Page 37 of My Fair Lord

The following day, she examined him for signs to indicate he might have stayed out late drinking or gotten into a fight – the confrontation with Alfie’s dad returning to her mind – but his face appeared clean and he didn’t even look tired. She couldn’t ask him without revealing that she has been looking at him, so she had no choice but to leave the matter.

As is often the case when one anticipates an event, the interim days feel like a trial. Florence’s brain was occupied by mundane matters for the entire day before the fair and she could not find adequate leisure time to muse over the mystery of the night-time walk. She had to decide on an outfit for the fair, another to wear for the formal dinner with Lord Stretford, and yet another for the picnic. The rain came down all morning, which was disappointing because Florence had hoped to go watch some of the side shows being erected. She had visited the state fair back home every year since she could remember, but Cordelia assured her that this was quite different.

“Perhaps I should just wear a tag around my neck like a prize ewe as I’m being offered as livestock,” she raged to Cordelia.

The weather had cleared by the afternoon and they had taken their easels down to the lake once again in an attempt to capture the scene they had failed to before.

“You are,” Cordelia said, flashing Florence a wicked smile. “I don’t know why you’re so intent on railing against it. Do you really think Daddy will suddenly decide you can marry a market gardener if he falls for your trick? Do you think he’ll even fall for it?”

Florence sat back with a sigh of irritation. “I don’t know. Hopefully dinner tomorrow night will give me an idea whether Mr Blake can even pass for a gentleman. He looks the part and I’m sure he’ll be able to remember the order of precedence and suchlike.”

“You’ve made great progress with Mr Blake, I must say. He’s quite the gentleman now and can converse on the most boring subjects just like Twemlow can. Yesterday I overheard them discussing whether there is a future in alum production now that artificial dyes are becoming more popular. It’s a shame Papa can’t get to know him as he actually is. I’m sure he’d have some opinions about that.”

“I feel that you and Twemlow have not made the most of your fortune,” Florence mused.

“We have made every advantage,” Cordelia replied, sounding confused. “I have installed a water closet and we are planning a system of heating for the upper rooms which will save the scullery maids carrying endless buckets of coal up and down the stairs. Not forgetting the new carpets and drapes in the billiards and music rooms.”

“I don’t doubt that you’ve made improvements throughout the house,” Florence said, choosing her words carefully, “but I thought Twemlow had plans for the estates. When we first met him, he spoke of developments in farm machinery to increase the productivity of the tenant farmers by almost a quarter, and a system of drainage to divert the water flow from the river to the lake.”

“We’ll get round to that,” Cordelia said, waving her paintbrush in the air, sightly impatiently to Florence’s mind. She suspected she had prodded a nerve.

“Of course those matters are important to us and we are just waiting for one or two of our investments to mature. Also, we have invested in the planning of a park. The federation of mill owners have purchased land for the purpose on the outskirts of the nearest town. They want a lake with small rowing boats in the nearby town so Twemlow and I have made a sizeable donation. It will be known as The Griggs Lake.”

“Well, that’s good, I suppose,” Florence said, keen to avoid her sister dropping into a sulk. “It is important for the working man to have some leisure at his disposal.”

She thought of Alfie, whose only comment when he had been deposited in the care of the housekeeper had been that there was so much grass.

“It’s good for mothers to have somewhere to take their children too,” she added.

Cordelia beamed. “Exactly! It must be at least as much benefit as new ploughs. And you must remember that not all of Twemlow’s tenants live in farms. A good deal of the rent comes from mills and other factories. Urbanisation is encroaching on us. Soon the villages will become towns and the towns may well become cities.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Florence asked. “More jobs for people and new facilities.”

“I suppose so, but it will be a great shame if half the estate gets given over to building houses and hospitals and schools,” Cordelia said, giving a yawn.

“Not for the people using them,” Florence said quietly.

Cordelia gave her a sidelong look. “When you speak in that tone, I find myself hoping you won’t marry a landowner—for his sake, not yours. When you get your hands on his estate, you’ll have turned it all into public baths before your first anniversary.”

“In which case, it would be a year well spent,” Florence said firmly. She grinned. “Perhaps I don’t need to prove Daddy wrong. Maybe I should just begin every meeting with an earl by asking how he intends to develop his land until they all run screaming with the fear that I’ll sell their family jewels.”

“Or one of them will completely charm you with his intentions to build schools for girls and gardens outside every house. Then I believe you could be persuaded to marry a viscount after all,” Cordelia said with a smug look on her face.

“Nonsense,” Florence said briskly. Such a man wouldn’t exist, but if he did, what an enticing prospect that would be. Honesty compelled her to amend her declaration. “At least, perhaps if I picked him I might, and if I did, I can absolutely assure you it would be for some reason other than his title.”

ChapterEleven

“Mr Blake, you are a common man. Do you believe that parks are of as much benefit to the working class as developments in machinery?” Florence asked as they sat together in the dining room later.

Florence wasn’t really concerned that Mr Blake would fail to pass as a country gentleman. He dutifully worked his way through the rehearsal meal of empty plates using all of the cutlery accurately from fish knife to grape scissors. If the servants who moved silently around the room thought their behaviour odd, they made no sign of it. Presumably they would save their gossip about Lady Griggs’ odd sister for the Servants Hall. She considered asking Dottie but on balance preferred not to know.

“You have a delightfully flattering turn of phrase, Miss Wakechild,” Mr Blake answered, laying down his dessert fork. “If a landlord already treats his tenants fairly and has provided for their basic needs, as I believe Lord Griggs does, then, yes, I firmly believe that the soul needs to be nourished. I consider the opportunities for leisure more important for those who must labour for their bread than those whose lives are generally comfortable.”

“That’s a very radical opinion!” Florence said, startled by the depth of feeling that was apparent in his voice.

“It’s shameful that it is viewed as so radical,” he said. He picked up the fork again and twisted it between his fingers, back and forth from thumb to little finger. It was quite compelling to watch and Florence wondered how long it had taken him to perfect the motion.

“There are too many who see their tenants as a commodity to increase their wealth and don’t give a damn if their cottages are tumbling into the sea. We who have the good fortune to be born into riches should never forget upon whose backs we have made our fortunes.”