6 A Question Of Home
For more than a week, Cal spent each morning walking up and down the woods with Mr Monk in attendance, showing him all the overgrown patches that needed to be cut back or cleared, and explaining about coppicing.
In the afternoons, Monk set his men to work.
By the third time Cal found the labourers working at entirely the wrong place, he told Monk to let them go, and asked to speak to the duke.
The following morning, he was summoned to attend the duke in his private quarters at noon. He found him attired in a voluminous banyan, enjoying his breakfast. The duchess was there, too, but after pouring coffee for Cal, she gracefully withdrew.
“Well, now, Garford, what is this about? Fallen out with Monk already? He is an odd sort of fellow, but he follows instructions well enough.”
“Yes and no, your grace. He certainly engages men to do the work, and tells them what’s needed, but he has no understanding of the woods at all.”
“That is your job, to make it clear to him what is needed.”
“And so I do, your grace, but it’s the where that’s the problem.
If I show him some saplings to be cleared, and point out that they lie between two oak trees, he’ll find a different place, between beeches.
If I point out a stream that’s running across the path, he’ll set the men digging on a different stream altogether.
He’s a liability, to be honest. He almost coppiced a fine, mature oak yesterday.
It would be better to leave the woods alone than to have Monk blundering about doing all the wrong things. ”
The duke grunted. “Then forget Monk, if he cannot tell one tree from another. He can help you find the men you need, but you tell them what to do.”
Cal stared at him. “You want me to stay here? To work for you?”
“Of course I do. That is the whole point. I had no wish to make you do all the work when Monk is there to bear the brunt of it, but if he will not do, then you will have to do it yourself. Naturally you will stay here. Where else would you go?”
“Back to Lampton Priory, your grace. My home.”
“This is your home now, Garford. This Goodenough fellow sent you, and he has not made a mistake yet. He sent me Rowena, the very image of my long dead first duchess. He sent me Payne to build the orangery and Chamberlain to decorate it. And now he has sent you to me, to manage the woods, it seems, since you will not create a design for the gardens. Off you go, now. I shall see you at dinner.”
Cal’s mouth opened and then closed again. No point arguing with a duke, but he would have to think very carefully about this.
Having nothing else to do, he made his way without haste through the woods to the hut.
Each day he had made some small improvement to make his nights there more comfortable.
A couple more blankets to make a softer bed.
A thorough sweep to clear out the accumulated dust and cobwebs.
Wood for the fire. Some judicious cutting back of the undergrowth around the building.
This last had fully revealed the solid stone walls, still in good repair, and uncovered a section of an oak trunk shaped to make a bench outside, overlooking the lake.
Here he sat, overlooking the lake and the front lawns.
His hands were idly carving an oddly-shaped piece of wood to see what might come of it, while his mind pondered his future.
The rational part of his mind told him he should stay at Staineybank.
At least he had mature woodland to nourish his soul, and he was even permitted to manage it as he saw fit.
But the duke was a powerful man, and a whimsical one.
He was inclined to look favourably on Mr Goodenough’s protégées now, but he could change his mind in an instant, and Cal would be out on his ear, without work or home.
Cal’s other problem came into view as he sat working his knife.
Cora emerged from the orangery carrying a bag, then vanished into the trees.
For some minutes she was out of sight, if not out of his mind, but then he heard rustling not far away, followed by the sound of the hut door opening.
The shutters were all up, so he stood and poked his head through the nearest window.
“Morning, Cora,” he said cheerfully.
She was standing beside the table, unpacking her bag, and jumped backwards in alarm at the sudden sight of him.
“Cal! I thought you would be out with Mr Monk. I have brought you a kettle and some tea, since you mentioned that you have the fire going now.”
“That’s very kind, although a barrel of ale would have been even kinder.”
“Oh, the tea is for me, when I come to visit you. What are you doing outside?”
“Come and have a look.”
She came out, exclaimed in delight at the convenience of the bench, and sat down beside him. “What are you making?”
He held up the piece of wood and turned it this way and that. “I’m not really sure. I suspect it thinks it’s a rabbit, but I don’t know that my hands are quite that skilful.”
She smiled but said, “Cal, are you quite well?”
“Perfectly well. Why do you ask?”
“You are sitting doing nothing in the middle of the day. It is not like you.”
He sighed. “I’m considering what to do. The duke wants me to stay here and work for him, and I don’t dislike the idea but… it’s not my home, Cora. I was born at Lampton Priory, grew up there… I’ve put down deep roots. I’m not sure I want to uproot myself.”
“I’ve been uprooted four times and survived it,” she said softly.
“Four times? Let me see… when you married, that would be one. And when you moved here.”
“Those were the first and last — so far! In between, there was the move to Leahollow when Roland inherited, and another upheaval when he died, and Richard decided to move us all to Norwich. Women of a certain class are expected to move, when circumstances decree, and not to make a fuss about it, however difficult.”
“Which was the most difficult?” he said, trying to work out which it might be. The transition from innocent girl to wife and mother? That would be a big change, but then widowhood and leaving her home of many years would be hard, too.
“All of them!” she said, laughing. “Probably not for the reason you think. It is not so much the new place, new servants, new views from the window. Not even having to make new friends. I have never minded making friends. It is the shopping! There, that sounds dreadfully frivolous, but the difficulty in finding a shop selling a wide enough range of embroidery silks drives me to distraction. Seamstresses, too, but mostly embroidery silks. When I am a little lost and not sure of anything, my embroidery is such a comfort. I can never settle in a new place until I have found a supplier of good quality threads.”
That he could understand. Shaping wood served the same purpose in him, when he had a problem to solve. “And have you found a supplier now?”
“There are two shops in Brinchester, and one or the other is bound to have what I need. There, you see, it is possible to be uprooted and survive with one’s sanity intact.
Would it be so impossible to put down new roots in Brinshire?
Is there nothing here to tempt you? The woods must be an attraction, surely. ”
The woods! Yes, he loved the woods already, but Cora herself was perhaps the biggest attraction.
There was something enchanting about a woman who looked at him the way she did, with shining eyes, a little breathlessly.
And yet… there was nothing for him there.
No question of marriage. If he stayed at Staineybank, he might be setting himself up for heartache.
And that was not the only consideration. “When I say my home is at Lampton Priory,” he said slowly, “it’s not just a form of words. My cottage there is mine, left to me by the present Mr Garth’s grandfather. It’s not much, but it’s my own and it connects me to the place.”
“Is that why Mr Garth dislikes you so much, because his grandfather left you a cottage?”
“Partly, I suppose. It means he’ll never be rid of me, even if he gives me notice.
I’ll still be there, sitting in my little cottage, right in the middle of Priory land.
It used to be hidden in the woods, but now that the woods have gone, the cottage is visible from the house and all over the gardens, a constant thorn in his flesh.
If I move here, who knows what will happen to my cottage?
Mr Garth will put some tenants in it, most likely, and I’d have to go to law to get it back. ”
And yet… he would not care tuppence for his cottage if he could have Cora. But what was the point of thinking that way? However attracted to him she might be, they both knew it had no future. Better for both of them if he went home.
“The duke would give you a cottage to live in, I am certain,” she said, her head tipped to one side. Had she any idea how attractive she was in that pose? Probably not, for she was entirely without artifice.
“Aye, but it would be his, not mine,” he said with sudden passion. “He could turf me out at any moment.”
“He does not strike me as a man who would do such a thing,” she said. “Now, your Mr Garth, on the other hand—”
“He’s not my Mr Garth! But it’s true, he’s not a benign employer.” He sighed. “I need to think carefully about this, because I have a feeling whatever I decide will be permanent.”
***
Cora left Cal to his pondering and walked slowly back to the house, crossing the river by the upper bridge and entering by the garden room in the basement.
This took her through the servants’ hall, where the scullery maid was laying the table for the outdoor servants’ dinner, and into the kitchen, where Mrs Bright, the cook, was inspecting Ben Lovell’s haul for the day.
He had brought a good quantity of fish, as well as woodcock and duck.
At the other end of the table, Timmy, the kitchen boy, had emptied a bag of mushrooms and was sorting them into baskets.