Hope and Experience - Austen homage

                                                                  

                                                                                                Chapter I

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a young man in possession of a decaying house must be in want of an architect. That was never truer than in the case of the young Lord Baramdene who found himself shivering in a bedchamber of his late uncle’s house, which he had but lately inherited and just now entered for the first time, seeking shelter from a raging winter storm which howled without.

Urgent as was his need of sleep after a long and perilous journey, nothing on earth would have induced him to disrobe in the cavernous and frigid room in which, by the light of a meagre candle, he stood forlorn. Even had he ventured to do so, his nightshirt, nightcap and robe de chambre lay buried beneath a snowdrift, along with the rest of his worldly possessions, leaving him scant options to consider. He resolved instead to sleep fully-clad, save for his boots, and under no circumstances risk the damp interstices of the massive tester bed. Rather, he elected to cover himself with its eiderdown quilt and pray for deliverance from a freezing death during the night.

As things fell out he slept soundly enough, a testament as much to his exhaustion as to his youth and robust constitution, and awoke to weak winter sunlight penetrating the cracked shutters and threadbare curtains of his inhospitable apartment. Bestirring himself he pulled open both to discover, not greatly to his surprise, an icy frosting on the inside of the window panes. He had been wise indeed not to divest himself of his outdoor apparel but to rely on his greatcoat, scarf, stock, thick woollen breeches and stockings for protection against the biting chill, which penetrated his bones almost as keenly indoors as without.

On mature reflection, he was obliged to own the recklessness of his whim of the night before. It would have been wiser by far to have stayed at the inn after dining there, but once his baggage cart had lodged in a snowdrift and the carter and his lad sensibly 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 commodious 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 perishing of the cold but he had denied himself even that comfort. Despite their solicitous entreaties to return with them he, eager to gain his destination regardless of weather, had determinedly ridden on, heedless of the danger. Eventually making it to the house after much travail, he let himself in with the very key entrusted to him by the lawyer on his twenty-first birthday – a real, rather than symbolic means by which to unlock the door of his adulthood - and endeavoured to make himself at home as best he was able.

It had been, from the start, a rash and foolhardy enterprise. To set out in mid-January, so soon after his coming of age, without sending ahead notice of his intentions, or instructions to secure the necessary preparations against his arrival, was at best imprudent and at worst potentially fatal. In the cold light of day he cursed his impetuosity, having now every reason to regret his injudicious actions. There were no staff in the house, 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. For want of a little forethought he had placed his life in jeopardy. All-in-all it was an inauspicious start to his incumbency of Baramdene Hall and he wished, in the light of experience, he had checked his ardour in claiming his right of occupancy so soon after the death of his uncle. Had he exercised a little caution he might, perhaps, have ascertained the sorry state into which the house had been allowed to fall and taken the wise precaution of arranging remediation before attempting residency. For want of a little prudence his body might, save for God’s grace, have been found days later frozen in a ditch.

Having been providentially spared that grim destiny, he was left with no choice but to shift for himself – and his poor horse, Bucephalus, 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 - a surprising innovation considering his uncle's evident resistance to modernity in the rest of the house - but there was nothing to eat in the larder and although the wine cellars were well-stocked, as befitted the residence 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 entirely and starvation seemed his inevitable fate unless he took decisive action to forage for food. The irony of his present circumstance was not lost upon him – he had inherited a barony only to find himself famished in a cold house without servants. Pride cometh before a fall indeed!

The Fates, however, had decreed a second chance for him. Their clemency manifested itself in the form of the carter and his lad who, along with some of the staff from the inn, had mounted a search party and made their way to the Hall bearing the means of his deliverance. They brought with them hot food in straw-packed boxes, along with hampers of fresh-baked bread, milk and all manner of other comestibles. This they had done at the behest of the landlord of the inn, to whom, in absentia, Baramdene expressed himself forever indebted. He was delighted, and not a little relieved, at the arrival of those Good Samaritans whom the innkeeper had despatched, welcoming them in without formality. Having mustered the assembly in the kitchen - currently the only warm room in the house - two maids made haste to lay out the feast, of which they all partook communally and convivially round the large scrubbed table.

But lately returned to England from the Grand Tour on the news of his uncle’s demise - a trip made possible once more to young gallants by the peace secured at the Congress of Vienna after years of war with Bonaparte - he counted himself a man of the world, and a proud Englishman to boot. In reality being still young and green, he was not temperamentally disposed to stand on ceremony and stuffiness was not in his nature. In truth, until his unexpected elevation to the peerage during his trip abroad, there had been little ceremony in his life upon which to stand. At least before being summoned home to claim his rightful inheritance, with all the duties attendant upon it, he had been able legitimately to own the title ‘English milord’ and enjoy the freedoms that allowed him.

After their democratic repast, manservants from the inn set about lighting fires in the main rooms while the maids cleared the kitchen table and carried warming pans aloft to air his bed. The rescued trunk of clothes was borne up to his room whence, with sufficient hot water at last produced and a good fire taking the chill off the air, he would retire to bathe and dress himself in apparel more befitting a young scion of the noble house of Baramdene. It seemed, after his recent vicissitudes, that Fortuna was once more favouring him with her benificent smile. 

A man 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 household staff was an urgent requirement if he were to survive in this house with the necessary proprieties observed. His late uncle, a bachelor of solitary habits, had kept but few elderly retainers about him and these, having been pensioned off to tied cottages about the estate upon his death, would doubtless not readily countenance a return to a life of domestic servitude for a young master of unknown character and untested demeanour.

In the meantime, therefore, a cook-housekeeper, a bevy of scullery-, house- and chambermaids and a footman or two would be required, the recruitment of whom the landlord of the inn - good fellow that he had already proved himself to be and keen to ingratiate himself with the new landowner (and licensing magistrate) - had obligingly offered to recruit on his behalf from among the village lads and lasses. He also lent the invaluable services of an ostler to care for his horse until such time as a permanent groom should be found for the stables.

There being little to be gained by attempting to ride out to survey his 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 amassed therein he also discovered maps of the estate, from close scrutiny of which he was enabled to familiarise himself with his newly-acquired five thousand acres from the comfort of his fireside armchair while awaiting the thaw that would permit of his venturing forth to meet his tenants at last.

The happy day finally dawned when 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. He sallied forth in high spirits but, alas, the going proved 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 concerns being whether he would raise their rents after the previous year’s 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 holdings. The previous incumbent of that post, a Mr Wilson, having retired to live with relatives at the seaside, obliged him to write to the lawyer about the recruitment of a suitably qualified person to fill so vital a trusteeship.

His perambulations took him by-and-by to the rectory on a duty call to meet the incumbent, the Reverend Mr Castleton, whom he had discerned from his library researches had secured a comfortable living by virtue of being a distant cousin of his late uncle’s. This appointment to the benefice had gained him an handsome rectory, together with an allocation of glebe land and a goodly share of tithes. Mr Castleton, an elderly gentleman of indifferent health, greeted him civilly and with fulsome apologies for not having called upon him at the Hall due to the inclemency of the 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-Lordship’s regrettably irregular attendance at church, to which he looked forward to welcoming his nephew on Sunday morning and settling him in the family pew. For his part, Lord Baramdene, who shared his uncle’s indifference to matters spiritual, at least insofar as the obscurer observances of the Church of England were concerned, nevertheless determined to fulfil his obligations as advowson dutifully, assuring his rector of his intention of doing so diligently.

As Baramdene was taking his leave, the Reverend gentleman invited him to join him in a turn about the frosty garden which he had remarked admiringly from the rectory window. It was a charming spot indeed, even in the depths of winter, and Baramdene was much obliged to Mr Castleton for shewing it him. Alas, as good rectors go, the kindly old gentleman went, carried off suddenly by a chill taken on that self-same stroll and thus depriving him of his hoped-for pleasure of welcoming 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 a thaw would enable a grave to be dug and the services of a clergyman secured to conduct the committal; although, for the sake both of propriety and practicality, the necessary obsequies could not long be 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. Genuinely fond of his Mama as he was, yet like many another young man having come of age and seeking to make his way in the world, he was keen to have his head and assert his independence. Now, however, he found himself at this precise moment in urgent need of a mother’s opinion on a growing number of pressing matters, and the good dame was nothing if not opinionated. Her convictions, though often contradictory, were never less than honestly and vehemently expressed, but at heart she was a shrewd and sensible woman, who had ably acted as executrix of the estate, feme sole, during his minority and of whose advice and practical assistance he felt in severe want at this dolorous 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 once so much as visited, her late brother-in-law being reclusive by nature and disinclined to welcome any 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 alone side-saddle about the countryside. Such indelicate behaviour belonged to the rollicking mores of an earlier age. But, genteel as the good lady undoubtedly was, she was never one to be deterred by the hardships attendant upon travel, especially when the purpose was to see her son secured in his new home. She was prepared to undergo many a privation in order to discharge her maternal duty – and be seen doing it – and on no account would she be thought deficient in motherly solicitude when this opportunity had so fortuitously presented itself.

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. Evidently it was an eminently suitable country seat for a young aristocrat and one which 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 drew closer, however, she realised, much to her chagrin, that first appearances were deceptive. The house was very 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 in a phalanx upon the mossy steps to greet her arrival.

He had written that the local hostelry had loaned some of its staff to assist 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 if she were 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 country hobbledehoys and wenches (as his mother saw them) voiced their assent enthusiastically, bowing or curtsying to her as they respectfully murmured their welcomes. She was pleasantly surprised by the civility and cordiality of their greeting, and 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 or freeze 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.’

‘I am sensible of your loyalty to your household, William, which is commendable 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 and critical eye upon them.’

‘I would expect nothing less of you, Mama. Now, come in and cast that discerning eye over the house.’

‘I have already observed the lamentable condition of its exterior. Poor Mr Wilson clearly 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’s demise. Would that he had remained to work for his nephew but there we are. I must say, it is woefully apparent, on closer inspection, that the house requires much attention externally. I can only hope the interior is in better order.’  As her son led her over the threshold into the gloomy entrance hall she paused to take in her new surroundings. ‘Ah’, she exclaimed, ‘I see my hope was misplaced’, and fell silent.

He knew his mother well enough to realise that her silence never boded well. He ushered her to a chair by the blazing fire as a young maid brought in the tea tray and set it down 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 decayed 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 his place to fall into so sorry a state of delapidation? It was unpardonably remiss of him!’

‘Judging by what I have been able to descry from the evidence of his library, Mama, it seems his thoughts dwelt on a higher plane than the quotidian. 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 shews an unconscionable want of care for one’s patrimony, to say nothing of neglect for the proprieties. 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 his estate.'

'I never took you for a bluestocking, Mama.'

'I know my Virgil from my Homer, if that is what you mean, but I also know that all the erudition in the world will not save one from a leaking roof!’ His mother was warming to her theme as the fire warmed her body. Appearing much revived by her heated outburst she continued her peroration with a second wind, ‘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 left Oxford and your studies behind and must make your way in the world – the real 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 the state of the house but I fear that that something may amount to more than mere refurbishment. 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 perhaps, 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 a parvenu? 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 wall-hangings, new draperies – perhaps a new roof – and, trust me, you shall live à la mode whilst avoiding ostentation. The expense of a new house can prove ruinous. I have seen it happen to many a noble family whose aspirations, tending toward the grandiose, have 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 once again.’

Baramdene was amused by this speech of his mother’s. She who had so oft castigated his uncle for his parsimonious ways, once even going so far as to describe him as “a skinflint”, now it seemed had a care that his fortune should be preserved intact. To him it was plain that any further outlay on keeping this crumbling pile standing would be throwing good money after bad, as the saying has it. ‘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! I venture to suggest they will not see out the decade. At least Mr Soane‘s designs are solid and dignified. Why, his work on the Bank of England alone may yet earn him a knighthood, mark my words.’

‘But Nash is popular with the Prince Regent.’

‘That does not endear him to me. I think you would do well to consider renovation rather than demolition, my dear. 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 a day bed? I take it there is dinner?’

‘Of course, Mama, all is in hand. I cannot vouch for the comfort of the day bed but good food and wine at least we can provide in abundance here at Baramdene.’

                                                                                         Chapter Ii

Dinner had proved an unexpected success, due in no small measure to the Herculean efforts of the staff, whose prowess in waxing the floors, polishing up the silverware, dusting away the cobwebs, burnishing the mahogany to a high sheen and lighting the now-gleaming candelabra had not gone unnoticed by his vigilant mother, her mood already lifted by reclining on a tolerable chaise longue for an hour in a now-warmed bedchamber. One of the girls had acted as her lady’s maid, greatly to her satisfaction, and she appeared in the dining room resplendent in a fresh gown, with well-coiffed hair, positively radiating bonhomie.

The men, having got up a good fire in the grate, had gone off to perform their toilet and change into clean attire to act as footmen and wait at table. Cook had excelled herself in the kitchen and her food, plain but of exceptional quality, had been well-received by his mother, who avowed that she had ever abhorred the modern habit of “Frenchified” food. ‘The roast beef of old England has much to recommend it and Mrs Gudgeon, good woman that she is, is to be complimented on her culinary skill. Her pastry, I vow, is some of the best I ever had. No Swiss patissiere, I ween, could have outshone her efforts in that regard. Have I not always maintained that the good judgment and practical dexterity of an English country matron in the kitchen is not to be matched anywhere in the world?’ He could not recall ever hearing her express such sentiments but thought better of contradicting her while she was in full flow, and so tractable a mood.

The wine cellars had also yielded up a superfluity of good vintages and, as he and his mother were dining en famille, sans guests, they were spared the formalities of dinner etiquette and partook of port with the cheese together at table in a relaxed and companionable atmosphere. As a good fire still blazed in the grate they decided against withdrawing and took coffee at table.

After a footman had served them from a gleaming silver pot and retired discreetly from the room his mother observed, ‘The men and maids have done very well tonight I own but if you are to retain the services of any or all of them they simply must be fitted out with proper uniforms as a matter of the utmost priority. It is all very well when we are alone in this house together sans cérémonie – I am nothing if not tolerant of domestic informality, as you know - but once we have callers it is imperative that we are able to present a smart, well-groomed personnel de maison. Why, were any of the County to call upon us unannounced I think I should die of shame.’

‘I do not disagree with you on that particular, Mama, although a lord and his mother may surely set the ton rather than slavishly following stale convention, mayn’t they? For example, in the matter of a valet, I would sooner rely on the naturally respectful disposition of young Tom, who currently serves me in that capacity, than the suave insincerity of some professional lackey. He has already had experience of waiting on the quality at the inn and would not take much training-up to make a more-than competent personal manservant. He is a presentable, honest and intelligent lad. All it requires is a little polish and he will do very well. I concur with the Duke of Wellington in choosing rather to shine my own boots, shave myself and brush my own coat than be surrounded by a retinue of idle fellows.’

‘As you wish, my dear, though you should have a care not to introduce too many revolutionary ideas into this house – or the House for that matter. Look where such notions ended in France.’

‘Yes, but was that not as a result of the common people being denied the dignity of proper recompense and respect for the labour they provided for a negligent and decadent aristocracy? England had the great good sense to abandon serfdom centuries ago and I would not have us go backwards to those times.’

‘My goodness, I see Oxford and the Grand Tour has made quite the radical of you, William! I declare you shall have to sit as a Whig in the House, that much is plain.’ She smiled as she said this so he understood from her countenance that she was not entirely displeased with his sentiments. A short repose, good food, fire, and port wine had all worked their mellowing affect upon her demeanour after her tiring journey.

‘Well, let us not get ahead of ourselves, Mama. I cannot possibly go up to Town whilst so many matters here in the country remain unresolved. Disasters come not single spies but in battalions, as Shakespeare has it. Finding a valet is the least of my problems at this juncture; there’s an architect, land agent and rector all to appoint. As I feel keenly my part in the demise of the latter gentleman, I suppose I must exercise my duties as advowson – as I solemnly swore to the late incumbent I would - never expecting to be called so soon to make good on my promise. In the interim, a fellow-graduate of mine at Oxford, now an MA and a thoroughly decent fellow, Edgar Clarke by name - I may have spoken of him? - has written to inform me that he has taken holy orders. I feel certain he would make an excellent curate until such time as a suitable rector emerges, which, given the eight hundred a year stipend, is unlikely to present a problem. I purpose sending for Clarke immediately, if he is willing to come. I dare say my offering to increase his miserly fifty pound per annum curacy to two hundred and fifty might act as an inducement. I am sure he will happily trade penury in Oxfordshire for a good country living and a fine rectory here, pro tem.’

‘You have carte blanche in all that, my dear; nor, as I have yet to have the pleasure of making Mr Clarke’s acquaintance, can I offer any advice on that score. You must also settle on the question of an architect yourself as my taste is doubtless too passé for you. I should be happy, though, to make enquiries of our neighbouring landowners as to a suitable steward to replace dear Mr Wilson if that would assist you. It will give me a respectable pretext to call upon them, although the Baramdene name should suffice.’

‘Indeed it will, Mama. You shall be my ambassadress and our name your calling card. So, then, the matter is settled. O, and might I beg you, also, to be so good as to have the staff measured up for livery, and Tom for a decent suit. If he is to be my personal man he must look the part in the eyes of the world, though I would as soon see him dressed in feathers like a Tahitian as trussed up in black like an undertaker. Let him decide what style he favours, though nothing too flamboyant, mind; I should not want him to eclipse his master. I am all in favour of equality amongst men, but only insofar, you understand, as I emerge looking the more dashing fellow! O, and one other thing: the men are to wear their own hair, I cannot abide a powdered wig.’

‘You talk such nonsense, William, but I shall certainly eschew feathers, you may rest assured upon that score. Why, the very idea!’ his indulgent mother replied, laughingly ‘but, yes, I shall do as you ask and then we shall have at least the rudiments of a respectable household so that we may hold our heads up in polite society.’

‘The d---- take polite society, Mama! But, when in Rome...’

‘You have the privilege of sneering at polite society, I suppose, as a Peer of the Realm. That is the prerogative of your rank and sex but you might think otherwise were you a poor widow such as myself.’

‘I’ll wager you’ll never have to throw yourself upon the parish, Mama” he chaffed ‘And no duchess could command more respect than you, nor any mother hope for a more affectionate and dutiful son.’ So saying he rose to kiss her cheek. She tapped him lightly with her fan,

‘You, sir, are a flatterer – but I love you for it. Now, goodnight, and let us speak more on this on the morrow.”

                                                                                          Chapter III

As his mother made her stately progress about the County, doors flew open to greet the Honourable Mrs Baramdene. The quality was agog to have intelligence of the new Lord Baramdene and learn of his plans for his crumbling pile, the interior of which most had never seen. It had been thirty years at least since the house had welcomed guests; in that time the frivolity of balls, dinners, fêtes champêtres, soirées musicales or spectacles pyrotechniques had never once been permitted to disturb the eremitical existence of the late Lord Baramdene, much to the chagrin of his neighbours.

The good lady took much trouble in apprising her hosts of the sorry state of her son’s inheritance and their woeful accommodation at the Hall, this by way of apology for being unable immediately to extend invitations to call upon her and her son at Baramdene, but also to gain sympathy for her own plight. ‘Really,’ said she ‘my late brother-in-law’s wilful neglect of both his house and estate is a matter of deep regret to my son and me, not least because we are obliged to live like refugees on account of it. Why, the roof leaks, there is woodworm and rot in the timbers so that one scarcely knows where to set foot without at any moment placing oneself at risk of plunging through the floorboards into the room below. It would not surprise me if there were rats in the wainscot, but I do not like to think on that! And as for the cold and damp, I aver it is a miracle neither of us has perished of it. Indeed, were it not for our robust constitutions, which run in the family you know, I dare say we should both have been carried off of the pleurisy long ere now, especially in so inclement a winter.’

In truth, the old house was nowhere near being in so advanced a state of dilapidation as that Mrs Baramdene described so colourfully but it had been neglected and needed works to make it a home fit for a young Lord and his hoped-for Lady and heir. A little exaggeration in such matters, though, never went amiss and the sympathy her sorrowful plaints garnered from her appalled neighbours as she regaled them with tales of the many privationss she was obliged to endure at Baramdene for the sake of her son’s inheritance, was the cause of great gratification to the good lady. She was widely spoken of as an heroine, bravely facing the challenges and indignities of her most trying circumstances the better selflessly to support her young son when she might have remained comfortable at Bath. Such a paragon of maternal fortitude was a modern example of that old Roman model of virtue, the doughty matron; why, she had succeeded in making of herself a latter-day Volumnia in the eyes of all her hosts. Unsurprisingly, invitations to return with her son to partake of comfort and solace in their travails followed thick and fast upon her departure from their homes. Nor was it sympathy alone she accumulated on her rural rides; she also acquired intelligence useful to her son in his endeavours to restore his neglected patrimony. Names of trustworthy stewards were forthcoming, recommendations for architects, builders and tradesmen  were vouchsafed. Even suitable replacements for the late Reverend Mr Castleton were tentatively suggested.

But it was mention of Baramdene’s dower house that particularly piqued her interest. She had not hitherto been aware of this property‘s existence, it being situate in a secluded spot on the far edge of the extensive estate. By all accounts it was a fairly modern and commodious house, only some fifty years old, and in good order having until lately been rented out to tenants. The lease having expired and the tenants not wishing to renew, the house stood vacant and in need of occupancy.

These tidings were as music to Mrs Baramdene’s ears. She could now see a solution to the dilemma that had been troubling her, namely how she and her son could conceivably live comfortably in the great house while the necessary works were carried out to it. The prospect filled her with dread but now that an alternative presented itself, and one so close to hand, she was greatly relieved. She wondered, though, why her son had not already mentioned its existence to her; he surely could not have been unaware of it. Perhaps he felt it for some reason unsuited to their needs. She resolved to broach the puzzling matter with him directly on her return and, if need be, use her considerable powers of persuasion to convince him of its fortuity.

Another matter had also come to her attention on her peregrinations about the County, one germane to her son’s future and the continuance of the Baramdene family name, to whit the prodigious number of charming young daughters, nieces and wards who seemed to languish unspoken-for in the households she visited. The news of the arrival of her eligible bachelor son, twenty-one, dashing, titled, with five thousand acres and an income of ten thousand a year, had raised the hopes of many an anxious parent of unbetrothed daughters and set the heart of many a single young lady aflutter.

At dinner on her return to Baramdene she shared with her son the practical intelligence she had collected on her travels, to which he listened with rapt attention. Then she came to the curious matter of the dower house. He explained, with apology, that, whilst he had noted it on the estate map, he had not yet visited it as he had also seen the correspondence from the tenants to Mr Wilson giving notice and had been more concerned to speak to those tenants he already had than to seek new ones. He had, in fact, already resolved to view it in due course and agreed with her that it might indeed provide a suitable and convenient habitation for them by offering a refuge from the dirt and disturbance of the construction work at Baramdene. At his mother’s urging he proposed that they should waste no time but ride out to see it on the morrow, the weather permitting of such a hack.

This matter satisfactorily resolved, the more delicate question of the young County ladies she decided to keep in her bosom until a more propitious moment should arise to mention it. As the daughter of a General, she knew how to keep her powder dry. Happily, the morrow dawned also dry and after breakfast they sallied forth together. Baramdene had acquired an excellent mount for his mother from the stables of the inn, a docile bay mare equipped with side-saddle, with which his mother professed herself delighted. Their ride through the tranquil park and out into the surrounding estate was a source of pleasure to them both. It had been several years since his mother had ridden on horseback, being more accustomed in her maturer years to a carriage, but she was a good horsewoman and had not lost her skill.

They approached the house by and by and were both charmed by its external aspect, an elegantly restrained three-storey stone house in the classical style. Riding through the piered gates into the gravelled forecourt it appeared to be in good order without and, as Baramdene let them in with keys he had located in the estate office, they were impressed by what greeted them within. The entrance hall, from whose black-and-white chequered floor rose a graceful staircase leading to a landing on the first floor, was most pleasingly proportioned. Before going up it, however, they first explored the ground floor rooms, whose large windows flooded the house with light and permitted pleasing vistas over the surrounding walled gardens. There was a lightness of touch about the appointments which spoke of a woman’s hand; graceful wainscots, restrained plasterwork and fine marble fire surrounds set a tone of elegant simplicity which pleased them both.

Descending to the semi-basement below, the domestic offices were of ample proportion, perfectly adequate for their immediate needs. The eight bedrooms on the two floors above, with dormer-windowed servants’ quarters in the attic, seemed likely to provide fitting temporary accommodation for them both for the duration of the works at Baramdene, as well as housing for the necessary staff. Admittedly, the house was of modest size, indeed small for a Baronial residence, but more than adequate for his mother once the great house was complete and Baramdene moved into it. Ever a provident woman she was already planning her own future whilst, of course, prioritising her son’s. From henceforth she would jocularly refer to this neat little abode as ‘the doll’s house’.

And, as every gentlewoman will acknowledge, a doll’s house must needs be properly furnished. The decision once made to remove as soon as possible from Baramdene, the good lady had the dower house thoroughly cleaned and redecorated before selecting choice pieces from the great house with which to furnish their retreat. It had been let unfurnished, which partially-solved the problem of all the furniture at Baramdene, the bulk of which was in need of storage, dispersal or disposal during the building works. Mrs Baramdene had a pattern book brought to her from which to select a few choice modern pieces, smaller and more refined than much of the large, heavy old furniture at the great house, with which to feminise her new surroundings. These she had made up by a skilled cabinetmaker in ________, her particular favourite being inlaid rosewood.

Her son, meanwhile, had finally settled upon an architect, Jeffry Wyatt, to carry out a sensitive modernisation of Baramdene, heeding his mother’s advice against demolition, and remodelling of its park. Wyatt was renowned for improving the comfort and convenience of old houses to make them fit for modern living whilst retaining their baronial splendour and dignity for the enhancement of a nobleman’s inheritance. He was also noted for his landscaping. Wyatt himself was a friendly, good-natured man who, despite his society reputation, remained reassuringly down to earth. His close association with his contractors also ensured that the building work was of the highest quality and carried out speedily and efficiently.

Baramdene lived at ‘the doll’s house’ with his mother but kept an office on the building-site his ancestral home had become the better to communicate with Wyatt and his workers. He did not share Wyatt’s taste for the domestic Gothic, preferring to live in a house rather than a church, as he bluntly put it; but Wyatt had a mastery of various styles second to none and understood Baramdene’s reservations. Accordingly, he had worked up a tasteful scheme to restore the crumbling façade to its original noble state whilst subtly modernising the interior. The work was expected to take eighteen months to two years to complete which, to a young man like Baramdene, seemed an eternity but which, Wyatt and his mother assured him, was short work and the time would pass quickly.

His mother sought to mollify him by pointing out that the time could be put to good use planning a grand ball for the County upon completion of the work to celebrate his occupancy of his fine seat. She, meanwhile, wasted no time in letting it be known that she would be at home to callers every Wednesday morning at ‘the doll’s house’ and looked forward to receiving guests. However, she had failed to calculate the impact their living amongst country people starved of society, together with the novelty of her son’s eligibility, would have upon the good dames of the County, particularly after such a prolonged dearth of socialising at Baramdene Hall. She was thus inundated with eager callers, many of whom outstayed their polite welcome of a quarter hour or twenty minutes in their eagerness to remain au courant, and especially so, she noted, when her son was expected to be home. The poor hiusemaids were worked almost to death ferrying tea trays, bread and butter, cold meats and cake up to the guests. ‘It is as if a plague of locusts has descended upon us, William’ she remarked in exasperation to her son, ‘I fear they will eat us out of house and home.’

‘I confess, Mama, it does seem to be something of a rout but we shall make many acquaintances thereby and, I dare say, some good friends. Why, already we have been obliged to many of these kind people for their connections, which has enabled me to get work underway with the house. O, and apropos, I have been given excellent references for a very decent-sounding steward to relieve me of the burden of estate management so it is my expectation that, in but a short while, we shall have resolved that problem satisfactorily. Also, my friend Clarke, has written to say that he would be delighted to take up the curacy at my earliest convenience, to which I wrote back by return urging him to speed hither to us. Secure in the knowledge that we have the cure of parish souls secured I can take my time considering the question of the rectorship.’

‘Well, my dear,’ she began, archly, ‘with our accommodation in the dower house, an architect, an agent and a curate all resolved, it seems there is but one thing wanting, which is to find you a wife.’

‘Now, Mama, you must allow me some time to survey the field. I feel I can better do that when the house is complete and we hold our first ball. I am sure then I shall be spoiled for choice.’

‘I do not doubt it, but do not let the grass grow under your feet the while. Notwithstanding the onerous work you have to undertake with the house and estate, you should accept any invitations that may strike you as...advantageous to the forming of relations with a suitable young lady. You must not permit your work to interfere with social intercourse. Look to your late uncle. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’

Baramdene laughed, ‘But I am Will not Jack and I hope I shall not be a dull boy.’

‘In which case,’ his mother persisted ‘we should attend the Assembly Rooms at ________ where you may meet young people of your own age. You like to dance, do you not?’

‘Inordinately well, Mama, and I think your suggestion a splendid one. We must make the arrangements directly.’

Mrs Baramdene had already enquired of the frequency of County balls at the aforementioned establishment and learnt that they were held on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7 of the evening until 11. Mrs Baramdene fixed upon the coming Thursday, reasoning (she did not share this with her son) that, at her next at home, she would be able to introduce into the conversazione the intelligence of their intention to attend the forthcoming dance together, where her son would, she doubted not, be disposed to partake of a cotillion or quadrille, perchance two, with their daughters. Her news, as she knew they would, galvanised the mothers of the County, who had but one night and day to select or alter gowns for their darling girls. She had set a stiff challenge but Mrs Baramdene felt sure it was one which would separate the wheat from the chaff. If they were seriously minded to secure their daughters’ marital prospects with her son, these mothers would find a way.

The appointed evening arrived and the Assembly Rooms had not welcomed so great a crowd since the victory of Waterloo. The Master of Ceremonies, poor fellow, was at a loss to understand the cause of so sudden and unexpected an inundation until the moment the new, very eligible, young Lord Baramdene’s carriage drew up without and he and his mother descended from it. Then he understood full well the attraction and hastily warned his attendants to provide more punch, lemonade and comestibles, and the musicians to play lustily, for it looked set fair to be a considerably busy evening.

 Indeed, the crush in the room was so formidable when Lord Baramdene and his mother entered, and the heat, despite the icy conditions without, so stifling, that it appeared there would be scarcely enough space left to dance, or air to breathe. But as some of the older or more bashful folk, not wishing, or no longer able, to enjoy the art of Terpsichore  - the gout had put an end to many a dancing career among them - repaired to the card room to play whist, vingt-et-un or blackjack while other gentlemen (and some sporting matrons) resorted to the billiard table, somehow they managed it and a very lively, jocund evening ensued.

It was a cause of no little satisfaction to Mrs Baramdene that her ploy had shewn itself  so effective with the mothers of the County. The number of young ladies present was truly prodigious and most gratifying to her; some of them were even quite handsome. There was a freshness, a bloom about even the plainest of these country girls that was rarely seen among the prettiest of young women attending the Season in Town, or in Bath, although it enjoyed the advantage of good Somersetshire air and country rides. Their innocence and enthusiasm made up, in great measure, for their want of a fine figure, an handsome visage or fashionable frock.

Another advantage over Bath was the relative informality of the proceedings in these County Assembly Rooms, which she knew her son would prefer, his views on the subject of hierarchical observance having been oft-rehearsed with her. Nevertheless, the proprieties must be observed and the rules of precedence were enforced by the Master of Ceremonies, even here, with some diligence. As they were of the highest rank in the room, a coincidence of some satisfaction to Mrs Baramdene, she and her son were called to enter first. At his mother’s advice, he sought the Master of Ceremonies’ assistance in introducing him to a lady who had caught her attention, Miss Letitia Tarrant, eldest daughter of the late Sir Joshua Tarrant. While his mother took her seat on the benches to observe how their meeting went, the Master of Ceremonies brought the two together and formally introduced the young lady to the young Lord. The young lady obligingly proffered her gloved hand, which he gallantly shook. These necessary formalities conducted they murmured some small talk until Miss Tarrant was invited to call the first dance. She selected the charming Voulez vous danser Mademoiselle?  which set the evening off to an appropriately sedate start, from which it would only get livelier.

Mrs Baramdene observed their civilities closely as the young couple danced together and thought them an handsome pair. It was a promising start and she was gratified to notice the dowager Lady Tarrant, the young lady’s mother - who, being the widow of a Baronet came second in precedence after her son, as a Baron - paying similarly close attention from her vantage point on the opposite benches. It seemed to her to augur well for a blossoming friendship of two young people equally matched in social standing as in beauty. But the evening was yet young and it would be interesting to see what other potential partnerings emerged during its course.

Her son and the Miss Tarrant, having completed their two dances, both moved on and it was exceeding gratifying to his mother to see Baramdene complete so many dances during the course of the evening. He danced extremely well, with both a grace and vigour she had little anticipated, having not seen him perform on the dance floor since his adolescent years, when he was rather shy and awkward. Now he had completed the Grand Tour, reached his majority and come into his inheritance, he was fully in command of himself and cut a fine figure in the room, the female portion of which adored him while the male portion struggled between admiration and envy.

On their slow carriage ride home, the night being moonless and the lamps inadequate, mother and son had much time to discuss the success, or otherwise, of the evening. Both were of the opinion that it had been a triumph but were of differing opinions as to which of the many young ladies with whom he had danced was the most likely.

‘I thought the Miss Tarrant, the first with whom you took to the floor, the most fitting a match in terms of rank. What thought you?’ His mother enquired.

‘I thought her charming, and a pleasant enough dancer, but there was a reserve, even a certain coolness in her manner I found a trifle disconcerting. The young Miss Sugden, on the other hand, I found both lively and interesting.’

‘Well,’ replied his mother, ‘I dare say Miss Sugden is desperate to marry just to be rid of the name!’

‘That is unkind, Mama, the poor girl cannot help her name, but whether Baramdene is the name with which to replace it, I rather doubt.’ he laughed.

‘You are being very provoking, sir. There must have been one lady at least who took your particular liking.’

‘If there was such a lady, Mama, I confess I have forgot her.’

‘Really, sir, if you persist in teasing your poor Mama in this fashion you will put me in a pet. Speak plain I beseech you.’

‘I would not agitate your passions, Mama, so I will own Miss Bradshaw rather took my fancy.’

‘There, you see, that was not so difficult was it? To get a commitment from you has been like drawing teeth but I applaud your choice, a most suitable candidate I agree.’

‘And yet, Mama, this is, I suppose, but the first of such outings so we should not rush to judgment on the matter of courtship but rather let nature take its course.’

‘And what, pray, has nature to do with it?’ replied she, heatedly, ‘If it were a swain and his shepherdess of whom we were speaking then, yes, I suppose nature would take its course, although I prefer not to think on it. But we are not, sir, emphatically not! We are talking of a Peer seeking his Peeress from amongst the ranks of polite society, and there is nothing, I repeat nothing, natural in that process whatsoever. Why, I declare not even the court ceremonies of the Emperor of China could be more confounding in their complexity! The machinations of the Mandarins are as nothing to those of the self-appointed guardians of the ton. Yet we must negotiate our way through the labyrinth if we are to find the prize we seek.’

‘I think you are rather mixing your metaphors, Mama.’ He laughed again but turned suddenly more earnest, ‘I only say that the process cannot be rushed, it is early days and I should like to take my time and follow my heart.’

‘Your heart? This is not a novel but real life! The heart oft follows the hand, you know. I shall not animadvert further upon the lamentable case of your late uncle, save to say that I would not have you die a bachelor - and me not live to be a grandmother neither. There, I have said it and shall say no more upon the disagreeable subject.’

The sincerity of this assurance Baramdene rather doubted, fearing there would be many more such conversations to endure before he finally chose a bride.

                                                                                         Chapter IV

More than a year had gone by since William Baramdene had first arrived at his new home on a bleak midwinter night. Now it was a delightful spring day and the house was nearing completion after some fifteen months of intense labour. It had been entirely emptied of its contents, a monumental task after a century of accumulation, with the finest pieces securely stored in the great barn for eventual return upon the completion of decoration. Others had been auctioned off to a public eager to acquire a memento of a great English country house and the rest of the serviceable remainder donated to the poor. The residue had been unceremoniously consigned to a great bonfire.

The roof had then been taken off the Hall entirely, its timbers replaced and sailcloth and tar paper secured to keep out the weather as fine Welsh slates were attached expeditiously. The exterior walls had been surrounded by a veritable palisade of wooden scaffolding, upon which workmen scrambled to make good the façade with fresh bricks baked, as the originals, from clay dug on the estate, replacing those damaged by age, the elements and neglect. Progress on completion of the work was good, as Wyatt had assured him it would be, and Baramdene had every expectation of being soon installed.

 As the work had progressed Baramdene and his valet, Tom Pickles, had formed a bond which went beyond that normally considered proper between a Lord and his personal servant. Baramdene could not help but think, as he observed those men upon the scaffolding, that he and Tom must handle the precariousness of their own situation as nimbly if they were to avoid danger. The two were young, Tom being but nineteen, and Baramdene now two and twenty, and they enjoyed an easy camaraderie when alone in each other’s company, despite the disparity in their rank. However, they fully apprehended how their friendship would be frowned upon in society, both high and low, if it became apparent.

There was an inevitable intimacy in any relationship between master and man, whether intended or not, but theirs had to be managed with sensitivity so as not to transgress the rigid boundaries of class and social status that enveloped and threatened to overwhelm them. Indeed, were any familiarity to be detected in their relations, it would certinly provoke disapproval, if not scandal, which they took every precaution to avoid by being extremely circumspect in their dealings with each other whenever in company, whether in public or private gatherings. They had found themselves especially constrained in the intimate surroundings of the Dower House and Baramdene could hardly contain his impatience to be alone in his own large house, with his mother safely installed at the Dower House some miles distant across the estate, so that he might live more freely with his companion, as he saw him.

That good lady, the while, had never wavered in her efforts to see her son advantageously wed. His reluctance to commit had at first exasperated, then perplexed, then concerned her. What could possibly be the cause of his resistance when so many attractive young women had practically thrown themselves at his head? The matter was becoming one of some embarrassment to her as her circle of County friends began to probe her more pressingly as to its cause. The suggestion that her son might be toying with the affections of their daughters, though not explicitly expressed, was never far from the surface, making her at homes increasingly uncomfortable for her. At last she resolved to seek an interview with the Reverend Mr Clarke, her son’s friend from Oxford, appointed as curate and now confirmed as rector on her son’s advowson.

Arriving in her recently-acquired barouche, with which she was much taken, she alighted at the rectory to be greeted by Mr Clarke on his doorstep. She had, of course, seen him regularly at Sunday service and exchanged many a pleasantry with him at the porch but she had never felt the occasion to call upon him at the rectory, nor summon him to attend her at the ‘doll’s house’, which she felt might be too frivolous a setting, and certainly not an appropriate one for the conversation she intended to have with him, given her son’s continued residency with her there.

‘My dear Mrs Baramdene,’ he took her hand with a bow of the head, ‘what an honour and pleasure it is to welcome you to the rectory at last. Do, pray, come in.’ She entered the vestibule where a maid relieved her of bonnet and cloak, whereupon the rector conducted her straightway to the drawing room. There, a young lady, unknown to her, politely curtsied on her entry. ‘Mrs Baramdene, may I introduce you to my sister, Miss Annabelle Clarke. Annabelle, the Honourable Mrs Baramdene.’

‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Clarke’ she scrutinised closely the young lady before her who bowed her head and shook her hand, finding her most agreeably attractive. ‘And are you to be long amongst us at Baramdene, my dear?’

‘I propose staying as long as my brother finds my company congenial, ma’am’ the young lady responded, smiling fondly at her sibling.

‘Then I am sure yours will be a long stay. Rector, on no account are you to permit your charming sister to leave before I have had the chance to make her acquaintance properly.’ Mrs Baramdene’s smile faded as she added, turning again to Miss Clarke, ‘Sadly, my own brother-in-law, the late Lord Baramdene, never once invited me to his house as your brother has welcomed you into his. It must be a great comfort to you both to enjoy such warm relations. I wish you every happiness in your stay here among us.’

Miss Clarke curtsied again, saying ‘You are most kind, ma’am, But, forgive me, I know you have come to speak to my brother so, with your permission I shall withdraw and have the tea sent in.’

‘You are most obliging, my dear, and I look forward to meeting you again.’

‘You are too kind ma’am.’ And with a polite nod, she left the room.

The rector beckoned Mrs Baramdene to a chair by the fire, where they engaged in small talk until a tap on the door indicated that tea had arrived. ‘Come.’ The rector called and the maid entered to set the tea tray down between them and with a ‘will that be all, sir?’ bobbed and left them together.

‘Will you please to pour, Mrs Baramdene?’ the rector enquired, politely inviting her to preside over the tea tray. Mrs Baramdene expressed herself delighted to oblige and handed the rector a steaming cup then cut them both a slice of cake. These niceties of etiquette observed the rector commenced, ‘So, Mrs Baramdene, how may I be of service to you? Is it a spiritual matter you wish to discuss or of a more secular nature.’

‘In truth, rector, I think it may be a blending of the two. Putting it plainly, my son, whom I know to be a dear friend of yours, seems reluctant to wed, despite having made the acquaintance of many, if not most, of the young single ladies of the County at my contriving. Yet still he shews no interest in making a match. It is my belief, as I am sure it is your own, that marriage is the greatest blessing conferred upon us by Almighty God. The practical consideration for a noble family such as my own, I need hardly say, being the production of heirs. As you know, my late brother-in-law died a bachelor, which, of course, benefitted my son, but has been the cause of much pain and no little inconvenience to me. I realise that, as a man of the cloth, you cannot betray any confidences which may have been vouchsafed you by your parishioners, or your patron, but I simply wondered if you had any insight at all into the matter which you might be able to share with a perplexed mother?’

‘My dear lady, I feel for you in this matter. I, too, should like to see my dear friend happily wed. But I can say in all honesty that he has not once discussed the matter with me; not, as you rightly observed, that I would be able to reveal the contents if he had, but at least I might have been able to allay any fears you may have on the subject. As it is, I regret I am as much in the dark as your good self in this matter,’

‘I understand, rector, and am obliged to you for your candour, but I wonder whether you might be able to conjecture what the problem, if problem it is, may be? Mayhap it is simply his youth and I am being too pressing in this matter. As his widowed parent, though, I feel it my duty not to be negligent in urging my case in this regard.’

‘It does you credit, ma’am, to care for your son’s future happiness and the continuance of your line, but I think you can only pray for that eventuality. Having, as you said, tried everything in your own power to affect such an union perhaps we must now trust in God’s designs for your son – he moves, after all, in mysterious ways - and pray to Him for a happy outcome. Should you like to pray with me?’

‘Indeed, rector, I am persuaded by your good counsel that this is the only option now remaining.’

‘The best, ma’am, trust me as your spiritual adviser, the very best.’

At this, the two clasped their hands in silent prayer and besought divine intervention in a troubling matter that had thus far defied human intervention.

As Mrs Baramdene waited to be reunited with her cloak and bonnet in the vestibule, Miss Clarke reappeared to wish her farewell. ‘My dear,’ said she to the young lady, ‘You must pay me a visit at the Dower House. I am generally at home on Wednesdays but I think a longer tête-à-tête, without disturbance, might better suit our purpose to become better acquainted, do you not? I shall call for you in my barouche next week when we can drive back through the park together and you may see my little house for yourself. Should you like that?’

‘I should be honoured ma’am, it would be a great pleasure. May I, please, brother?’

‘I should be delighted for you and Lady Baramdene to become better acquainted, sister.”

‘Then the matter is settled,’ said Mrs Baramdene, ‘farewell, Rector and thank you. Au revoir, Miss Clarke.’

And with an airy wave she departed the rectory grounds much reassured.  She may not have got the answer she sought from the rector, but his charming sister might yet provide her with one.

The following week, on a pre-arranged day, Mrs Baramdene drove over to the rectory in the late morning to collect Miss Clarke and convey her back to the Dower House to partake of nuncheon together. The light meal was much enjoyed by the two ladies, who had ample opportunity to get to know each other better, the difference in their ages and status proving no impediment to a mutual connection. The older lady enjoyed the company of the young, finding them refreshingly open and candid, while the young lady found the wisdom of her new friend a source of fascination and education.

The subject of conversation inevitably turned to William, whom Miss Clarke confessed to not yet having been introduced but of whom she had heard many good things from her brother over the years so, as she said, she felt as if she knew him already. Mrs Baramdene could only apologise for her son’s neglect on account of his being so absorbed with his work completing his house. Miss Clarke replied that she quite understood, her brother having fully explained the situation to her, but she hoped she might soon have the pleasure of making his acquaintance. Mrs Baramdene said she felt sure such a meeting would not be long delayed as the work was almost at an end, at which happy juncture a grand ball was to be held to celebrate its completion and the return of such a noble house to its rightful place at the heart of the County’s social life, having languished so long during the negligent tenure of the late Lord, her brother-in-law.

At that moment, the front door was heard slamming and booted footsteps crossing the marble hurriedly and bounding up the stairs. ‘Why, that will be William now. I was not expecting him this early but it is so like him, he will have forgotten some papers or plans I dare say.’ The same bounding steps were heard coming down the stairs and the door to the dining room flew open, ‘Mama, have you seen... O, I do beg pardon!’ Baramdene realised his faux pas in bursting in upon his mother while she was entertaining, although it was not her at home day and he had thought her alone. ‘No need to apologise, my dear, your unexpected arrival is fortuitous, Miss Clarke and I were just speaking of you.’

‘Talk of the d---- and see his face.’ Responded Baramdene, jocularly.

‘Your flippancy, not to say your blasphemy, is misplaced, sir.’ reproved his mother, ‘Miss Clarke is the sister of our dear rector.’

Baramdene coloured at this revelation. ‘A thousand pardons, Miss Clarke, I had not realised you were come among us. Your brother did not mention it, though I confess I have scarce given him the opportunity to do so.’

Miss Clarke rose from the table to curtsey to him and held out her hand, which he took, ‘It was a sudden decision to come hither, my Lord, and I understand from my brother, and now your mother, that you have been busy supervising the completion of your house for its imminent reopening.’

Mrs Baramdene interjected to Miss Clarke, “Pray, sit my dear, and William, will you not join us?’     

‘I realise I am de trop, Mama, and must not disturb your repast further, besides, I only came seeking those paper-hanging samples I had of Mr Wyatt the other day.’    

 ‘Did you not bring them down to the library, my dear?’

‘Dash it all, I believe I did! Thank you, Mama, what would I do without  you?’

‘Have unhung walls perhaps?’ replied his mother with an arch smile.

‘Quite so’ he replied, chastened, and then, taking Miss Clarke’s hand said, ‘Forgive me, again, Miss Clarke, for the unpardonable intrusion. I hope to meet you soon in more relaxed circumstances but, for now, I must bid you farewell. My regards to your brother. Maman, au revoir.’ And so saying he left the two ladies’ company as hastily as he had joined it.

Mrs Baramdene raised her eyes ceilingward with a theatrical sigh. ‘My dear, you see what I have to contend with. It has been like this for nigh on two years but soon, God willing, we shall make an end of it and then, I hope, we may begin to resume civilised living again. Now, more quail eggs?’

                                                                                          Chapter V

Finally, the long-awaited day arrived when Baramdene Hall was ready to be inhabited by the young Lord Baramdene and subsequently inspected by his guests. His removal from the Dower House was ably assisted by his loyal valet, Tom Pickles, who had folded and neatly packed all his clothes and gathered together all his possessions scattered about the house in preparation for being transported to the Hall, where he would set them out ready for his Lordship to use in his new home. It was a huge relief to them both finally to be able to enjoy their unconventional friendship unconstrained by the overbearing presence of Mrs Baramdene. For that good lady, it was with mixed feelings that she contemplated her son’s departure from under her roof. She would miss his company, of course, but would also be better able to enjoy the society of her newly-made circle of friends without her son’s crashing in unannounced at all hours as he had been wont to do during the building works.

The house would seem very empty and quiet without him but she was sure she would adjust soon enough to being able to call it her own and regulate her visitors to her own schedule once more. The Dower House had been a godsend, for which she was truly thankful, but at last she felt able to call it her home without qualification. Now her son was master in his own house and she mistress in hers. Finally, they could manage their households independently of one another, although it was a matter of continued regret to her that there was still no wife to run her son’s establishment. Perhaps living alone without the assistance of his mother in managing his household would finally concentrate his mind on the long-delayed wooing of a suitable help meet.

Installed in his handsomely appointed house, Baramdene at once set about making amends for the neglect of his friend, the Rector, and his sister, Annabelle. A dinner invitation was speedily despatched to the rectory, which was accepted with alacrity, and Baramdene had also bethought himself to invite Miss Tarrant, the young lady he had met at his first dance at the Assembly Rooms, as he not only hoped the two young ladies would enjoy each other’s company but that their presence together would allay his guilt at the neglect of both. Miss Tarrant replied in the affirmative and, as the Rector and his sister would be present and there could be no possible hint of impropriety, her mother was spared the need to chaperone her and she could come alone. It would be a delightfully intimate evening enjoyed by four young people in elegant surroundings, something of which his mother would doubtless approve once he made her aware of it, although she might regret being tacitly excluded, as might Lady Tarrant also. But he felt it high time that he set the ton in his own house for a younger generation. Not wishing to be hidebound by convention he decided to commence as he meant to continue. He felt sure the County would soon fall into line behind him; indeed, if they hoped for invitations to see the refurbished Hall in all its glory they would be well-advised to do so!

Baramdene resolved to follow the French fashion, also taking hold in London, of eating later in the evening and so the meal to which his guests were invited was not quite dinner nor yet quite supper, but something in-between the two and quite informal. This was greatly helped by there being only four of them and their all being young. The French might have called it un petit souper intime but in France that might imply one or two of the morning, which, in the English provinces, would never do, unless it were for a large gathering after a ball. Keen as Baramdene was to set a standard of informality in his affairs he knew better than to cause a scandale. The meal would be served at eight o’clock, with his guests arriving at half-past seven o’clock for apéritifs – another French fashion he admired - and would end when it ended, though not, he hoped, too late. Anxious as he was to entertain his friends in high style and not stint, nevertheless he still had much to organise for the grand ball, to which all the County would be invited, and so would be no small undertaking.

The Reverend and Miss Clarke arrived first as they lived close by but Miss Tarrant’s carriage also made good time from fifteen miles distant as the roads were dry and the moon full in a clear sky and she arrived promptly. It was an excited group of young people who thus assembled in the entrance hall, a much more imposing and welcoming room than that which had greeted his poor mother on her arrival two years previously, now being full-height and hung with a magnificent central chandelier. Baramdene had not yet properly met Miss Clarke, nor the two young ladies each other; neither had he had much time to converse with his old friend, the Rector, and only then on urgent matters relating directly to the business of the church and parish. Tonight they would be able to make good on all the missed opportunities for social exchanges, which they were both eager to do.

Baramdene conducted his three guests to the drawing room where champagne was served. The two ladies, much of an age, immediately formed a bond of friendship, which was gratifying to both Baramdene and the Rector. Baramdene, finally able to renew his friendship fully with his old college friend, did so with avidity and it was a jolly party that entered the salon for their repast, Baramdene having decided that the grand dining room would be too overwhelming a space for such an intimate occasion, instead had had a small round table set up in the more compact room, which permitted of enough space not to feel cramped but brought the four close enough together to permit of easy intercourse. The food and wine were of the finest quality but the menu was comprised of many light courses rather than the sturdy fare customarily partaken of by the previous generation, so the guests were not overburdened. The conversation was thus as light as the food and as sparkling as the wine, and for dessert there were served ices, fresh fruit and Savoy cake. Coffee, ratafia, sherry, madeira - and port for the gentlemen - were served in the drawing room and enjoyed by all four together, there being no question of the ladies withdrawing when they were only two. However, after these digestifs had been enjoyed the ladies resorted to the new fortepiano to play and sing while the men discussed in greater detail some of the subjects, to spare the ladies, they had only touched upon at table.

The evening flew by but at half-past eleven o’clock it was agreed that it was finally time to part company, especially as Miss Tarrant had the longer journey home on dark roads, though she was well-attended by coachmen to protect her from any harm. As it had been already dark when the guests arrived a tour of the rest of the house by lanthorn was judged impractical and so it was agreed that that pleasure should be postponed until another occasion. However, from what the guests had seen of it in candlelight the house was a triumph of good taste and modern practicality; unmistakably a man’s house and thus understandably lacking in feminine touches, despite Mrs Baramdene’s sterling efforts, the ladies agreed amongst themselves, but that would doubtless be remedied by a new wife. Miss Tarrant did not speculate upon whom that person might be and Miss Clarke thought better than to enquire. His guests departed, Baramdene retired to his chamber, where the loyal Tom was on hand to help him into bed. It had been a most agreeable evening and Baramdene looked forward to many more such to come.

But it was the grand ball which was to set the seal upon Baramdene Hall’s return to the apogee of the social life of the County and the ton was abuzz with excitement as it made its preparations to attend. Dressmakers had been working for weeks measuring, cutting, finishing and fitting gowns for the ladies while tailors had been busy outfitting gentlemen in the latest fashions as seen in London, Brighton and Bath. Only in the memories of the County’s oldest inhabitants could a similar occasion be recalled and its success would live long in the memories of those fortunate enough to be invited. As carriages arrived from far and wide to disgorge their eager passengers at the front steps of the house, music drifted across the new lake from its island temple and fireworks lit up the night sky. Flambeaux lighted the garden paths to illuminate the way to stone benches in pleasant arbours and the house itself blazed with a thousand candles. Inside, more musicians played and the splendid new ballroom was thronged with excited guests ready to dance the night away under its magnificent chandeliers. Baramdene and his proud mother greeted the guests as they were announced, with Mrs Baramdene, and many others, being particularly alert to the arrival of Lady Tarrant and her daughter, Letitia. The Rector and his sister, Annabelle, were in attendance, as was the new estate steward, Mr Poulton, who, both Baramdene and his mother noted approvingly, was very attentive toward that young lady. The household, now at full complement and dressed in its smart new uniform, waited on the guests. Tom and Mrs Baramdene’s lady’s maid, Hortense, were on call to attend upon any costume or hair emergencies that might befall. The evening was set for the event of the season, which began with a brief speech of welcome and thanks from the host and master of the house, Lord Baramdene himself. Chief amongst those he thanked was his mother, who managed to retain a modest demeanour whilst basking in his praise and the admiration of the assembly.

Once the dancing commenced, Mrs Baramdene was at first aghast and then immensely gratified to notice that Miss Tarrant declined all offers from other gentlemen to dance, accompanying only her son. This could mean but one thing only, that the couple had contracted privately and were affianced. As neither Mrs Baramdene nor, most particularly, Lady Tarrant had been informed of their intentions, theirs could not yet be considered a formal engagement. Both older ladies agreed that their offspring might have had the goodness to consult them first but, as both young people were of age and unentailed, they were free, in law at least, to act as they wished. At supper much later the couple finally approached their mothers and stated their intention, which was, by now, apparent to all. The mothers scolded but their irritation was overcome by joy and relief. Finally, the long hoped-for decision had been reached and it only remained for Baramdene to make a formal announcement of it to his assembled guests, which was greeted with rapturous applause and hearty toasts. Although many young ladies’ hopes had been dashed they all congratulated Miss Tarrant, who was liked and admired by all.

The wedding took place, as is customary, in the bride’s church, denying Mr Clarke the pleasure of conducting it for his old friend but he was pleased, sometime later, to marry his sister to Mr Poulton, Baramdene’s new steward, in his own church, an occasion attended by Lord and Lady Baramdene.

As for Tom Pickles, he continued to serve his master loyally and attentively for many years thereafter.

© Tim Bennett-Goodman 2025