Gregory was happy to answer; he remembered the goats well and could describe them to Bracks’s evident satisfaction.
“You must come down to the pens and look over our herd,” Bracks said. “I’ll be keen to hear what you think.”
Before Gregory could agree, his chatelaine intervened. “I can hear Julia in the preparation room, and I should introduce Mr. Cynster to her as well. Perhaps, Joshua, you might first explain what livestock the estate produces.”
Bracks was happy to do so. Gregory learned that as well as goats, the Hall produced pigs and chickens, not solely for the estate but also supplying markets and inns at Wellingborough, Kettering, and Northampton.
“Of course,” Bracks said, “the lamb and beef come from our farms—from the Hammersleys at Home Farm and the Cruickshanks at Nene Farm. At the pens, we concentrate on the smaller animals.”
“I see.” Gregory felt he was starting to gain a glimmer of insight, but he remained at a loss as to why the Hall was, apparently, operating as a group of businesses. If he was interpreting what he was hearing correctly.
After confirming with Bracks that, at some point in the near future, he would make his way down to the livestock pens, Gregory allowed his chatelaine to steer him into the large room from which the goat had escaped.
Bracks followed, but after a quick word with the woman who had to be Nessie, the cook, he left via a half-glazed door that opened onto the lawns. In the distance, Gregory saw the other man carrying the goat, presumably to its fate.
With his chatelaine, Gregory approached the cook and the other woman—assuredly another gentlewoman—who were standing beside a table covered with various vegetables.
“Mr. Cynster,” Caitlin Fergusson said, “allow me to present Miss Julia Witherspoon, who manages the Hall’s kitchen garden.”
“A pleasure, Mr. Cynster.” A large, bluff woman with a horsey face and a voice that was rather loud, Julia Witherspoon offered him her hand to shake.
He took it and shook it as he would have a man’s.
With a nod of approval, Julia retrieved her hand and stated, “My little band of workers and I pride ourselves on the quality of our produce.” She waved at the vegetables on the table. “As you can see, our offerings are uniformly superb. It’s all about the humus, you see. It’s an art, and even if I do say so myself, it’s an art we’ve perfected.”
“I see.” Gregory’s only acquaintance with vegetables was when they were offered to him on a plate. But he was starting to get the hang of what was going on at the Hall. “As well as providing the Hall with your largesse, I take it you sell produce more generally.”
That was intended as a question, one Julia Witherspoon was patently prepared to answer at length. It quickly became clear that she was the local authority on vegetable growing and was devoted to nurturing large and healthy crops of every conceivable sort of vegetable, both for the Hall and to sell in the surrounding towns.
Proudly, she informed him, “What with the cabbages, we even manage to turn a tidy profit over the winter months.”
Hoping his eyes hadn’t glazed, he smiled and nodded, then turned to the other woman. An older, comfortable sort, she was regarding him shrewdly.
“You’re the cook, I understand.” He smiled winningly. “A decidedly vital person in any large house.”
Her lips twitched, then more confidently lifted, and she bobbed. “Indeed, sir. So I’m always telling them.”
Miss Fergusson stepped forward. “This is Nessie, and she’s one of the true treasures of Bellamy Hall.”
“Oh, go on with you, missy.” Blushing, Nessie flapped her apron at Miss Fergusson.
“It’s true,” Cromwell piped up. “Our Nessie’s the best hereabouts.”
Gregory seized the chance to ask the butler, “How many staff are currently employed in the house?”
Cromwell frowned. “Well, there’s the maids—we have six—and the footmen. Only four of those. And of course, there’s the kitchen staff.”
“Three kitchen maids, two assistants, and three scullery boys,” Nessie put in.
“That’s the indoor staff,” Cromwell said. “Well, excepting the personal maids and menservants, that is. Quite a few of those, of course. When it comes to the outdoor staff, it gets a trifle more complicated, what with several now working alongside Joshua and Jenkins.”
Gregory had never inquired as to the staffing at his family’s home and had only the vaguest notion of what numbers would be normal for a residence the size of Bellamy Hall. Nevertheless, six maids and four footmen—and the maids weren’t even personal maids, and the footmen didn’t double as menservants—seemed excessive.
He glanced at his chatelaine. Possibly misreading his look, she waved toward the archway and, to the others, said, “We’d better get on.”
With nods and smiles, they parted from Miss Witherspoon and Nessie. As they left the large room, Cromwell mumbled about having to check on the silver and vanished down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen.
Caitlin Fergusson waved Gregory down an intersecting corridor. As he fell in alongside her, she said, “You’ve now met four of the nine residents—Alice, Millie, Julia, and Joshua all live at the Hall.”
