Chapter 17
Frances
“Give James some time. The country seat is where his brother died in that horrible duel, so it always puts him in a terrible mood. The memories haunt him still, I fear,” Marianne had written.
Frances sat up. She hadn’t even considered this.
Of course, it is more difficult for him to be here than in London. What a lack of understanding I have shown. How utterly insensible I have been.
She took a deep breath, focusing on the letter in front of her.
“I think the best you can do is occupy yourself with meaningful pursuits. When I am at our country seat, I find it very useful to speak to the tenants and learn about their needs. That way, I can help Lucien. Sometimes he does not have the time to speak to everybody, so Henry and I ride out or go for walks, speak to people, and then relay information to Lucien. I am certain James would appreciate it.”
Frances set the letter aside. This was a good idea. She had to find a way to fill her time, and she had really enjoyed speaking to the tenants the last time she had gone riding with James almost a week ago.
Had it really been a week since she had arrived here?
Time had flown by and yet dragged. She had taken to eating in her chamber because she found it uncomfortable to sit at a table across from him.
Their conversation was either conducted by shouting so they could hear one another or not at all.
They were living as strangers under one roof, keeping the merest civility.
They saw one another at breakfast, which was taken in the breakfast room at the other side of the estate.
They would speak briefly, exchange pleasantries, but then she would be on her own.
He did not make much of an effort to show her the estate, beyond showing her where the tenants lived, or tell her anything she might need to know.
Frances hadn’t been quite sure what to do, but Marianne’s letter gave her an idea. She would build her own life here. She would go and meet all the tenants she had not met already and make sure that they had someone they could trust in her.
By now, she understood that James was not the uncaring, unfeeling man she had thought him to be when they had first met. But she still doubted that he truly understood the needs of those under his care.
But she did. She had grown up among them.
And thus that morning, Frances set out to ride through the estate. She paused and said good morning to many of the tenants she had already met and found that they were pleased to see her. Many were excited to learn that she, a gentleman’s daughter, had grown up on an estate with many other farmers.
As the morning went on, she felt herself grow lighter. She rode with her back straight and her head held high. She was the Duchess of Somerset, and people were seeing her as such.
For the first time since arriving, she felt she had a purpose. She was beginning to find her place here, to carve out a role for herself.
By mid-morning, she came upon a most unusual sight: a woman and child laboring alone in the field. In another field off to the right, she saw a woman pulling an ox by its lead, a young boy behind pushing the plow. Both human and beast were straining. She could hear them grunting from the road.
“Is something the matter?” she asked and dismounted. She took her horse by the reins and walked over to the woman.
The woman turned to her. “That foolish plow is stuck in the mud. I’ve been yanking and pulling, and the ox has done its very best, but we cannot dislodge it.
My husband is a fool and is at home because he was malt above water last night and couldn’t get up to do the work.
Useless fool that he is. Good-for-nothing wastrel. ”
“I can help,” Frances offered.
The woman looked at her. “I don’t know you. Are you from one of these farms? You look mighty fancy to be a farmer’s wife.”
Frances smiled. “Well, I have just moved into Ellery Hall.”
The woman gasped and dipped into the deepest curtsy Frances had ever seen. She looked as though she might faint dead away.
“Your Grace,” she said. “Forgive me. I did not mean to be rude.”
“Please, there is no need. I grew up in a place just like this. I am not used to all the pomp and circumstance. All that bowing and scraping makes me quite uncomfortable. Now, may I help you?”
“No, no, you cannot. You are the Duchess. I will not have you pushing a plow or pulling an ox.”
“Nonsense.” Frances waved a hand. “There is no reason why I shouldn’t. I have done it more than once. Many times, in fact. I am no stranger to hard work. I may be a duchess now, but I have not forgotten how to work. Now, how about I help your boy push and you continue to maneuver the ox?”
The woman looked at her with wide green eyes, wringing her hands. “You cannot be serious, Your Grace.”
“I am perfectly serious.” Frances got behind the plow next to the boy. “Now, on three. One, two, three—heave!”
She and the boy, who could have been no more than ten years old, pushed the plow. The ox strained, and the woman pulled, and the plow moved a little.
After three more attempts, they managed to dislodge it from the patch of mud, which in the process splattered Frances’s gown and face. She was covered head to toe in muck.
“Cor! You’ve got dung all over you, missus—I mean, Your Grace!” the little boy cried, his eyes wide.
“Jack!” his mother hissed. “Do not speak to Her Grace like that. It is impolite!”
“It is also the truth.” Frances pulled a handkerchief from her pocket.
“No, no.” The woman shook her head. “That is much too fine. Too fine by half for farmwork. Here, take one of mine.” She handed her a handkerchief.
Frances took it and wiped her face clean, glad she hadn’t put any powder on that morning. “I will have the handkerchief cleaned at the house and return it to you. Which farm is yours?”
“Sweeting is the name,” the woman answered. “Mary Sweeting. And my husband is Ernest. Thank you so very much, Your Grace. It was very kind of you. Or I would’ve been here all day.”
“I do not doubt it,” Frances said. “Pray, what would you normally do if such a thing happened?”
“Normally?” Mary heaved a sigh. “Well, normally, my husband would be here. But if something like this happened, then we would just try our best. We might call my cousins to come up from the village and help.”
Frances inclined her head. “But what of the other farmers? There are so many farms here. Do you not call on one another?”
Mary shook her head. “No. Everyone keeps to themselves. Each man for himself, as it were. Occasionally, the women will have tea together, or the men will play cards, but we do not interfere with one another’s business.”
“But would that not be beneficial?” Frances pointed out. “If all of you got together? That way, if you ever had a complaint, you could come together and fight together as one. Strength in numbers, that is what I always say. United you stand, divided you fall.”
“A complaint? Against whom?” Mary asked. “Your husband?”
Frances noted the edge to the woman’s voice. “Yes. Why? Has there been a problem?”
“Not with him. Not thus far. We had a problem with the wretched steward, but His Grace let him go. I hear he has hired another one who is coming in a few days. We are all at sixes and sevens about it. We do not know the man. We do not know how he will treat us.”
“Well then, perhaps you should elect a representative. Someone who can represent you well and can speak for you. You truly should consider forming a cooperative of some sort. A farmers’ union, as it were.”
“A cooperative? A farmers’ union?” Mary said with a laugh. “Quite revolutionary, that.”
“Yes. Why not? At my home, some of the farmers did this, and it worked very well.”
There were indeed three farmers who had worked on her father’s lands, and they had conspired together to ensure he did not drive them into utter ruin, even after the Corn Laws.
Of course, it had only worked marginally since they still struggled, but at least their families did not go hungry, unlike others on the estate.
“You ought to talk to my husband about this,” Mary suggested. “Once he has recovered, I will ring a right peal over his head if he gets into his cups again. I will give him a scolding he will never forget.”
“You do that. Tell him that the Duchess said he needs to keep his wits about him.”
“I will. Perhaps he will listen to you more than he listens to me,” she said. “I need to get on with the plowing, but I want to thank you very much.” She paused. “Perhaps you could come by our house tomorrow?”
“I would love that. And perhaps if he has some friends, or you have some friends, they could come, and I could talk to them together.”
Mary smiled and gave a nod, and they agreed that Frances would come at lunchtime.
As she rode back, she felt much better. She had been useful. She had made a difference.
She wasn’t quite sure what James would make of her attempt to bring the farmers together in such a manner. Perhaps he wouldn’t like it. But if he didn’t, it was his fault. He should not have ignored her as he did and given her something to do. Now, she had found something to do for herself.
This is what I am meant to do. Not sit in a grand house, playing at being Duchess. But helping those in need.
She pulled the horse to a stop before the front door, dismounted, and handed the reins to a groom. Then, she climbed the stairs and let herself in.
She was about to make her way up to her chamber to call for Lizette to help her change out of her uncomfortable riding habit when a crash sounded from the second floor.
She hurried up the stairs and arrived just in time to find Franklin in high dudgeon, standing at the corner, wagging his index finger at a young boy.
“You imbecile! This vase costs more than you earn in a year. It is a piece from the Continent, irreplaceable! I should have your wages garnished.”
“I apologize,” the boy, who could not be more than fourteen, said. “I do apologize. I did not mean it. I will pay for it.”
“You surely will,” Franklin hissed. “And if I tell His Grace—”
“This has gone far enough,” Frances cut in, walking toward them. “His Grace will understand that accidents happen.”
Both the man and the boy straightened to their full height and bowed.
“Your Grace,” Franklin said. “I was just chastising this clumsy fool—”
“For having an accident, I heard.” Frances turned to the boy. “What is your name?”
“Benjamin,” he answered. “I do beg your pardon—”
“Do not speak to Her Grace!” Franklin gritted out.
“Yes, Sir.”
“It is quite all right. You can speak to me if you wish. After all, I addressed you first. Now, I want you to go and fetch a broom and a dustpan and clean this up. After that, I want you to go and get yourself a cup of tea and a biscuit if there are any to be had, and sit for a few minutes. Then I want you to return to your duties. And while you are down there, you may let my lady’s maid know that I am ready for her to help me change.
And a cup of tea and a biscuit for myself would be nice also. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace.” The boy bowed again and then rushed toward the servants’ staircase.
“Your Grace, I was only trying to teach him,” Franklin said.
“I understand. But we mustn’t forget that these lads come here at a very young age, and that they are away from their families and friends. They are still children, learning their way. They deserve some compassion. Pray, how old were you when you came into service?”
“Eleven,” Franklin replied, his voice now softer.
“And did you find it terrifying?”
“At times,” he admitted. “But I knew it was an opportunity to help my family, so I got over my fear.”
“That is good for you. And perhaps you should keep that in mind the next time one of the younger ones makes a mistake.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed. “Your Grace has given me much to think on.”
Frances turned and made her way back to the staircase, walking up to her floor. She was about to turn to the east wing when she heard someone clearing their throat.
“You are never shy, are you?” James said with a smirk.
“Oh, you heard?”
“Of course I did. I do not think Franklin has been given a proper talking-to in some time. He deserved it. He has been a little harsh with the other servants.”
“Then perhaps his employer should’ve had a word with him about it.”
He winked at her. “I think his employer just did. You do surprise me.”
“Meaning?” she asked.
But he did not reply. Instead, he made his way toward the west wing, leaving her to wonder what in the world he had meant.