“Do you? It’s amazing how people become fascinated by it. There was my Aunt Sophie. She saw it and immediately wanted it.”
“It is a family house really.”
“Of course. Far too big for one.”
“It would change completely … with many children.”
“You are right. We should look for a married couple with a considerable brood.”
“The marriage need not be of long duration. The house could wait for the patter of little feet.”
I laughed. This was exciting. I thought he was going to ask me then. And what should I say? Could I say, It is too soon. I am not yet sure …
The dance was over and the servants were bringing round cooling drinks.
We sat for a while and then he said: “Excuse me. I am engaged to your niece for this one.”
I watched him dancing with Amaryllis. She was laughing and talking quite animatedly. I was glad that she liked him too.
Edward came and sat beside me.
Peter was a gracious host at Enderby on Boxing Day. Amaryllis and I congratulated ourselves on the decorations which we had helped to put up; and I must say the old house seemed to have lost entirely that dour ghostliness which had been such a feature of it in the past.
Peter had devised a very clever treasure hunt through the house and this provided a great deal of merriment for he had wittily phrased the clues which led from one spot to another. It was rather uncanny to hear the old house echoing with laughter.
There was a good deal in what David always said, and Peter had seconded it, that with people in the house Enderby would be just like any other.
“I never thought we should have a jolly time in this house,” said my mother.
“You’ve laid the ghost,” my father told Peter.
It was two days later when Peter had been riding with Amaryllis and me and on the way home came into Eversleigh for a glass of wine before going on to Enderby.
We were in the hall. My parents were with us and so were Claudine and David—when one of the servants came in and said that Farmer Weston wanted to see my father—and added that Farmer Weston seemed rather upset.
“Bring him in,” said my father, and Farmer Weston came into the hall. He certainly looked agitated.
“I want to have a word with you in private, sir,” he said.
“You can say what you have to say here. Anything wrong at the farm?”
“No sir … not exactly. It’s my Lizzie and … another. I’d rather talk in private.”
“Come on in here then.” My father led him into the room we called the winter parlour.
They were there for about ten minutes before they came out—Farmer Weston was very red in the face and my father looked quite angry, not with Farmer Weston though for he said to him quite gently: “Don’t worry. I’ll speak to him. Perhaps no harm’s done. Young people …”
He went out with Farmer Weston and soon afterwards joined us. My mother looked at him interrogatively.
“That scamp Jonathan,” he said.
“What is it this time?”
“Weston’s Lizzie.”
“She’s only a child. What is she? Fourteen or so?”
“That makes it worse. Jonathan’s not much older. That boy’s got a few things to learn. If he’s got to sow his wild oats he’d better choose somewhere else to do it—not on my land.”
My mother looked at my father and then at Peter.
“I’m sorry about his,” she said.
“Well,” said my father. “Young people. Hot blood. These things happen. I had a job to calm down Weston.”
Peter, showing a slight embarrassment as though he realized he had strayed into something which my father would have wished to be private, said he must be going and took his leave.
“He has impeccable manners,” said my mother. “Dickon, need you have blurted that out in front of him?”
“You asked me and I told you. Nothing very unusual about it. I think we shall have some more of that sort of trouble from Jonathan. Or the Pettigrews will. I was wondering if I ought to speak to Millicent or her father.”
My mother said: “You know Millicent. She can see no wrong in her boy. And Lord Pettigrew is too softly spoken. Now Lady Pettigrew … No, Dickon, you are the one who will strike fear into his wicked little heart. You’ll have to do it.”
“He’s his father all over again.”
“Well, Jonathan was a fine worker and he died nobly,” said Claudine.
“Yes, but all this philandering doesn’t go down well on the estate.”
“You are quite content for him to do it elsewhere?” I said.
“My dear girl, you know nothing about these matters.”
“Weston’s a good man,” said David. “His farm is a model for some of them.”
“And now he’s going to worry about his Lizzie,” put in my father. “If she presents us with a baby in nine months’ time, our Jonathan will be in trouble.”
“I suppose that was why Weston came to see you at once,” said David. “He wants you to know that Jonathan is responsible.”
“The young can be a plaguey nuisance,” said my father. “He’s got to mend his ways. I’ll not have Eversleigh going to someone who is going to play ducks and drakes with it… that’s for certain. His father was no good on the estate.”
“Well, you had David,” said Claudine.
My father grunted.
“We’ll see how the young scamp shapes up. I’ll have to see him. I’m going to my study. Get the servants to find him and send him to me at once.”
The incident had curbed the festive spirit. Everyone was a little subdued and I noticed that there was a certain defiance about Jonathan after his session with my father.
My mother had the full story from my father and she told it to me.
“Farmer Weston caught the pair of them in one of his barns. He was astounded. You know what a godfearing man he is … regular at church every day … and all the little Westons likewise. To find young Lizzie … flagrante delicto with Jonathan shocked him deeply. Well, I suppose it would most parents. Of course, your father understands … and isn’t as hard on them as some would be. What annoys him is that it is Weston’s daughter and on the estate. He was talking about bringing Jonathan over here to learn estate management… but I am not sure now. It’s a pity there aren’t more boys in the family.”
“Why do they imagine a woman can’t run an estate?”
“Largely because they can’t.”
“David is excellent. How lucky there were two of them.”
“Dickon is always lucky. This will sort itself out. We shouldn’t pay too much attention to this prank.”
“Prank, you call it? Lizzie Weston loses her virtue and that is a prank?”
“That’s what your father called it. He was thinking of Jonathan.”
“Well, I can understand Farmer Weston’s concern.”
“So does your father. He says that if there are results it will be taken care of.”
“Well, that doesn’t really satisfy Farmer Weston.”
“Hardly. But at least it helps. I wouldn’t care to be in Lizzie’s shoes for the next few weeks.”
“And Jonathan will be let off with a caution. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“When was the world ever fair for women?”
“You seem to have made quite a success of things.”
“So will you, my love,” she answered.
“Perhaps,” I said, thinking of Peter Lansdon.
January came in with a cold wind blowing from the south east. Winter was with us. The trees stretched out their bare branches making a delicate lacy pattern against the grey skies; they seemed as beautiful as they ever did in the spring. People speculated as to whether there would be snow. The Pettigrews had left.
“Glad to be rid of them,” mumbled my father. “Let Jonathan make trouble in their patch if he must and leave mine alone.”