Brothers at Arms (38 page)

By the end of the first week, he started to look at farm buildings differently, to see things he would previously have missed – recognise a dislodged roof slate and know the portent. It was little enough, but he was glad to have learned. He had not been aware of the need for him to know, because he assumed that was why they employed an agent.

The ride through Hillend village brought back memories of the last time he had been there, eight years ago, just after Charlie arrived at Linmore. On that occasion, they stopped at the church and then drove home.

This time, he rode with the agent and Francis, past the inn on the village green and continued out the other side. Half a mile beyond, they stopped the horses beside a pair of high metal park gates in a sadly dilapidated state.

Joshua looked for some identification, but the weathered wooden sign attached to the stone pillars gave no clue. Rusting chains barred their way, as did a metal plate bearing the faded words of warning.
Private Property. Keep Out…

This must be the only place on the estate to have a notice threatening to prosecute trespassers. The land looked coldly remote – barren even – apart from the overgrown coppice of birch, beech and hazel. Individual tree trunks melded with brambles and weeds to form a barricade, leaving no hint of what lay beyond.

“Where is this, Mr Weyborne?” Joshua pointed to the sign.

The agent cleared his throat before speaking. “It’s where Miss Littlemore used to live when she was a girl, Master Joshua.”

“Why are the gates locked?”

“There’s nothing there. The house was demolished years ago.”

Before he could ask more details, the man said, “We’d better be on our way. This can wait for another time.”

When Joshua attended Evensong on Sunday, he walked up the aisle towards the empty Linmore Hall pew by the pulpit. Then he remembered and turned aside to follow the Weyborne family. Others in the congregation must have noted it, but no one remarked on the lapse.

Aunt Jane returned home in the middle of the second week, looking tired. Joshua was so thankful to see her, but there was no question of him stopping work. He visited in the evenings, and learned that Ed Salter was still weak, but he had started to recover.

“Come into the bedroom, Joshua. He’ll be glad to see you,” Aunt Jane said, leading the way. She stopped for a moment at the door. “Don’t be alarmed by Ed’s appearance. The wound looks puckered but it is healing. It’s just that there was a lot of infection, but the herbal remedies worked.”

Just as they had for Dr Hawley in Macedonia. The thought crossed Joshua’s mind as he entered the room. It was lucky that Aunt Jane had warned him; otherwise he might have shown more of the shock he felt.

The man he saw in the bed looked frail, but he was awake. Before the accident he was a handsome man, but now, a jagged scar ran down his left cheek, disfiguring him. Joshua felt sick, but not at the image before him as much as the fact it could have been his face he was looking at.

He was glad the room was half in shadow to hide his feelings.

“Hello, Ed,” he said, reaching for the limp hand on the sheet, and felt a slight squeeze of the fingers.

“Hello…Josh.” The speech was slurred. “They tell me… that you’re over at the… Home Farm.”

“Yes,” he said, “showing how little I know about farming.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon learn… Squire Norbery’ll be proud of you…”

There was a silence and Joshua realised the effort of speaking had exhausted the man. He looked at Aunt Jane for guidance, and she nodded towards the door.

“I’ll come to see you again,” he said, looking back from the open door with tears in his eyes. In that moment, Joshua decided that when Ed Salter recovered his health, he would be his personal groom. He owed him nothing less.

“Will he recover…?” he asked.

“It will take a long time,” said Aunt Jane, “and he won’t be quite the man he was, but Dr Althorpe is hopeful… as long as there is no more infection.”

When Joshua rode slowly back to the Home Farm, he realised that he had not asked Aunt Jane about either Charlie or Sophie Cobarne. When he thought about it, their absence ceased to be of significance compared to Ed Salter, but he wished they could see as he could, the damage that their actions had caused.

The sight of the injured man had a profound effect, making Joshua determined in the days that followed to fulfil the words that Salter had spoken in Aunt Jane’s bedroom. “You’ll learn…”

He vowed to do his utmost. After all, there was nothing else for him to do, or more important than to regain his father’s good opinion.

After the second week, he heard a whisper, which increased to a shout in his mind.
Squire Norbery will be home tomorrow.

He waited and waited for the summons to go home, but it did not come. Several days passed while Mr Weyborne attended to other matters, so Joshua rode around the estate with Francis. During these hours, they cemented a working bond of friendship.

When the summons finally came for Joshua to see his father, he had to wait outside the Linmore estate office while the agent conducted his meeting with Squire Norbery.

In his father’s absence, the agent held weekly meetings at the Home Farm, and many times Joshua was encouraged to express an opinion. Today, he was on the outside, awaiting his father’s pleasure.

It was strange to think he had not been inside his home for more than three weeks. He walked in from the stable yard, and everything on the lower ground floor seemed the same. It was quiet, and yet, in the background he could hear the murmur of servants’ voices. There was always someone bustling about. Kitchen staff sent on errands to collect stores or laundry women chattering on their way outside to hang out the linen. Familiar sounds, and yet, he sensed it would never be normal again. His belly rumbled, but he had felt too anxious to eat a proper breakfast.

The office door opened and the agent and bailiff emerged. Francis gave a wink of encouragement as he walked past, and his father said, “Squire Norbery will see you now, Master Joshua.”

He nodded and walked through the open door and saw his father reading a bundle of papers on the desk. Squire Norbery did not lift his head, but with a sweep of a hand, pointed towards a chair opposite to where he sat.

Instead, Joshua remained standing, feeling as he did when the tutor passed judgement on his behaviour when he was a lad.

“Sit down, boy,” his father growled, and continued reading.

The tone did not invite argument. As he obeyed, Joshua looked at his boots and wished he had given the leather an extra layer of dubbing. He was not too adept at achieving a shine. It was something he would have to practise.

Through his reverie, he heard his father’s voice: “You will go to Norfolk…”

What…when…how?
The words ran through his mind. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Then he saw a look of exasperation on his father’s face.

“Did you hear what I said, Joshua?”

He heard part of it, but why Norfolk?

“What is the matter with you?” The edge to his father’s voice finally penetrated his consciousness. “Does my plan not meet with your approval?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I don’t understand what you mean.” He wished he had been listening.

“I was hoping for a better response than this.” His father sounded annoyed. “It is not every young man who has the chance to spend a year on Thomas Coke’s estate at Holkham.”

Joshua gasped as the significance sank in. “Do you mean Mr Coke of Norfolk, the agriculturalist?”

It was the name Francis Weyborne had mentioned reverently in passing.

“Yes, he is my political colleague. We met whilst I was in London. He told me about a project he has started to teach the young landowners of the future about the changes in agriculture. He already has two students this year, and didn’t plan for any more. I hope you realise he only agreed to take you as a favour to me, and it is on condition you do not waste time. You are there to work, Joshua, so please don’t let me down, ever again.”

Flooded with relief, he said, “Thank you, sir, I won’t let you down.” He added as an afterthought, “Of course, I will miss everyone.”

“You won’t have time to miss anyone, not even Millie,” his father said. “You leave in three days; everything is arranged.”

Early May 1801

“I’m so glad that you are here with me,” Joshua said as he climbed into the coach. “You must be tired of travelling after your recent visit to London.”

“Not really,” Aunt Jane said with a smile, as she settled herself on the opposite seat. “You forget that it is rare for me to leave Linmore. It gave me the chance to see Aunt Winifred, albeit for a short time.”

Joshua was at a loss to know what made her suddenly decide to visit her sister, Lady Cardington, when she usually described Rushmore Hall as the most boring place in the world. Whatever the reason, acting as her escort made his journey to Norfolk seem less like banishment. That is what it was, no matter what they called it. Irrespective of the challenge ahead, he was determined to see it through. He had to, for he was the heir to Linmore.

“How far is it?” he said, unable to recall the last time he had visited his relatives.

“About twenty miles,” she said, stifling a yawn. “With luck, we should be there by three o’clock.”

Joshua supposed that it took four hours because of the winding country roads, and the need to stop several times to water the horses. Thank goodness they were travelling in the well-padded comfort of the Linmore coach.

“Will you stay long?”

“Two weeks at the most,” Aunt Jane said, closing her eyes preparatory to sleep. “I rely on Jessie to send an urgent message for me to return to Linmore.”

Saying farewell to his father was hard, which was why he welcomed Aunt Jane’s presence. She had always been there for him, right from the beginning. His journey to Norfolk was about two hundred miles, but he had never before travelled alone. Other times, people were with him to deal with arrangements.

The plan, when Joshua left Linmore, was for Jack Kilcot, his father’s coachman, to drive Aunt Jane to Rushmore, and the following day, take him to Lichfield, where he would stay overnight in readiness to board the stagecoach that would take him to Norfolk. Mr Penn, his father’s secretary, had organised everything in advance. He gave Joshua sufficient money to defer expenses, and a list of hostelries with guaranteed accommodation en route, which was so easy to follow, a child could use it.

Joshua said as much to Aunt Jane when he showed her the letter in the coach, and then briefly closed his eyes, feeling a gnawing sadness in his gut as he thought of the acrimonious parting with Charlie. One minute they were brothers-at-arms, and in the blink of an eyelid, deadly enemies. It should never have happened. He took a breath, deliberately turning his mind to the purpose of his journey. Whatever else the year at Holkham involved; he hoped there would be no women to cause trouble.

His thoughts ran together and he dozed; lulled by the drumming of coach-wheels on the roads that became progressively smoother the further they travelled. Reaching the halfway point, they stepped down from the coach to take a drink, before resuming the journey to their destination.

Rushmore Hall was a sprawling edifice, built in the Jacobean era, situated about five miles beyond the cast iron bridge constructed over the Severn Gorge.

Approached through an arched gateway, the front drive passed through two miles of parkland studded with oak and beech trees, before the house came into view, and another half mile to the entrance.

Although suitably impressed, Joshua secretly thought the building oozed the same pomposity as his uncle, Lord Cardington. He much preferred the friendly informality of the Linmore estate, a mere ten thousand acres, as opposed to Rushmore, which was half as big again, and twice as self-important.

Royston, the stately butler, met them at the door. He was flanked by two footmen and a similar number of uniformed maids, to be worthy of their consequence as family connections of Lady Cardington. Had it been the master who arrived, the entire staff would have been in evidence.