Chapter 4
“Miss Smith.”
“Mr Jones.”
That was how our fifth annual encounter began.
The young lady had matured even more. She was no longer especially young, though she was a year or two from worrying about grey hairs.
Her figure had filled out a bit more, she had lost a little bit of the bounciness from her earlier years, but she seemed a slightly more mature version of the little hellion I first met for years earlier.
In point of fact, she had always been pretty, but she was approaching truly beautiful—or to be honest, already there.
“If I recall correctly, you should be coming up on nineteen in a fortnight. How go the wars?”
She laughed gaily, which lit up her eyes as prettily as they had the last time I used that line a year earlier.
“Win a few, lose a few, Mr Jones. We are presently focusing on losing a few.”
“How so?” I asked, as curious as ever.
She sighed resignedly. “My mother is back to her old tricks.”
That startled me. My opinion of her parents had never been high, but—
“Which specific tricks do you mean?”
She sighed resignedly.
“I suppose I was not clear enough with her. I delayed my come out until seventeen and foolishly believed if I kept bringing in funds it would delay my younger sisters similarly.”
That startled me. I had not given the younger sisters much thought, so I started trying to remember what I knew about them.
“Do not distress yourself with sums, sir. My next younger sister is now seventeen.”
“The religious one?”
“The very same. Two years ago, she told my mother in the plainest possible terms that coming out before seventeen went against the word of God, and she would not be moved. They had a huge row when I was in town arranging my business, and nobody mentioned it, so I never knew. She did not come out until seventeen, and I assumed that was the new standard.”
I ground my teeth in something like rage and replied with a grumble that might frighten most men, but not our Miss Smith.
“I suppose your second youngest, the drawing one, is fifteen and about to come out.”
“Oh, it gets worse.”
I wondered how it could but assumed she would enlighten me in due course.
She sighed resignedly. “My youngest sister is… well… she is… not mature.”
“She is fourteen?” I asked after doing the sums.
“Yes, and she is the biggest flirt in the neighbourhood… possibly the county. She is also the most selfish creature in the world. She has not a thought in her head save bonnets, ribbons, and men—and to her, the rules of propriety are not even suggestions, nor are her sisters’ possessions sacrosanct. ”
“Your mother plans to throw her to the wolves, and your father does not object?” I snapped, aghast. It would never have occurred to me to criticise anyone else’s parents in such stark terms, but our level of candour was special.
“Correct. She turns fifteen in just four months. My second youngest follows her like a shadow and copies everything she does.”
I could see where she was going and spoke with a frown. “One of my best friends has an elder sister who follows the younger in the same way. She is far older and even married, yet keeps the habit. I imagine it is hard to break if the younger has a strong personality.”
“Yes,” she said resignedly. “They will come out together in a few months, and nothing I say has the slightest effect on my parents. They believe they will grow out of it and nobody in the neighbourhood is scared off by a bit of silliness. My father even suggested that her being out may teach her her own insignificance.”
I sighed resignedly, “That assumes your town never has any visitors, houseguests, roaming farm workers, militia encampments, travelling shows, vagrants—”
“Exactly!” she replied morosely.
I was distressed to see her so down. Melancholy did not suit our Miss Smith.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, though I perfectly well knew the answer in advance.
She shook her head morosely.
“Not a thing but thank you for asking.” Then she perked up. “How is your sister? At least she is not out at fifteen.”
“She is ambivalent about school. She has a few friends, but they are closer to acquaintances. I previously mentioned her reticence, so need not be chastised for lying again.”
She laughed gaily, as I knew she must.
“She is learning some things. She is very advanced on the pianoforte, is reasonably good with the harp, and has a modestly good voice—but she is terrified of performing in public.”
“She is between my youngest sisters in age if I remember correctly. That makes her fourteen?”
“That is correct.”
She thought about it a minute and finally sighed. “I suspect she is not the first shy girl the school encountered, so perhaps they will teach it out of her. If not, you may need to take more aggressive measures.”
“My aunt suggested I take a wife to help her.”
She laughed gaily, which seemed a common habit. “No need for extreme measures. Not to abuse the obvious, but your sister will be with you a few more years and your wife a few more decades. Basic logic suggests choosing carefully.”
I laughed along with her and wondered at what odd rule of our relationship allowed us to talk of matrimony without fear.
It was decidedly strange, but she was the only person I could speak to in that manner.
Even my male friends might be willing to discuss it, but they were rarely helpful, especially since they were generally at least as ignorant as I was.
I replied gravely, “I shall take your advice under advisement.”
She laughed again and I joined her, completely happy in our shared mirth. It was quite something that she could make me more gregarious for the space of an hour.
We spoke of generalities for a while before it was time to get down to business.
I learnt that she did not call herself a great reader but had an exceptionally good understanding of literature.
We had similar tastes in poetry and fiction, though our non-fiction interests diverged.
She said she had modest ability at the pianoforte but did not practise as much as she ought and mentioned her next youngest sister hogged the instrument for hours each day.
“Have you anything for me to purchase or advise this year, Miss Smith?”
She sighed, seeing the end of our ritual approaching.
Our ostensible reason for meeting, the business of her family’s improvement had moved from being the primary reason (or excuse) for our annual meetings, but they had become almost pro forma.
I still wanted to help her to whatever extent I could, but we always had much pleasanter subjects to cover before getting on with business.
“Probably not to purchase, but some advice would be most useful.”
“Pray continue. What is it you have to sell.”
“Thirty loads of turnips.”
I gasped. Had I thought about it for a month, that would not have been one of the things I thought of.
“I can help but will you satisfy my curiosity.”
“Of course! I always do!” she said brightly, then launched into her story.
“I have taken a run at my father three separate times in the last couple of years to get him to try four-course crop rotation. It could increase our home farm income directly, and it would allow his tenants to pay more rent if their productivity significantly increased.”
I chuckled, “Not only that, but it would also get his practises into this century.”
“I agree. I tried and tried and tried. I attacked him from several angles, until he finally got fed up and banned me from discussing the subject ever again.”
“Why would he not want extra income?”
“He makes the rather unmanly assertion that my mother would just spend it anyway, and since the estate is entailed, most of the benefit would go to his worthless heir… who is an ignorant and cruel man, by the way.”
I shook my head in frustration, and finally asked, “How does this result in you having turnips to sell?” suspecting I would not like the answer.
She frowned and looked slightly embarrassed.
“I took the bull by the horns, so to speak. I got one of our tenants to plant turnips at my expense without my father’s knowledge or consent.”
My first reaction was abhorrence, though I had no idea if that was over usurping her father’s authority or the need. It was getting on dangerous ground.
She saw my thinking and continued, probably to pre-empt any objections.
“The tenant has a long lease, so if he increases his output, he reaps all the profits in subsequent years—but he was not willing to go all the way himself.”
“Understandable enough. When my father introduced the method, we supported the tenants through the first few years so they would be willing to take the risk.
It is especially important as four-course requires more fallow fields than three-course, and it takes some nerve to drop the production of a field to nothing for a season.
“That was smart,” she sighed, but continued.
“I paid for the seed and some labourers to plant them. Now, I have finished the harvest and stored them in a barn. I just need to bring in a decent price without my father learning about it. It is hardly the most efficient way to increase the yields, but at least there should be some profit.”
The idea of having thirty loads of turnips leave an estate without the resident master being aware was shocking.
There were plenty of owners who just turned over the entire operation to their stewards, and all sorts of things could happen while the owner was living it up in London or Bath… but a resident! It strained credulity.
I did not bother telling her all that, since she probably knew my thoughts before I did, as she had been dealing with the issue for months.
“I am once again impressed with your initiative.”
“Necessity breeds invention, I suppose.”
I wrote the name of a trustworthy agent and told her some specific words that would make him treat her as legitimate, while coincidentally letting him know that treating her badly would sit poorly with me (something best avoided).
He had plenty of wagons and men and would strip the barns in a few hours with her father none the wiser.
I also told her the price she could demand, and it was better than expected.
She was so happy when she jumped up to go, she showed signs of the little hellion, and it was nice to see the spark was still there.
Of course, the traditions must be maintained, though by then, I would not have been surprised to arrive to a note from Mrs Smith. She had become a very attractive woman.
“Next year, Miss Smith?”
“Same time, same place, Mr Jones!”