The Flood-Tide (56 page)

Allen read the letter through with amusement at the frequent mention of the Colonel's name. So he was the new beau, was he? Mary's letters - and Flora's too - gave a pretty clear view of the progress of Mary's affairs. There was always someone, sometimes several at once, for Mary never lacked admirers, but they never lasted more than a few weeks. It would be all 'Captain So-and-so says' and ‘Captain So-and-so thinks' for a month, and then his name would drop into oblivion, and the letters would be full of Sir What-you-may-call-him's opinions. But for all her enthusiasm, Mary was never touched by any deep emotion, and flitted, heart-whole and cheerful, like a butterfly from one flower to the next.

Sometimes, when she had nothing better to worry about, Jemima worried about Mary's having got to the age of twenty-five and being still unmarried, but Allen had a shrewd suspicion that Mary was simply enjoying herself too much to want to change her condition. She also had before her the example of what had happened to Flora when she married too young and too hastily, and perhaps she had taken that example too much to heart. And then there was the possibility, which Allen did not entirely discount, that she was really in love with John Anstey, though she would not marry him. Certainly there seemed to be something guarding her heart, for how ever many devoted beaux she had around her, she never seemed in any danger of falling in love with them.

Having finished the letter, Allen was about to turn to the newspapers when the door opened and Edward's dog preceded him in, and ran smiling up to Allen to press a cold nose into his hand. Edward said, 'Oh, Father, I'm glad you're back from your walk. There's something I wanted to talk to you about.' In his leather boots, stout breeches, and plain brown coat, with his hair tied behind with a bit of riband, Edward was the essence of a country squire, and made Allen, who sported a striped silk waistcoat and a wig, feel positively like a Macaroni by contrast. Edward dressed the same way for three-fourths of the year, and didn't seem to care what anyone thought of him, changing his style only when his friend Chetwyn came to stay. Edward was twenty-seven, and showed no signs of wanting to marry, and though Allen had suggested several possible matches for him recently, he had refused all of them. Twenty-seven was not so very old for a man, but Allen would have been happier if the next generation had been made a start upon, for he was over his three-score-and-ten, and none of his children had produced an heir yet.

Edward sat down on the windowseat next to him. 'It's about one of the farmers - the man Grimes. He's going deeper into debt all the time, and it can't go on any longer. You know he didn't plant the bottom field this year?'

‘I know. What's to be done?'

‘He's come to me offering to sell his land to us. If we buy it, we'll have the land almost clear to Acomb Wood, apart from those two ings at Otterwood Bank. The problem is that Mother isn't going to like it because Grimes says it's all on account of the enclosure that he's failed, and she worries so about that sort of thing.’

Allen sighed. 'I know, and there have been problems—' He thought of old Gaffer Truman; and there had been others. 'But I know Grimes. He's a diehard of the old school, and he
won't
improve, and you can't go on and on taking out of the land without putting back.'

‘He says he couldn't afford to drain and fence—'

‘He wouldn't grow the new crops, that's the long and short of it. He slaughters his cattle in the autumn because he can't feed them through the winter, so he has no winter manure - and they're a poor, scabby, sway-backed sort of kine in any case. He and his wife are thriftless and shortsighted - but still—'

‘Yes - but still,' Edward gave a grim smile. 'Mother will say they are our responsibility.'

‘We shall have to think something out. If we buy the land, we shall have to do something for Grimes and his family, or they'll spend the money and end up at the poorhouse - and then they'll be our responsibility in any case. Let me think about it, Ned, and we'll see what we can come up with.'

‘Right. I thought I'd better see you alone first.' He nodded towards the papers. 'Anything of interest in there? Anything more about this French business?'

‘I haven't had time to read them yet. But the French business is most extraordinary, you know, Ned. For a monarchy so absolute to have ended so suddenly, completely, and bloodlessly is almost beyond belief.'

‘We had to have years of civil war before our revolution was done,' Edward said. 'I suppose their King must be more reasonable than ours was.’

Allen shook his head doubtfully. What he knew of Louis XVI suggested that he was indifferent rather than reasonable, and yet could any King have laid down his power so easily? In the January of that year, after growing discontent amongst the French middle classes with the years of mismanagement, bungling and debt, there had been a call for an Estates-General, a meeting of all the representatives of the three estates, the first such to be held for nearly two hundred years. The three estates were the Lords, the Clergy, and the Commons, the latter being recruited from the class of wealthy merchants and lawyers, who had a great deal of the wealth of the country but none of the power. It was generally understood that a serious programme of reform, social, financial, and political, would be demanded by the third estate, while the fact that the King had consented to an Estates-General at all suggested that the reforms would be granted.

The Estates-General met in May, and there had been trouble at once over the voting procedure, for normally one vote was taken from each estate, and since the clergy always voted with the nobles, the vote of the third estate would be useless. Then there was a demand for all the estates to meet together, for normally certain matters were discussed only by the two upper estates, in conference with the King. The third estate claimed to be the only true representative of the people - or 'nation' as they called them - and awarded itself the title of National Assembly. In this it was supported by a number of liberal nobles and clergy who were also eager for reform: the tide of reformist zeal had reached its flood, Allen thought, and the
Philosophes,
such as he had met in France over the years, had sufficiently influenced general opinion that there could be no turning it back.

The King had ordered the estates to meet separately, as was the custom, and when the rebellious deputies had refused to leave the hall, he had sent soldiers to clear them out. But a combination of the unwillingness of the soldiers, the hostility of the crowd outside, and the determination of a group of reformist nobles who held the door had turned them back, upon which the King had reputedly said, 'Oh well, devil take it, let them stay.’

A few days later he had ordered the rest of the nobles and clergy to rejoin the third estate, and the self-constituted National Assembly had settled back to go about its work of reorganizing the structure of government.

‘A revolution so complete, to take place in two months, without a single drop of blood being shed is most remarkable,' Allen said. 'I can only suppose it was because everyone wanted it, and no one opposed it.’

Edward grinned. ‘Ah, but now the fun will begin! Everyone will have his own ideas of what's most important, and they will wrangle like dogs over their bones. Do you remember the Lighting Committee in York, how every man on it was convinced his own street corner was the most essential to be lit, and everyone had solid, unanswerable reasons for his opinion? If the French are like other men, there will be a great deal of wrangling, and very little doing, in this Assembly of theirs.'

‘Ah well, men may be a deal worse employed than in arguing - at least that hurts no one. And the worst sort of men for arguing are those who have nothing better to do with their time. A man with a farm to run, a field to till, or a loom to serve is a great deal too busy to argue about politics. And talking of being busy, where
is
your mother?'

‘Out in the home paddock with James, trying to get a saddle on Ptolemy,' Edward said. Allen started up in alarm, for Ptolemy was Jemima's new colt, and had steadfastly refused to be backed, bucking and rearing so furiously that Allen had been alarmed for her safety and had begged her to return it to the field - not being in a position to forbid her, as he would have liked, to have anything more to do with it. 'Oh, it's all right, Papa,' Edward hastened to reassure him. 'Jamie won't let her get too near. She was for backing the beast while you were out taking your walk, and Jamie said
he
would do any climbing aboard that was to be done. He'll manage things, don't worry.'

‘I'm going to see, all the same,' Allen said determinedly, making for the door.

‘I'll come with you,' Edward said. 'I must say, you know, James has changed very much since he went to Court. He's much kinder and more thoughtful now.'

‘I think he has got the fret out of his feet,' Allen said, unconsciously using one of Jemima's horseman terms. ‘And he was horrified by the way the King was treated during his illness. I think it woke him up to the value of a well-regulated and loving family, such as he came from. But do you think him changed in essentials?'

‘Perhaps not,' Edward said. 'He's quieter, but he's still the James who lives for pleasure. Being at Court suits him, that's all - he can do what he wants, and not be different from anyone else. He said to me—' Edward grinned suddenly as he remembered it, 'he said to me, "Thank heaven I can live amongst people who don't make a terrible fuss about a little adultery." '

‘Oh dear,' Allen said. 'Perhaps he was joking. Don't tell your mother he said that, for heaven's sake.’

Out in the home paddock they discovered that Jemima had Ptolemy on a lunge-rein, and that somehow the saddle had been got onto him. She herself was standing in the middle holding the rein while James, red with exertion, held the colt's head, and he was going round at an erratic trot into which he flung a wild backwards kick every four or five paces.

Allen started forward in exasperation that she should be doing such a dangerous thing herself, and Ptolemy, seeing newcomers approaching, began to show off like a naughty child, reared up, breaking James's hold, and began to charge about the paddock, bucking in excitement. Everyone yelled at once, James had to dodge very sharply out of the way, and Edward scrambled over the fence to try to get to his mother, who instead of dropping the lunge-rein and making for safety, was hanging onto it and trying to control the creature. There was a moment of noise and confusion, and then Edward managed to get his hands on the rope, from which he could not detach Jemima, while James with a sort of despairing courage flung himself at Ptolemy's head as the colt pranced past and caught the headcollar. Ptolemy was very full of himself, but not stupid, and seeing himself heavily outnumbered he came to a halt and dropped his nose sweetly, though he eyed Jemima very wickedly as she came up, winding in the long rope.

‘You disturbed him,' she complained to Edward and Allen. 'He was just beginning to settle down and go quite nicely, and you spoiled his concentration.'

‘Oh Mother!' Edward laughed in exasperation, but Allen was crosser.

‘It was very foolhardy of you - you might have been hurt. I've begged you not to have anything to do with that colt, Jemima, and as soon as my back is turned - it's most unfair of you, to take advantage of me like that.'

‘Oh darling, I'm sorry,' she said contritely. 'I didn't mean to be deceiving you. But you're wrong about this fellow - he's a good colt really, just a little too vain and high spirited, not wicked. Now isn't that so, James?’

James leaned against the fence and drew out an exquisite handkerchief to mop his brow. ‘If I had known what I was to be let in for, I'd have gone to Weymouth with the Court instead of coming home for a visit. You see what being a dutiful son gets you, Edward, by way of reward? I am exhausted, covered in dust, and all but trampled by this mad horse.'

‘Oh Jamie,' said Jemima, 'you know that isn't true.'

‘If you must have him broken,' Allen said, 'why don't you let someone else do it? There are plenty of grooms whose job it is to take these risks.'

‘Because no one else understands him as I do. You'll be glad when he's winning races and earning you golden guineas, and then you'll thank me,' Jemima said stubbornly.

‘I'd sooner have you in one piece,' Allen said, taking her hand. 'Please, promise me you won't do this sort of thing again. Have the grooms handle him, and just supervise matters yourself.'

‘Yes, Mother, it isn't proper for a lady of your age and standing to be handling horses,' Edward said solemnly, and when she looked at him, about to protest, he winked at her, and she subsided.

‘Oh, very well,' she grumbled. ‘If you are determined to make me old before my time—' But she tucked her hand under Allen's arm comfortably, and allowed Edward to take Ptolemy from her as they walked back towards the house.

A groom came out and received the horse, and Edward and James walked ahead of their parents, James brushing himself down ostentatiously and saying, 'I shall be glad to get back to Court. The horses there generally keep at least two feet on the ground at the same time.'

‘Have you decided when you are going back, Jamie?' Jemima asked. ‘Not until the autumn, I hope?'

‘Well, to tell the truth, Mama, I've been thinking of a change of direction. I've been considering the army, if Papa can stump up for a commission.'