Chapter Two #2
‘He would not have wanted me to worry,’ Mama insisted when Farrah had pressed her on the subject the previous evening.
Her startling ability to ignore the blindingly obvious meant that she would still not approve of Farrah lowering herself by accepting paid commissions – even if that payment was currently the only thing keeping food on their table and at least some of their creditors away from their door.
‘The duke will find Papa and bring him home,’ Mama continued to insist.
Farrah couldn’t imagine why he would bother or where he would commence his search even if he felt obliged to go through the motions.
Great men of his ilk must have far more important matters claiming their attention, she reasoned, and she was absolutely sure that a missing neighbour would be neither here nor there to his way of thinking.
That being the case, it would fall to Farrah’s lot to get to the bottom of things before she too ran out of funds and they were reduced to begging.
It was a great pity that Papa did not have a wealthy relative upon whose mercy they could throw themselves.
Mama’s sister, Lady Bartholomew, was exceedingly well situated, that much was true, but the two ladies were not on speaking terms and Farrah could not recall a time when they ever had been.
If they met in society, they cut one another, and Farrah had never been properly introduced to her maternal aunt.
On the morning after their arrival, Farrah set out to run their steward to ground.
She understood from Mrs Simpson that he had not deserted the sinking estate and so she wanted his honest opinion, desperate to know what it would take to set the property on the road to profit once more.
Freeman had been employed on the estate for as long as Mrs Simpson and had put Farrah up on her first pony, a precursor to her love affair with all things equine.
It was obvious from the state of the grounds that funds had been as tight there as everywhere else, but she felt confident that Freeman would have some answers.
A small voice at the back of her head demanded to know why, if that was the case, he had not taken steps to manage the estate better.
She chased such thoughts away. If the indoor servants had not been paid, then it stood to reason that the keepers and gardeners had not either, and Freeman was but one man.
Unlike the main house, Farrah discovered that Freeman’s cottage appeared to be perfectly maintained, at least from the outside.
Since no one answered her knock she assumed her old friend was about his duties somewhere and went in search of him.
She ran him to ground in the stables, where he was in animated conversation with Papa’s coachman ? another long-standing servant who had driven the ladies down from London.
Something about the urgency of Freeman’s tone caused Farrah to conceal herself in a stall and eavesdrop.
‘I’m telling yer, just don’t lose your head. They’ll never notice and they’ll soon be back off to London.’
She recognised Freeman’s voice but had never heard him speak in such a belligerent tone before.
A shiver passed through her. Something wasn’t right and it seemed that something was not restricted to Hampshire.
John Coachman went wherever the family did, knew in advance what their movements would be and was obviously on better terms with Freeman than Farrah had realised.
‘Don’t count on it. Lady Farrah won’t rest until she finds her father.’
‘She can run the search from London. The younger one will want to go back anyway. Encourage her. There’s nothing for the women here.’
John made a scoffing sound. ‘She don’t take advice from the likes of me.’
Farrah backed away on silent feet, deciding not to make her presence known, dread percolating through her bloodstream. Freeman, a man whom she thought she knew and had always respected, now frightened her. He appeared to have his own agenda and could no longer be trusted.
She made her way towards the tenants’ cottages, still feeling unsettled but confident at least of receiving a friendly welcome there.
She made a point of mixing with her father’s tenants whenever she was in Hampshire, enquiring after their children, listening to their problems and helping whenever she could.
But when she approached on this occasion she was greeted with hostile gazes and a condemning silence.
‘Mrs Evans. I trust I find you well,’ she said cheerfully to a woman she had known for years.
The woman’s response was a sullen grunt, sufficient to draw another two women from their cottages. They too appeared antagonistic and unsmiling. Even the children who ordinarily swarmed round her in the hope of receiving a treat hung back, watching but remaining unnaturally quiet.
‘Ladies, please have the goodness to explain the coldness of your greeting. If I have done something to cause you any offence, be assured that I will rectify the matter if I possibly can.’
‘T’aint you, Lady Farrah, it’s your father,’ Mrs Evans replied. ‘He’s doubled our rents and restricted the amount of land we’re allowed to use for grazing animals and growing crops. He’s even fenced some of it off.’
‘We can’t make ends meet no more,’ another complained. ‘And our children are going hungry as a result.’
‘My goodness! I had absolutely no idea.’
Farrah clasped a hand over her mouth, genuinely appalled. Papa had always got along well with his tenants and treated them fairly. She could hardly believe that he would turn on them in such a fashion.
Hardly.
But at the same time she couldn’t discount the possibility, given his financial straits, and accepted that she really did not know her father at all. At that moment, she did not like him very much, either.
‘When did this happen?’ she asked.
‘Old Freeman conveyed the master’s orders these six months past,’ one of the women replied.
‘The earl didn’t even have the courage to tell us himself,’ Mrs Evans added in a tone that was only slightly less belligerent.
‘I am truly sorry,’ Farrah said, meaning every word of it.
‘We came down from London expecting to find my father here, but no one has seen him, and we have absolutely no idea where to start looking.’ Farrah straightened her shoulders as she pulled her warm cloak more closely about her.
The vicious wind was biting at her cheeks, but she was so concerned for the tenants that she barely felt it.
‘But rest assured, we will find him. Somehow. And then we will sort out what can’t possibly be anything more than a misunderstanding. ’
‘I know you mean what you say, Lady Farrah,’ Mrs Evans replied. ‘You’ve always been as good as your word, but this time I don’t think it’s wise for you to go making promises, raising our hopes like, when you ain’t in possession of the facts and may not be able to deliver on those promises.’
The other ladies nodded in unison.
‘To whom do you pay your rent?’ she asked.
‘Freeman is here at first light every quarter day,’ Mrs Evans replied, wrinkling her nose. ‘And woe betide any of us who can’t pay – or won’t.’
There were still two weeks until the next quarter day, which would give Farrah ample time to find a resolution.
A strong gust of wind pulled pins from her hair and left it blowing about her head in a wild cloud.
She tucked it into the back of her cape impatiently and pulled the hood over her head to protect herself from a squall of rain.
‘Leave the matter with me, ladies. I will do everything in my power to find an answer to your problem.’
Grudging thanks and a few half-hearted smiles were her only response.
She smiled at the children, reached into the basket she carried over her arm and produced biscuits fresh from the range baked by their cook ? the only other remaining faithful servant, discounting the parlour maid, Mama’s personal maid and a solitary footman.
Their coachman’s loyalties were now suspect in Farrah’s mind, so she did not include his name, or Freeman’s, on the list of dependable servants in the family’s employ.
The children, drawn towards her by the aroma of fresh baking, were soon smiling and happily munching away.
Farrah patted heads and smiled too but was compelled by threatening clouds that heralded the onset of rain to turn for home. Feeling as though she was being watched, she glanced up and noticed two men on horseback looking down on them from a high mound.
‘Who is that?’ she asked, pointing.
‘Oh, most likely the duke and his brother,’ Mrs Evans replied. ‘I recognise that black stallion of his, and the greyhound.’
Farrah’s attention remained focused on the two men, as if she was incapable of looking away. Could their appearance be an omen? she wondered. Would the duke really produce the answers she so badly needed, or would he turn them away from his door?
Farrah retraced her steps, aware that in a few short hours she would at least have an answer to that particular question.