In Sophie’s eyes that made it right but as Charlie could offer no alternative, he had to accept it. “It’s Joshua Norbery’s fault. He’s reduced you to selling yourself to the highest bidder…”
She turned on him fiercely. “Don’t even mention his name,” she said in a gruff voice. “Try to forget what happened at Linmore, and let me do the same.”
“I can’t forgive him for what he did.”
She was equally determined. “If I can, then you must. I don’t want you to bear a grudge. It’s over now. Linmore is behind us.”
“I promised Pa I’d take care of you. This makes me feel I’ve failed.”
Sophie took his hand, and nursed it to her cheek.
“No, Charlie,” she said. “You always looked after me, and now it is my turn. Please, say you will accept it – to please me.”
Charlie could not refuse her entreaty. He was not entirely happy, but at least she had a home, and he must trust that Edward Teale would treat her well.
At Sophie’s wedding, he felt a sense of loss, but not only for his sister. It was probably the last time he would be part of the Norbery family. On the day, only Uncle Tom came from Linmore. Aunt Jane sent her love, and a letter asking him to keep in touch, but it was not the same. He would have dearly loved to see her again. She was the only person to whom he could have admitted his anger had gone, and now he felt sadness.
It was hard to believe the silver-haired banker was his brother-in-law, when the man must be thirty years older. Still, Sophie seemed excited about the style of the London town house, and Charlie was impressed with the man’s generosity in showering his wife with the finest clothes and jewellery. All she had to do in return was present her husband with an heir.
For the first month, he shared their home and watched Sophie settle into her new role, which she did with remarkable ease. Then he heard news that his regiment, the Eighth Company of Dragoons, was moving to a training camp in the north of England. Until now, he had been a soldier in name only, sold short by his cussed independence, which insisted on a commission as Second Lieutenant, where Uncle Tom wanted, on his uncle’s behalf, to give him the full title. A letter of thanks must be his first action, with an explanation of his intention to earn the extra rank.
In his heart, Charlie felt haunted by his actions in the Linmore stable yard. He always fought fair before, but to his shame, took unfair advantage of his opponent, and things went horribly wrong. Worse still, Squire Norbery saw him do it, which was why he refused a higher ranked commission.
Taking leave of Sophie was hard, and he struggled to shut out the memories of the last time they parted, when he set out on the Grand Tour. This time however, she was dressed in fine silks, and stood beside her husband, looking elegantly defiant. All would be well as long as the man was prepared to understand her foibles.
He set out in the company of other newly commissioned officers; but where many of them travelled in a covered wagon, he rode his horse in all weathers, while the enlisted men marched every step of the way. To justify the decision, he recited the words his father, Major Fergus Cobarne, had spoken on his last visit home before his death.
Remember this, boy: if your men can see you at their side, they will obey you, wherever you order them to go.
He was thankful the rain on his face covered the emotions that would not stay hidden. The sturdy mount from the Linmore stables was proving its worth, as was Rushwick, the former soldier, recommended by Sergeant Percival for the position of his batman-cum-groom. That, no doubt, was Uncle Tom’s gift as well.
If he had been travelling inside the wagon, Charlie would have been prey to his thoughts, and memories of other confined places. Even so, he was not proof against the letter he received from Uncle Tom, telling him about financial investments made on their behalf. He must tell Sophie that, irrespective of her marriage, this was their security for the future.
The weather worsened the further north he travelled. Deluge after deluge echoed his weeping heart as he remembered he had lost contact with everyone for whom he cared. Never had he felt so low.
Sophie always showed him parts of the letters she received from her friend in Bredenbridge. In the latest one, Annie, his dearest love, was distraught. She did not know what to do, because her father had forbidden her to contact him. All he had left was the little cameo picture his golden goddess had given him.
Rather than weep for his loss, Charlie damned Joshua Norbery for destroying his chance of happiness, as well as a precious friendship. It did no good, for he had always known that Annie’s father was a wealthy man with rampant social ambitions.
With Uncle Tom, and the Linmore connections, he might have been acceptable as a possible husband, but without them, his lack of background made him
persona non grata
to a man of means. Now, he would have to earn his promotion on the battlefield, and pray his dearest love was still free when he returned – or die in the attempt.
After the first couple of weeks at Holkham, Joshua felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information. The agent’s schedule was strict and unremitting. Some days he felt so tired that he almost fell asleep over the paperwork.
Estate management took precedence over everything else. On his daily rides with the agent, he saw farmhouses of palatial proportions and animal sheds that would have looked like mansions to country folk in Shropshire. The Great Barn was one such example.
“Mr Coke made rebuilding a priority when he inherited the estate,” said the agent. “By improving the quality of accommodation, he attracted a better class of tenant, willing to pay a good rent to live in such style.”
In his novice state, Joshua felt stupid at not being able to answer the simplest of questions. Many times, he wished himself back at Linmore, but gradually the mistakes grew fewer.
The first time the agent said, “Well done, Mr Norbery, that’s very good,” he felt his eyes water with pleasure.
It was still hard, trying to sort the details in his mind. Eventually, he asked the other students when they met for their evening meal, “How did you manage when you came here first?”
Harry and Jack laughed aloud. “Order and method, old chap,” said Harry. “Order and method.”
Joshua frowned. “Isn’t that one of the House Rules?” he said.
“Indeed it is,” said Harry, “Rule number two on the list, but you must realise that without discipline, all else fails.”
When he was next in the agent’s office, Joshua sneaked a look at the picture behind the desk. They were right about the second rule.
Without discipline, order and method, all else fails.
It was one of Mr Blakeney’s favourite sayings.
Good, that was one out of the way. To simplify matters, he decided to write them in his notebook, and allocate one for each day of the working week. Then he read them through.
Monday declared
–
Cleanliness is next to Godliness.
Tuesday decreed – Without discipline, order and method, all else fails.
Wednesday taught him – Manners make the man.
Thursday’s reading told him – Time is a valuable commodity. Use it well, for you do not know when you will need it.
Friday advised – At the end of each day, make peace with your God.
Having completed his list, Joshua realised that Thursday’s rule about time applied when the agent planned the farm leases, which could be anything between eight and twenty years. In these, the tenant had to follow the exact clause for the preparation of soil, and use the specified rotation, for which Mr Blakeney gave them ample time to make improvements and achieve a profit.
Now it was beginning to make sense.
The list of House Rules looked quite straightforward when Joshua read it aloud, which he often did when he was alone. He became so proficient, he could have recited the words in his sleep, and for all he knew he might well have done.
He thought Aunt Jane would agree with the sentiments, but was not sure about the other lads, particularly the evening Harry wandered into his room and found the open notebook. When he saw the list, he chortled with glee.
“What have you written them down for?” he said. “You surely don’t believe those rules belong to Mr Coke, do you?”
That was exactly what Joshua assumed.
“No,” Harry said, “Jack and I decided at the outset it was Blakeney who wrote them, and he uses them to keep us in order.”
Jack looked on and said nothing.
“Listen to the words.
Manners make the man
… Can’t you just hear him?” Harry tried to mimic the Scotsman’s accent, and failed miserably, due to his laughter.
“I was sending them to my aunt,” Joshua said. “I think she would appreciate them.”
Harry had the grace to look shamefaced. “Oh well, in that case, I daresay she will. Ladies like that sort of thing.”
After that, things started to improve. In the weeks leading up to the sheep-shearing, Mr Blakeney kept everyone occupied with the planning.
Joshua saw little of the other lads during the daytime, but he was glad of their company in the evenings. It helped alleviate his loneliness and took his mind off the reason that had brought him there.
On a Sunday morning, they rode their horses from the stables to the church on the hillside, overlooking Holkham Park. Afterwards, they galloped across the park to dine with the agent and his family. The rest of the day belonged to them, and this was when Joshua began to know his fellow students.
They were friendly chaps, but Joshua didn’t expect the camaraderie he shared with Charlie. He doubted if he would ever find another friend, and felt the loss of friendship worse than bereavement. In any case, they had almost completed their placement year. By August, they would have left Holkham.
Before that, they showed him different aspects of the estate to ones he travelled with the agent. If he thought Mr Blakeney’s work schedule was intense, he found that Harry and Jack seemed determined to use every spare hour of daylight for their pleasure. No sooner was their evening meal over than they set off to ride across the park to one of the country inns around the estate, many named after the ostrich, which adorned the Coke family Coat of Arms.
Harry insisted it was the best way of introducing Joshua to the locals, but from the enthusiastic welcome they received wherever they went, it was obvious the other lads spent their money freely, knew the taste of all the local ales and were on friendly terms with every barmaid for miles around.
Irrespective of the reason for the visits, Harry always took the lead.
“This is our new friend, Mr Norbery,” he said, settling a serving wench onto his knee. “You must be sure to look after him when we leave.”
“Where does he come from?” the girl asked, as if Joshua was not there.
“Shropshire, near the Welsh Border,” Harry said.
She frowned, and then came up with a suggestion. “Is it near Norwich?”
That was obviously the limit of her geographical knowledge.
“No, my pretty wench,” Harry said with a laugh, and pointed to a spot on the edge of the wooden table. “We are here, in the east of England, and Shropshire is two hundred miles away in the west of the country.”
“Ooh,” she said, her eyes widening. “You’re quite a foreigner then.”
Yes, he supposed to her, he was.
“You’re not leaving us yet, though,” she said, turning back to Harry.
“Not until after the sheep-shearings in July.”
“Oh, I know when they are,” she said. “All our rooms are booked for the week, and everyone around that has beds to spare.”
After three weeks, Joshua had met more barmaids than in as many years at Linmore; some were pretty and slender, while others looked as if they would make a comfortable armful. Harry loved them all, Jack laughed and joked, and Joshua nodded acknowledgement, knowing that he had plenty of time to get to know them.
Some people and places were more memorable than others. One inn stood out in Joshua’s mind; a strange little place, hidden away down a country lane off the beaten track. Its ivy-clad walls and weathered thatch of Norfolk reeds blended so well into the surrounding woodland, one could be forgiven for passing by without seeing it. And yet when they arrived, an ostler appeared and took their horses to the stables at the back of the building. Almost as if they were expected.
“Do you know something, Josh?” said Harry, giving an elaborate shiver as they entered the low-roofed building. “I have a feeling that this place is haunted.”
“If you’re trying to scare me into paying for the first round, you won’t succeed,” said Joshua, concentrating on avoiding low oak beams for the second time that evening. “I bought one at the last place.”
“He said the same thing to me, when we first came here,” said Jack.
They all laughed at the notion, but when Joshua thought about it, he couldn’t deny that the building had a strange presence. Not that it seemed to bother a couple of farm labourers that had stopped for a tankard of cider on their way home from work.
Their welcome was predictably good, and within minutes Harry disappeared outside with one of the serving-girls. A few minutes later Jack strolled over to chat with the barmaid, leaving Joshua to drink his tankard of ale.
When it was almost finished, he sat back on the wooden settle with his long legs stretched out before him, feeling the warmth of the blazing logs on the hearth. He laughed to himself, thinking of Mr Blakeney’s dictates about fraternising with local women, and realised that hidden away as they were, it didn’t matter for no one would know what they did or with whom.
At half past nine, he contemplated ordering another pint before the others returned. Deciding to wait he closed his eyes and let the cares of the day slide away. Almost immediately, he felt a heightened sense of being watched, and became aware of a swish of skirts and a soft tread crossing the bare floorboards that stopped before his table.
“Good evening, sir,” said a delicious voice that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, “what kind of entertainment can I offer you?”