Hatton, what she means is that she and her sisters love any dessert that is sweet, and especially anything containing lemons.”
“Lemons?” he said. “I had some desserts in Spain, when we had time to dine in the towns, that were very enjoyable. But I am afraid that I did not ask the ingredients, though I could guess if you wish.”
Thus ensued an entertaining half hour during which Mr. Hatton described the desserts that he remembered, their appearance and taste, and Mrs. Jones and Aunt Lucy made notes, with the intention of experimenting with the recipes once Julia’s aunt was more recovered.
“Can we get lemons in Dorset?” said Julia innocently, “I thought perhaps that in these wild country parts—”
Mr. Hatton laughed out loud, for he knew that she was teasing him.
“For that, Miss Maitland, I should drag you to either Beaminster or Bridport, and show you how well provisioned are many of the shops in the towns in this locality. There are several very wealthy farmers, as well as some great estates, within a short drive of here, you know. You will find that the local grocers and provisions shop, Messrs. Pines in Beaminster, has a range of goods to rival that in the London premises of Messrs. Fortnum and Mason in Piccadilly.”
“Yes, sir,” said Julia very demurely.
There was a message waiting for Mr. Hatton when they got back to the house. He had mentioned previously to Aunt Lucy that an old school friend of his lived nearby and owned a large estate. The suggestion was that Mr. Hatton should go with his friend to an assembly and dance at the Rooms in Beaminster in a few days time, and that Julia would be welcome to accompany him if she wished.
“Mrs. Harrison, my friend James Lindsay tells me in this letter that he will have a party of about twelve young people going to Beaminster on Saturday night. May I reply that we will go? His mother will be attending to chaperone the young ladies, so I am sure that she would look after Miss Maitland as well, if that is acceptable to you?”
“As you have known the family for a long time, Mr. Hatton, of course I will agree.”
“I could send the reply by my groom, but alternatively I could take Miss Maitland with me in the carriage tomorrow morning to deliver the letter in person, so that she has the opportunity to meet some of the family before Saturday evening. May we do that?”
After looking at Julia to be sure that she liked the idea, Aunt Lucy readily agreed.
Dinner that evening included some dishes made from recipes that had been given to Mrs. Jones by Aunt Lucy, and they were pronounced a great success. After the rather elaborate meals that they had had on some occasions in Bath, Julia found the new recipes a refreshing change. Mrs. Jones was delighted at the praise that she received and promised Mr. Hatton that she and the cook would redouble their efforts to widen their culinary repertoire.
“How is your ankle now, Aunt Lucy? Is it feeling better at all?” said Julia. She had noticed that her aunt had ventured once or twice to take a few short steps around the chaise longue, to ease her stiffness after sitting for so long.
“I believe that it is a little more comfortable, thank you, my dear,” said her aunt, “but I will not venture very far without Mrs. Jones or Martha beside me until the doctor returns, for I do not wish to compromise my recovery. I do promise you that I will not risk anything tomorrow morning, whilst you are visiting Mr. Lindsay at his house.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Harrison,” said Mr. Hatton, “I should have made it clear that it is Sir James Lindsay, for his late father was a baronet.”
Her aunt’s pleasure at hearing of this title reminded Julia forcibly of her mother, except for the difference that her aunt did not press the importance of the title upon her niece. But Julia noticed Mr. Hatton observing her reaction with a rather amused expression and diagnosed (correctly) that he was thinking of her description of her Mama.
After they had left Aunt Lucy to Martha’s ministrations before bed, Mr. Hatton escorted her to the foot of the stairs and said, “Miss Maitland, I do apologise. I should not have made that comparison between your aunt and your mother, even though I said nothing explicit to you.”
“Mr. Hatton, I am getting quite worried.”
He immediately looked rather concerned but, before he could say more, Julia continued, “that we are getting to be too good at reading each other’s minds!”
He visibly relaxed and acknowledged her joke with a smile. He then took himself in hand and bowed formally to her before she turned to go up the stairs to bed.
The following morning, Mr. Hatton told Aunt Lucy, “We will take the carriage, Mrs. Harrison, as some of the lanes on the way to my friend’s house are rather uneven and not suitable for the curricle. We should be back with you by mid-afternoon at the latest.”
The weather had become a little more overcast, but Mr. Hatton asked the coachman to put the hood of the carriage down so that Julia could see better.
“I have asked him to take us on the road via Bridport, so that you may see the Rope Walks there.”
“What are Rope Walks?” asked Julia, “I have never heard the term.”
“You will see when we reach Bridport. Ropes have been made in this part of Dorset for many hundreds of years, mainly for the Navy. In times of war, the trade has been very important in the history of the nation. The crops that are needed for making rope, flax, and hemp, are grown in the fields all over this area of South Dorset. If you look to both sides of the road, you will see them.”
Julia gave the fields more detailed attention after this remark, and saw some of the flax growing strongly on the slopes of the valley.
“Flax and hemp can be very significant in the income of an estate,” Mr. Hatton said as they neared Bridport. “My friend Sir James, and his family before him, have been active in the trade, especially since the Bounties Act provided subsidies for growing the crops. That was because of the interruptions to the other supplies from America and the Continent by the war.”
“Are those crops grown at Morancourt?”
“Not at present, as far as I am aware. My friend will be able to advise me. I don’t yet know whether any of the land is suitable.”
When they arrived in Bridport, they left the carriage on a side road, and Mr. Hatton took Julia to see the rope walks in some of the lanes leading off the wide streets, where the rope makers were hard at work. Long lengths of flax, already twisted into strands, were being combined with others, all tied to posts before the workers twisted them at one end to form the long thick ropes, wider than a man’s wrist.
“King John commanded the towns people about five hundred years ago, at the time of another war with France, to ‘make ropes by night and day.’ Many nets are made around here as well, for the fishermen and the Navy ships. So you will understand that much of the prosperity of the town is founded on those trades—that, and some smuggling, according to my friend James. And no, I did not read any of that in the
Julia laughed, remembering their conversation on the canal boat. “Perhaps your godmother, Mrs. Hatton, might have told you when you were young?”
“Indeed.” And he smiled at her in the way that so touched her heart.
“It certainly looks to be a prosperous town,” said Julia, admiring the fine buildings on each side of the main street as they returned to the carriage and took their seats, and Mr. Hatton told the coachman to continue their journey.
When they reached the Lindsays’ estate, they could see the large stone house set on the slope of the hill ahead, built in the style fashionable in the late 1780s, and set back behind a large lake. When the carriage reached the portico, Mr. Hatton handed Julia out onto the gravel and invited her to look at the view before they entered the house. There was a most attractive panorama over the green parkland and the lake and beyond across the Marshwood Vale. In the distance they could see the deep blue of the sea on the coast.
The handsome oak doors to the house were opened by a smartly dressed footman, who seemed to be expecting them. As the butler led them through the hall, they could hear voices in the drawing room beyond.
“Kit, how good it is to see you again! And this must be Miss Maitland? You are very welcome.”
Without doubt, this must be James Lindsay, thought Julia. He was a pleasant young man with a shock of red hair, and about the same height as Mr. Hatton, dressed in a subdued style appropriate for a country location. Sitting
