‘But the place is so run-down.’
‘Most of the staff have gone. There’s only me and Platts, and Platts hardly does any work. And there’s not much money for soap, and polish, and blacklead for the fireplaces, and so on.’
Roger pointed to the empty drawers. ‘What happened to all my things?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Roger,’ she said. ‘The servants took everything in lieu of unpaid wages. I told them it was stealing, and they said you’d probably get killed in the war and no one would ever know what they’d taken.’
Kit hated this. He was feeling unwelcome in a horrible house. He said: ‘Let’s have a look at the workshop.’
‘That’s not too bad,’ Fanny said quickly. ‘It’s locked up, and I’m theonly person with a key, except for you, Mr Roger. I’ve looked after the place, and all your tools and whatnot.’
‘I don’t know what happened to my key,’ said Roger. ‘I haven’t got it.’
‘Then take mine.’ Fanny removed a key from her bunch and handed it over. Roger thanked her.
Kit and Roger left the manor house and walked half a mile through the village. It took a while because Kit kept stopping to speak to people he remembered. Brian Pikestaff, the Methodist leader, had got fat. Alec Pollock, the threadbare surgeon who had bandaged Kit’s skull, had a new coat at last. Jimmy Mann was still wearing that three-cornered hat. Kit had to tell everyone about Waterloo.
At last they reached the workshop. It was a sturdily built stable that Roger had altered, putting in large windows for better light. Kit saw the tools ranged neatly on hooks along the wall. A cupboard held crockery and glassware, all clean.
At one end was a former hayloft that could easily be converted into a bedroom. A love nest, Kit thought.
He said: ‘We could live here, couldn’t we?’
‘I’m so glad you said that,’ said Roger.
*
Hornbeam could not stop thinking about Jarge Box saving Joe at the battle of Waterloo. He wanted to forget about the whole thing but it kept coming back. He brooded over it as he sat in his office at Piggery Mill, staring at letters from customers without reading them. He could not get used to the idea that he owed a huge debt of gratitude to one of the worthless cattle he employed in his mills. It was an indigestible fact, as if someone had told him that the king of England was in fact an ostrich.
What could bring him peace of mind? If he could have given Box some kind of reward, perhaps that would have restored the balance,but Box was dead. However, it occurred to him that he might do something for the widow. But what? A gift of money? Knowing Sal Box, she might spurn it, and humiliate Hornbeam further.
He decided to give the problem to Joe.
Once he had worked this out he wanted to implement it right away: that was his style. He left the mill at mid-morning and went to Willard House.
He was shown into the room at the front with the view of the cathedral. This was still the earl’s office, he gathered, but Henry was somewhere else. Joe’s red coat was hanging on a hook behind the door, and he sat at the big desk with a small pile of paperwork in front of him, a vase of sharpened quills and an inkwell by his right hand.
Hornbeam sat down and accepted a cup of coffee. Joe knew how he liked it: strong with cream.
‘I’m proud of you,’ he said to Joe. ‘You’re a major, and you’re only eighteen.’
‘The army believes I’m twenty-two,’ Joe said.
‘Or they pretend to.’
‘And this is temporary. A new lieutenant-colonel is on his way here to take charge.’
‘Good. I don’t want you to spend your life in the army.’
‘I haven’t actually made any plans for the rest of my life, Grandfather.’
‘Well, I have.’ This was not what Hornbeam had come to talk about, but he was finding it difficult to get to the point. His debt of gratitude to Jarge Box was humiliating. He continued to avoid the issue. ‘I want you to leave the army and start work in the family business.’
‘Thank you. That’s certainly an option.’
‘Don’t be a fool, it’s the best option. What else would you do? Don’t answer that, I don’t want a list. I have three mills and a couple of hundred rented houses, and it’s all yours, as my only grandchild.’
‘Thank you, Grandfather. I’m truly honoured.’
