A Green Bay Tree Read online

  ‘Did he? These fences are in a terrible state.’ Preoccupied with the condition of his fields, and thinking what a good year it would be for wheat — provided, of course, the rain kept off — Ellis frowned. But then, valiantly, he tore himself away from thoughts of muck– spreading. He turned to his friend. ‘A girl, eh?’

  ‘Yes. Well, as I told you before, the old fellow had me hauled to his bedside. Confessed his sins. Then he made me promise to look for the girl. To provide for her.’

  ‘I see. What will you do?’

  ‘I don't know yet.’ Sardonically, Alex laughed. ‘I don't know why he was so concerned about that particular bastard. There must be a dozen more besides. I was half expecting him to produce a list. To lay half the poor of the parish at my door.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ellis shrugged. ‘So what have you done about the bequest?’ he asked, not that he was interested.

  ‘I've set aside a few thousand. It's in the three per cents. I've laid the relevant information with my own attorney–at–law, so he knows as much as I do now.

  ‘If this person is alive, she has only to present herself at Creech, Willis and Son. Then she can claim her reward. I don't feel I'm obliged to advertise for her, do you? That would be taking altruism a little too far.’

  Ellis shrugged again. ‘But if it's what your father wanted, perhaps you should at least — ’

  ‘Oh, come now.’ Alex grinned. ‘I shall look on that money as something put by. For a rainy day. It's still mine, after all. There's no formal bequest.’

  ‘No.’ Kicking his mare into a canter, Ellis rode off across a stretch of common. Alex was left to catch up as best he could.

  The following morning, Ellis was left alone with his parents. His sister and her husband were tired of Warwickshire. They were to drive to Wales, where they would meet some fellow idlers for a short summer holiday.

  ‘Won't you reconsider, Ellis?’ Laying her white hand on his sleeve, Lalage made a moue of disappointment. ‘Dear Ellis, couldn't you get away for just a little while? We'd so like you to come. Wouldn't we? Alex?’

  ‘What?’ Sleepy and contented after a very busy night, Alex yawned. Dozily, he agreed. ‘What about meeting us in Llangollen?’ he suggested. ‘On Wednesday night?’

  ‘I can't.’ Ellis shook his head. ‘I've a new stockman arriving tomorrow. We're going to look out the best of the bull calves. Then we shall start a stud.’

  ‘How charming,’ murmured Lalage, shuddering.

  ‘Fascinating,’ Alex agreed.

  ‘Well, I think so.’ Ellis grinned.

  Alex and Lalage exchanged pitying looks. They climbed into their equipage, a vehicle so magnificent it could never have been described as a mere carriage, and drove away.

  Ellis watched until the dust from their wheels was out of sight. He sighed. What a pair of butterflies. It was time Alex and Lalage had some children. They should stop gadding about, and settle down.

  But they showed no inclination to do anything like that. In fact, they travelled all the time. On the Continent in spring and autumn, they spent the winter in London and the summer wandering all over England in the company of other rich, idle wasters who had nothing better to do.

  * * * *

  In spite of a round of almost constant pleasure, Lalage was often bored. Being rich was no longer a novelty. She wanted power, too. Soon, she hit upon a scheme.

  When last in London, she had attended a rather special ladies’ tea–party, an afternoon salon where politics – rather than fashion — had been the topic of the day. Listening fascinated, she came away thinking hard. She made up her mind. Alex must become an MP.

  ‘Darling,’ she began, as they dawdled over their breakfast one morning, ‘how would you like to enter Parliament?’

  ‘What?’ Alex stared at her. He looked appalled. ‘Whatever for?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I was at Mrs Marchant's the other afternoon, and I was listening to Lady Grey. She talked so knowledgeably about the current session. She knows so much about Mr Fox.’

  ‘She would. She's his doxy.’ Alex grinned. ‘He spends half his time at the House abusing the government, and the other half in her private apartments. Probably with his snout up her skirts.’

  ‘Alex!’

  ‘Lally, it's a well–known fact.’

  ‘Is it?’ Lalage was astonished. Could Lady Grey, so dignified, so clever, so fashionable, really be a harlot? ‘Alex, is she truly his whore?’

  ‘So the report goes.’ Alex broke some bread. ‘She's an atheist, too. Not the sort of woman you should be seen with at all.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lalage sighed. There was another embryo strangled at birth.

  ‘Poor Lally.’ Alex took her hand. ‘You don't fancy yourself as a hostess, surely? You don't want the fates of nations settled in your drawing room? Or in your bedchamber?’

  ‘I just wondered if you'd like to enter Parliament, Alex. That's all.’

  ‘I wouldn't.’ Alex shook his head. ‘Oh darling, imagine it. The tedium, the boredom, the ennui of the whole wretched thing! Consider election times. There'd be absolute hordes of dirty fellows around then, all tramping through our house. Drinking our sherry. Rubbing their lousy heads against our wallpapers. Wiping their greasy hands on our upholstery. Soiling our floors.’

  ‘You're so lazy!’ Her dreams of glory shattered, Lalage glowered. ‘Idle! That's what you are. Bone idle. Half dead!’

  ‘I'm not!’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘Nonsense, Lally. I was in the estate office only yesterday, going over proposals for the new enclosure. I was there two hours.’

  ‘Two whole hours?’ Lalage tossed her curls. ‘My poor darling. How could you bear it?’

  ‘Do be quiet, Lally.’ Alex picked up his newspaper. ‘You make my head ache. Look, why don't you go and harrass your maid? We're off to Brighton next week. I expect some of your gowns need trimming. Or replacing. Or something of the kind.’

  * * * *

  After a month in Brighton, the Lowells yawned their way back to Warwickshire, where they stayed for a week at Easton Hall – which, if they wished to see Ellis at all, they were more or less obliged to do.

  ‘I've never known a fellow for taking life as seriously as old Ellis,’ muttered Alex, as he watched his brother–in–law ride away into the early misty chill of a summer morning. Snug in his quilted powdering gown, still he shivered. ‘Where's he off to today?’ he enquired.

  ‘What?’ Not intending to leave her bed until noon at the earliest, Lalage yawned. She sipped her chocolate. ‘Oh, Ellis. He's gone to see some beastly farmer, I think. The fellow's whole quarters behind with his rent. So, instead of turning him out and getting a reliable tenant, Ellis has gone to find out if he has a sick wife or anything like that.’

  She grimaced. ‘They'll fob him off with some excuse or other, no doubt. Perhaps the cat died, and they're all broken–hearted. They'll tell Ellis they've been keeping a wake. They were too desolate to work.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alex laughed. Then, getting back into bed, he unfolded the letter which had arrived earlier that morning. ‘Darling,’ he murmured, ‘how would you like to be rich?’

  ‘Rich?’ Lalage frowned. ‘I'm rich already, aren't I?’

  ‘Richer, then. How would you like to be richer?’ Alex smiled. ‘We could double or even treble our present income. If we dare.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, this letter is from a fellow in London. A stock–jobber, who has contacts in the East India Company. He needs investors, you see.’

  ‘Investors?’ Lalage's frown deepened. ‘Well, I don't know about that. Is it safe?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. The fellow out in Calcutta is an old school friend of mine, a very sound man. I was considering putting in — let me see — twenty thousand, perhaps?’

  ‘That's a great deal of money.’ Lalage narrowed her eyes. ‘Maybe you should discuss it with Ellis first.’

  ‘Ellis!’ At the mere mention of his skinflint brother–in–
law, Alex sniffed in derision. ‘Lally, my darling, you know as well as I do that Ellis wouldn't risk a hundred pounds on a Government loan. Let alone thousands on a long term investment like this. Dicuss it with Ellis, indeed!’

  ‘Well, speak to your lawyer, then. Don't rush into it, that's all I'm trying to say.’

  ‘Don't worry. I shan't do anything rash.’ Alex put his letter down. He smiled at his wife. ‘That's a pretty nightgown,’ he said.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Lalage smoothed the neckline, then shook out the lace at the wrists. ‘It's from Paris,’ she said. ‘It's real Valenciennes.’

  ‘Is it?’ Alex undid the ribbon at Lalage's throat. ‘Take it off now, darling,’ he murmured. ‘We don't want to tear it, do we?’

  * * * *

  By mid–day, Ellis was back at Easton Hall. His coarse fustian breeches muddied and his neck–cloth awry, he explained he'd helped pull a ram out of a ditch. Grinning at his sister and brother–in–law, he asked what time they'd got up.

  ‘We rose early, as it happens.’ Lalage stroked the ruffles on her new silk gown. ‘We had business to discuss.’

  ‘What?’ Ellis grinned all the more. ‘Lally, what a little goose you are. You don't know a thing about business.’

  Lalage scowled. ‘Talk to him, Alex,’ she said. ‘Tell him about the East India scheme. Otherwise, he'll start lecturing us on the merits of this pig or that cow, and I shall die of boredom. You'll have to carry me out in a box.’

  ‘Well, Alex?’ Ellis sat down. He began to tug off his filthy boots. ‘What have you got to say?’

  * * * *

  ‘So there it is,’ concluded Alex. ‘All things considered, I think it would be a very wise investment. You're not convinced?’

  ‘No. But I'm not a gambler.’

  ‘It isn't a gamble.’ Alex shrugged. ‘I don't see what could possibly go wrong.’

  ‘My dear Alex, almost anything could go wrong! Take this fellow Hickson, for a start. What's to stop him swindling you? He could grab your money and run.’

  ‘He wouldn't do any such thing. He's a gentleman. I've known him since I was twelve years old. He'd never cheat a friend.’ Again, Alex shrugged. ‘Anyway, I won't advance more than I can afford to lose. Are you sure you don't want to come in?’

  ‘Quite sure. I can't afford it. But even if I had cash to spare, I'd never go in for anything like this.’

  ‘You're over–cautious. You'll never achieve anything if you're afraid to take risks.’

  ‘I'm not a speculator.’ Ellis was serious now. ‘Alex, I'm not a feudal throwback, afraid of the modern world. But since I've been running this estate, I've learned some very hard lessons. I've learned them well.

  ‘It's taken me years to consolidate what I have here. It'll take me a whole lifetime to recoup what my father has squandered, to recover what he's let go to waste. You, on the other hand, inherited a fortune. You have a large, steady income. Why do you wish to risk losing it?’

  ‘I won't lose it.’ Alex slapped the arm of his chair. ‘I can't lose! It's a watertight scheme. I've looked into everything. Ellis, believe me. I'm not doing this on a mere whim.’

  ‘What about Lally?’ Still Ellis looked grave. ‘Very well, I'll accept you've taken all reasonable measures to investigate this plan. But if it should go wrong — if you lose heavily — well, I think you ought to settle something on Lally now. Make some funds over to me. Then, if you're ever distressed for cash, that money will be available. I shan't cheat you,’ he added, observing Alex's sceptical grin.

  ‘I know that.’ Alex shook his head. ‘My dear Ellis, I don't expect you to become my banker. Lally agrees with me, anyway. She thinks I ought to invest heavily in this scheme.’

  ‘Lally's ignorant and greedy. She doesn't know what's involved. All she understands is that she'll get more pocket money — for a while.’ Ellis frowned. ‘You spoil her. You've taught her to think she can have whatever she wants. Look at the gown she's wearing today. It must have cost at least a hundred pounds.’

  ‘So what if it did? It pleases me to indulge her.’ Alex yawned. ‘I'll see my lawyer tomorrow,’ he said.

  * * * *

  Searle's manufactory continued to expand its range of production, enlarge its workforce and see its profits increase. By the end of the 1770s, the Searles were tinsmiths, lorimers and coppersmiths, in addition to being ironmasters with a reputation throughout the Midlands second to none. As the years went by, the former village blacksmith became a wealthy man.

  Searle's supplied not only wholesalers and shops, but also, if the commission were worthwhile, private individuals too. One March morning, Rebecca and Jeremy were busy sorting the day's correspondence. Segregating invoices, bills and enquiries, they speared each letter on the appropriate iron spike. ‘What's that?’ asked Rebecca, noticing the sheet of expensive white vellum in her grandfather's wrinkled hand.

  ‘From a fellow by the name of Darrow,’ muttered Jeremy, who was still reading. ‘Wants a pair of ornamental park gates. Large ones, by the sound of it.’ Reflectively, he scratched beneath his wig. ‘We'd have to think hard about that,’ he went on, frowning. ‘They'd have to be made out in the yard, which would cause difficulties with the deliveries. The drays, and that.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca took the letter from him. ‘Easton Hall,’ she read. ‘That's about ten miles away, isn't it?’

  ‘Ten, fifteen. No more.’ Jeremy sucked his gums. ‘I've passed the lodge a couple of times. In my younger days, that is. There's a fine big house, I believe. Tudor or Jacobean, they say.’

  ‘It could be a very good commission, couldn't it?’

  ‘It might. There again, it might not. Gentlemen are a fussy lot. Not so keen to pay their bills either, some of them.’ Jeremy grimaced. ‘Darrow. Mr Ellis Darrow. I know the name, but I can't place it.’

  ‘Has he done business with us before?’

  ‘No. Says here in the letter he saw some of our work at a friend's house. He was impressed.’ Jeremy sniffed. ‘So he should have been. Searle's manufactures the best decorative ironware in the Midlands.’

  ‘Will you send Mr Cuthbertson to see him?’ asked Rebecca. Michael Cuthbertson was the firm's finest craftsman.

  ‘No, I won't send him. Don't want to offend a gentleman with plenty of money to spend.’ Jeremy sucked the insides of his cheeks. ‘Cuthbertson's manners aren't anywhere near fit for a gentleman's drawing room. His linen is always foul. I'd best go myself.’

  ‘You, Granda?’

  ‘Why not?’ Jeremy grimaced. ‘I can see what's wanted then. Agree on a price. Nail this Mr Darrow there and then.’ Getting up from his chair, Jeremy walked out of his office and into the yard. ‘Has that good–for–nothing aunt of yours made our breakfast yet, do you suppose?’

  ‘I'm sure she has.’ Rebecca frowned. ‘You must not abuse my aunt,’ she said. ‘She's a kind daughter to you, and she's been almost a mother to me.’

  ‘Yes, maybe.’ Jeremy scowled. But then he grinned. ‘Come along in then, my maid. We've a full day's work ahead of us.’

  * * * *

  Two days after receiving Ellis Darrow's letter, Jeremy Searle complained of a severe pain in his chest. He said it must be indigestion. ‘I told you those rolls were too fresh,’ he muttered, scowling balefully at Lyddy. ‘Fetch me a spoonful of chalk.’

  Jeremy swallowed his powdered chalk, gulped down some water, and went into the factory. Here, while examining the mechanism for a clockwork music–box, he collapsed.

  The men laid him on a workbench. Frantic, Rebecca sent for a doctor. But the old man's own clock had run down for ever. A stroke — apoplexy — whatever the physician chose to call it, Jeremy Searle was dead before the doctor even arrived.

  Three days later, he lay beside his wife in the local cemetery. Rebecca realised she now owned a large tract of real estate, a factory, and everything in it.

  Chapter 6

  Lyddy spent a most frustrating day. Worrying and fretting, she was unable to settle to
anything. She wasted the whole time Rebecca was away on a series of unnecessary household tasks.

  As if bent on both irritating her housemaid and aggravating her cook, she took all the household brassware into the back kitchen, where she polished it until it gleamed like gold. To the annoyance of her laundry woman, she took down, folded and refolded all the bedlinen, then turned out the whole family's chests of drawers. Exhausted, she was nevertheless waiting up for Rebecca when she finally returned from Easton Hall.

  Of course, Lyddy knew perfectly well who Mr Ellis Darrow of Easton Hall in the county of Warwickshire was. The mere sound of his name took her back a full twenty years. To a month of sweet kisses and perfect rapture, which had given way to broken promises and universal disgrace. To abandonment, misery and a bitterness which even a whole lifetime could not allay.

  Lyddy remembered the Darrow boy. She could see him now. As children, he and Alex Lowell had often lain together in the barn loft, staring at her as she worked in the dairy across the stable yard. When Lyddy's condition had become public knowledge, they'd not been slow to add their two pennyworth to the general currency of disapprobation. Their childish sniggers resounded in her ears still.

  Ellis Darrow had succeeded to his inheritance fairly recently, or so Lyddy thought. Racking her brains, she tried to remember when that paragraph in the local newspaper had appeared, mentioning that Peter Darrow had died. Had it been last year? The year before? She tried to recollect.

  Sitting down, Lyddy attempted to be rational. She knew nothing about Easton Hall. Nothing about the Darrows, except that the boy — now the man, and owner of the property – had been friendly with the Lowell brat. But such a friendship was more than enough to condemn Ellis Darrow. Try as she might, Lyddy could not help but fear for Rebecca's honour, her virtue — her very life itself.

  She wished Rebecca would come home! It was dark now, and very cold. ‘Why couldn't she have sent Michael Cuthbertson?’ Lyddy asked herself for the twentieth, for the hundredth time. ‘It's not proper, a girl of her age careering all about the country by herself.’