Chapter 4: Teresa’s Best

Their coach, borrowed from Mr. Thomsen, was rigged for two horses. Their coachman Patterson would have probably been over his head with four animals anyway. They were not a match for the Portsmouth-London post chaise, but rather moved along slowly and steadily.

They switched horses at the Horndean staging post, at Liphook, and once more at Godalming, where they retrieved their own two horses left behind during the onward journey. Each stop afforded them the opportunity to stretch their legs and to enjoy small repasts at the roadside taverns. Thomas noticed that food prices were high, a sure sign that harvests and animal husbandry had been poor that year. In the end, it took them almost ten hours to reach Grey Manor, and they were exhausted from being jolted around for a day.

Thomas had been looking forward to one of their cook Lisette’s dinners, but the young woman had had no warning of their arrival, and their supper was by necessity frugal. At least, Thomas had a chance to be with his little daughter. She was four months old and beginning to take notice of the things around her, but her attention was short lived, and he soon had to return her to the ample bosom of her nurse.

For the first time in months, he could slake his thirst with good English ale whilst having supper with Mirabel, Daisy, and the Whartons. They retired early to their bedrooms and Thomas enjoyed sleeping in their own, comfortable bed with Mirabel at his side.

When Thomas awoke, the bedroom was lit by sunlight. To Thomas it seemed like the sun and the sky were showing more natural colours again; the sky was certainly not as gloomy and yellowish as in spring. Looking at his fob watch on the nightstand, he saw that it was past eight already, long past his usual time. He took it as a sign that he must have been tired, much like after his return from the War of the Hundred Days, as Napoleon’s short return to power was now called.

He stretched and yawned again, but then he swung his legs over the bed’s edge and stood. Still in his shirt, he looked out of the window. Yes, the colours looked more normal now, although still yellowish and hazy. Still, the harvests had been poor to dismal from what he had learned from Mirabel. It was time that he spoke to Mr. Conway, his caretaker, to get the numbers. He washed with fresh water from the jug on the wash stand, using a wash rag to clean his armpits and his groin. He decided that this would do for now, but determined that he would take a full bath later in the day. Slipping on a pair of breeches over cotton stockings and donning his house coat, he walked down to the ground floor and to the dining room.

Mirabel looked up from a newspaper she was reading as he entered and gave him a happy smile.

“You slept so peacefully, I didn’t have it in my heart to wake you,” she explained.

“I suppose I needed a full night’s sleep,” Thomas admitted. “When did you get up?”

“Almost two hours ago. Let me alert Lisette now! Do you want a full breakfast?”

“I could stand one, that is, if there’s still food in the house?”

“Silly! Of course. We are cutting back a little, but we shan’t starve you.”

“I’ll have to talk to Mr. Conway, to see how bad things are.”

Mirabel nodded. “They are not good, but not too bad. The sawmill is turning in a good profit, and we made good money with firewood, seeing how cold the spring and summer were. From what you told me, the powder mill will also be busy to replenish all the ammunitions you expended on the Dey of Algiers.”

Thomas smiled. “Possible, but the mines are our main customers. It is good that some money is still coming in, but we shan’t collect much rent this year. I mean, we could, but what’s the use of ruining our tenants?”

“So true, darling! You’ll be happy to hear then that you received another dividend from the Whitney shipping line.”

“That’s good to know. How much?”

“It was a little over £320.”

Thomas nodded with satisfaction. “That’s a twelve percent return on our investment. Not bad, not bad at all! My pay as a commander was scarcely more.”

“So we shan’t be destitute soon?” Mirabel asked with a smile.

“It does not look that way, since I am drawing my half pay, too. Still, I must speak with Mr. Conway.”

“But first you must have your breakfast, dear.”

That was reasonable, and Thomas sat down obediently whilst Mirabel alerted the kitchen. She returned to sit with him, and a few minutes later, Lisette appeared with a steaming pan from which she ladled fried potatoes, scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.

“We shan’t starve, it would seem,” Thomas remarked drily before he gave his full attention to the food.

Lisette came back with a pot of coffee from which she poured into their cups. There was no cream, Thomas noticed, only skimmed milk. Mirabel saw his look.

“All the cream goes into butter for the winter,” she explained. “Mr. Conway and I made a plan and instructed the tenants. That was before we knew you’d return soon. We are concentrating on the necessities to get man and livestock through the winter. The tenants only keep the animals for which they have enough forage stored. The rest was shipped to London, to the cannery. We got a good deal for them, giving the tenants some funds for next spring.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“Yes. Since we have a lot of flour, the tenants can keep what little cereals they harvested for sowing next year. I’m afraid it’ll be two years before the estate will return a profit again.”

Thomas sighed. “Very likely. It is a good thing that I spread my investments a little.”

Mr. Conway mostly confirmed what Thomas had learned from Mirabel. Going over the books together, however, gave Thomas a true grasp of the dire situation. There would be a famine come the winter. Food prices had already become outrageous, and they would climb even higher. Already, there was frost on the leaves in the morning, indicating an early and cold winter.

“What about firewood?” Thomas asked with concern.

“May get short, Sir Thomas. I laid out some money to have the tenants and their hands cut more wood, but it’ll still be green this winter.”

“What about coal for burning?”

“We could try, Sir Thomas, but not here in Surrey. The collier brigs from the Midlands land their coal in East London. We could probably buy a few tons and have them shipped upriver and along the Wey Navigation. You already own a warehouse down by the Navigation. The lease expired this summer, and we haven’t found a new tenant.”

“That is worth a thought. Why not buy some more, say forty or fifty tons, and sell anything above our needs to our neighbours? Coal trading cannot be that difficult.”

Conway nodded, first hesitantly but then with enthusiasm. “You have a good head for commerce, if I may say so, Sir Thomas. Buying over our own needs will defray the costs for shipping. I shall look into it. We should need somebody to handle the trading, though.”

“That would be best. I cannot see myself running a coal trading business, but I can provide the funds to run it. Perhaps you or your nephew may want to try your hands at it?”

Mr. Conway was surprised at first, but then he nodded. “We might as well, Sir Thomas. I shall see to it and take a barge to London next week.”

“Excellent, Mr. Conway. Let us talk about the leases then.”

“Yes, Sir Thomas. Lady Grey already authorised me to reduce the quarterly rent payments by half. Do you wish to continue that?”

Thomas nodded. “I am glad that you took the initiative already. I cannot see how the tenants can pay the full rents. We may recoup some of the losses with the earnings from the sawmill, the gunpowder mill, and the sale of wood for heating.”

“Yes, Sir Thomas. These other investments are still paying out. We just received an order for 400 tons of gunpowder from the Woolwich arsenal. We also have steady orders from mine owners in the Tweed area. If anything, that business is growing.”

“That’s for what I hoped, Mr. Conway. Since I am now returned to home for the foreseeable future, we should have weekly meetings to keep me abreast of the situation.”

“Very well, Sir Thomas. I’d like that too. If I may say so, it is good to work for a landowner who shows an interest.”

“Thank you, Mr. Conway. Speaking of interest, do you know what measures are being taken by Mr. Thomson?”

“It’s what we agreed upon in the spring, Sir Thomas. Most landowners reduced the rents for their tenants, but you, Mr. Thomson and the Egertons are the only ones who stockpiled provisions for their estates. Well, I heard that Lady Manning also had foodstuffs brought up from London after she spoke with Lady Grey.”

“The smart people, in other words,” Thomas said drily.

“Well, Sir Thomas, as you must remember, many of the landowners live in London and never visit their estates. They may read of the failed crops in their newspapers, but they don’t see it.”

“That is true, Mr. Conway. Anyway, let us focus on getting my lands through the winter.”

Thomas’s return also spawned a steady stream of visitors and invitations. One of the first to show was Mr. Lionel Wharton, Teresa’s grandfather and Mrs. Wharton’s father-in-law. Teresa had written a letter to him and told him of the miraculous return of her mother, and Thomas suspected that the old man had spent some time contemplating what to say and how to say it.

The Whartons were still guests at Grey Manor and Mrs. Wharton was present when the old man arrived. It was clear that both were apprehensive of the meeting.

“Father,” June-Ellen Wharton said warily.

“June, I am truly overjoyed to see you back. Teresa wrote to me about your return, but also about your sons, and one of my purposes of this visit is to assure you of my assistance. I am ashamed now of how I thought about you, right after I learned of your fate. I read a lot about the scourge of slavery since then, and I hold a correspondence with another former slave. Mrs. Muir disabused me of my previous thinking with what she wrote in her letters. Please believe that the grief-stricken, bigoted father of three years ago shares no common set of mind with the grateful grandfather I am now.”