Brothers at Arms (42 page)

It contained a narrow bed, on which a feather pillow in striped ticking reposed on top of a pile of clean linen, awaiting the making of the bed. To the one side, there was a candlestick on a small table; a screened hanging rail for coats in an alcove, with ample shelving for clothes, and storage underneath for boots. Seeing his travelling trunks beside the bed, he guessed the groom must have placed them there, and made a note to thank the man.

“Come, Mr Norbery, we have more work to do.” The agent walked down the stairs, leaving Joshua to follow. It was only four o’clock. He might be tired but the working day was not finished.

By the time Joshua had shared the students’ evening meal, and walked back with them from the Hall to the stable block, he knew that Harry lived on an estate near Bedford, and Jack was the son of a Staffordshire tenant farmer.

Anticipating a task he had never attempted before, he entered his room and found to his surprise and relief that some kind soul had made his bed – no doubt at Mr Blakeney’s behest. Similarly, his coats hung on the rail, with piles of shirts, neck cloths, and underwear on shelves, and his polished boots beneath.

He recalled the House Rules as his head touched the pillow, and determined to write them down at the earliest opportunity. He was still thinking about it a week later when he joined the two other students to dine with Mr Coke.

Although Joshua had not mentioned his father’s political connection with their host, it was apparent from the warm welcome he received from Mr Coke that they were acquainted. It seemed the gentleman knew a great deal about him – far more than he had imagined.

Mr Coke was a tall man, of equal height to Joshua, and quietly spoken, but his presence filled the room. He was the father of three daughters, and Elizabeth, the youngest, at six years old, was his favourite. His eldest daughter, a widow, spent much of her time at Holkham, acting hostess for her father, since her mother’s death the previous year.

For such a grand house the food was plainly cooked, but well presented. A succulent joint of beef sirloin, tender squabs roasted on the spit, with half a dozen root vegetable side dishes, followed by a large fruit tart, an assortment of cream jellies, and a selection of local cheeses.

The talk during dinner was of a general nature, but when the meal was complete, the ladies left the room. The servants placed decanters of port and brandy on the table, but to Joshua’s surprise, they added three tankards and a jug of ale, and withdrew. He waited to see what the other lads did, and then filled his tankard with the local brew. For students, this was clearly the thing to do.

While the agent and steward sipped their port, Mr Coke took the opportunity to talk to his students. When the other lads nodded agreement, Joshua sensed it was for his benefit. They had obviously heard it before.

“I don’t know how much you know about agriculture, Joshua, but I was deplorably ignorant about the subject when I inherited this estate.” Mr Coke took a sip from the glass in his right hand, and then continued.

“When one of my tenants told me he couldn’t make his farm pay, I decided, with the optimism of youth, to take over the management for myself. In so doing, I sought advice from knowledgeable people in the district, and anyone in the country who was willing to share their expertise. Every year since, we have held gatherings at Holkham at the time of the sheep-shearing. It is only by the exchange of ideas that agriculture improves, so you have come at the right time. The next meeting in July is probably our twenty-fifth, and nowadays we have visitors coming from all over the world.”

That explained Mr Blakeney’s reference to the Holkham sheep-shearings. It meant a quarter of a century of sharing knowledge on agriculture. No wonder Mr Coke was an acknowledged expert.

Afterwards, Mr Coke took the students on a tour of the house. The magnificent marble staircase, alabaster pillars and the splendidly ornate roof of the entrance hall evoked memories for Joshua of similar examples in Rome.

The statues in the long gallery reminded him of the time he watched Greek artisans making similar casts for English travellers to bring home.

He stopped short on seeing the name Batoni adorning the portrait of a tall, handsome young man in masquerade costume. Yes, the goddess was there in the background, as Lady Kenchester said was the artist’s practice.

Mr Coke noticed his hesitation. “Do you know the artist?”

“Yes, sir, I heard his name mentioned when I was in Italy.”

“Your father told me that you spent some time there, but you went further afield, I think.”

“Yes, sir, to Greece and Macedonia.” Joshua’s nose wrinkled as he recalled the time he spent in the mountain village.

“I think you travelled with… a cousin, wasn’t it?”

He nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“That is obviously the young man who has joined the army; which was why your father said you needed occupation, and why you are here.”

Joshua nodded again. How strange that other people knew more about Charlie’s whereabouts than he did.

Two months after Joshua left Linmore, his father received an urgent message from his sister, which demanded an immediate response.

On arrival at her Cavendish Square home in London, Tom was ushered into her private sitting room, and saw Winifred prostrated on a chaise longue, her vinaigrette in one hand. It was unprecedented for her to show emotion, but his formidable sister, who could face down an ogre and walk away unscathed, was close to tears. Not since she was a girl had he seen her so upset.

“Thank God, you have come, Tom,” she said. “I am at my wits’ end, trying to decide what to do about Jane’s wretched niece. I cannot take her anywhere without her ogling men. I never know what she will do next.”

It was amazing how quickly Winifred disowned Sophie when she caused trouble. “Come, Winifred,” he said, in a brisk tone. “It can’t be that bad.”

“You are wrong, Tom. It is worse. Sophie opposes me in everything,” she said, twisting the fringe on the Norwich silk shawl draped around her shoulders. “I told her a girl of her age should have a care for her reputation, and yet when we drive in the park, she encourages every rake, reprobate and rattle in uniform to stop by our carriage. She even waved to that dreadful courtesan, Harriet Wilson, and had the temerity to laugh when I reproved her. I thanked God there were so few people in town to see it.”

Rather than interrupt, Tom let Winifred ramble on, releasing her thoughts.

“One must be thankful we are not in the season. It would be impossible to acquire vouchers for Almack’s,” she said, warming to her theme. “I dare not think of taking her to Brighton for the summer, for fear she attracts the attention of one of Farmer George’s sons. They would be bound to notice her, which would be ruinous.”

He too was aware of the consequences of that connection.

“Mistake me not, Tom. She has the soul of a courtesan. Our only hope is to get her married, very soon; otherwise, she will join the demi-monde. She will disgrace herself, and bring us down with her – and that, I will not allow.”

“What about Charlie? Does he know of this?”

“I doubt he would believe it of her, Tom,” she said, her expression softening. “He is a delightful boy. I only wish that my sons were so charming, but have to live with the fact that they are not,” she ended on a sour note.

“Has he settled into his regiment?” he said, wanting to change the subject.

“Yes.” She sounded comfortable imparting the news. “He often visits his sister, and tells us that he is enjoying his officer training. I try to see that he receives invitations to informal gatherings, outside the family, and have good reports from friends of his reception. I wish I could do more, but he is very protective of Sophie, and I am sure he thinks we are punishing her.”

“That makes the situation more difficult, Winifred. How can we find a husband for Sophie, one who will be acceptable to her brother? Particularly as most people have left the capital for the summer.”

Winifred veered off the subject.

“It would be so much easier if Augustus was married,” she said. “I could have handed the wretched girl to his wife to add a touch of respectability – show her how to behave. It was a pity about Lady Rosemary. I always thought she would have had a stabilizing effect on him.”

“Lady Rosemary?” he said, grappling with her change of direction.

“Surely you remember? She’s Lord Kenchester’s eldest daughter – a delightful girl, if a trifle eccentric. She spends most of her time with the Dowager Countess, her grandmother. Apparently, they returned from a trip to India a few months ago, and promptly went off to stay with a cousin who breeds horses in Ireland, to recover from the ordeal. The last I heard, they were still there.”

Tom nodded agreement, but his mind was on other things.

“Where would you suggest we look to find Sophie a husband?”

Winifred had obviously given the matter considerable thought.

“We have to be realistic in our expectations. It is no good thinking Sophie will attract a man of breeding, in need of a wife. She has no background, apart from Linmore, and her recent behaviour has tarnished her reputation. The best we can hope for is to find someone in trade. No, Tom,” she said, when he would have demurred. “Don’t discount the option too quickly. There are some quite respectable people nowadays, who are remarkably well heeled.”

Accepting the fact, he said, “Do you have anyone suitable in mind?”

“It is hard to judge a person’s suitability when you meet them socially. Pontesbury’s banker is a widower, who is looking to remarry. His only son and heir died at about the same time as Matthew. He lives in London, but has a small country estate a few miles from Linmore.”

“What age is he?”

“He’s probably no more than five years older than you, and is an extremely wealthy man.”

That made him just over fifty. Tom was hoping for someone younger.

“Money is not the only consideration, Winifred.”

“No, but if what you told me about the situation with Joshua was true, and I have no doubt it was, then this man is our only option. His age is not ideal, but with the present crisis…”

“Are you sure this is the best we can do?”

“In the available time, yes, and time is something we do not have. If Sophie were like her brother, we would have no problems.”

“That is my concern, Winifred. We must be very careful in how we proceed with this. Despite his love of Linmore, Charlie forced himself to leave, because he could not believe ill of Sophie. He considers it his duty to care for her, and if she marries an older man, he will blame me.”

Tom knew he could not avoid making a decision; and irrespective of what Charlie thought, he would have to live with the outcome.

“Very well, I’ll leave it to you,” he said. “Obviously, I would like to meet the man, and I’d better see Sophie as well.”

“I need a few days to make arrangements, but if I invite a few friends and some of Pontesbury’s associates to dinner, let us say Wednesday or Thursday of next week, and include Edward Teale in the numbers. You can meet him socially and decide whether you think him a suitable candidate. If so, we will proceed from there. Charlie must come as well, for I think he will accept it better if he meets the man at the same time as does Sophie.”

Now she was calm, Winifred was back in control.

“It appears you have thought of everything, but then you always were good at organising things, Winifred.”

“It’s not settled yet, Tom,” she said in her blunt way, “but she’d be a fool to refuse him. He is older than I would wish for a girl of her age, but she will not do any better. With his financial situation, she will be extremely well looked after, and he won’t expect a dowry, which is a consideration, because I expect she has nothing.”

Tom shook his head, feeling weary. “There was nothing left when her father died. Apparently, he left considerable debts, which his brother cleared, using his own money. By all accounts, Fergus never did understand finance, and he went to pieces when Charlotte died.”

All they needed was to gain Sophie’s cooperation.

Tom was dreading the meeting with Sophie, but could not avoid it. The Cavendish Square library was an ideal situation. It was quiet, and today felt unusually warm, but he put the latter down to his anxiety. A lot hinged on how he handled a delicate matter, and with Sophie, there was no telling.

She was already late, no doubt, because Winifred planned for her to be here by two o’clock. It was now twenty past the hour. He would give her ten more minutes. If she failed to come, he would go to his club. In the meantime, he stared at the bookshelves. Row upon row of leather-bound books, most of which had never been opened. Winifred’s family were not a studious lot.

He turned as the door opened behind him and Sophie entered the room.

“Aunt Winifred said you wanted to speak to me, Uncle Tom,” she said in a sulky voice. “I expect you will scold me, just as she does.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not going to scold. I simply wondered what we were going to do with you, for I’m dashed if I know.”

She stood before him with the same pugnacious expression as when he first saw her. Wooden… wary… and waiting…

“I told Aunt Winifred that I wanted to follow the drum with Charlie,” she said.

So this was what the battle was all about. Tom guessed that his sister’s outraged response was the cause of Sophie’s determination to force the issue. He waved her towards a leather armchair, but she doggedly remained standing, leaving him no choice but to do likewise. As he waited for her to speak, a gamut of emotions flitted across her face, highlighting her uncertainty.

“What do you think I should do, Uncle Tom?” she said in a quiet voice.

“I can’t answer that, Sophie,” he said. “When I met you and Charlie in Blackrock, I judged your uncle harshly for failing you. Now, I am standing in similar shoes, waiting for Charlie to judge me accordingly.”

At his words, all signs of defiance crumbled.

“No, it’s not true,” she said, shaking her head. “I would never let him criticise you, Uncle Tom.”