How much "tin"? Lewrie wondered; you a "chicken nabob"?
"Odd way t'get a ready-made family, though… for what, nine or ten thousand pounds?" Lewrie asked, one brow up. Gently probing.
"Nearer to twelve, all told." Sir Hugo shrugged. "Drop in the bucket. Balabac… rebel rajas' palaces… good fortune in the opium trade to China? I could have bought Phineas's estate entire… lock, stock, and barrel… and still have had plenty left," he boasted.
"Christ!" Lewrie exclaimed, with a low whistle. All his prize-money- should it ever be adjudged and sent to him, mind!-and he'd still be a beggar compared to… "Well, then… I 'spose… you'll not turn Hugh towards cavalry, hear me? He's much too clever for that."
"No, I'll leave that to the likes of Harry Embleton, Son." Sir Hugo laughed, much relieved that he had, in essence, "bought" himself a ready-made family after all. And assuaged his conscience, Lewrie surmised; though he was never quite sure if Sir Hugo truly had one or was merely hymn-singing from memory of how proper folk did things!
"Damme'f I don't like Sir Romney toppin' fine, but… there's a good chance the best part o' Harry ran down the footman's leg. Sort o' dim bastard that turns up in the mess as a Cornet o' Cavalry-so stupid that even the others notice." Sir Hugo guffawed.
"Well, then…" Lewrie summed up, reaching for his reins. "I s'pose we should be going. 'Fore they maim each other, hmm? See those otters of yours at play? Boys? Saddle up!" he called.
"Erm… thankee, Alan," Sir Hugo said, offering his hand.
"Not much I could do about it now you've already bought land, is there?" Lewrie sighed, as he swung up atop Anson. "Sorry. Didn't quite come out right, did it? Force of habit… t'be on tenterhooks around you. Wary. It'll take gettin' used to, Father," Lewrie replied, offering his hand. "Mind now, Hugh's not to have an otter pup. Not take one home. Just 'adopt' one… up here at his grandfather's. You'll not encourage him, will you?"
"Son!" Sir Hugo shied, acting much maligned. "Moi?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lewrie went over the farm's books the next morning in his study. The entries were in Caroline's neat, copper-plate script-or in their overseer's awkward scrawl. Receipts for seed and such were arranged in one pile and receipts for the sale of sheep, cattle, hogs, wool, corn, and such were in another. Caroline sat by the open double-doors facing the gardens by the side of the house on the west side, knitting and playing games with Toulon, who was mellowing to house-life, and farm-life, quickly.
Keepin' her eyes on me? Lewrie wondered, T'see do I smile or do I glower! And glower over what? He almost shivered, recalling their first "post-honeymoon" spat in the Bahamas, when he'd come home from three months amidst the "down islands" and hadn't appreciated what-all she'd accomplished to turn a rented coach-house into a showplace, had erred by jibing her over the odd pastel the house had been re-painted, as if he were an uncaring cad and she too hen-headed to run their house, present him with a going concern that anyone would be proud of.
"Does something particular trouble you, dear?" she asked, one brow up and her voice a bit hesitant. Not so hesitant, though, that she didn't sound… resentful that he might have found something amiss.
"Just as Governour said," Lewrie admitted, tossing away the newest ledger and leaning back in his chair to puff his lips, frustrated. "Taxes, labour costs. Damme, do we double our profits… as you have done, my dear," he complimented her, and meant it, which eased her greatly. "With the prices we got, at pre-war tax rates and pre-war wages for workers, we should've cleared over Ј300… not Ј200 this past year. Head above water yet… and all that, but… Damme, I wish workin' for a naval hero'd be worth something!"
"Even Maggie Cony, Alan," Caroline said, putting aside all her knitting to cross to the desk and stand behind him, one arm caressing his neck and shoulder. "They offered her work in the kitchens of the Red Swan, and I couldn't match it. With the baby and their cottage in the village to keep up… closer to home and more money, you see. I was sorry to see her go, she was such a treasure, but little I could do to keep her, no matter how friendly we were."
And hadn't replaced her, Lewrie noted, saving nearly eight pounds per annum. With the boys old enough, their private tutor had been sent away after the last term just ended. Besides, the new village school was just as good, though nowhere near as uppercrust-and cost a good deal less. No more need of a proper governess, just an older, widowed maid-of-all-work to tend Charlotte. No, grand as it looked, a Lewrie household didn't seem like it'd be awash in footmen, butlers, serving-girls, and such-not anytime soon, at any rate.
"Besides, your name'd not draw workers, Alan," Caroline imparted, sweeping her skirts aside to first sit on the arm of his chair… then lean back and snuggle into his lap. "Mind, we think the world of you, but…"
He interrupted her to steal a gentle, teasing, wifely kiss.
"Unless there's a grand victory like Saint Vincent, most folk could care less about the war," she told him as she nestled in. "And they forget that a week later. Why, last year, the London Mob stoned the King's carriage! Shouting, 'No more King, no more war, and no more Pitt'!"
"They what?" Lewrie stiffened in outrage. "Why, I never heard the like! Be stormin' the Tower of London next! Buildin' guillotines and loppin' off heads! Didn't see that in any papers come by me."
Hold on, yes, I have heard the like, Lewrie reminded himself; back in London, that packet o'penny tracts … those men at Willis's Rooms!
"Higher taxes, price of feeding themselves gone right through the roof, feeding their families," Caroline mused sadly. "And all the men away, in the Army or the Navy. And, believe it or not, even these high wages they're getting, even with a scarcity of able-bodied hands, can't keep up. Levies on everything needful, Alan. Soap, beer, boots, clothing, on candles. Taxes on sugar, salt, coffee, and tea… not that you can still find tea for sale, 'less it's been smuggled across from France, mind," Caroline complained. "Bricks, tobacco, rum, windowpane glass, windows themselves… four pence, mind you, on a copy of a newspaper! I've heard some mine or mill workers earn eighteen pounds per annum and ten of that goes out in taxes or necessities! The same for our necessities… as I'm sure you saw in my ledgers."
"Aye, I did." Lewrie winced at the year-end sum.
"There have been rumours of riots," she confided, nestling closer to him with a worried look. "Labouring groups organising to stop work for higher pay… though they've been outlawed. Along with all of that Rights of Man, Thomas Paine, croaking."
"Never thought I'd hear such tripe, in England of all places," Lewrie sighed, sliding a protective arm about her. "Damme, don't they know, do they stop working, they starve our defences? Don't they know the Frogs are ready to come conquer us? Ungrateful curs! They wish to parle^-vous and bow to a Liberty Tree, see all the churches boarded up and turned into 'Temples of Reason'?"
There came a knock from the entry hall on the double-doors.
"Beggin' yah pahdon, sah," Andrews's voice came soft and melodious as he filled in for a proper butler. "But 'tis Bosun Cony's wife come callin', sah. Missuz Maggie? Say she got t'speak t'ya, sah. It be urgent, she say."