Mr Coke and his daughters sat in the front pew by the pulpit, and the Holkham workers, from the highest to the lowest person on the estate, filled every other pew. The agent, his wife and children; ploughmen with their families, gardeners, foresters, stable lads, shepherds, cowmen, laundry workers, servants from the Hall and Joshua Norbery from Linmore.
It was the first time he felt he truly belonged, and in that joyful moment of singing Christmas Carols, he felt close to Linmore.
Of course, his mother would not go to church, but Aunt Jane would sit in the front pew beside his father, sing the same tunes and make responses to the prayers. It was as if he was there with them.
Christmas Day dawned, bright and crisp underfoot. Joshua exchanged his brown working coat for bottle green superfine and spent the time with the agent making merry with his relations, many of whom he knew from working on the estate. It was a jolly family occasion unlike any he had experienced before.
Mrs Blakeney organised a veritable feast. There was poultry and game, a haunch of venison, as well as fish, fresh from the sea, with a multitude of vegetable side dishes, followed by a selection of tasty puddings, sweet desserts and ices. The servants brought in tankards of ale and cider for the menfolk, and glasses of homemade wine and lemonade for the women.
The Blakeney family laughed, talked and sang songs. Someone played the fiddle while others danced. Then they handed out the presents. Joshua received a new work diary from the agent. He wished he had a gift to give in return, but none was expected.
When supper was over, Joshua said his thanks and donned his greatcoat in preparation to ride his horse back across the park to the stables. Ben Waters, the groom, joined him by the back door, similarly muffled against the weather.
“Come on, Joshua,” he said. “You had better come with me in the gig. The horse might find his way, but you wouldn’t make it on your own.”
Joshua laughed, thinking the groom referred to the ale they had consumed earlier in the day, but realised his mistake when he looked outside.
He could see the path leading to the stable yard, but the drive and familiar landmarks beyond the gateposts had disappeared under a blanket of snow. There was no alternative but to accept the offer, which he did gratefully.
Joshua shivered, wrapped his woollen scarf around his neck, pulled up the collar of his greatcoat around his ears, and huddled down into the capes around his shoulders. With any luck, the mulled wine he drank before leaving the agent’s house would keep the worst of the chill at bay, but he would be glad to be between the sheets tonight.
The night air was cold after the glowing warmth of the house, and the hazy light of the rising moon bathed the park in an eerie whiteness. It was so bright in the open, but a multitude of shadows lurked amongst the trees.
All was quiet, apart from the muffled hoof beats and turning of wheels. Lanterns hung on either side of the gig, flickered behind glass cases, attempting to light the way. The screech of an owl broke the silence, and Joshua saw a ghostly shape winging its way across the parkland. The sound came as a relief to break the monotony.
A coppice ahead indicated the direction they should take, but when clouds obscured the moon, the groom struggled to keep the gig on the road. Joshua knew if he had been holding the reins, the snow would have erased his sense of direction. Of one thing he was certain: rising moon or not, there would be no poachers abroad on a night like this.
Another block of trees on either side of the road formed a windbreak, and then they were in the open, feeling the force of the keen wind blowing across the park. By the look of the sky, it would snow again before morning.
Their pace seemed interminably slow. A mile and a half felt like three, and the quarter of an hour it normally took to cover the distance stretched to four times the amount.
“Not long now,” Ben said. “We’ll soon be there.”
The groom had said the words three times already, yet minutes later, Joshua saw the stable block appear behind the next group of oak trees, and beyond the lake, the familiar outline of Holkham Hall. It was good to be home.
On Boxing Day, he swapped his green coat for one in burgundy as he joined the servants’ hall celebrations. Mr Coke carved the roast goose, Mr Blakeney a sirloin of beef, and Joshua placed flagons of ale and cider on the tables. Then he sat down and ate his fill. When the dining was finished, the servants cleared the room and the country dancing began. He could not have enjoyed himself more, had he been a guest of the king.
The only problem he encountered was the mistletoe bunches hanging in every doorway, which attracted maidservants like wasps to a jam pot. Whichever way he turned, there was one waiting, and so he passed it off in grand style, bowing low and kissing their hands as he would a lady. It was a source of great amusement for the menfolk and kept the women at arm’s length. Even the housekeeper could not resist the temptation to walk by at an opportune moment, and went away smiling.
Snowflakes were falling again when he trudged back to the stables in the company of the grooms. It was too cold to waste time, but the camaraderie kept him warm, and stopped him feeling sad. The weather continued thus until the year’s end. Apart from a few lights in the windows, Holkham Hall seemed to be gently sleeping under a blanket of snow.
When he listened to the church bells ringing in the New Year, Joshua wondered what the year would hold. Eight months had passed since his arrival, which meant he would be going home a few weeks after Easter.
Michael and James returned before Twelfth Night, suitably refreshed by their family celebrations, and work began all over again.
Soon afterwards, the family at the Hall set out for London. Parliament was in session, and they would see little of Mr Coke for several months. Joshua expected his father was similarly in transit from Linmore, and within another month, the London social season would begin.
The thought triggered a memory of when he was in Rome, and of Lady Kenchester’s ideas about him and Lady Rosie. Much had happened since then, and he wondered if she still remembered him.
The lambing snows came before the first covering melted. The shepherds were out in the days and the darkest of nights, gathering up the lambs, saving them from the cold and wet, and the ever-present danger of foxes and carrion.
Immersed in the second placement of stockbreeding, Joshua had no time to feel lonely. Perversely, while his fellow students slept, he was out by the Great Barn with the shepherds, keeping the promise he made to go back, even if only for one night.
In truth, it was for several nights and the reality was different to how he imagined. The hours were long and eerily quiet, apart from the occasional hoot of an owl, or call of a dog fox to its vixen.
He followed the shepherds around the fields, holding a lantern while they carried the newborn lambs to shelter. When they gave him one to carry back to the barn, he slipped it inside his coat to keep it warm.
Bittersweet memories caught him unawares. Thoughts of happier times flooded back as he remembered a night at Linmore when he, Charlie and Sophie sat in the stables, waiting for a foal to be born.
Together they shared the sense of awe at the birth, the wonder as the wobbly little creature struggled to stand and the tears of relief when it did. The part that touched him most was the maternal tenderness.
Charlie and Sophie had short but happy memories of their mother, which Joshua lacked. Thank goodness, Aunt Jane was there to cuddle him. Without her, he would have had no one.
He was thankful none of the shepherds made fun of him when he washed his smeary face in a handful of snow. The icy chill on his skin shocked him into wakefulness, and he cast aside his maudlin feelings of self-pity.
Back in the shepherds’ hut, he shared a bite to eat and a drink around the log stove, but could not stay awake any longer. By the time he awoke several hours later, he was alone and the stove was burning low.
Outside, birds were singing, and the snow-covered landscape looked different with a chilly sun rising over the sea. The sound of a newborn lamb crying for its mother made him think of Tess, and he wondered who would support her when she delivered her baby.
Knowing he did not have the right to interfere, Joshua saddled his horse in the barn and took his leave of the shepherds.
“Will we see you tonight?” someone asked.
“You will,” he said, fully intending to be there.
It was time to ride back for breakfast at the Hall, and he was there with his shepherd’s hat in hand before the other students left their beds. The servants in the breakfast room smiled, but no one made fun of his eccentricity. Afterwards, he stumbled back to the stables and fell into bed for a dreamless sleep. It seemed only minutes later he heard the door of his room open.
“Come on, Norbery, you’ll miss breakfast.” Michael Gransden’s voice came through the mists of sleep.
“I’ve had mine,” Joshua mumbled and buried his head under the pillow.
“Please yourself, but don’t forget the agent’s meeting is at eleven o’clock.” Michael’s voice receded down the stairs.
“Come on, James. Some of us have to show the agent we are ready to do some work. I do not know what’s happened to Joshua these last few days; dashed if I ever saw such a lazy fellow for sticking to his bed.”
A few minutes later, Kegworth looked in to close the door, which Michael had left open. “It’s all right, Mr Norbery,” he said. “My young master doesn’t know the world goes on while he sleeps. I heard you come in at about half past five. What time do you want me to give you a call?”
Joshua opened one bleary eye and yawned. “What time is it now?”
“Five minutes after seven o’clock. How would it be if I brew up some tea, and bring some hot water for washing and shaving at about nine?”
“Mmm…”
While the agent nodded approval to Joshua’s requests, his fellow students found his interest in delivering animals as inexplicable as his predilection for working with the lower orders. They could not understand it.
In their opinion, a gentleman paid others to do such work. It raised questions in their minds about his origins, and his motives for learning. Had they possibly misunderstood that his father was a tenant farmer?
“Surely, Joshua, there’s no need to get your hands dirty, or tramp across the estate wearing the clothes of a labourer?” Michael was the most vocal.
“What do you mean?” he said. “Mr Coke doesn’t consider it beneath his dignity to wear a smock-frock and gaiters when he works on the estate, and he learned about agriculture by asking the people who knew.”
They chose to ignore that aspect.
“Your father is a gentleman, isn’t he? I mean… he’s not a tenant farmer?” Doubt crept into James’s voice.
That was outside of enough. Joshua had never before heard his father’s status questioned, and his scathing tone lashed them.
“Of course my father is a landowner,” he said. “The Norbery family have been at Linmore for at least seven generations.”
The younger lad was profuse in his apologies. Joshua waved them aside and stalked away, but his anger evaporated before he reached the door. He stopped, turned and extended his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was ill-mannered of me.”
James was almost pathetically grateful for the gesture, and Michael looked equally chastened. Neither of them, they assured him, intended any offence.
Joshua felt ashamed of his ill humour. His paternal grandfather reputedly had a fiery temper, and haughty demeanour, but his father was a gentle soul. He much preferred to resemble him.
He supposed he could have told them of the barony, which lapsed when his grandfather inherited the estate from a cousin, but it would have been no different to Michael’s boasts of his father being a baronet.
Joshua gave the appearance of interest, knowing his father declined the offer of a title for reasons that concerned no one outside Linmore.
He could never reveal the reason for his determination. It was more than being heir to the estate. He had to prove himself a worthy custodian of Linmore. Sophie Cobarne had gone, but the stigma attached to his name remained. Only when it was resolved could he face the future, and one day seek a wife. That ultimately was his goal, but unlike his father, he wanted to marry a woman he could trust, and love.
As February merged into March, Joshua reviewed his workbook. He had not realised how war with France affected farming practice. It was not simply a matter of landowners producing cereal crops and meat for profit. There were strict war regulations governing the supply of food, with an ever-increasing demand to feed workers of munitions factories in the industrial towns. It was as simple as that. Good quality food earned results, and money to reinvest in the land.
That justified the animal sheds in the Great Barn, used for wintering stock cattle, fattening them with hay, root crops and oilcake. He could see how crop rotation and stockbreeding complemented each other. Well-fed animals gained more weight, and produced better manure to nurture the land the following year. Well-manured land produced a higher yield of cereal, root crops and hay. Maybe it was time for Linmore to invest in some wintering sheds.
Joshua drew a line under his writing and pondered what to do next. He knew if he asked he could play cards with Michael and James. Since their disagreement, the other students had offered many times. Usually he declined, saying he was not much of a card player. It was not strictly true.
There was a time when he could play with the best. He and Charlie spent many hours playing cards with the former soldiers in the wilds of Macedonia, when Doctor Hawley’s life hung by a thread, and again in the villa gardens of Athens and Rome. He could probably have beaten both the lads without effort, but could not afford a repetition of the Fakenham overspend if he lost.
Usually, he wrote letters, or went downstairs to talk with the grooms, and often found Kegworth there ahead of him.
Tonight, he was at a loss to know what to do. His diary was up to date, and he had finished the letters to Aunt Jane and Francis Weyborne, so he started to write a letter to Lady Rosie, as a friend. By the time he had written two lines, he was opening his heart. Words failed him when he attempted to relate the trouble with Charlie, so he moved on to other news.