By the time Althea and her grandmother sat down to dinner that evening, they had a fair idea of the work cut out for them. The fields leased to the squire were in good condition, enclosed by sturdy fences and filled with what looked to be the beginning of healthy crops, but the rest of the estate—the main house and outbuildings—was in need of repair. Tiles were missing from the stable roofs, paint was peeling, and in some cases, windowsills and casements were rotting. Weeds were springing up in the drive, and the gardens were badly overgrown.
“We have tried to keep things in repair, my lady, but it is just Crowder and me, and we are getting on in years, not able to do all the work we once did. Sam is a help, but the lad is slow and not much use for anything except fetching water, sweeping, and lighting fires,” Mrs. Crowder apologized with an anxious look.
“You have done well to keep the place clean, the draperies mended, and the linen in good order, Mrs. Crowder. I have no fault to find with your management,” Althea reassured her. “It is too much for two people. We shall have to find you some more help. My grandmother and I are capable gardeners, so we can do a good deal there, and Jenny was a farmer’s daughter before she became a lady’s maid, so she will prove most useful, but I am sure you must know some likely young girls in the village and a lad or two who could work under Mr. Crowder’s direction to bring things around.”
“I expect that the Tubbs girls would be only too happy to lend a hand. Their father is Farmer Tubbs at the home farm, a very decent, hardworking man, but with a large family and many mouths to feed.”
“The home farm.” Althea’s eyes brightened. “I should like to see it. When I was a girl at Clarendon, I was forever running off to visit them at the home farm. My governess finally gave up chasing me and began to teach me my sums and my geography by counting geese and sheep, telling me which animals were best grown in what part of the country, where a horse would be if it traveled for fifty miles, how long it would take a drover to get to London if he and his charges traveled a certain number of miles per day. I was even allowed to raise my own Iamb, without Mama and Papa’s knowledge, of course. When I grew older I would spend hours poring over the books in our agent’s office, learning everything I could about all the animals there.”
“Farmer Tubbs will welcome you most heartily, then, for I am sure he was always disappointed that Master Reginald did not take more of an interest in the farm. His passion is his hoggery, which is well-known throughout the county. There is no bacon so fine as Farmer Tubbs’s. If you take the path that skirts the pasture and continues through the spinney and along the brook, you will find it is quite a pleasant walk.”
“Thank you. If the day proves fine tomorrow, I shall do that.” After the tense days of planning and a long carriage ride, Althea was eager for fresh air and exercise.
The next day dawned bright and sunny. Althea happily donned stout half boots and a leghorn bonnet and set off with Jenny in the direction indicated by Mrs. Crowder.
The walk was as picturesque as promised, and they had not gone much over half a mile before they came across the half-timbered farmhouse surrounded by its barn, dairy, and, as Mrs. Crowder had mentioned, a most impressive hoggery.
There was no need to announce their arrival, as the squawking of the chickens in the yard and the barking of a large spotted mongrel who ran out to greet them were indication enough that visitors had arrived.
Mrs. Tubbs, a large, red-faced, cheery woman, appeared at the door wiping floury hands on her apron. “We are all very happy, I am sure, my lady, to welcome you to Kennington. Mr. Duckworth rode over yesterday to say as how the new owner had arrived. I am sorry that Mr. Tubbs is not here to greet you at the moment, but he is in the stable with poor old Dobbin.” She shook her head anxiously. “Dobbin is our draft horse and is feeling rather poorly at present. Mr. Tubbs is that worried about him, but I shall send Betsy to fetch him. Dick is there and can look after the horse for the time being.” She turned to a towheaded girl of about six. “Now, Betsy, don’t stand there gawking. Run and find your papa.”
But Althea forestalled her. “No, there is no need to interrupt Mr. Tubbs. We shall just stop at the stable and introduce ourselves. But before we do, I should just like to ask ... Mrs. Crowder spoke of your girls, Jane and Emily, I think she called them. She said they might be able to help her out. She and Mr. Crowder have done wonderfully well to keep things in order, but it is too much for the two of them, especially now that we have arrived.”
The farmer’s wife was happy to assure her that Jane and Emily, excellent workers both of them, would be up at Kennington first thing the next morning.
“Thank you. Now I shall not keep you any longer from your baking.” Althea smiled at Betsy, who was staring at her bonnet in frank admiration, and then headed toward the stable.
She found Farmer Tubbs and a sturdy lad of about ten worriedly observing an enormous gray cart horse that leaned dispiritedly against the stall. The horse looked up as Althea and Jenny entered the stable, and the weariness and misery in its dark eyes washed over Althea so that she could think of nothing but the animal’s pain.
“Ah, poor old fellow.” Completely forgetting the farmer and his son, she reached out with gentle hands to rub its nose and check. The horse sighed wearily and rested its head on her shoulder as she stroked its neck and murmured softly in its ear.
Some minutes later, a tentative cough recalled her attention to the farmer and his son. “How long has he been like this?”
“Not long, my lady. It seemed to me the other day that he was not his usual hardworking self and then he went off his feed. The farrier came to look at him, but he could suggest nothing except feeding him bran mash with scalded water instead of corn. Dobbin is my only horse at the moment and there is so much ...”
“It is a great worry, I know, but if you will trust me, I believe I might be able to help.”
“Help? You, my lady?” Farmer Tubbs regarded the new mistress of Kennington in some surprise, but the wealth of sympathy in her eyes and the trustful way his horse leaned against her were inexplicably compelling. “It is that worried I am, my lady. I am not a rich man, and ...”
“I know that, Mr. Tubbs. I believe that what ails this animal is a touch of pleurisy. It is in the early stages, however, and if you will allow me to send your son for my groom, Jem, to come and bring materials for a mustard plaster and some gentian, I believe we shall have Dobbin right in a very short while. I promise you, it will not harm your horse, and if he does not improve, as I feel certain he will, why then, I promise to buy you a new one.”
Too bemused to do anything but nod dumbly at his son, the farmer remained transfixed while Althea grabbed a blanket and carefully covered the sick horse. “If you have bandages, it is also good to wrap the legs as well, so as to keep the animal as warm as possible.”
“Yes, my lady. Of course, my lady.” Rousing himself from his stupor, Farmer Tubbs hurried off to the house to procure the required bandages. The new mistress of Kennington was proving to be a most astounding young lady, but there was a ring of quiet authority in her voice. She seemed to know her way around a stable, and her gestures were the quick capable movements of someone who knew what she was doing.
When he returned from the house clutching the bandages, the farmer was treated to the even more astonishing picture of the young lady sweeping out Dobbin’s stall, oblivious to the dirty straw clinging to the hem of her gray Circassian cloth walking dress. Seeing the farmer’s expression she smiled half apologetically. “Please do not think I am being critical of your stables, but when an animal is ill, our coachman at Clarendon maintains that the stall must be as clean and airy as possible.”
Utterly overwhelmed by the spectacle of a beautiful, fashionably clad young woman cleaning out his horse’s stall, Farmer Tubbs simply nodded and handed her the bandages.
By the time Dick and Jem had returned, Dobbin was swathed in blankets and bandages from ear to hoof. Silently and efficiently Jem and Althea prepared the mustard plasters and, unwrapping some of the horse’s coverings, applied them to the sides and front of his chest.
That done, Althea mixed some gentian in with the bran mash and coaxed Dobbin into swallowing a few mouthfuls while the farmer and his son watched carefully. She wiped her hands on a cloth Jem handed her, whispered a few encouraging words in the horse’s ear, and stroked his nose with a comforting hand. “There. Now if you will just make sure that he is kept warm, maintain his circulation by rubbing him, and mix two drams of gentian in his mash once a day, I think you will find him looking better soon.”
“You are a wonder, my lady,” the farmer replied, shaking his head slowly. “And it appears to me that Dobbin looks a mite more cheerful already.”
“It is not I, but Jem and the coachman at Clarendon who have taught me what to do. I just cannot bear to see an animal looking miserable, or its master worried.”
“Well, I thank you for your concern. Running a farm without a horse is next to impossible, and the only man capable of handling a case beyond the farrier’s skill is over Newmarket way and powerful expensive.”
“I understand, and I appreciate your trust in Jem and me. Now, I shall come by in a day or so, but in the meantime, if Dobbin gets worse, you will let me know, will you not?” Althea held out a hand.
Unused to such openness or frankness on the part of the Quality, the farmer took it hesitantly. “Yes, my lady. Yes, I will. And ... bless you, my lady.”
“And Jem here.”
“And Jem.”
Althea turned to give Dobbin a final pat before she, Jem, and Jenny headed home, well satisfied with their morning’s work.
Chapter 22
True to her word, Althea and Jem walked over to the home farm the next day, where they found Dobbin, looking a good deal stronger, munching on his bran mash.
It is a miracle you have worked, my lady.” The farmer beamed in welcome as they entered the stable. “His appetite is returning, and just look at the way he holds his head up. There is some of old Dobbin’s look back in his eye.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Tubbs A sick animal is one of the most unhappy things on earth, for me.” Althea and Jem inspected the bandages and laid their heads against the horse’s chest to listen.
Jem looked at his mistress and nodded slowly.
“I agree with you, Jem. I do believe that we are out of the woods. Just continue to keep him covered and add the gentian to his feed, and I believe Dobbin will be as good as new in no short while.”
“I cannot begin to thank you and the lad here, my lady.”
“No need to thank me. Making Dobbin here feel better is a reward in itself. And having a prosperous and healthy home farm is all I could wish.” Althea bid him good day, stopped at the kitchen door to thank Mrs. Tubbs for the help of her two daughters, and returned home to the real task of the day, which was poring over the account books Mr. Duckworth had brought her. The visit to the home farm had been a pleasant diversion from the columns of figures, but now it was time to concentrate on learning just how the estate had been run.
Althea might have dismissed her restoration of Dobbin’s health as being a reward in itself, but Farmer Tubbs could not. The next day, after completing his errands in the village, he held forth in the taproom of the George and Dragon to anyone and everyone who would listen. “I tell you, it were something. There was poor old Dobbin on his last legs and the young mistress walks up and starts to work healing him as if she saved sick horses all the time. And you know Dobbin. He’s a mind of his own and can be a sight mean tempered when he is off his feed. But she laid her cheek next to his and began whispering in his ear, and meek as a lamb he lays his head on her shoulder. It was as if he knew she were going to fix him up all right and tight, and she did. ‘Course she says it’s her groom as helped her, and to be sure he did, but to my mind it is she as did it. I saw how she made poor Dobbin look more cheerful even before the lad got there. It is as though she has some sort of magic she worked on that horse. And her a lady, too.”
The other occupants of the taproom stared at him solemnly over their pints. Farmer Tubbs was usually a man of few words. It was not like him to go on to such a degree, especially over one of the Quality.
There had already been some talk in the village about the young lady, for the arrival of a new owner at Kennington, and a young lady at that, was bound to cause comment. Mr. Duckworth’s revelations about the woods and pasture being open as common land for everyone only added to the talk and caused quite a stir among the poorer folk in the community. At first, no one had been inclined to believe it, but when the Mudge lad brought home several rabbits snared on Kennington land without suffering any dire consequences and the Blinkhorns’ cow grazed undisturbed on the designated acres of pasture, it began to appear as though the young mistress of Kennington was a woman of her word. Certainly, she had not appointed a gamekeeper, and she had reassured Mr. Duckworth several times over of her good intentions.
In general, Kennington’s new mistress kept to herself and did not mix much with the local gentry. She responded to their overtures of hospitality graciously enough, and the squire’s lady, who had called on her soon after her arrival, proclaimed her to be very pretty behaved, and her grandmother not the least high in the instep, but for the most part, Mr. Duckworth’s prediction that she would devote herself to the estate at the expense of socializing proved to be true.
Certainly the Crowders were able to confirm this opinion whenever they had cause to speak with the local tradesmen. “Such a hardworking young lady you never did see,” Mrs. Crowder confided to Mr. Woolrich as she stopped in his shop to purchase sugar and exchange the local news.
Jane and Emily, working with Jenny to air out the linen cupboards and closets and make new curtains, reported much the same thing to their parents when they returned home laden with delicacies from Kennington’s larder. “You would never know her to be such a fine lady for all the work she does,” Jane announced as she reached in her basket to hand her mother some of Mrs. Crowder’s gooseberry preserves, “except that she speaks so prettily and her maid says she was invited to all the finest places in London.”