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Chapter Three
She hurried back down to the village in a blind panic, both livid and frightened in equal measure. She had no earthly idea how she was going to break the news to Aunt Jemima, or what was to become of them if the worst happened, but Sophie knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t accept this travesty without a fight.
She owed her aunt everything.
Aunt Jemima had been the only person in the world who had stood by when her family had disowned her. She had not only given her a home despite the scandal, but she had also been her rock when the absolute worst had happened and her salvation ever since. Aunt Jemima had saved her and never once expected any thanks for doing so. As the loss of her beloved home would undoubtedly be the worst thing that could happen to her at this late stage of her life, it went without saying that Sophie would do whatever it took to repay her debt to her. There had to be something they could do. Some way she could save her aunt from her absolute worst nightmare.
No matter what the law said, this was their village. It had stood proud on the banks of the Thames for eight hundred years. Survived wars and plagues and more lords of the manor than anyone could count. Therefore, she prayed it would take more than one greedy earl who had been here less than five minutes to stop it from standing proud for the next eight hundred.
She picked up speed as she approached St Hildelith’s, then picked up her skirts as she ran to the village hall behind it. She must have looked quite a state when she burst in on the sewing circle because several ladies yelped in shock as they dropped their embroidery.
‘He’s selling the lot!’ There was no time to beat around the bush. ‘I heard it directly from the horse’s mouth not ten minutes ago!’ Which wasn’t strictly true because she had said the actual words—but he hadn’t denied them. ‘Apparently, Lord Hockley is not cut out to be a landlord!’
‘Who is he selling it to?’ The reverend’s wife fired the first question. ‘Do you have a name, Sophie? Or any idea of the purchaser’s character? Or his intent?’
She shook her head. ‘He rode off within seconds, refusing to elaborate, and didn’t seem too pleased even to have admitted that much.’ Which they all knew boded very ill indeed. ‘Though I got the distinct impression he was still selling rather that it was already sold.’
‘And for a king’s ransom too, I’ll wager! Didn’t I tell you he was malicious and callous?’ Mrs Outhwaite slapped the table with her palm. ‘Mark my words, I said not two hours ago and now this! Barely a week in residence and he has already sold us down the river.’ Clearly shaken, Mrs Outhwaite tossed her embroidery hoop down as she stood. ‘I must tell my husband the bad news...he will be devastated.’
‘We should all go home and do the same.’ The postmistress reached for her twin daughters’ hands with tears in her eyes. ‘Come, my dears...let us seek comfort with your father. Even though we have all long feared this dreadful day would come, I confess, I never expected it would come so soon after Lord Hockley’s demise. I had hoped, when they miraculously found an heir...’ Her voice trailed off as she dabbed at her cheeks with her handkerchief.
‘I had the guest bedrooms redecorated...what a dreadful waste of money that was.’ Even the usually feisty innkeeper’s daughter was bereft with grief as if she had already received her eviction notice. The rest sat downcast and stunned. All of them accepting that their dire fate was already sealed.
Sophie stepped in front of the door blocking their exit. She couldn’t let this happen. Wouldn’t. ‘He hasn’t sold the village yet so we might all be able to stop him!’
Mrs Outhwaite huffed out a resigned breath. ‘And how do you suggest we do that when he owns all the land?’
‘He might own it, but we all work it! Surely that affords us some power. A say, at least? If we plead our case properly he might listen.’ Something he hadn’t been too good at ten minutes hence. ‘We could enlist the help of the magistrate and the constable. Some prominent gentlemen and merchants who use the wherry boats or the brickworks.’ Sophie would not surrender to the grief of hopelessness. Could not bear to feel that emotion ever again. ‘Perhaps we could also bend the ear of our member of parliament to align him to our cause. It might hold much sway if he takes the trouble to educate the new earl of the economic benefits of a thriving village this close to the capital...’
Several of the older women scoffed before Mrs Outhwaite spoke. ‘Good heavens, girl! What world do you live in that you contemplate such nonsense? Nobody cares what we think about anything—least of all our member of parliament. It is not as if any of us can vote for him. Only those with land can vote, which by default would put him squarely in Lord Hockley’s silk-lined pocket!’
A depressingly accurate summary which Sophie couldn’t deny. ‘Then if we cannot appeal to his better nature...’ Not that she believed he had one now! ‘We could pool our resources and raise a legal challenge.’ Onwards and upwards.
Always onwards and upwards.
‘On what grounds, Sophie?’ The reverend’s wife shook her head as she gazed at her in pity. ‘Mrs Outhwaite is right, dear. His name is on the deeds, so the law is on his side. We have no legal recourse. Don’t you remember what happened at Hinkwell? How the new landowner used the courts and then the bailiffs to enforce his will irrespective of the villagers’ wishes to the contrary?’
‘That was because those villagers only found out about the sale after it had happened when all the papers had been signed and money transferred. We know about Lord Hockley’s intentions before he has carried them out, therefore there has to still be a chance we can stop him? Or at least have some influence on the process to ensure that even if he does end up selling the land, he sells it to someone who won’t destroy our village.’
All eyes stared at the floor and her temper snapped at their ready defeat. ‘I cannot believe you are going to accept this without challenge! That you have surrendered already and are not prepared to fight for our home!’
‘He is the sole landowner, Sophie.’ All the usual pith and fight in Mrs Outhwaite seemed to have gone, making her seem old and haggard. ‘And as such, we are at the mercy of his decisions. All we can pray for now is that whoever buys us sees the value in the farms and businesses, although I dare say that is unlikely when the old earl let so many of his buildings go to rack and ruin and flatly refused to modernise anything. In its current state, Whittleston-on-the-Water is hardly a tempting prospect for an entrepreneur.’
Ramshackle.
That was what Lord Hockley had said and he was right. His predecessor had been a miserly old skinflint who always put profit over people. Only when he had to, he repaired what he could claim back as her aunt’s ancient, leaking thatch and rickety, blocked chimney were testament to. They had been begging him for years to fix both but because they had no land to farm and no means to farm it even if they had, there was nothing in it for him to do so. Which left them every winter with little heat, a smoking fireplace and pots all over the floor to catch the rainwater in.
That didn’t mean that the farms and shops he held the leases on had fared much better. At best, holes were patched and usually badly by whichever disreputable tradesmen who charged the least. Because those canny crooks insisted on payment upfront thanks to his habit of not paying his bills if he could avoid it, they were long gone by the time their work inevitably failed and the interminable cycle of complaints hitting deaf ears until the annual rent rises were due went around and around again.
‘Then let’s either force Lord Hockley to make it a more tempting prospect so we get the right purchaser or do everything in our power to make it the least tempting prospect that ever was!’ Suddenly, there was a fire in her belly. ‘He is the sole landowner, is he not? Which means there is just one of him to one hundred and fifty of us. If we collectively revolt we can make his life a misery.’
The vicar’s wife was appalled by that idea. ‘If by revolution you are suggesting violence, Sophie, like they did in France, I cannot and will not condone that.’
‘I am not suggesting we guillotine Lord Hockley in the middle of the square—’ However tempting that thought currently was. ‘Merely that we make his life difficult enough that he has to listen. A peaceful protest—but a determined one. Using fair means or foul!’
‘Fair means or foul... I do like the sound of that, young lady.’ Mrs Fitzherbert, who was the oldest resident of the village at the ripe old age of ninety-four, had the light of battle in her eyes as she leaned heavily on her cane. ‘Because you are absolutely right. How dare that man come here and think he can treat us so abominably without recourse! We will not take it lying down.’ She looked to Sophie smiling and then so did everyone else. ‘What is your plan, Sophie dear?’
‘My plan?’
