She laughed gaily, which seemed a common habit. “No need for extreme measures. Not to abuse the obvious, but your sister will be with you a few more years and your wife a few more decades. Basic logic suggests choosing carefully.”
I laughed along with her and wondered at what odd rule of our relationship allowed us to talk of matrimony without fear. It was decidedly strange, but she was the only person I could speak to in that manner. Even my male friends might be willing to discuss it, but they were rarely helpful, especially since they were generally at least as ignorant as I was.
I replied gravely, “I shall take your advice under advisement.”
She laughed again and I joined her, completely happy in our shared mirth. It was quite something that she could make me more gregarious for the space of an hour.
We spoke of generalities for a while before it was time to get down to business. I learnt that she did not call herself a great reader but had an exceptionally good understanding of literature. We had similar tastes in poetry and fiction, though our non-fiction interests diverged. She said she had modest ability at the pianoforte but did not practise as much as she ought and mentioned her next youngest sister hogged the instrument for hours each day.
“Have you anything for me to purchase or advise this year, Miss Smith?”
She sighed, seeing the end of our ritual approaching. Our ostensible reason for meeting, the business of her family’s improvement had moved from being the primary reason (or excuse) for our annual meetings, but they had become almost pro forma. I still wanted to help her to whatever extent I could, but we always had much pleasanter subjects to cover before getting on with business.
“Probably not to purchase, but some advice would be most useful.”
“Pray continue. What is it you have to sell.”
“Thirty loads of turnips.”
I gasped. Had I thought about it for a month, that would not have been one of the things I thought of.
“I can help but will you satisfy my curiosity.”
“Of course! I always do!” she said brightly, then launched into her story.
“I have taken a run at my father three separate times in the last couple of years to get him to try four-course crop rotation. It could increase our home farm income directly, and it would allow his tenants to pay more rent if their productivity significantly increased.”
I chuckled, “Not only that, but it would also get his practises intothiscentury.”
“I agree. I tried and tried and tried. I attacked him from several angles, until he finally got fed up and banned me from discussing the subject ever again.”
“Why would he not want extra income?”
“He makes the rather unmanly assertion that my mother would just spend it anyway, and since the estate is entailed, most of the benefit would go to his worthless heir… who is an ignorant and cruel man, by the way.”
I shook my head in frustration, and finally asked, “How does this result in you having turnips to sell?” suspecting I would not like the answer.
She frowned and looked slightly embarrassed.
“I took the bull by the horns, so to speak. I got one of our tenants to plant turnips at my expense without my father’s knowledge or consent.”
My first reaction was abhorrence, though I had no idea if that was over usurping her father’s authority or the need. It was getting on dangerous ground.
She saw my thinking and continued, probably to pre-empt any objections.
“The tenant has a long lease, so if he increases his output, he reaps all the profits in subsequent years—but he was not willing to go all the way himself.”
“Understandable enough. When my father introduced the method, we supported the tenants through the first few years so they would be willing to take the risk. It is especially important as four-course requires more fallow fields than three-course, and it takes some nerve to drop the production of a field to nothing for a season.
“That was smart,” she sighed, but continued. “I paid for the seed and some labourers to plant them. Now, I have finished the harvest and stored them in a barn. I just need to bring in a decent price without my father learning about it. It is hardly the most efficient way to increase the yields, but at least there should besomeprofit.”
The idea of having thirty loads of turnips leave an estate without the resident master being aware was shocking. There were plenty of owners who just turned over the entire operation to their stewards, and all sorts of things could happen while the owner was living it up in London or Bath… but a resident! It strained credulity.
I did not bother telling her all that, since she probably knew my thoughts before I did, as she had been dealing with the issue for months.
“I am once again impressed with your initiative.”
“Necessity breeds invention, I suppose.”
