Fairfield Hall (26 page)

‘And if we don’t agree?’ Another woman from the back, sitting not far from Nancy and Bertie, spoke up. ‘What then?’

‘I shall help Nancy and her family – including her mother, whom I want more than anything to get out of the workhouse – to move away and make a fresh start somewhere
else.’

Mrs Broughton now got up. ‘Begging your pardon, m’lady.’ She glanced around at her fellow villagers. ‘Mebbe I haven’t the right to say owt, since we’ve been
away for a while, but life in that place is a living hell. You all knew my Dan – what a good, jovial feller he was and a hard worker. And now look at him after a few weeks in there.
He’s a broken man. I don’t’ – her voice trembled and she pressed a handkerchief to her mouth – ‘know if he’ll ever be the same again.’

There was more murmuring. There were no secrets on this estate and the village grapevine had been hard at work over the past couple of days.

Slowly, Jabez Fletcher, whom Annabel believed many looked upon as the village elder and their spokesman, rose to his feet. He was frowning now and Annabel held her breath. She was sure that
whatever Jabez had to say would determine the reaction of the rest. As both Betsy and Lily Broughton sat down, Jabez stared at Annabel. She met his gaze steadily but her heartbeat quickened. The
next few minutes would determine the future of Nancy, her son and her mother.

Jabez cleared his throat and began to speak slowly and deliberately. ‘M’lady, what has befallen this village, this estate, was none of our making. We were
all
hardworking,
honest folk like Dan Broughton, but when that – that bugger up the hill – begging your pardon, m’lady – inherited it all, then we was done for. And he was the same bugger
who shamed a nice little lass and brought her low. We all understood that and – at first – we stood by her, overlooked it, you might say. But it was what she did when things got tough
that we find hard to excuse.’ He paused and Annabel’s heart sank. There was a movement at the back of the church and she glanced up to see that Nancy had risen and was hurrying out,
dragging her son with her. Jabez carried on speaking as if nothing had happened. ‘But if we’re honest – and I hope we are still all honest, despite what has happened to us –
might not any one of us have turned to such desperate measures to feed our little ones?’ He glanced around the congregation, searching the faces of all the women there. ‘Wouldn’t
you’ – he pointed his finger – ‘and you and you have done the same, if you’d had the chance, rather than see your children starve?’ One or two of the women began
to cry and several of the men looked shamefaced. ‘Aye,’ Jabez nodded. ‘We’ve come close to starvation. We all – every one of us – knows what it’s like to
feel a gnawing hunger in our bellies and to have to listen to the bairns crying to be fed and we’ve nowt to give ’em.’ He nodded, embracing them all in what he was saying.
‘Aye, I’ve seen you all with that desperation in your eyes. That same desperation that young Nancy must have felt. She’d no man to lean on and her mam took herself off to the
workhouse because she couldn’t bear the shame of what her daughter became. But she became a whore to feed her boy; a boy who, let me remind you, if he hadn’t been born on the wrong side
of the blanket, would be our future lord and master. He is, as we all know, Albert Lyndon’s son and by the law of nature he should have inherited on his father’s death. But because of
man’s
laws, he’s a bastard and he can never inherit the title and the estate.’

‘So, what are you saying, Jabez,’ Jim Chadwick called out, ‘that we should give Nancy another chance?’

‘I am, Jim, yes.’

‘And is that because that’s what you genuinely feel we should do or because, despite what she says, it’s Lady Fairfield who’s asking?’

Jabez turned slowly to look at Annabel. ‘No,’ he said slowly at last, ‘it’s not because it’s her who’s asking. I believe what she says. She’ll still do
her best for us no matter what we decide, but I reckon she would be very disappointed in us all if we say “no”. And I reckon she’d have a right to be.’

A stillness descended, each one of them was lost in their own thoughts, making up their own minds without influence from anyone else. Jabez sat down and leaned back in his seat, waiting as
Annabel and the vicar were waiting too.

At last, when whispering began and grew like a breeze rippling through the church, Richard stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘How do you want to do this? Would the easiest way be to
take a vote?’

‘Aye, Vicar, I reckon that’s a good idea.’

‘Very well. So those in favour of giving Nancy a second chance, of treating her with kindness and understanding, of accepting her and her son back into the community in
every
way
– and that will include allowing your children to play with Bertie, agreeing that he should attend school alongside them, patronizing her dressmaking business as and when you can afford it,
sharing anything we have with her until times improve – with no more censure, no more disapproval, no more making her and her family feel like outcasts—’

‘What if she falls back into those ways again?’ a voice from the back asked.

Before Richard could answer, Annabel spoke up. ‘Then she will leave the village.’

‘Could you make her do that, m’lady? She owns that cottage.’

‘Oh, I think I could find a way,’ Annabel said quietly, ‘but I don’t think for a moment that will happen. Nancy wants – more than anything – to change her
life.’

‘So,’ Richard said again, ‘will those in favour please raise their hands?’

Jabez was the first to put up his right arm, swiftly followed by Betsy and Adam Cartwright, Lily Broughton and her son, William, and Josh Parrish. All the staff from Fairfield Hall followed suit
and, as Annabel glanced round, slowly, one by one, the whole congregation raised their hands in the air.

Annabel felt the tears start in her eyes as she clasped her hands together. ‘Thank you, oh thank you.’

The next morning, Annabel brought Agnes Banks home from the workhouse. She had been overjoyed when Annabel gave her the news.

‘Nancy left the church yesterday before she heard the decision, but I went straight to her cottage afterwards and told her what had happened.’ Annabel omitted to tell Agnes that the
young woman had wept tears of thankfulness against Annabel’s shoulder.

‘How can I ever thank you, m’lady?’ Nancy had said.

‘By keeping your promise to me, Nancy, that nothing like that will ever happen again. If you need help, you come to me.’

‘I swear it on Bertie’s life, m’lady.’

Annabel hadn’t expected such a dramatic reply, but now she knew Nancy would keep her word. She just hoped the villagers would keep their side of the agreement. But as she drove down the
village street with Mrs Banks sitting beside her, she was heartened by the number of folk who came out of their cottages to wave and shout a greeting. When they reached Nancy’s cottage, they
found Betsy and Lily there. Betsy had made a stew and Lily had baked an apple pie. Even Grace Parrish had come down from the big house to welcome her friend home.

After a moment’s hesitation – as if she could hardly believe it was true – Nancy fell weeping into her mother’s arms. ‘There, there, it’s going to be all
right,’ Agnes murmured, but the tears were running down her face too.

‘We’ll leave you to settle in,’ Lily Broughton said. ‘Now, Nancy, you know where to come, love, if you need help. You’ve only got to ask.’ Both Betsy and
Grace Parrish nodded their agreement.

As they stepped outside and closed the door behind them, Lily sighed. ‘I hope they’re going to be all right. That poor little lad looked as if he didn’t know what on earth was
happening.’

Annabel said nothing, but Bertie’s solemn face had touched her heart and she promised silently that she would keep her eye on him. After all, as Jabez had said, he was by rights a Lyndon,
though she doubted Dorothea or even her own husband would see it that way.

Two days later, on the Wednesday, Annabel, accompanied by Ben, Jim Chadwick, Adam Cartwright and William Broughton, drove into the town to attend the cattle market.

‘I couldn’t get me dad to come,’ William told them. ‘He just sits in his chair by the fire all day. Me mam says it’ll take a rocket up his –’ The youth
stopped and turned red at what he’d been going to say. ‘Sorry, m’lady,’ he mumbled.

Annabel hid her smile. ‘Maybe the sight of cows in his fields once more will get him out of his chair, William.’

‘We’ll have him up and about again, don’t you fret, lad,’ Jim said. ‘And in the meantime, we’ll all pull together. We’ll help you.’

‘We’ll need shires. How many do you think?’ Annabel asked the men squeezed in beside her as the trap rattled towards town.

They glanced at each other and then Ben said, ‘We’ve been having a chat about that, m’lady. To start with, we reckon we could manage with four between us.’

‘For four farms? Do you really? There’s a lot of ploughing to be done.’

‘If there are some decent ones on sale today, we could get them and see how it goes.’

‘Very well. And how many head of cattle do you want each?’

‘Chaffinch Farm was mainly cattle,’ William said. ‘We had twenty cows at one time. Not that I expect you to buy me that many, m’lady,’ he added swiftly. ‘But
we haven’t a lot of arable land. It’s mainly pasture for the cattle. And Mam would run the dairy. She’s a dab hand at making butter and cheese.’

‘And I’m more arable than cattle,’ Jim put in. ‘Though I had a small herd of about six milkers.’

‘Home Farm’s was a good mix,’ Ben told her. ‘A little bit of everything. A few cows for both milk and beef – we had Lincoln Reds for beef. . .’ There was a
wistful note in Ben’s tone and, hearing it, Jim put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, as if to say, It’ll be all right, Ben, though he didn’t say the words aloud.
‘A few sheep, hens, ducks,’ Ben continued, ‘turkeys for Christmas and fields of wheat, barley or oats and root crops too, of course.’

‘What about you, Adam?’ Annabel asked. ‘It seems you can choose. I haven’t had time yet to take a good look at Sparrow Farm, but you can do whatever you want.’

As they arrived near the centre of the town, Adam was gazing wide-eyed around him at the bustling marketplace as if he’d landed in a magical land. ‘What d’you advise, Mr
Jackson? I always liked working with Mr Chadwick’s cows.’

‘Aye, you were a good stockman, Adam,’ Ben said. ‘I reckon you’d do well to concentrate on a dairy herd or mix of both. The chap who had Sparrow Farm before you kept both
and he had a lot of pigs too, so between us all we supplied the local butcher. I don’t think Percy Hammond needed to go off the estate much at all for his meat supplies. There’s a
slaughterhouse behind his shop, m’lady. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but Mr Hammond used to do all his own slaughtering.’

‘I don’t want to tread on William’s toes,’ Adam said worriedly.

‘You won’t do,’ Annabel said firmly. ‘How’s Betsy with dairy work? Once she’s well enough, of course.’

Adam laughed. ‘She’s like a new woman already. You should see her cooking and baking and cleaning. And she can’t wait to have a few hens to look after.’

‘Tell her not to overdo it. We don’t want her ill again. It’s not long since she had the baby, but do you think she’d like to learn dairy work?’

‘Afore we were married she used to work for Mrs Broughton in her dairy. Do you remember, William?’

William furrowed his brow. ‘Vaguely, but I wasn’t very old then. But if she learned under me mam, she’ll know what’s what. Me mam’s a stickler for things being done
right.’

‘Here we are.’ Annabel drew the trap into the backyard of the pub where all the farmers gathered on market day. ‘And there’s Grandfather waiting for us.’

Before the sales began, Annabel made sure that each farmer from the estate would bid for his own stock, leaving Ben to buy four shires that would be shared amongst them all for a while until
they saw what was needed.

‘Grandfather,’ she whispered, as they found their places near the railings of the first pen of animals to be auctioned. ‘Stand near William and give him a bit of advice if he
needs it. I wouldn’t want to belittle him.’

Edward looked down at her. ‘Of course I will, my lovely.’ He frowned. ‘But why do you think you’d belittle the lad?’

‘Oh Gramps! A woman telling him what to bid for! What do you think? I want him to take his place amongst the local farmers and today is a good chance to start, but I don’t want him
bidding for rubbish.’

Edward chuckled. ‘You think of everything, lass, don’t you? And just so’s no one else feels belittled, as you put it, lunch at the pub after the market is on me. And I
won’t have any arguments.’

Annabel squeezed his arm in silent thanks.

The morning went well. There was pen after pen of cattle, both dairy and beef, and all looked sturdy, healthy animals. The auctioneer was assuring his audience that all the dairy cattle –
ten in all – were in calf.

‘Gramps, why are they being sold if they’re in calf?’ Annabel whispered, frowning. She was puzzled. ‘I’d have thought the farmer would want to keep them.’

‘They’ve all come from old Sam Bennett’s place,’ Edward whispered back. ‘He’s just died suddenly and his son doesn’t want to come back here. He has a
city job. So, the farm’s being sold. They’re all right, my lovely.’ He chuckled. ‘I’ve made enquiries and had a good look at them myself. They’re due to calve
again about next May. You’ll be getting milk straight away, of course, but the only trouble is they might all have their two months’ drying-off period at the same time. Still,
that’ll not happen until next March, April time. We’ve time to think about that before then.’

William was pink with delight when the hammer fell on six of the dairy cows for him. Next, it was Jim’s turn to buy the remaining four milkers. ‘And I’d like some pigs,
m’lady, if that’s all right.’

They were able to buy four gilts for Blackbird Farm.

‘They look healthy,’ Jim murmured. ‘What d’you think, Edward?’

‘How old are they?’

‘Six months.’