Chapter 4 #2
The Striplings looked back and forth between Dani and the captain, saying nothing.
Finally, the captain ventured, “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” repeated the Striplings. Jonathan Stripling touched his cap.
“Rose?” prompted Dani. “Mr. Stripling’s mother?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” said Rose Stripling. “She has fully recovered since she began to boil her drinking water, as you suggested.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” Dani said. “One reads these little tips and tricks and never knows if they might work. It was
worth a try, I thought. If we do not get more rain, we’ll all be boiling water for drinking.”
Jonathan Stripling added, “She didn’t want the bother at first, but we took your advice and challenged her to try it for three
days. By the third day, there was no more upset.”
“She should tell her neighbors,” Dani said. “Everyone who draws from that well should likely boil before they drink.”
“Never you fear, she’s become quite the authority,” said Jonathan Stripling.
“Of course she’s done,” said Dani. “I only wish so many of her neighbors in James Road hadn’t moved away. If more families
tended to the well, the water might still be fresh.”
“Aye,” said Mr. Stripling. “If another family moves on, we’ll need to relocate Mother to our home, I’m afraid. James Road is too remote for her to live with no close neighbor.”
Rose Stripling spun on the seat and gaped at her husband. “Relocate her to our house?”
The man shrugged. “She’s a widow, love. And James Road has seen so many families go.”
Rose Stripling turned back to Dani, her eyes wide with dread. “Dani,” she implored.
“We are trying, Rose,” Dani told her, fatigue in her voice.
“Yes, of course,” Rose assured. “Forgive me. No one has addressed the problem with more spirit than you. What of the committee
meeting this morning?”
“I was actually, er, detained this morning. But I’ll discover the votes soon enough. And I’ll call later in the week, Rose,”
Dani promised. “Hopefully Jonathan’s mother will not have taken up residence by then.” She winked.
“Oh, I should like that very much. Not my mother-in-law”—Rose eyed her husband—“but your call.”
“It’s all settled, then,” said Dani. In her head, she added, Off you go.
When no one moved—when everyone literally gaped at each other like people who’d never before encountered other humans on a
village road—Captain Bannock reseated his hat, nodded in the direction of the road, and gently touched Dani on the small of
the back. Dani shot the Striplings a farewell smile and went.
“Good day,” she called over her shoulder. Strictly speaking, it was not discourteous to amble on.
“Good day,” parroted the Striplings in a dazed, confused singsong.
Dani bit her lip. And so it begins.
“Sorry,” said the captain lowly. “You were correct about the gossip, I see.”
“I’m sorry that my neighbors do not recognize your name from the papers.”
“My preference, actually.”
Dani thought of the humility of this; he sounded very genuine. She thought of all the ways that encounter could have been
made worse by arrogance, or presumption, or impatience.
Not terrible, she thought.
“You were saying,” prompted Captain Bannock.
“I’ve no memory of what I was saying, I’m afraid.” The Striplings’ wagon rolled past, and she gave another wave.
“You were suggesting that you might enjoy travel?”
“Oh, right. It’s true, perhaps I might. But I could not possibly leave Ivy Hill now. Obviously.”
“Why not?”
“Because the town is in danger of disappearing.”
He took off his hat and held it out to shade more of his face. Three times now she’d seen his hair. It was dark, with auburn
streaks brought out by the sun. The imprint of the hatband caused it to curl at the ends.
“But what is causing Ivy Hill to disappear?” he asked.
“Leadership,” she said, “or lack thereof.”
He couldn’t know this, but the decline of Ivy Hill was the most pressing issue of Dani’s life at the moment.
“That is unfortunate,” he said.
Not terrible, she thought. He hadn’t scolded her for presumption about village leadership. But the conversation was new. She hadn’t told
him about her passion for preserving the town, or her grievance against the Londoners who’d moved in and sought to turn the
lot of them into professional hole diggers.
“Why the failure of leadership?” he asked.
“Well there was a baron,” she told him. “Formerly. Lord Langston, he was called. His estate, Eastwell Park, has supported
the villagers of Ivy Hill for centuries. They farmed Eastwell Park’s land, tended the sheep, worked as staff in the manor
house, and felled timber. No one resource was a great fortune-maker, but taken together, the house and lands provided a living
for the people of Ivy Hill. Unfortunately, Langston died five years ago with no obvious heir. There is a distant cousin who
lives in America, but that man has no interest in returning to England to claim it. Without the support and resources of a
landlord, industry of any kind has all but ceased; there is no wool, no mutton, no timber, no crops.”
“Sorry, but did you call this property Eastwell Park? Eastwell Park you say?”
“That’s right. Without the opportunities provided by Eastwell Park, the people of Ivy Hill are traveling farther and farther
afield to find work.”
“I see . . .”
“No, you cannot possibly see—there is more, I’m afraid. An avaricious London businessman called Giles Stinchcomb”—it was impossible
to say Stinchcomb’s name without contorting her face—“has bought a parcel of land near the town of Maidstone, some ten miles
from Ivy Hill, and he’s hiring men to dig out an embankment. He’s fashioned it into something like a sand pit, and his workers
quarry a mineral called ragstone from it. They pile it into carts and load it onto barges and he sells it God knows where.”
“A quarry?” mused Captain Bannock. “And extracting the ragstone provides employment for the men of Ivy Hill?”
“In theory—yes. But what manner of work, Captain—I ask you? Digging a massive hole in the ground? Ivy Hill is an agrarian village. For generations, local families have cultivated the land. They raise sheep on the land. They do not dig holes to survive.”
Captain Bannock opened his mouth to speak but Dani felt compelled—urgently compelled—to finish. She held up a hand to silence
him.
“Worst of all—worse than digging holes like badgers—Maidstone is not Ivy Hill. It’s an hour’s ride from here; double that
if the men walk, which many do. What family can be without their fathers and sons for every daylight hour, plus four hours
of walking to and from the quarry? Families are leaving their homes to be closer to the pits, causing our village to disappear
along with it. Our market day has already been absorbed by Maidstone’s. If we have no market day, our local craftsmen can
no longer sell their goods without traveling. Our public buildings—most pressingly, a parish house attached to St. Andrew’s
church—have fallen into disrepair. There is no place to gather; no place to celebrate weddings or mourn after funerals. My
parents survive on a pension from their years in London, but most families require work on a fully operational estate like
Eastwell Park to survive. If the house sits empty and its fields lay fallow, it benefits no one.” She took a deep breath.
“Forgive my diatribe. You touched on a topic very dear to my heart. I am largely powerless in this struggle. At the moment,
my small contribution is to restore the parish house I mentioned. It is a civic landmark, distinctive to Ivy Hill; a place
to hold parties and conduct village business. If restored, the parish hall could allow villagers to convene for assemblies
and club meetings; it would allow us to gather as a village with a known identity and beating heart.”
“So, it would be accurate to say that you are invested in the success of this estate? Eastwell Park?”
“Well, I’m invested in the success of the village. And if the village is to survive, Eastwell Park must be under the purview
of a generous landlord. Someone who is a steward of the community, diligent and generous. Its fields must be cultivated and
its stables full.”
“How very commendable—this cause,” he said.
Dani smiled tightly and they walked on. For a count of ten steps . . . twenty . . . she waited for the joke. She waited for
the dismissals or the scoldings. They never came. If he was appalled, he hid it well. If he thought the failure of the town
was inconsequential, he hid that, too. They reached the intersection of New Bridge Road and Queen Street. The geese had waddled
beneath a fence railing in the direction of Beckley Pond.
“This is the road to the village?” he asked, staring up Queen Street.
“Yes.”
He paused, idling silently in the road. Dani thought, This will be the end of it. He’ll say goodbye and walk away. Gone. As if he’d never come. The ticking in her belly sped up.
Before she could think better of it, Dani blurted out, “Would you like a tour of the village?”
“I would, indeed,” he said.
Dani tried to control the smile on her face. She ducked her head.
Captain Bannock stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him.