Page 45 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

Adeane had scowled and growled at the idea that ‘the old ways weren’t good enough for young folk nowadays’, but Markham had agreed with Richard that they had better start as they meant to go on and get the right man in from the beginning.

And so, through a mixture of enquiry, advertisement and good luck, they had come upon Michael Woodrow.

He was thirty-five – too young for Adeane, but he had plenty of experience, having worked his way up from the age of fourteen to be second-in-command of Lord Denham’s herd at Long Ashington.

On the way he had studied books and read journals and was itching to be his own master and put some of his ideas into practice.

Richard wanted him in place at once, and so, since the house at Hundon’s was barely fit to live in, he was being put up at the house of Gale, the estate carpenter, until it was ready. The house had proved worse, on inspection, than previously thought, and repair had become almost reconstruction.

‘That’s a big house, Hundon’s, for one man,’ Axe said. ‘He’ll rattle about in it, all on his own.’

‘His sister’s coming to live with him, as soon as it’s ready, to keep house for him. And I don’t suppose he’ll be all on his own for long, anyway. He’s very good-looking.’

‘Ah,’ said Axe. ‘And nice manners, too, so you said. He’ll cause a stir in the village, then.’

‘I think Richard’s new ideas will cause a stir all on their own,’ Alice said. ‘Oh, stop a minute, Della’s got hooked up on something.’

‘’S only a bramble. She’ll pull free.’

‘It’ll scratch her darling face. Let me untangle it. How are you getting on with Jules Verne?’ she asked as they resumed walking. She had brought him Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea .

‘Nearly finished,’ he admitted. ‘That’s an interesting tale. Makes you wonder what there might be down there. How deep is it, do you reckon?’

‘I asked Uncle Sebastian and he said a league is about three miles, so that’s sixty thousand miles.

But he said the circumference of the earth is only about twenty-four thousand miles, so he thinks Jules Verne must have been exaggerating.

It can’t really be twice as deep as the earth measures right round, can it? ’

Axe smiled. ‘Asking the wrong person. But he’s got an imagination all right, that writer. Living under the sea!’

‘If you’ve nearly finished, I’d better bring another next time,’ Alice said. ‘You’re gobbling them up! Maybe one by Dickens – there’s loads in the library.’

‘You’re very kind, But you don’t have to do that for me,’ he said shyly.

‘It’s good for me,’ she said. ‘It means I have to read them too, so we can talk about them. And Giles always said I didn’t read enough. He was shocked when he first came home and found I didn’t read a book every day. He called me a little heathen.’

He smiled at her fondly, and it was her turn to feel shy. He noticed, and changed the subject. ‘Now, I’m wondering how in the world anyone would know how far the earth was right round the middle. Nobody’s got a bit of string that long.’

Alice laughed. ‘I’ve no idea. I’ll ask Uncle Sebastian. It’s something we ought to know, don’t you think?’

She didn’t notice she’d said ‘we’.

Richard was at that moment down at another of the farms, The Bottoms, talking through the milk scheme again with the Orde brothers, Samuel and Hugh.

‘So this fine bull is coming next week? And we gets the use of it? That’ll cost a bob or two, I reckon,’ said Samuel.

‘No, the estate is buying the bull, and if you are in the scheme you’ll get his services for nothing. He’ll improve your herd, and that will improve your milk yield – and the quality of the milk.’

Richard was amazed to find himself so patient, these days.

He had explained all this to the Ordes on two previous occasions, but even so the desire to knock their thick heads together and shout at them was not manifesting itself.

It takes time to change the habits of a lifetime, he told himself.

Actually, the habits of several lifetimes.

The Orde twins had inherited the farm from their father when barely out of school, and had simply carried on doing what he had done, because what else could they do?

Their mother had died not many years later, and they had lived alone ever since, with the meagre help of a daily girl, who cooked a meal for them and did their washing.

Their lives were hard and empty of anything but work.

When it was too dark to see any more, they went back to the farmhouse, and ate whatever the girl had left for them.

Richard had gone past the farmhouse one evening after dark – on his way home from a carouse – and had seen through the uncurtained window into the kitchen.

A wooden settle stood on either side of the chimney which housed the range and the open fire.

Hugh was sitting on one and Samuel on the other, their arms folded, their chins sunk on their chests, their unbooted feet stretched out before them.

They were not talking or smoking or playing cards or even dozing: they were just sitting.

Not to be working was the most pleasure the day held for them.

They would sit like that for an hour or so, and then climb up to their beds.

So it was no wonder that it took them a while to grasp a new idea.

‘But you must clean up the milking shed, and keep it clean,’ he said. ‘These walls could do with brushing down and re-whitewashing. And you must sweep it out every day and wash it down, and keep the area around the cows’ hindquarters clean. And wash the udders before you milk.’

Samuel shook his head with painful slowness. ‘Never done that before. Can’t see the reason of it. Cows don’t mind their own dirt.’

‘No, but this milk will be going to rich town folk, carriage folk, and they want their milk clean.’

Hugh frowned, trying to understand. ‘A bit o’ muck in the milk never hurt nobody.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Richard said, ‘in this new scheme, there’s to be nothing like that in the milk. It’ll be our way of selling it, you see – our advertisement. You can imagine it in the newspaper.’ He used a hand to block the capitals of the headline on the air. ‘Ash Valley Milk – No Bits o’ Muck.’

It was wasted on the Ordes, who didn’t make jokes, who’d never had to exercise their imaginations, and had rarely seen a newspaper, let alone taken heed of an advertisement. They looked at him with the willing puzzlement of their own milkers.

‘Never mind,’ Richard said. ‘Just do as I say. Clean up the milking shed and keep it clean. And wash the udders. No muck in the milk – understand?’

‘Aye, Master Richard, that’s clear enough,’ Samuel said, with a sigh. ‘So, this grand new bull o’ yours – he’ll service our cows, will he? That’ll cost a bob or two, I reckon.’

He was still in the stableyard talking to Giddins when Alice drove through in the governess cart with Biscuit between the shafts.

‘Hullo!’ he said, going up to her. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Oh, here and there. Up in the woods. Sketching,’ Alice said vaguely.

‘Have you indeed? Show me something you’ve done,’ he said indulgently.

She picked up her pad from the seat beside her, and opened it at a sketch she had done of Della in her harness, standing under an ash tree, dozing while she waited to work.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Richard said, studying it. ‘You’re really good at this, you know. I don’t think I’ve seen anything better at a London exhibition.’

She looked pleased. ‘I ought to practise painting more. I’m not bad at drawing, but I can’t seem to get the same effect with paint. I ought to have lessons. I’m sure there are techniques one has to learn.’

‘Must be, or there wouldn’t be art schools,’ Richard said, still looking at the drawing. ‘What a pity you didn’t have lessons when you were younger. But Mother would have a fit if you tried to be a professional artist.’ He handed the pad back. ‘Whose horse is it? I don’t recognise it.’

‘The woodsman’s. He was up there working.’ She collected her things and jumped down.

‘Oh, Josh’s brother – what’s his name? Axe?’ She nodded. ‘I haven’t seen him since he left off being the blacksmith’s assistant. I must ride over there one day and have a word with him. How is he doing?’

She left that question alone and said instead, ‘It looks as though Hundon’s is about finished – the house. When I went past just now, they were carrying the parts of the old dresser back in, to fix it in place.’

‘Yes, I dare say Woodrow will be glad enough to get his feet under his own table at last. He might have things of his own to bring in, but we’ll put back the furniture that goes with the house anyway.

’ Something seemed to strike him. ‘You know, he’s a nice chap, and I want him to feel comfortable.

How would you like to go in and see that everything’s ready for him before he moves in?

See the furniture’s arranged nicely and that there’s firewood and the kitchen pump works.

Perhaps even take some flowers up – or is that too much?

Anyway, if there’s anything lacking, you can let me know and I’ll see to it. ’

She smiled. ‘That’s such a nice idea of yours, Richard.’

‘I’m a nice fellow,’ he said modestly.

‘You are,’ she said, slipping an arm through his. ‘And I’d love to do it. It’ll be like playing house. Can I take a basket of provisions up, too?’

‘Yes, Red Riding Hood,’ he said. ‘What would you like to take?’

They strolled up to the house together, discussing it.