Chapter Ten
Harry had spent the morning in the library poring over maps of the Windrush estate and going over old ledgers.
He’d discovered that Rampton Farm was listed as one of the estate properties.
So perhaps his predecessor had left it to her in his will.
Small compensation for having lost the Hall.
Even though he’d gained by this, he couldn’t help but feeling it was an unfair exchange.
He’d had yet another disturbed night, this time waking in the pitch darkness of the early hours and being unable to get back to sleep again.
This had led to his eventual rising at a little after six, when he’d dressed and sneaked downstairs with a candle hoping not to disturb the servants at their early morning chores.
Of course, someone unseen had spotted him, and within half an hour Crawford, ever immaculate, even at half past six in the morning, brought him coffee in the library.
“Mrs. Barnes thought you might like this, Sir Henry,” he said, with a deferential bow.
The smell was enticing. Hester had preferred tea at every opportunity, so it was a long time since Harry had drunk really good coffee. He thanked Crawford, who retreated towards the door and then halted. Did he have something he wanted to say?
“Yes?” Harry looked up from the pile of ledgers, raising an eyebrow.
Crawford cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say, Sir Henry, that did you wish for any kind of assistance with the estate papers, I myself am familiar with them.”
Harry weighed this offer for a moment. He’d never so much as glimpsed estate ledgers before, and he was finding them somewhat confusing.
Crawford took the opportunity to expand.
“Sir Geoffrey was a very astute landowner, and did not employ either an estate manager or a man of business. Only Mr. Pratt to deal with legal matters. But I was often involved as I’d served him most of his life.
We were of an age, you see. My father had one of the tenant farms. My brother has it now.
So Sir Geoffrey and I were well acquainted with each other as boys.
And he knew the extent of my numeracy as his father had sponsored me to attend the grammar school in Market Harborough.
” He shifted a little. “He trusted me. And as a result I know a great deal about the estate.”
This sounded as though it might be useful. “You do?”
Crawford nodded with grave imperturbability. “I do.”
Why not? Harry waved a welcoming hand at his butler.
“Then perhaps you might stay for a while? I know it’s early, as yet, and you must have work to do, but I could do with a hand at familiarizing myself with matters concerning the estate.
” He smiled. “It’s not the sort of thing I’ve had to deal with before, and I hesitate to approach it incorrectly. ”
So Crawford stayed, and proved he did indeed have a vast knowledge of the estate and what went on within its confines, and also about Sir Geoffrey’s finances which were now Harry’s own.
So much so that Harry felt a tiny bit uncomfortable that his butler possessed such knowledge.
But there was nothing he could do to change that, and he had the feeling Crawford might be the repository of many secrets.
Eventually, as he felt he was beginning to get to know Crawford’s jib, Harry decided to ask him about Lady Madeley.
He looked up from the map he’d been perusing and cleared his throat.
“Might you be able to tell me a little more about Lady Madeley’s move to Rampton Farm?
I confess to feeling a little guilty that she thought I might be such an ogre that she needed to vacate this house for me.
” He paused. “Although I see she’s not gone far. ”
Crawford froze in the act of picking up one of the ledger books.
Harry waited.
“Lady Madeley? Rampton Farm?” The butler set the book down with careful precision.
Harry nodded. “I called there yesterday morning. I like to be up early, as you must have noticed this morning, and I frequently take a walk. For my health. I need to regain my previous fitness, you see.”
He kept his gaze fixed on Crawford.
“Yesterday I walked into the village and met the rector, Mr. Mastin, who was kind enough to invite me to breakfast with him and his sister. On the way back, I encountered Miss Margaret Madeley, and she invited me to accompany her to Rampton Farm.” He managed a smile.
“In fact, it would have been impossible to refuse her insistence. She’s a most determined young lady. ”
Crawford’s face had not lost its guarded expression. “Ah, Miss Margaret. As you say, a most determined young lady.”
“Quite a character.”
Crawford nodded, his eyes betraying his obvious fondness for the child. Probably for the whole family. This did nothing to lessen the guilt Harry was already feeling for having driven them from their home, however unwittingly.
“They didn’t have to move out, you know,” Harry said, his fingers playing with the edge of the map.
Anchored down on the library table by books at each corner, it was the oldest map he’d been able to find, dating from 1660, the year of the Restoration.
Harry’s mother had been quite the scholar and he knew a lot about British history.
Crawford’s fingers drummed on the ledger.
“Lady Madeley thought it would be easier for you if you were to have the house to yourself.” He fidgeted in his seat.
“At the time, we had no idea you were not a married man. It would have been wholly unsuitable for your wife, had she existed, to arrive here and find another lady in possession. Lady Madeley assured me it was the correct thing for her to do.”
If only he knew how very difficult Harry’s life was.
The presence of the widow and her three children could not have made it any worse.
Might even have improved it, in fact. “That was very thoughtful of her.” He leaned back in his seat.
“Although I can’t help but think that the house is very empty without her and her children. Very empty and quiet.”
Crawford nodded, a little soulfully. “It is indeed, Sir Henry.”
Harry frowned. He would have much preferred to be called Sir Harry, but probably Crawford wouldn’t approve of such familiarity.
No, let him remain Harry just for Megs, and perhaps also for her sisters.
And most especially for their mother, if he could persuade her. To everyone else he would be Sir Henry.
Crawford picked up the ledger again and opened it.
“Why did Lady Madeley choose Rampton Farm?” Harry asked, pretending to pore over the map, which was indeed interesting.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crawford freeze again.
He waited, running a finger rather uselessly across the map as though tracing a pathway.
“Lady Madeley did not choose the farm,” Crawford said. “It was already empty, and her husband left it to her in his will…” His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed.
There was clearly more to be told here, but Harry left that for the time being. “Why was it empty?”
Crawford seemed pleased at the new direction of the questions.
“The previous tenant had died and his widow was too old to continue alone. She had no sons to carry on after their father, and her daughters had married and moved away, as daughters do. All but one, a widow who lives in the village. Mrs. Fisher. She took in her aged mother.” He paused.
“Arthur the boot boy is Mrs. Fisher’s son, as is Dick, the gardener’s boy.
Sir Geoffrey liked to give as much employment as possible to local people. ”
Harry nodded. “A good thing too. A practice I intend to continue, with your assistance. I don’t think I’ve seen either of those boys yet. You must point them out to me.”
But he was wondering what it was Crawford knew but hadn’t revealed about Lady Madeley and Rampton Farm. That there was something, he felt certain, but it would have been unfair to press one of his staff to reveal something they didn’t feel able to. He’d have to find out some other way.
He thought about the will, and rather wished he’d paid Mr. Pratt more attention when he was detailing it.
But the shock of having inherited a title and estate had knocked him sideways.
Sir Geoffrey had left everything he owned to him, except, it seemed, Rampton Farm.
But surely his widow had money of her own, perhaps in the form of a dowry from her own parents?
Perhaps Rampton Farm was just a stop-gap solution while she decided where to move to.
To his surprise, he found he rather hoped it wasn’t. Despite, or perhaps partly because of Megs’ confession that she might have shot him, he’d come to the conclusion that he liked what he’d seen of her and her family. Especially her mother.
He took out his fob watch. It was already half past nine.
“I rather think we’ve worked long enough for now, thank you, Crawford.
You especially. I don’t know if you’ve had breakfast, but I haven’t.
So I think we’ll close these books and I’ll come back to them later.
” He found the smile came unforced this time. “You’ve been most useful to me.”
Crawford closed the ledger he’d been studying. “It’s no trouble at all, Sir Henry. Call upon me whenever you will and you will find me ready to oblige.”
Harry nodded. “Perhaps tomorrow morning? I really mustn’t keep you from your usual duties, so after breakfast I’ll continue on in here by myself.”
Crawford bowed. “As you wish, Sir Henry. I shall go and inform Mrs. Barnes that you are ready for your breakfast.”