Chapter Forty-Five
After concluding his business with Bitterman, Andrew had to return to London.
He wanted nothing more than to get home to Cynthia, but Parsons would need all the paperwork signed in order to draw up the official documents.
He bid farewell to Dottie and told her he’d be back with his bride as soon as the cold weather was over.
He had promised her, he said, to sit by the fire all winter and play with the cat.
“How funny!” laughed Dottie. “I imagined you taking a wedding trip, perhaps to Paris or Rome. That’s what your brother and I did.”
“No, my only trip will be to the henhouse at the bottom of the garden to get the eggs for breakfast. We can’t afford a wedding trip, and anyway, I’m sure my Cynthia doesn’t want one. I certainly don’t.”
“I can’t wait to meet her! She sounds so different.”
“She is,” said the loving fiancé. “She’s perfect.”
Not looking forward to yet another trip to the capital, a few days later, Andrew resignedly saddled up Jenny and confirmed his instructions to his estate manager. He was to write once a month with a summary account of the estate’s incomings and outgoings.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” said Andrew.
“I have every confidence in you, Brummage. It’s for my sake, not yours.
I have so little experience and much to learn.
I shall return once a quarter to look at the detailed reckonings, but in the meantime, if there are problems, contact me and I shall come. ”
This was so unlike the way the previous earl had run the estate that Brummage nearly wept. “You can count on me, my lord,” he said. “I’ll always do my best by you.”
“I know you will,” replied Andrew, cordially shaking his hand.
The hundred or so miles from Wisbech to London took three days.
It was cold, but the rain and snow held off, so the journey was as good as it could be.
Nevertheless, man and horse were chilled and road-weary by the time they reached Grillon’s.
However, Andrew was greeted with the greatest of attention, which made him think that being the Earl had its advantages, few though they were.
He gave orders for Jenny’s care and tiredly climbed the stairs to his room, where he undressed and fell into a bed warmed by coals in a pan.
The next morning, having missed supper the night before, he breakfasted like a king and set off in a very good mood to see Mr. Parsons.
“My lord!” exclaimed that gentleman, coming forward and warmly wringing his hand.
“How glad I am to see you! I’m delighted to be able to report that all is progressing with the sale of Doncaster House and the stables.
I believe the new owner is renaming it Butterworth House, which frankly, will have no outcome than that of confusing the Royal Mail. Fortunately, that is not our concern.”
“And I’m happy to tell you I left my sister-in-law comfortably ensconced in the Dower House and have arranged the sale of the unentailed Doncaster acreage,” replied Andrew.
“I have also entered into an agreement with the purchaser for the use of his steam pumps in the spring. I’m here to give you the details you will need to prepare the official paperwork.
You will know better than I, but I believe the revenue from all our sales will be sufficient to make the first loan repayment, and if, as I hope, our lands become more productive, the income, together with revenue from letting the Park and what I can earn with my portraits, will be sufficient to meet the next two years’ obligations.
We will only need to address the matter of my sister-in-law’s upkeep.
She is fully prepared to live frugally and manage with a limited staff, God bless her.
I have a list of those who have gone with her to the Dower House.
The rest, I’m glad to say, become the responsibility of the new occupier of the Park. ”
Mr. Parson’s jolly face burst into wreaths of smiles. “That is the best news I’ve heard in many a year,” he exclaimed. “Let us look at what her ladyship, and you yourself, will need. Only then can we really see where we are.”
“Oh, I don’t need anything from the estate,” laughed Andrew. “I can cover my own costs, and believe me, I live a very quiet life.”
Again, thinking how different this was from the previous Earl, Parsons could only shake his head.
Then the two men bent over the sheafs of neat figures that represented the annual expenditures of the Doncaster estate.
Parsons was accustomed to it, but for Andrew it was a depressing experience to see how profligate his brother had been.
Huge sums had gone for horses, wines and cash drafts, presumably to settle gambling debts.
But from it all, Parsons was able to extract the figures for the running of Doncaster Park House itself.
From that, calculations were made for the Dower House, with fewer servants to pay, mouths to feed and rooms to heat, and a small personal allowance for her ladyship.
This took some time, and both men were glassy-eyed by the time they looked up from the ledgers.
Parsons lifted his pince-nez off his nose and rubbed his eyes.
“Well,” he said. “The Dower House, even with her ladyship’s allowance, will require less than half the revenue from the Park.
The rest can go to loan repayment. That is good news, indeed.
Now I think we can reward ourselves with a glass of Madeira.
My father put it down in the middle of the last century. ”
He went to a cupboard and unearthed the bottle he had last produced, unwillingly, it must be said, for the previous earl.
He carefully polished two beautiful little glasses with a duster, filled them and held one up to the light.
It shone a lovely tawny gold. “1759,” he said, “and getting better every year.”
He handed the glass to Andrew, took the other and said, “To your very good health, and a prosperous New Year, my lord.”
“And the same to you, Parsons. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
They both took a sip, then Parsons exclaimed, “My goodness, I nearly forgot.” He darted to his desk and took a letter out of a drawer.
“This arrived for you at Doncaster House several weeks ago. Not knowing when you would be returning, the butler held on to it. Then, just last week, when the new owners took possession, he sent it to me.”
Andrew took the letter and smiled when he saw Cynthia’s neat hand on the brief direction. “Please forgive my rudeness, Parsons,” he said, “but I must open this. It comes from the woman I am to marry.”
“Marry, my lord?” exclaimed Parsons. “But that is even better news than all the rest! May I offer you my most sincere…” But he could see that his lordship was not listening. More than that, his face was covered with a disbelieving frown.
“I’m sorry, Parsons, but I have to go,” said Lord Doncaster. He put down his glass and ran to the door. Then, as his hand was on the knob, he stopped and turned. “Do you know where I may find a Bishop?” he asked.