Chapter Twenty-Nine
When the mail coach from Winchester deposited him in London, Andrew Fielding had a hackney take him to Grillon’s Hotel.
He was fairly sure his brother wouldn’t be happy to see him at the Doncaster townhouse.
First thing the next day, he wrote a note to both Parsons and his brother to tell them he was in town, then he went to Tattersalls.
He’d been thinking of buying a horse for some time, not liking to use Cynthia’s gig or be dependent on clients to transport him.
Now he was doing so well with his commissions, he could afford it.
He found a nice Welsh cob called Jenny. She suited his height and weight, so he bought the necessary tack and rode out of the yard, well pleased.
He had no intention of staying long in the capital, and Grillon’s was happy, for a financial consideration, of course, to stable the horse for a night or two.
He was glad Cynthia had made him take his cloak, and grateful for the outdated hat she’d given him, for the sun had disappeared, and London was made chilly by an on-and-off drizzle.
He smiled when he thought of how she would scold him for going out in it, and cosset him when he came back.
Back at the hotel, he found a note from Parsons inviting him to his office at eleven the following morning.
When he threw the cloak and hat onto a chair in Parson’s office at eleven the next day, his brother’s first reaction was to demand what he thought he was doing, turning up for a meeting in the City wearing a darned cloak, a hat at least twenty years out of date, and a coat and breeches that looked as though he’d worn them every day these last twelve months.
“You look no better than a tramp,” he said. “I’d thank you to remember the family you represent.”
When he thought of Cynthia carefully mending and darning the things he was wearing, Andrew’s temper rose.
“I’m proud to wear these clothes,” he said, in a tone quite unlike the conciliatory one he usually employed with his brother, “they have indeed served me well these past twelve months and were refurbished by a person I hold in great esteem. But I presume you did not bring me here to discuss my clothing. The letter I received indicated you wished to see me on a matter of some urgency. I do not imagine it concerns my wardrobe.”
“Mind your tongue, damn you!” began the Earl, but then remembered he’d had Parsons send for his brother to ask him to give up his small inheritance to help pay his debts. He began again, “The fact is, I’m in a devil of a hole and I need you to sign over your money.”
He went on to explain the success of the first part of his trading venture, but then, he said, bitterly, “Through no fault of mine, I lost the lot. The damned fool of a captain sailed right into the teeth of a gale, and down it went, ship, sugar and the idiot of an agent who didn’t insure the ship!
And he went down with his pockets full of my blunt!
I tell you, if he wasn’t already dead, I’d strangle that Harris with my bare hands!
My God! It was their business to know about the weather.
I’m only a farmer, but even I know you don’t go sailing when there’s a hurricane.
I mean, who can you trust? Now I’m the one in dun territory due entirely to their incompetence. ”
Parsons’ letter had indicated that the Earl wished to see his brother on an urgent financial matter, but had not provided any details. Andrew could hardly believe what he now heard.
“I don’t know how you can stand there telling that appalling story,” he said when his brother finally drew breath, “talking only of your losses. How could you sell those poor Africans into God knows what future? And does the death of those on board your ship not cause you the least concern? You know I offered you my inheritance if you would give up the idea of this evil commerce. But giving it to you now will not bring those poor souls back. I told you from the start I didn’t support this venture.
It was based on a trade that I, and any Christian man, must abhor, and I won’t help pay for your failure now.
I said then that I’d give you my inheritance to invest in the estates, and I would gladly have done so.
But waste it on getting you out of this mess, no I won’t. ”
“You mean you’d rather see me sell the land our ancestors have accumulated over generations, not to mention Doncaster Park House and the place in London?” His brother couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Yes, I would,” replied Andrew. “Because even if I helped pay your debts, I see no hope of your ever being able to manage the estate better than you have. You are the one squandering our heritage, not I.” Then he softened his tone.
“Look, Richard, I know I sound like a poltroon, but you have to cut your losses. Sell the unentailed land. Sell or let out Doncaster Park House. It isn’t really our ancestral home.
You knocked down and rebuilt three quarters of it because you said the old place was too inconvenient.
Use the Dower House. It’s a fine old place and original to the estate.
Generations of our mothers and grandmothers have died there.
Sell it all. You will still be the Earl.
“As for the place here in in the city, the family never owned a London house before you bought one. We always used to rent one for the season, you know we did. You bought a house because you liked to talk about staying in your own place when you got bored at home and popped up to the capital for some fun. But it’s damned expensive, having to keep servants on and heat the place when there’s no one living there.
God knows what it has cost you, first and last. The truth is, we were never a wealthy enough family to afford all that, and you’ve thrown money away trying to live like the Duke of York.
That’s why there’s never been enough blunt to invest in the land as we should have done.
Our neighbors have outstripped us year after year by pumping out their pasturage and their arable land.
Again, I’m perfectly willing to give over my inheritance to improve the entailed land, but I will not simply help pay your debts. ”
“If you’re happy to lose everything the family has worked hard for over generations,” shouted his brother, who hadn’t listened to a word he had said, “you might as well get back to where you came from. I never want to see you again. You don’t deserve to carry the name.
By God, I’m not too old to get a younger wife and father a son to cut you out entirely.
You need never set foot again in the place you seem to have no feelings for. ”
Andrew sighed. “It’s true I don’t feel much for Doncaster Park House the way it is now, Richard, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love the land of our birth.
Of course I do. It’s precisely because I do have those feelings that I’d like to see it better managed.
Sell what you can, and use my money to improve the rest.”
“I’ll see you in hell, first!” yelled his brother, and stormed out of the office, slamming the door so hard it loosened the hinge screws.
Parsons raised his eyes to Andrew’s and shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve tried and tried, Mr. Andrew,” he said.
“But I can’t get anywhere with him, either.
And when I think how I went practically on my knees to persuade the lenders to let him repay the loan over three years.
They’re prepared to take ￡12,000 now and the balance over the next thirty-six months, with interest, of course.
But he doesn’t have the twelve thousand, and he won’t hear a word about selling anything.
Not even reducing his stables. I don’t know how he thinks he can raise the money. ”
“Oh, I imagine he thinks he can win it at the tables,” said Andrew. “He does occasionally have the devil’s own luck. Perhaps he’ll bring it off this time. But you and I both know he’ll have to sell in the end. He can’t manage money. He never could.”
“No, indeed, sir,” said Mr. Parson, his jolly face for once glum.
“Well, I’ll be off,” said Andrew. “I need to buy more paints and canvases, otherwise I’d start straight back home. But I’ll leave early tomorrow. If my brother changes his mind, let me know. Thank you, Parsons. I know you’ve always done your best for us.”
He took the older man’s hand and shook it. They looked at each other, both knowing that changing his mind was not part of the Earl of Doncaster’s make-up. Nor did Mr. Parsons fail to note that when Mr. Andrew spoke of going home, he didn’t mean Doncaster Park House.