Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3) (40 page)

‘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.

Even if Will had not warned me of Perry I should have been watching him anyway. His drinking was getting worse, his nights were getting later. One morning, when I came out for my ride I found him retching hopelessly, clinging to the railings in broad daylight.

I took his collar in a hard grip and hauled him to his feet, and then slung his arm over my shoulder and half dragged, half walked him up the steps to the front door. The tweeny, who was up to light the fires before anyone else, let us in, horror-struck at having to open the door, which should be done by the butler, and aghast that it was his lordship.

‘Help me,’ I said sharply. ‘I’ll never get him up the stairs on my own.’

She bobbed a scared curtsey and dived under his other arm. ‘Yes’m,’ she said. ‘But if you please ‘m, I’m not allowed up the front stairs.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ I said through my teeth. Perry had got a grip on one of the railings and would not let go. ‘Come on, Perry!’ I said. ‘Stay here much longer and your ma will see you!’

I thought that would shift him, but it did not. He turned his face towards me and I saw his blue eyes were suddenly filled with tears. ‘She wouldn’t care,’ he said. ‘She never did care for me, and she doesn’t care for me now.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said briskly. I unclasped his hand from the railing and nodded at the maid. We both made a little rush at the step and got him over it. I heard a clatter of hooves behind me and there was Gerry, the groom from the stables riding his horse and leading Sea. ‘Wait for me!’ I called, and then grabbed Peregrine as his knees buckled underneath him as we made it into the hall.

Peregrine collapsed on to the bottom step of the stairs and looked up at the maid and me. ‘That’s funny,’ he said. ‘Sarah? Now there are two of you.’

‘Oh come on! Perry!’ I said. ‘We’ve got to get you to your room. People will be getting up soon, we don’t want them to see you like this.’

Perry’s perfect mouth turned down again. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘They don’t care. Everyone knows I’m not as good as George. No one expects me to be as good as George. No one likes me as much as they liked him.’

I nodded to the maid and we grabbed hold of an arm each and turned him around to face the stairs.

‘Everyone loved George,’ Perry said glumly.

The maid and I went up two steps and then, borne back by the dead weight of Perry, we went back one.

‘He was the image of my papa,’ Perry said. ‘And my papa loved him like his own son.’

We made a bit of ground while Perry considered this, nearly as far as the first landing. But Perry grabbed at the banister and turned to explain to me. ‘He was his son, you see,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘I know, Perry,’ I said soothingly. We got hold of him again and started the ascent up to the next landing.

‘I am too,’ Perry said sadly. ‘It just didn’t seem so important.’

I was watching his feet in the expensive boots. He was half-walking, half-dragged by us.

‘Papa always said I looked like Mama. Not like him,’ he said. ‘He said I looked like a girl. He used to call me little Miss Peregrine.’

This time it was me who stopped, it cost us a few steps downwards.

‘What?’ I said.

‘He called me Pretty Miss Peregrine,’ Perry said. ‘I never got the feeling he really liked me. Sent me away to school when I was six. Never had me home for the holidays when he was there. All over the place I was. Scotland, London, even France one holiday. Never home with him and George.’ The tears had overflowed and his face was wet. ‘Once George and Papa were dead I
thought it would be different,’ he said. ‘But I suppose I just don’t look like a lord.’

‘You do!’ I said fiercely. ‘You do look like a lord. You look like an angel, Perry. You are the best-looking man I know. And if you could stay sober you would be a really good man.’

‘You think so?’ Perry looked a little brighter. ‘Well, I think I might be.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But I’d rather be a drunk,’ he said.

We were at his bedroom door now and the maid and I pushed him through.

‘Should we take his boots off?’ I asked her.

She dipped me a curtsey. ‘Please’m, I’m not allowed in the bedrooms,’ she said.

‘That’s all right,’ I said. I was weary with the conventions of this house, of this life where a six-year-old boy could be sent away to school and never allowed home again. ‘You can go now.’

I put my hand in my pocket and found a sixpenny piece. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Thank you for helping.’

Her eyes widened, and I suddenly remembered how far sixpence could go if you were just a young girl like this one. Like the two of us had been.

She went out and closed the door behind her, and I set to work on Perry’s boots. By the time I had them off he was lying on his back and tears were seeping out from under his closed eyelids. When I sat on the bed beside him he turned his head to me and buried it in my lap.

‘I’ll never love anyone like I love George,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘I wish he was still here, and then I wouldn’t have to be a lord any more. I wouldn’t have to get married or have an heir, or anything.’

I stroked his blond curls and twisted one perfect circle around my index finger.

‘I know,’ I said gently. ‘I miss someone too.’

His grip around my waist tightened, and I could feel his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

‘Sarah,’ he said, his voice muffled. ‘Oh God, Sarah, get me
out of this mess. I seem to be more and more unhappy every day and nothing helps.’

‘There,’ I said helplessly. I patted his shoulder and stroked his back as if he were a little boy crying from some secret hurt.

‘I’ve got to take Papa’s place and everyone knows I’m not good enough,’ he said. He lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were red from weeping and from the drink. ‘I’ve got to take George’s place and no one will ever love me like they loved George,’ he said.

I put my hand up to cup his cheek. ‘I will,’ I said. I hardly knew what I was saying. My grief for her, and my sorrow and my loneliness at the emptiness of the life we were all living seemed to well up inside me and call that there should be love between us. That at least Perry and I could be kind to one another. That here was a man suffering like a little child, and that he was brought so low that even I, with my own pain and failure, could help him.

‘Don’t grieve, Perry,’ I said gently. ‘I can care for you. We’ll not be here much longer and then we can go home and live near Wideacre together. People will forget George, they will forget your papa. We’ll run the estate well together and people will see what a good man you can be. Even your mama will be pleased when she sees how well you can run the estate.’

‘She will?’ he asked, as trusting as a child.

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘We will both learn together. You’ll see. We’ll be happy in the end.’

He let me press him back gently to the pillow, and pull the coverlet over him. He closed his eyes but he held on tight to my hand.

‘Don’t leave me,’ he said.

I held his hand firmly. ‘I won’t,’ I said.

‘Don’t ever leave me, Sarah,’ he said pitifully, then his grip on my hand loosened and in minutes he was asleep and snoring. I remembered a friend of Da’s, who had choked on his vomit and I turned Perry’s young face to one side on the fine linen pillow so that he was not lying on his back. Then I tiptoed to the door and went softly downstairs and out of the front door where Sea’s ears went forward at seeing me.

The groom lifted me into the saddle and we headed for the park, riding in silence. As I moved instinctively with Sea, and checked him when a top-heavy wagon swayed past us, too close, I thought of Perry. I thought of him with such a great tenderness and pity. I thought of him with love, and sympathy. And a tiny little part of me spoke with the voice of the hard-faced gypsy who was always there, in the back of my mind. That voice said, ‘This is a weakling and a fool.’

He was still asleep when I got back, but Lady Clara’s maid was walking up the stairs with her ladyship’s pot of hot chocolate.

‘I’ll take that,’ I said impulsively, and carried it in.

Lady Clara was awake, she smiled when she saw me.

‘Why Sarah! Good morning! How nice to see you so early! How very strong you do smell of horse! My dear, do go over to the window and air yourself a little!’

‘I am sorry,’ I said, immediately confused. ‘It may be my boots.’

‘Of course it may,’ she said agreeably. ‘But don’t mention it. I am sure the rugs will wash.’

I flushed scarlet. ‘Don’t tease me, Lady Clara,’ I said. ‘Are you telling me I should not have come?’

She smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You are welcome, even smelling of hunter. Ring for another cup and tell me why you have come to see me so early.’

I waited until the maid had brought up another cup, and poured the chocolate, and brought Lady Clara the morning’s post, and taken herself off, and then I took a deep breath and started.

‘It’s about Perry,’ I said.

Lady Clara’s blue gaze at me was clear and guileless.

‘Did he not come home last night?’ she asked coolly. ‘Is he drunk? Or gambling?’

‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘I found him on the doorstep this morning. He got himself home but he is dead drunk.’

She nodded and gestured to me to pour her another cup.

‘His drinking is getting worse and worse,’ I said. ‘And he
seems to be very unhappy. I can’t help thinking that this town life is very bad for him. He should have some occupation. All he does every day is ride with me in the afternoon and then go out every night. He does nothing else.’

‘There is nothing else,’ Lady Clara pointed out. ‘He is leading the life of a young gentleman of pleasure. What do you want him to do, Sarah? Steer a plough? Take up silk weaving?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But he drank less when he was down at Havering. It is making him ill, Lady Clara. He is paler and thinner all the time. I have seen men very bad with drink. I would not like that to happen to Perry.’

She looked suddenly alert. ‘Not before there was an heir, certainly,’ she said.

I scrutinized her face. She was not speaking in jest. She meant it.

‘What?’ I said blankly.

‘Not “what”,’ she said instantly.

‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I meant to say: I beg your pardon?’

She nodded. ‘If Perry died without an heir then the whole estate would go to my late husband’s brother, a commander in the Navy,’ she said. ‘I would have only the Havering Dower House, which is in all but ruins, and you would have to look about yourself for another husband who would let you run your land as you please.’

I gaped at her. ‘You talk as if you don’t care for Perry at all,’ I said.

Lady Clara lowered her gaze to the embroidered coverlet on her bed.

‘That hardly matters,’ she said coldly.

‘He’s your son!’ I exclaimed.

She looked up at me and her face was smiling but the smile was not in her eyes. ‘That means little or nothing,’ she said. ‘When he comes of age he will command my fortune. Of course I want him settled in a way that suits me, of course I want him alive and well married. Of course I do not love him. He is a feckless selfish child; but in four years’ time he will be my master. Of course I cannot love him.’

‘He says you loved George,’ I accused. ‘He thinks you never loved him, he thinks you loved George.’

She shrugged her broad white shoulders. ‘Not especially,’ she said. Then she looked at my aghast face and she smiled. ‘You and I are not unalike, Sarah,’ she said. ‘We both came to a life of wealth having known another life, a less comfortable one. We are both cold women. I think neither of us could afford the luxury of passion for a man, nor loving any other living thing. I quite like all my children, I see their faults but I do quite like them. I am quite fond of you. I respected and obeyed my husband. But I never forgot that I lived in a world where women are bought and sold. I swore that when my husband died – and I chose an old man for my husband in the hope that he would die before me – I would never marry again. I would be free. I wanted to be free of the control of men.’

She paused and looked at me. ‘It was for that reason that I wanted to help you be free of Mr Fortescue,’ she said. ‘Your way out is marriage, Sarah. Marriage to a weakling like Perry! If you want to keep him sober and industrious in the country I think you will be able to do that. If you want to buy him off and send him away, you can: he is very biddable. He won’t trouble you. And as long as my allowance is paid you will have no trouble from me.’

She broke off and smiled at me, her eyes were like ice. ‘Why do you look at me as if I were some kind of a monster, Sarah? Did you think I was a loving mama? Did you think I doted on him? Is this a great shock to you?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said feebly. ‘I thought that people were hard to each other when they were needy. When I was with working people I thought they were hard then because there was never enough money. Never any time to love each other, to think about what would make people happy, to share. I thought it would be different for the Quality.’

Lady Clara laughed, her pretty musical laugh. ‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘There is not enough money for the Quality either. We live in a world where money is the measure of everything. There is never enough money. However much you have, you always want more.’

‘I want to take Perry back to Havering,’ I said.

Lady Clara nodded. ‘You’ll have to marry him then,’ she said. ‘I shan’t leave town in the Season to chaperone the two of you playing at milkmaids.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I’d like to bring the marriage plans forward. We can marry as soon as the contracts are ready, and live in the country.’

She smiled at me, kindly. ‘If that’s your wish, Sarah,’ she said. ‘But it’s a cruel world in the countryside too.’

‘Not on Wideacre,’ I said with sudden pride, thinking of Will and the way the profits were shared.

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘At Wideacre it is hard only for the owner! And you are determined to end all that.’

‘Yes,’ I said, uncertainly. ‘I am.’

She smiled and beckoned me over to her bedside. I went to stand before her and she reached up and patted my cheek.