Hope and Hospitality - an homage
Hope and Hospitality
Chapter I
Nothing on earth would have induced him to remove a single item of clothing in the frigid bedchamber in which, by the light of a meagre candle, he now found himself. Besides, his nightshirt, nightcap and robe de chambre lay buried beneath a snowdrift, along with the rest of his possessions, so he had scant options to consider. He resolved instead to sleep fully-dressed, save for his boots, and not to risk the damp interstices of the massive tester bed but, rather, to cover himself with its eiderdown quilt and hope to be delivered from a freezing death during the night.
As things fell out he slept soundly enough and was awoken by the weak winter sunlight penetrating the cracked shutters and threadbare curtains of his cavernous apartment. Bestirring himself he pulled open both to discover, not greatly to his surprise, frost on the inside of the window panes. He had been wise indeed not to divest himself of his clothing but to rely on his greatcoat, stock, thick woollen breeches and stockings for protection against the biting winter chill.
In retrospect, he realised it would have been more sensible by far to stay at the inn after dining there. But once his baggage cart had lodged in a snowdrift and the carter and his lad had wisely decided to “give it up as a bad job” and beat a retreat back to the inn, taking the horses thence to seek refuge with the ostlers in its stables for the night, he had decided to press on alone. At least his departed companions would have the warmth of the animals to keep them from freezing. Despite their solicitous entreaties he, eager to reach his destination regardless of weather, had ridden on and eventually made it to the house where he let himself in with the key given him by the lawyer on his twenty-first birthday – in truth a real, rather than symbolic key to the door of his adulthood - and endeavoured to make himself at home as best he could.
It had been a foolhardy decision to set out in mid-January, so soon after his twenty-first birthday. He now had good cause to regret his precipitous action as there were no staff, fires were not only unlit but unlaid in the grates, there was no food to be had and his fresh clothes remained in the trunk in the stranded cart. He realised he should have sent ahead with instructions for his arrival but such had been hid eagerness to see his country seat that he had allowed enthusiasm to get the better of him. All-in-all it was an inauspicious start to his incumbency of Baramdene Hall and he wished now that he had checked his ardour in claiming his right of occupancy so soon after the death of his uncle. He should have taken more time to make the proper arrangements, for the want of which, save for God’s providence, his body might have been found frozen to death in a ditch.
Having been spared that grim fate he now had to shift for himself – and his poor horse, for whom at least he had managed to find suitable accommodation and fodder - and set about surviving in this icy mausoleum of a house. Daylight enabled him to locate kindling and coals with which to light the kitchen range but there was nothing to eat therein and although the wine cellars were well-stocked, as befitted the home of a British baron, it seemed unwise to start the day by drinking on an empty stomach. He might have warmth but sustenance eluded him still and starvation now seemed inevitable unless he took decisive action to forage for food. The irony of his present situation was not lost upon him – he had inherited a barony only to find himself half-starved in a cold house without servants. Pride cometh before a fall!
As luck would have it, the carter and his lad, along with some of the staff from the inn, had formed a rescue party at the behest of the landlord and managed to make it to the Hall bearing hot food in straw-packed boxes, fresh bread, milk and all manner of other provisions. He was delighted to welcome them in and, setting all formality aside, they were soon mustered in the kitchen, currently the only warm room in the house, where two maids made haste to lay out the food, of which they all partook, communally and convivially, round the large scrubbed table. Having but lately returned to England from the Grand Tour, which he had been able to take following the Congress of Vienna, he considered himself a man of the world, and not one temperamentally disposed to stand on ceremony; indeed, until his unexpected elevation to the peerage in his absence abroad, there had been little ceremony in his life upon which to stand.
After their democratic repast manservants from the inn set about lighting fires in the main rooms while the maids cleared the kitchen table and then took warming pans up to air the bed. The rescued trunk of clothes was carried up to the bedroom where, in due course, when there was sufficient hot water and the fire had taken the chill off the air, he would retire to bathe and attire himself in the clothes now laid out for him in a manner more befitting a young scion of the house of Baramdene. It seemed that, despite his recent vicissitudes, fortune was once more smiling upon him.
A manservant and maid from the inn stayed overnight to attend to his immediate needs while the rest struggled back to the inn. It was clear, however, that a full complement of staff was an urgent requirement if propriety were to be observed. His late uncle, a bachelor of solitary habits, had kept but few elderly retainers and they, having been pensioned off to tied cottages on the estate upon his death, would doubtless not countenance a return to a life of servitude for a young master of unknown character.
In the meantime, therefore, a cook-housekeeper, a bevy of scullery-, house- and chambermaids and a footman or two would be required, which the landlord of the inn, good fellow that he was and keen to ingratiate himself with the new landowner, and licensing magistrate, had obligingly taken it upon himself to recruit for him from the village. He also lent the services of an ostler to care for his horse until such time as a permanent groom could be found for the stables.
There being little point in attempting to ride out to survey the estate while snow lay thick upon the ground, he betook himself to the library and spent many an hour perusing his late uncle’s excellent collection of books, manuscripts and etchings. Amongst the papers he also found maps of the estate and was thus able to familiarise himself with his newly-acquired two thousand acres from the comfort of his fireside armchair while awaiting the thaw that would permit him to venture forth to meet his tenants.
That day eventually dawned and he had his horse saddled up and brought round to the front of the house from whence he could ride out in style, the master of all he surveyed. Unfortunately, the going was heavy from all the melt water and it was a mud-spattered young lord on a tired steed who presented himself to his tenantry, by whom he was greeted with a mixture of pleasure and perturbation, chief amongst their concern being that he should not raise their rents after the disastrous harvest. His visitations persuaded him of the urgency of finding a new land agent to oversee the day-to-day stewardship of his extensive estate, the previous incumbent, a Mr Wilson, having retired to live with relatives at the seaside. He supposed he would have to write to the lawyer about recruiting a suitably qualified replacement to fill so crucial a trusteeship.
His perambulations took him by-and-by to the rectory to meet the incumbent, the Reverend Castleton, whom he knew had secured a comfortable living as a distant cousin of his late uncle’s, garnering the benefice of a handsome rectory, an allocation of glebe land and share of tithes. Mr Castleton, an elderly gentleman of indifferent health, greeted him civilly and with apologies for not having called upon him at the Hall due to the inclement weather and its deleterious effect upon his weakened constitution.
Over tea in the morning room looking out onto a delightful walled garden, the cleric expressed it an honour to meet his new patron, the young Lord Baramdene, and hoped he would better his late-uncle’s irregular attendance at church, to which he looked forward to welcoming him on Sunday morning and settling him in the family pew. For his part, Lord Baramdene, who had little interest either in matters spiritual, at least insofar as the arcane observances of the Church of England were concerned, nevertheless determined to fulfil his obligations as advowson and promised faithfully so to do.
As Baramdene took his leave, the Reverend gentleman invited him to take a turn about the frosty garden he had so admired from the rectory window. It was a charming spot, even in the depths of winter, and Baramdene was much obliged to Mr Castleton for showing him it. Alas, as good rectors go, the kindly old gentleman went; his sudden demise, due to taking a chill on that very same stroll, depriving him of his hoped-for opportunity to welcome his lordship into his flock at Sunday worship. His hospitality had, veritably, been the death of him.
For Baramdene, the loss of so beloved and respected a cleric entailed the arrangement of yet another recruitment, the frequency of which process was becoming decidedly onerous, not to say tedious. At least the freezing weather meant the rector’s interment could safely be delayed until such time as the services of a clergyman had been secured to conduct the funeral; although, for the sake of propriety, the necessary obsequies could not be long postponed. He felt the time had come to invite his widowed mother to stay with him at Baramdene. The prolonged delay of that invitation until this moment, he felt, could safely be laid to the state of the winter roads and the deficiencies of the accommodation at the Hall.
He was genuinely fond of his mother but, like many another young man having come of age and making his way in the world, was keen to assert his independence. Now, however, he found himself in need of his mother’s opinion on a number of pressing matters, and she was nothing if not opinionated. Those opinions could be as contradictory as they were vehemently expressed, but at heart she was a shrewd and sensible woman, who had ably acted as executor of the estate, feme sole, during his minority and whose advice and practical assistance he felt the severe want of at this very moment.
He lost no time in writing to her at Bath, where she had elected to remain for the Winter Season, and she replied by return that she would, of course, cut short her stay at his entreaty and be with him post haste, to stay as long as he should wish her to. A few days later the Honourable Mrs James Baramdene arrived at the Hall which, though it bore her married name, had never been her home and which she had never so much as visited, her late brother-in-law being reclusive by nature and disinclined to welcome guests into his house - even, or perhaps most especially, his family.
Her journey had been slow, cold and uncomfortable, the turnpikes being still partially snowbound and the parish roads icy and even muddier and more rutted than usual. But she was a spirited Englishwoman and shared the intrepidity of a Celia Fiennes, although, unlike that redoubtable lady, would never have countenanced riding side-saddle about the countryside. Such indelicate behaviour belonged to the roistering mores of an earlier age. But, genteel as the good lady was, she was never one to be deterred by the discomforts of modern travel, especially when its purpose was to see her son secure in his new home. She was prepared to undergo many privations in order to do her maternal duty – and be seen doing it – as on no account would she be thought deficient in maternal solicitude.
Her first view of Baramdene Hall from a distance did not disappoint her expectations. It appeared an handsome enough old house, in the style of Queen Anne; large, plain-fronted, sturdy, and commanding in its park. Above all it was an eminently suitable seat for a young aristocrat and spoke of tradition, continuity and, most importantly, discreet old wealth. It would secure her son’s place in society: in short, it would give him bottom. She liked it very well.
As her carriage approached closer, however, she could see that first appearances were deceptive. The house was obviously in sore need of serious attention. Paint was flaking, window panes were cracked, bricks had spalled, pointing crumbled, gutters sagged, slates slipped – it was altogether a forlorn sight that greeted her and her heart sank. Nor was she much cheered by the motley crew of domestic servants her son had assembled on the front steps to greet her.
He had written that the local hostelry had loaned some of its staff to help out until such time as a permanent household could be engaged, but this ragtag and bobtail assemblage of rustics made her realise she would have her work cut out for her to establish order and decorum in her son’s domestic arrangements. What she saw before her resembled less a household and more a menagerie. It would never do!
Her son approached the carriage to hand her down and hugged her warmly. ‘Mama, it is so good to see you again. Welcome to Baramdene. I hope the journey was not too uncomfortable? The staff are here to assist in any way they can.
‘About the staff, William...’ But her son had turned away to address his gathered servants:
‘Everyone, I wish to introduce to you my mother, Mrs Baramdene. She will stay with us to take charge of our domestic arrangements. You are to offer her every assistance in doing so, is that understood?’ At this the gaggle of countriy hobbledehoys and wenches (as his mother saw them) voiced their assent enthusiastically, bowed or curtsied to her and respectfully murmured their welcomes. She was pleasantly surprised by the cordiality of their greeting, the more so by their assiduity in making themselves useful to her as they bustled to pick up her cases and trunks and bear them into the house as her son guided her up the slippery steps to enter the Hall for the first time.
‘I will allow, my boy,’ said she ‘that these people seem to respect you and are eager to please, but familiarity is to be discouraged at any cost. We know where that leads.’
‘You will have remarked, Mama‘ he replied ‘upon their kindly disposition towards you and their loyalty to me. These are simple, good-hearted folk, not the worldly-wise servile classes of London and Bath. It was thanks to their kindness in coming to my rescue on my over-hasty arrival here that I did not starve to death. Their care since then has been exemplary and a great solace to me. I beseech you, therefore, to judge them kindly. Pray give them the benefit of the doubt until you come to know their characters better. I do not doubt that they will benefit from your instruction but please to be patient and indulgent with them in the meantime.’
‘Your loyalty to your household is commendable, William, and does you credit. I can only hope it is reciprocated. As it clearly means so much to you, I shall, of course, obey and follow your wishes, reserving my judgment until I have seen how well they perform their tasks. I am not one to spring to a hasty conclusion, as you know, but it will not surprise you if I keep a close eye upon them.’
‘I would expect nothing less of you, Mama. Now, come in and cast your discerning eye over the house.’
‘I have already observed the lamentable condition of its exterior. Poor Mr Wilson struggled in vain to persuade your uncle of the need for repairs. He must have been sorely vexed to see his life’s work come to naught. Small wonder he retired to the coast upon his master demise. Would that he had remained to work for his nephew but there we are. I must say it is very apparent that the house requires much attention. I can only hope the interior is in better order.’ As her son led her over the threshold into the entrance hall she paused to take in her new surroundings, ‘Ah’ she exclaimed, ‘I see my hope was misguided’ and fell silent.
He knew his mother well enough to know that her silence was never a good sign. He ushered her to a chair by the blazing fire as a young maid brought in the tea tray and set it by her on an occasional table. ‘Thank you, my child’, she said, almost in a daze, as the girl bobbed and withdrew. Her son hastened to her side to pour her a cup, realising that she was fatigued by her journey but also overcome by the sadly dilapidated state of his new accommodation. However, a sip or two of hot tea soon revived her flagging spirits and she rallied with renewed enthusiasm. ‘Well, as Mr Lancelot Brown would have it, it has capabilities I suppose, but what was Baramdene [she spoke of her late brother-in-law] thinking to allow the place to fall into such disrepair?’
‘Judging by what I have been able to discern from the evidence of his library, Mama, it seems his thoughts dwelt on a higher plane than the domestic. His was a life of the mind.’
‘That may well be so but to permit one’s house to fall about one’s ears whilst sitting with one’s head in a book is little short of shameful and shows an unconscionable want of care for one’s patrimony. It may have suited Diogenes to live in a barrel but your uncle was not the philosopher of Sinope, he was an English nobleman who might more profitably have spent his time shooting and fishing and tending to his estate. All the erudition in the world will not save one from a leaking roof!’
His mother had warmed to her theme as the fire had warmed her body. Appearing much revived by her heated outburst she continued, ‘Really, it is too bad! How glad I am that you, my dear, have inherited a healthy portion of your mother’s good sense. The Baramdenes were ever a dreamy lot. Why, even your late Papa (God rest his soul) was wont to sit in a brown study without my constant urgings to action. I beg you not to spend more time than strictly necessary in that wretched library. You have long left Oxford and your studies behind and must make your way in the world; which, I insist, you cannot do whilst living in a Gothic ruin. This is Baramdene Hall, not the Castle of Otranto!
‘You speak compellingly, Mama, and it is apparent we are of one mind on this point at least. Something must be done about this house and I fear something more than mere refurbishment is necessitated. I have been thinking of approaching John Soane to come up with a design for a completely new house, one more in keeping with our times and my present circumstances. What think you of that?’
‘I should not hasten to a decision on that subject, my dear. As to Mr Soane, I understand he is popular with the beau monde and is considered very... modern, but modernity, while fitting for a London banker, is not necessarily so for a country nobleman. Nothing so becomes a young aristocrat as an old house. You surely would not have the world think you an arriviste? Indeed, I should not wish the world to think you so. No, this house will suit you very well with a modicum of attention and I can advise upon the decorations. A lick of paint, some fresh paper, new curtains – perhaps a new roof – and, trust me, you shall live à la mode but without ostentation. The expense of a new house can prove ruinous. I have seen it befall many a noble family whose aspirations have tended toward the grandiose and outstripped their means. This is a good old English country seat and needs but some sensible care and diligent attention to make it habitable and presentable.”
Baramdene was amused by this speech of his mother’s. She who had so often castigated his uncle for his parsimonious ways, once even going so far as to describe him as a skinflint, now had a care that his fortune should be preserved intact. To him it seemed that any further outlay on keeping this crumbling pile standing would be throwing good money after bad, as the saying goes. ‘But think, Mama, of the civilising and beautifying impact of John Nash’s new designs upon our capital city.’
‘Pah! Mr Nash’s houses are all stucco on brick, mere elegant façades, little more than insubstantial stage sets for metropolitan flibbertigibbets to parade up and down in front of! At least Mr Soane‘s designs are solid and dignified. Why, his work on the Bank of England alone may yet gain him a knighthood, mark my words.’
‘But Nash is popular with the Prince Regent.’
‘That does not endear him to me. I really think you would do well to consider renovation rather than demolition. Perhaps, though, Mr Soane could advise on modernisation. But, as I have yet to see the rest of the house, I will reserve my judgment in that matter also. Perhaps you would have a maid convey me to my chamber, I feel in need of a day bed before dinner. I take it there is dinner?’
‘Of course, Mama, all that is in hand. Good food and wine at least we can provide in abundance at Baramdene.’
...to be continued