always have his ma there to keep him in order. If he gets drunk he might ill-treat you. If he likes lads he could fill the house with them and there’s no one to say him nay. He could get the pox and give it to you. Think about it, for God’s sake!’

I sobered then, and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said frankly. ‘Thank you for thinking of me. I had not thought that Perry might like lads. I will consider it. But for me it is no great disadvantage. I don’t want a normal husband, I want one that will leave me alone. He’s told me we have to get an heir and then we will not bed together again. That’s a bargain for me in return for a gentry husband and an estate next door to Wideacre.’

‘And you’ll use the Havering power and knowledge to break the Wideacre corporation,’ Will said frankly.

I sighed. I looked into his honest brown eyes. ‘Yes,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Thought so,’ he said. We turned the horses and walked on.

‘What have you come to London for?’ I asked. ‘You said you had business here.’

‘I have,’ he said. ‘Though I couldn’t have left the town without seeing you. I’ve come for a meeting of a society of corporations. There’s a few other places trying to farm the land together, and we all meet together every six months or so to see how things are going. There’s talk of a newspaper as well. Wideacre is one of the more successful corporations. There’s lots who want to know how we do it. I’m to give a speech to a public meeting tonight.’

I nodded, rather impressed. ‘What will you say?’ I asked.

Will smiled. ‘You’d not like it,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell them how Wideacre suffered most harshly from enclosures – that was your grandmother, Beatrice Lacey. Then the estate went into ruin after the riot. Then I’ll tell them about the rebuilding of the estate and running it as a sharing scheme with the landlord during your ma’s lifetime, when Ralph Megson was manager. And then I’ll tell them that when the estate was run by the Trust we set up the corporation.’

‘And what will you tell them about me?’ I asked.

Will’s face was grim. ‘I’ll tell them that we don’t know what the future will hold for us,’ he said. ‘That if the new squire chooses to go against us we will see the corporation ruined and we will have to leave and start again elsewhere or accept that we will become again an ordinary poor village.’

‘Leave?’ I said blankly. I had never thought that anyone might one day leave Wideacre. I had never thought of any greater change than that I should have more of a share of the profits, that it should be my decision how the land was to be used.

‘Oh aye,’ Will said. ‘There’s a few who will be there tonight who are thinking of setting up corporations: gentlemen farmers and owners of big factories in the north who want to try their hand at co-operative farming. They’d be glad to have a manager who had done something of the sort before – and made it pay,’ he added with a smile. ‘There’s a few from Acre who’d rather move than be ruled by a landlord again.’ He looked at me sideways with a half-smile. ‘Once you start changes Sarah, you may find they take you further than you meant to go.’

‘Who would stay in Acre if you went?’ I asked.

Will shrugged as if it were not his problem. With a sudden jolt of apprehension I realized that it would indeed not be his problem.

‘Those that didn’t mind working for a landlord again,’ he said. ‘Those who had not saved money over the last few years and could not afford to leave. Those who had saved enough to pay the new expensive rents you would bring in.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Each family would feel differently,’ he said. ‘Some would not bear to go. Some have been there so long, and love the countryside so well.’

‘I had not thought anyone would leave,’ I said.

‘Most would,’ Will said bluntly. ‘I’d not stay one day after your marriage. I’ve no time to waste.’

‘You’d go to one of these experimental farms?’ I asked.

‘Or America,’ he said.

I gasped, involuntarily. ‘America!’ I said.

Will looked at me and his brown eyes were smiling. ‘I could be persuaded to stay,’ he said.

I smiled back, but my eyes were steady. ‘I have to have the money and the land,’ I said.

He shrugged. ‘Then you could not keep me,’ he said gently. We turned the horses and headed for home.

‘When’s this wedding to be, then?’ he asked, as we turned down the little lane towards the stables.

‘At the end of the Season,’ I said. ‘Spring, next year.’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Plenty of time for you to see his paces. Time for you to change your mind if you wish. No one can constrain you, Sarah.’

We had reached the stable yard and the groom came out to take Sea. I slid from his back and patted his neck. He turned his great wise face around and lipped at my pocket, seeking a sugarlump stolen from my breakfast tray.

‘Will you come to London again?’ I asked. My voice sounded desolate. I had not meant to sound like that.

I turned and walked out to the street outside the stable yard, Will swung down from his horse’s back and led him, following me.

‘Do you want me to?’ he asked.

I turned and faced him. ‘Yes,’ I said honestly. ‘If you’re coming up to town I should like you to come and see me and bring me news of Wideacre.’

He nodded. ‘If you needed me, I should find a room and be here for you, to ride with you every morning, to see you every day,’ he said. He spoke in the same level tones as if he were asking me if the plough horses should be shod.

‘No,’ I said sadly. ‘I should not ask that of you. You should be at Wideacre.’

He swung into the saddle and looked down at me, where I stood on the pavement. ‘So should you,’ he observed.

I raised a hand to him. ‘When shall I see you again?’ I asked.

He smiled. ‘You tell me when, and I will come,’ he promised.

‘Next week?’ I hazarded.

Will smiled, a warm generous smile. ‘It just so happens that I need to come to London next Wednesday. You have just put me in mind of it. I’ll stay overnight and ride with you in the morning.’

‘Yes,’ I said, and I reached up my hand to him. Will took it and bent down low and pulled back my glove so that my wrist was bared. He pressed a kiss on to the delicate skin of the inside of my wrist and then buttoned the glove again. It was as if the touch of his lips was kept safe inside.

‘Send for me if you need me,’ he said.

I nodded, and stepped back. His horse trotted forwards and I watched them go.