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Caroline Hanson smiled at the praise for her son and directed Daniel past her home to the stone building which served as office and storage for tools and equipment. There, in a tidy room with many papers rolled up into pigeon-holes above a large desk, sat a balding man with a quill behind his ear. Smiling, Daniel made sure that his boots rang sharply on the stone floor, watching to see how long it took to raise the head and break the concentration of John Hanson. The answer was – not long.
Shoving back the chair in his hurry to bow to his guest, John hastily wiped his hand on his stained shirt. Only a bit of feather stuck to his hand, and he managed not to spill the inkwell.
“Lord Moorwood, what a surprise! I thought we weren’t due for our next meeting until tomorrow morning.”
“Indeed, John. I was just passing and have a need to talk to you.”
“Is there a problem, my Lord?”
“No, John - I never find anything lacking in your work. Let us sit a while.”
Daniel drew up a stool and gestured to his friend and estate manager to sit. John Hanson pulled a fresh paper to his desk, ready to make notes about the wishes of the heir to Summerfield Park.
“By the bye, my Lord, how is the Duke faring?”
“‘Fair’ is probably an accurate description, I think,” Daniel replied. “As you are aware, I have had to assume most of his duties with respect to the estate for the last three years, a responsibility he always relished, previously. Unfortunately, it has been increasingly difficult for him to even remain enthused about his collection of weapons, let alone more mundane matters.”
“’Tis sad, it is. We have not seen him at all this last year.” John paused briefly. “Now what is it I can do for you today, my Lord?”
“First, a few smaller things, John. How is the Crawford child that had the fever? Quite recovered?”
Smiling at the concern written on Daniel’s face, John was glad to be able to affirm that the child was well.
“He won’t be much for the fields this spring though. He’s mending but weak still. His father’s a good man, but concerned that their field will be worse for the lack of care from the lad. His older brother is more competent at fishing and looking for the wild herbs his mother dries for healing than at tending the field. But I expect he’ll fill in right enough with the father’s help.”
“Well and good John, now what are your thoughts on the state of the cottages. Do we need to repair many this year? We’ve a good return on investments in London and can afford the best care for our loyal folk.”
“Only the cottage at the end of the row, my Lord. It’s had a chimney fire and some water from the brook has seeped in to make the floor damp. They need the fire, and the chimney should be seen to as soon as may be. The drainage could be helped by some ditches and rocks, I’d say, and Smith’s willing to work on the problem, given no loss of income from the field work he’s responsible for – there’s a few months yet before the spring growth will set in. What would you like to do, my Lord?”
“I trust your judgement in the amount of laxity the man can be trusted with. Lower his rent for three months and have your son, Henry, help him, and oversee the remediation. Let me know how the fellow responds. The crop fields seem well enough at the moment, but we need to consider the fallow one on the north corner, which we needs must plant with something, early, lest it wash away in the spring rain.”
“You’ve the right of it, my Lord,” John agreed. “Won’t take but a day or two for the ditch, but the chimney will take the hauling of the rock away and the making of new mortar. Joseph Bullock is a good stone-mason and could help with the rebuilding. Always do it right, I say. The old one wouldn’t have failed if the chinks hadn’t been done with moss. Shall I see to it then?”
“Yes, that would be fine.”
“Is that all then?” John asked, as he reached over to put away the sheet of paper.
With a smile, Daniel pulled his chair closer to the other man.
“I need to talk about something more personal than the estate, John. No need to make notes.”
Giving Daniel a slightly quizzical look, John settled back into his chair.
“You know you can trust me with anything, my Lord. How can I help you?
Daniel pinched his lips together as he tried to arrange his thoughts into words.
Finally, he drew in a deep breath and then released it.
“I must find a wife, and yet I have no idea how to go about such an undertaking.”
Hiding a smile behind his hand, John pulled on his chin and murmured thoughtfully.
“How can I help, my Lord? I’ve not been in the market for a wife for many years now. My Anna died more than ten years ago, and I’ve never had need of another woman.”
“Yes, but you understand women better than I do, John. I’ve never been in love, or even tolerated a woman for longer than one or two dances at those accursed Balls that my father goads me to attend. To me, simpering, tittering women with little modesty, and even less sense, do not hold any attraction at all.” Blowing out another breath, Daniel emphasised the hopelessness of the situation with a slap to his knee. “To top it off, most are only looking for the easy achievement of a title and the wealth which accompanies it.”
“Yet I’m afraid, my Lord, that Balls and musical evenings are the accepted way to meet a lady of your station. Excepting, of course, if you should meet one in church.”
