He faced forward and smiled as serried ranks of trees—all old, gnarled, and currently leafless—came into view on the slope above the path, which swung away from the riverbank to run beside the orchard wall. Waist-high and built of stones as old as the ruins, the wall enclosed a large plot that contained trees of many different types, each in their own section. “I have vivid memories of the orchard. I especially remember the plums.”
They walked on, and another building sited on the riverbank came into view. Gregory studied the more modern stonework and tiled roof. “The cider mill, I take it.”
“It was built about twelve years ago,” Caitlin informed him. “Prior to that, Jennifer Edgar had been making cider in the Edgars’ cottage.” She pointed at a stone cottage that stood a short distance beyond the mill.
“Twelve years?” He frowned. “I’ve definitely visited the Hall over that time, but I suppose I haven’t walked this path since I was much younger.” He looked more closely at the mill. “So this was one of Minnie’s additions—businesses started during her time.”
Caitlin nodded. “The Edgars—Harry, Jennifer, and their sons, Johnny and Tom—run the orchard and the mill. The boys attend school at Earls Barton, but spend a lot of time helping out in the orchard and mill. Mrs. Edgar—Jennifer—oversees the cider production. They get extra hands in from the village when they need help for pressing and bottling. Harry, meanwhile, devotes himself to his trees and their harvest.”
As they approached the mill, Gregory murmured, “Another successful enterprise?”
Caitlin grinned and waved toward the open door. “Judge for yourself.”
They were met at the door by a typical countrywoman—tallish, brown-haired, and neatly garbed in a plain gown—whom Caitlin introduced as Jennifer Edgar. Harry lumbered out of the mill as well, and Gregory shook hands and encouraged the couple to show him around their respective domains.
He spent the next twenty minutes learning about making cider and admiring the press, which, he learned, could run on either water power supplied by a small waterwheel or horse power provided by a large Clydesdale presently grazing in a nearby paddock.
“Necessary, he is,” Harry said of the horse, “’cause at harvest times, the river often runs low. Mind you, we press in batches spread over many months, but it’s helpful that we don’t rely on the river.”
Gregory listened attentively as the couple explained the process, from the apples arriving from the orchard all the way through to the bottling and subsequent dispatch to nearby inns, and learned that, as well as their signature cider, the mill also produced a fine perry.
“Smaller run, o’course,” Harry said, “but it’s become very popular with the ladies round about. It’s one of our specialties, now.”
With a proud smile, Jennifer added, “Although we sell everything we produce, the perry goes in a flash.”
Gregory suspected that making perry from the orchard’s pears had been Jennifer’s idea. He turned to Harry. “As I mentioned to Miss Fergusson, I remember the orchard of old, but I haven’t been this way for at least twelve years. What other fruits does the orchard produce these days?”
Caitlin watched as Harry proudly led Gregory across the path and into the orchard. She trailed the pair, but halted at the orchard wall. Leaning against the stone, she watched as Harry drew Gregory on under the wide old branches, pointing out this and that. She seriously doubted Gregory would know a pear tree from a plum tree, not while they were leafless, but he was definitely paying close attention to all Harry let fall and even asking questions.
Jennifer joined her. Crossing her arms, Jennifer studied the men. After a moment, she said, “He actually seems interested—not like he’s just pretending.” She hummed, then added, “He might look the part, but he’s not what I expected.”
Caitlin admitted, “Nor I.”
“Has he said when he’s leaving?”
“He hasn’t made any comment about leaving. Instead, he declared he wants to learn about all the businesses—everything about how the estate runs.”
After a moment of silent cogitation, Jennifer offered, “Wanting to know everything about everything doesn’t sound as if he’s rushing to wash his hands of us.”
That was what they’d all assumed he would do.
“No,” Caitlin agreed. “It doesn’t.”
But what Gregory meant to do as the new owner of Bellamy Hall...she honestly couldn’t guess.
As the men started back to the orchard gate, she straightened from the wall. “Wanting to know the details of the businesses doesn’t mean he intends to stay.”
Jennifer lowered her arms and murmured, “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Having plainly established a solid rapport, Harry and Gregory stepped onto the path. They shook hands, and Caitlin took her leave of Harry and Jennifer, and she and Gregory walked on. She waved ahead. “The leatherworks are next.”
Gregory smelled the leatherworks well before he saw the buildings. “They tan the skins here, too?”
She nodded. “That’s why they’re hard by the river. Luckily, the prevailing winds blow away from the Hall and the village.”
He grinned. “That sounds like something Minnie would say. Were the leatherworks established under her aegis?”
“Yes, but the bindery came later. That was Timms. When it was first established, the leatherworks did a good trade in gloves, but as the demand for hand-stitched gloves declined, Timms suggested the family explore bookbinding as an alternative. These days, the bindery contributes a significant percentage of the leatherworks’ profit. Although Mrs. Sutton and their daughter, Nell, still make quality gloves, they only work to personal orders.”
