“They could be anything,” Louisa answered, gesturing airily. “I have a number of concerns. For instance-” she turned on him suddenly “-what does the government propose to do with all the men who will be returning from the war?"
Charles was taken aback, first by her look, which seemed to accuse him of something dishonourable, but also by the strange topic. “What do you mean ‘do with them'?” he said.
Louisa looked at him as if he had not much sense. “Hasn't it occurred to you, Charles, that a large number of men shall be returning to this country without any work to occupy them?"
He frowned. “Of course it has occurred to me. The government is fully aware of the problem, Louisa. We do not need a girl of eighteen years to bring such common problems to our attention."
“Then what do you propose to do about them?"
“You are not making yourself clear."
“Let me express myself differently, then. I hope you do not mean to turn them off at the shore without a feather to fly with?"
“Of course not,” he said, growing indignant. “They will be given all their back pay."
“With interest?"
“Certainly not! That would break us! We've had to finance the allies for years as it is."
Louisa frowned at him. “But what about the wounded, the ones who will be too injured to work again?"
“They shall have their wound-pension-sixpence a day."
Louisa arched her brows. “And live off strawberries and cream, I daresay."
“Louisa,” Charles protested, feeling ruffled, “you must leave such things to the men charged with running this country. They are not matters you could easily understand."
Louisa looked at him wryly. “It takes very little experience or schooling to understand what it will be like to live off sixpence a day, Charles."
He blustered, “But magnify that cost several hundred times over and you will see what a heavy toll it makes on the government. You could not possibly understand the treasury's limits, Louisa! I refuse to discuss them with you."
She put her nose in the air and turned to look out her window.
After a moment, Charles addressed her profile stiffly, “Besides… their families will shelter them."
“And the ones without families?"
He did not respond to this unanswerable query. Instead, after a pause, he asked, “Why do you concern yourself with such things?"
She gave him a look as if to say the reason should be obvious. “Do not forget that I am an heiress,” she said. “I have been raised to understand my own finances-enough, at least, that I know how much a loaf of bread and a joint of beef cost. And how quickly your six pennies shall be spent on beer."
Charles folded his arms. “They are not my six pennies."
Louisa gave her attention to the outdoors, and after a short while began to make polite conversation about the countryside.
The low stone walls of Yorkshire seemed to delight her, running as they did in all directions, seemingly without end or reason. They varied from grey to black-sometimes both, depending on the rock available-criss-crossing the wild and otherwise empty moors.
As Louisa made comments, Charles maintained a sulky silence, responding only in single syllables to her remarks.
After a few minutes, however, he found himself thinking over what she had said. If the truth be told, he had not given much thought to the demobilization of the army. He and everyone in government had been concentrating on the war for so long that they had not had time to devote to the future. But now that Boney was on the run, defeated in Russia, and with the allies in France, the war would soon be concluded.
Louisa's chatter, undiminished by his sullenness, made a comfortable background to his thoughts-computations of how much money might be squeezed from the treasury for the wounded men. He might introduce a measure in the Lords, discuss it first with the PM. Something might be managed-ought to be managed, if he were honest.
A bit ashamed to have had his attention brought to the problem by a girl, however, Charles said nothing to her of his thoughts.
The shortness of the winter day made progress difficult, but they managed to draw into Snaithby soon after sunset. Fortunately, they discovered that neither of them had cause to avoid an inn in this village. Snaithby lay off the Great North Road to the west. Louisa had had no reason to stop there on her way north, and Charles hadn't had occasion to visit his friend Ned's estate in several years.
Charles stepped down from the carriage and gave Louisa his hand to assist her. Immediately they were greeted by the proprietors-Sammy and Nan Spadger-at The Crown and Pear.
This time, Louisa gave a rather glib performance of her story. Perhaps it had worked so successfully in Appleby that she had lost all concern for its credibility, but Charles had the impression that relating it a second time merely bored her. Whatever her reason for doing such a poor job, he ended up wishing she had imbued her tale with more conviction.
At Louisa's finish, Nan Spadger, the innkeeper's wife, eyed them both with hostility, and Charles found he was no more immune to her suspicion than he had been to his coachman's. As she hesitated over giving them rooms, he felt his face growing warmer and warmer.
“Ta be certain,” Mrs. Spadger said, “seein’ as how tha folks be o’ t’ nobility, I'd not like ta think owt was amiss. But we've no got t’ custom o’ givin’ rooms ta no ladies wit'owt bags."
“It is a bore, isn't it?” Louisa said, turning her charm on the woman at last. “But my bags are not expected to catch up with us until morning. Fortunately, for my comfort, I did manage to bring away my toothbrush and comb, and perhaps you would be kind enough to press my gown for me."
Mrs. Spadger seemed to consider this, her arms folded snugly over her apron, while her husband hovered indecisively over Charles's bags. The crest on his carriage impressed them, Charles could see, but they were respectable people and they did not like the notion of their hospitality being abused. He had a notion of how to appease them.
“I shall be calling on my friend Lord Conisbrough this evening,” he said, reasoning that all they needed was a reference. “I gave my servants instructions to stop at his estate, and it is possible they shall be there when I arrive. In that case, of course, I shall be bringing my cousin's bags back to her."
Mrs. Spadger placed her hand on her hips. The light of battle lit her features. With a sinking stomach, Charles recognized the flaw in his strategy.
“Lord Conisbrough, is't? An’ tha art friends wi’ him! Then, happen it wor better that tha stays wi’ him!"
Charles cursed his own carelessness and tried to find a diplomatic solution to this development. Ned's reputation as a rake was certain to be well known in his home village. He should have thought of that. Now that she knew them to be Ned's friends, Mrs. Spadger seemed more convinced than ever of their wickedness.
But having used Ned as an excuse, Charles could not see his way to backing out of their assumed friendship now.
He started to bluster, but Louisa, flashing him a brilliant smile, began to chuckle. Then her chuckle turned into a bubbling laugh. Nan Spadger and her husband turned surprised eyes upon her.
“That would be like asking my cousin to deliver me to the wolves, as I understand it,” she explained to them. “You must forgive him if he appears offended, but perhaps you are not aware of Lord Conisbrough's reputation. My cousin takes any injury to my good repute quite seriously, and he has refused quite firmly to introduce me to such a rake, even though we might reasonably have begged lodgings from Lord Conisbrough for the night."
Seeing that Louisa's words had raised a sympathetic look on the innkeeper's face, Charles reluctantly took her story up. “You should be more discreet, Louisa,” he said looking at her sternly. “It is not for us to be telling tales."