Page 32 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)
‘I have no thought of marriage.’
‘But you will think of it now.’
‘It is impossible.’ She stood up, so he had to. ‘I must ask you to leave, Prince. I am quite—’ She was unsettled, so much so that she could not think of the correct word. The only one that came to her was decomposed . It annoyed her to be at a loss for vocabulary. ‘Please go,’ she said irritably.
He bowed, with a hint of clicked heels. ‘I go,’ he said. ‘But I do not give up. I will return. Good morning, gn?dige Gr?fin .’
The Arthurs lived in a large house on Clapham Common, a place Stuffy had vaguely heard of, though he could not have placed it.
It turned out to be on the south side of the river.
He could not remember ever having crossed the river, except by train when heading for Dover and Abroad.
And, of course, one did not look out of the windows in the early part of the journey as the train rattled through those grim suburbs with their rows and rows of identical, close-packed houses.
One was always busy settling oneself in one’s corner, with reading-matter, spectacles, handkerchief, foot-muff, barley-sugar twists and all the other little necessary comforts disposed to hand.
His manservant McGregor, on whom he relied for information, told him that Clapham Common could be reached easily by Underground, being the terminus of the recent extension of the City and South London electric railway.
Stuffy shuddered at the thought of going underground and waved him to continue.
Or, said McGregor, a journey of twenty minutes from Victoria on the London Brighton and South Coast railway would bring him to Clapham Junction, from which a cab could be taken, Clapham Common lying only a mile or so distant.
Now Stuffy remembered why the name had been faintly familiar – he must have travelled many times through Clapham Junction on the way to the south coast, though without particularly remarking it.
‘Am I to understand, my lord, that ye’re considering undertaking such a journey?’ McGregor enquired forbiddingly.
‘Oh, perhaps – or perhaps not. Mere idle curiosity,’ Stuffy said, avoiding his eyes.
‘The Common is, I believe, an agreeable green space, with level paths, fine trees and a bandstand,’ said McGregor, his grey eyes boring into his master.
‘Although Hyde Park is considerably closer, if it was a walk ye were wanting.’ He said this straight-faced, though the earl had never yet been known to regard walking as a recreational activity.
‘Um – hmm,’ Stuffy said, staring at the ceiling.
‘If it was fishing ye were after, my lord, I believe the ponds on Clapham Common are stocked with carp, roach, tench and bream,’ said McGregor, to a man who owned one of the finest salmon and trout stretches of the Spey but rarely took out a rod.
‘I’m not going fishing, damn it!’ Stuffy said.
‘Howsoever, I am sure Lady Manningtree would not object to ordering her carriage out for you, my lord, to go as far as Clapham Common. ’Twould be but a journey of five miles or so, not too far for her horses.’
Stuffy looked at him with narrowed eyes, wondering whether McGregor had guessed what allure Clapham Common suddenly held for him. ‘I do not wish to ask my sister for her carriage,’ he said. ‘It is – a private matter.’
‘Then may I suggest, my lord, that I walk down to the rank on the corner and select the most respectable jarvey to drive you all the way and wait to bring you back.’
Stuffy considered. A hansom cab was not the most comfortable conveyance for a journey of that length, but he would have to take a cab in any case to Victoria station, so he might as well stay in it and save the tiresome changes from cab to station and station back to cab.
‘That’s probably best,’ he said, not noticing that the enquiry had now passed from the putative to the actual.
‘And I shall accompany you, my lord,’ said McGregor.
‘Indeed, no!’ Stuffy exclaimed.
‘Indeed so, if you will forgive me,’ McGregor said, in the steely voice that Stuffy knew meant he would not back down.
‘It is not a part of the metropolis known to you, my lord. If something were to happen . . . And I shall remain with the cab, my lord, until you have concluded your business. Otherwise, the jarvey will require to be paid for the outward journey on arrival in Clapham, and once he has his money, there is no assurance that he will wait.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Stuffy said weakly. McGregor made it seem as though he was penetrating the dark continent, instead of driving a few miles across London.
That McGregor feared harm to him if he went alone was obvious, but exactly what harm was less so.
He probably, Stuffy reflected, when he had left the room, just wanted to know what his master was up to.
These old-established servants could be annoyingly possessive.
Mr Cowling’s business-room in the Berkeley Square house was suddenly crowded, with Cowling himself, Giles and Richard assembled there to meet a Mr Elthorne and his two sons.
Giles had wanted the meeting to take place at Aunt Caroline’s house, or at the Elthornes’.
Much as he longed to see Nina, he knew it was better for his peace of mind to keep contact with her to a minimum.
Particularly given the delicate state of affairs between him and Kitty.
But Richard, who had been talking to Cowling, had let slip that Nina would be visiting Kitty at the same time, so Cowling’s house seemed like the safest place to be.
Elthorne senior was a thin, slightly stooped, grey-haired man, who seemed in his fifties.
His sons both towered over him, tall, beefy young men, who looked more like country folk than town dwellers.
It would be easy to imagine them heaving a straw bale up onto a shoulder or deftly hauling a struggling ewe into the shearing pen.
The sons let their father do all the talking, but they followed the conversation with bright, intelligent eyes.
Cowling introduced Elthorne, who did not seem overpowered by Giles’s title, gave him and Richard a civil nod, and said, ‘My sons, Rob and Tom. I understand you’ve a proposal to put to me.’
‘We haven’t got as far as that yet,’ Giles said. ‘The scheme is still in embryo.’
Cowling stepped in. ‘Elthorne delivers milk daily to Lisson Grove and a bit of Paddington. And he’d like to expand his business.’
‘I’ve two sons, as you see, with me in the company,’ said Elthorne, ‘and the time will soon come when they’ll want to start families.
We’ve got to expand if they’re to stay with me.
Now, if we could start delivering milk into Marylebone, there’s a mass of houses there, and wealthy folk, too.
There’s big money to be made. But we need good-quality milk.
I’m getting my milk from two local farms, and between you and me, the quality is not what the carriage trade would pay for.
But if you could provide me with fresh country milk every day, well, I reckon we could all do ourselves a bit of good. ’
‘That’s what we’re hoping to do,’ Giles said.
‘We’re planning on a large scale,’ Richard said. ‘Eventually bringing in all the farmers in our valley.’
‘And how many gallons a day are you producing?’
Richard and Giles exchanged an awkward glance, and Cowling again took over. ‘Now, Elthorne, I explained to you that they’re just at the beginning. We’re simply trying to find out if such a trade is feasible.’
Elthorne said impatiently, ‘I can tell you if it’s feasible if you tell me what quantity of milk we’re talking about.’
Richard smiled ruefully. ‘It seems as if we can’t set up a business until after we’ve set it up. We can’t sell the milk until we’ve got milk to sell, but we can’t produce the milk if there’s no-one to sell to.’
Elthorne shook his head, but with a gleam of sympathy.
‘Aye, well, I’ve been at that end of things.
When I was a lad I started with a handcart and one churn I had to fetch myself from the farm up at Grove End.
I pushed that barrow round the streets, and when the churn was empty that was that.
So I borrowed a bit from my uncle who had a butcher’s shop, and bought a pony and cart.
But the farm couldn’t give me more than two churns – it’s gone now, the farm, all built over with houses – so I had to find another that could let me have two more.
Then I had the milk and had to find the customers.
So I understand. Aye, it’s an awkward thing, starting up. What’s your herd?’
Giles was about to say, ‘We haven’t got one yet,’ but Richard stopped him with a glance.
‘We’re going in for Shorthorns – twenty head to begin with.
That should produce thirty to forty gallons a day by the end of the year, but it’ll be a gradual process.
Quantities should double the following year when our other farms have got going, and further into the future – well, there’s no limit. ’
‘But you’ve got it all still to set up, transport and everything; and nothing to sell me yet,’ Elthorne said thoughtfully. ‘And when you do have milk it’ll be coming through in dribs and drabs.’
‘Aye, you’re right. We’re just feeling our way forward,’ Cowling said. ‘But once that good rich milk is available in quantity, everyone’ll want it. Anyone who was helpful along the way would get first dibs.’
‘Well, I tell you what, gentlemen: I want to help you out, and help myself at the same time. With a guaranteed supply of, say, a hundred gallons a day, it’d be worth our while investing in more carts to expand our milk round.
We could match future expansion to your future increased production, do it in step, so to speak.
I’d like to get my boys delivering right through Mayfair. ’
‘But until we have milk available in those quantities?’ Richard said.