Chapter Eleven
Since the newlyweds’ dashing escape to the country, we have been left bereft of any news of our favourite earl and countess, and can give no reports as to how they or the swine some posit were the previous earl’s downfall, fare.
While some might argue there are, given the recent political happenings and turmoil, more pressing and vital preoccupations, this writer feels a conclusion to their tale would be a welcome divertissement.
London, the country, may not lack in entertainment, however one knows London at least is as bereft as I, for one can’t fail to notice just how often the name Quincy has passed Society’s finest lips of late; the youngest would do well to use her newfound notoriety as her brother-in-law failed to.
As you well know, I for one will always champion any arrivistes seeking to summit this country’s highest rungs.
The days which followed their woodland interlude, and the discovery of their tiny runt, were, if possible, fuller than the first Hypatia had spent at Gadmin Hall, but then, looking back, perhaps those hadn’t been so full as they’d felt.
Not that she minded the industriousness, the busyness, the long hours, the sweat, the muck, nor any of it really.
Part of her wondered if she should; she’d left her old life to escape a forced labour of care, but she knew it wasn’t at all the same.
This new life—despite its surprises—had been her choice, and she felt as if she was working to build something meaningful, that she could be proud of; her forced care of her parents and sister, without choice, without a voice, a say, even true appreciation, or meaningfulness—for no, she hadn’t wanted any of it—was not the same at all.
No, she hadn’t dreamt of being a pig farmer, or a countess, or even a wife, but then as she’d told Thorn, she hadn’t really dreamt of much.
Once they got their enterprise functioning smoothly—as smoothly as one such could—she would have time, and means to perhaps discover what else she might want from life.
For now, she was content to learn, and work, and discover, and solve problems which seemed to arise with every hour.
She was content to dream of restoring Gadmin Hall’s glory, and perhaps, growing closer to husband.
All in all, they made good progress over those few days, which made every aching muscle, every cut, every bruise, and every day without a proper bath, worth it.
The veterinarian came as promised, and delivered…
news. Whether it was good or bad, remained to be seen, as the man himself—a sombre, but intelligent middle-aged man who’d only come to this part of the country a few years prior, and was as glad to see Hypatia and Thorn making changes as anyone else—had decreed.
He spent nearly the whole day with them, looking at every pig, and checking not only their health, but also kindly advising on what purpose each would best serve, and how to get them into whatever shape they needed to be to do so.
He spoke to them not patronisingly, but patiently, explaining it all as though they were students—which in many ways, they were—heartened each time Hypatia asked a question, or offered some slightly differing suggestion for review, according to what little she’d been able to read.
He took care of what animals unfortunately needed to depart this world, and gave them advice and medicines for others, with orders on general care and well-being moving forward.
He didn’t say much in regard to their discreet questions about other local owners and farmers, about anything he might’ve heard in respect to the goings-on at Gadmin Hall, though he did advise them on respectable markets and butchers nearby.
Danny and Fred, who arrived, ready to work albeit somewhat wary of the new, seemingly clueless and un-agriculturally minded earl and countess, were somewhat more talkative as the days passed.
Hypatia might’ve taken their growing candour as a testament of trust, and perhaps it was, though she quickly discovered they were simply more of the talkative sort, which suited her very well.
In between discussions of which fields to plant, sow, harvest, when and how, or what lands to use for the pigs—the closest first, as the poor creatures would need time to accustom themselves to freedom and fresh air—and what structures needing building for them, they would mention many things of note.
How Warren had apparently spread word that all the terrible things being done on the estate were the old earl’s orders—or those of his representatives—including but not limited to the dismissal of any workers who disagreed with him.
How everyone had already thought the old earl mad for going all the way to Gloucestershire to purchase thirty pigs, and sell off all he had to do so, and grow his herd, or how the place just wasn’t worth the trouble for anyone since there were farms aplenty to be worked.
They mentioned more industrially minded neighbours to the north; the older, more conservative aristocratic landowners to the west. They mentioned the best inns, the best shops, the best fairs and events, and even the best malthouses where one could, if one arrived early, be treated to a heel of bread and warm cider.
Hypatia took it all under consideration, just as she took everything those they hired and spoke to in the following days offered.
She and Thorn visited the remainder of their lands and tenants, and with help from them, along with Danny and Fred, soon they had not quite a full roster of workers, but very nearly.
Langton’s niece Mary arrived from Tonbridge, with her young daughter Niamh, an adorable little sprout with a penchant for helping Langton in the kitchen, and a mop of blond curls Hypatia knew many would envy.
Mary took charge of the house without hesitation nor question, apparently determined to prove her worth and skill despite her young charge, who others might not have welcomed so easily; however, as the saying went—not that Hypatia liked it in the least, the saying, that is—beggars could not afford to be choosers.
And though Thorn and Hypatia weren’t beggars yet, they were having to work extremely hard to ensure what funds they had were invested best they could be, be it in the farm, or the house.
So they did, making plans for each and both, working off their lists to deal with the most urgent matters—the roof, proper tools and equipment, more books to learn their new trade, workers, food—and also ensure they had some measure of security if they failed most spectacularly in their endeavours.
They set aside some portion of funds in reserve to merely garner interest, another small portion to engage the solicitors to handle the Warren situation, and Thorn insistently set up an allowance for Hypatia, also paying back her five pounds already spent; a frugal life did not mean severely limited financial freedom for her, or so he vowed.
They set aside some money in their minds for those matters less pressing—a new coach, some additional furnishings for the house, etc.
—but otherwise, every penny was accounted for in accordance with the plans they’d agreed on.
It was a strange thing, though it grew less strange and disconcerting every day, to make plans with someone—or many someones depending on the conversation.
To be part of this partnership, working towards a common, and meaningful goal.
Hypatia tried not to think too hard on it, merely to enjoy it, and being heard, respected, and looked after, and indeed, the amount of work meant she had little time to do so.
However, some moments, like at breakfast, when she and Thorn—and sometimes Henry or Mary—would discuss their plans for the day, it would strike her, the loveliness of the change.
The ease of it; the relief and joy of it.
No more did she have to run a household, care for others, manage everything, with unspoken demand yet without being seen lest they feel somehow less.
No longer did she have to squash her own thoughts, and opinions, lest she be ridiculed, or dismissed.
And she would thank whatever fate or sprite of luck had seen her sit in that garden the night of the party, and take a chance on Thorn.
One thing which turned out to be an urgent investment—according to Mary, and many others—was new clothes.
Neither Thorn nor Hypatia’s wardrobes were suitable for being seen about various towns, markets, or even church—the latter a continual debate, as Hypatia preferred not to go, Thorn cared little, his faith in his words, personal, yet both knowing it was part of their newly acquired station.
There was also a return to London in their eventual future, Mary had pointed out, though one look at each other, and Hypatia and Thorn had silently agreed to put that out of their minds for now.
They would need face that eventuality at some point in future, but for now, the consensus was that Gadmin Hall was the priority.
Hypatia knew why she didn’t want to think of London, after they’d only just got here; she liked Kent too much.
This place, who she was here; who she was with Thorn, and getting to know him without any pressure or curious eyes.
She wondered if he felt at all the same, and made a note to ask him sometime, if she found the courage.