“As I say, it has been very difficult. Or perhaps I should say that it could have been difficult. But when I wrote to my father to say that I would not be back in Derbyshire for some weeks, he wrote back in a very gracious way and encouraged me not to worry about it. He said that it would be beneficial—he sounded just like your Aunt Lucy —for me to meet more new people and to have a change of scene.”
“So when do you intend to invite your father to visit, Mr. Hatton?”
“I am planning to go to Bath in a week or so, and to meet him there with my carriage.”
Julia looked very surprised. “Would he not travel from Derbyshire to Morancourt in his own conveyance?”
“No!” He laughed. “He could, of course, easily afford to do so, but my father is a true Yorkshireman, brought up to be very careful with money, and he considers it much better value to travel with his valet by the stagecoach.”
Julia could not help but laugh with him. Then she said, “Tell me, Mr. Hatton, for I do not believe that Papa ever mentioned it, in what business was your father occupied before he retired to Norton Place?”
“I’m not sure that he is retired, in the sense that you mention. He purchased the property there some fifteen years ago, or perhaps it is a longer time than that now. He travels into Leeds and Derby regularly to discuss business with his managers at the mills. They manufacture various types of woollens, and also some cotton fabrics more recently.”
“Have you yourself ever had anything to do with that business?”
“No, not really. My mother was particularly keen that my brother and I should never have a direct connection with trade, for she feared that it would adversely affect our prospects in the future.”
“I’m surprised that she should be so concerned about that.”
“Perhaps it was a rather severe reaction. But it was clear that my father had made his fortune, sufficient to buy Norton Place and to settle money on both of us to give us some means of independent living, so he promised her that neither of us would have anything to do with the business in the future unless some very serious situation arose to make it necessary.”
“I suppose that I should understand that,” said Julia, “for my family has been settled comfortably for many years at Banford Hall, and I have no experience of any other kind of life.”
He looked grave as he answered, “My mother had a similar view to yours, I believe.”
“At least she did not want you to marry the daughter of an earl?”
He laughed and said, “Perhaps, if my mother were still here to advise me, she might consider that a very good idea, provided of course that the earl was very wealthy, and the daughter had a large dowry.”
I wonder, thought Julia to herself, whether I should really be joking in this way about something that I would detest so much. If Mama were here, she would not find it funny.
That afternoon, Julia was on her way back from selecting a book in the library when she came across Martha in the hall. When she saw Julia, she turned her head away, but not before Julia had seen that she appeared to be crying. Before Martha could open the door to the kitchen, Julia called her back.
“Martha, whatever is the matter?”
Martha reluctantly closed the door and returned to the centre of the hall. But she had to be pressed with the same question twice before she replied, “Will you promise not to tell Mrs. Harrison, Miss?”
“Of course, if that is very important to you. What can it be that is upsetting you so much?”
Eventually Julia persuaded Martha to explain.
“It’s my brother Jem, Miss. He’s in the kitchen. He’s hurt his leg badly, Miss. He says that he dropped a tool on it in the farmyard, Miss. At least, that is what I thought he said.” This last statement was made with very little conviction.
When Julia made it clear that she intended to inspect the young man and the wound herself, Martha was clearly very apprehensive. However, when Julia reached the kitchen, Mrs. Jones was there, apparently unconcerned as she tended the leg of a fair-haired young man, roughly dressed in a worn jacket and leggings tied up with string.
She looked up as they arrived and said, quite calmly, “This is Jem, Miss Maitland, one of the farm workers. My husband found him in this state, but I don’t think he’s done himself any serious harm.”
Martha looked at Julia imploringly, and she realised that Mrs. Jones had not been told that Jem was related to Mrs. Harrison’s maid.
“Can I be of any use, Mrs. Jones? Martha was upset to see the wound, though I’m sure that you are doing all that can be done.”
“No, Miss Maitland, it’s very kind of you to take an interest. But I am using a local remedy—sphagnum moss mixed with garlic juice—as a poultice. It is an old country method, but it usually works very well.”
Julia made a mental note of this recipe, which she had not heard before.
Jem Fisher looked white-faced, and turned his head away from them as Mrs. Jones applied the poultice to the leg. He did not seem to want to recognise Martha or to make any attempt to speak to either of them.
“Mrs. Jones, you will let me know if you need to send for anything from Beaminster or Bridport?”
“Of course, Miss Maitland, but I should have everything that we need here.”
Julia took Martha firmly by the arm and out of the kitchen to a quiet corner in the corridor.
“Did you know that Jem was working in this area, Martha?”
“No, Miss.”
“Why did he not acknowledge you as his sister? Do you know what work he’s doing?”
“I don’t know, Miss.”
“Very well,” said Julia, thoughtfully. “It might be best if you say nothing about this at present to Mrs. Harrison. I will make inquiries, but only of Mrs. Jones. You should not do anything yourself.”
“No, Miss,” said Martha, her eyes looking remarkably like those of a frightened rabbit as she darted off upstairs.
Julia debated with herself whether to mention this incident to Aunt Lucy, or to Mr. Hatton, but decided that it would be better to do so when she knew more.
After Aunt Lucy had gone to bed that evening, Julia went back to the kitchen and found Mrs. Jones supervising the maids, who were clearing up the dinner plates and scouring the cooking pans.
“Mrs. Jones, do you know when Mr. Whitaker first employed that young man?”
“No, Miss Maitland. My husband said that he worked on the farm, although I haven’t seen him around myself. Most of the farm workers come from the village, or live in one of the estate houses owned by Mrs. Hatton—I mean young Mr. Hatton now, of course.”
“And his name is Jem, I think you said?”
“That’s what my husband told me when he carried him into the kitchen. He’s taken him back to the village now on the cart.”
Julia thanked her, and left the matter there.
On the following morning, Julia could not find Mr. Hatton anywhere. Neither Mrs. Jones nor Aunt Lucy could tell her where he was. Julia fetched her walking boots, put on her drab pelisse, and decided to set out along the track towards the farm buildings. She was within a short distance of her destination when she was surprised to see Mr. Jones running towards her.
“Miss Maitland,” he said, trying to catch his breath at the same time, “please come with me. It’s Mr. Hatton. We had been walking together along the path, and he was ahead of me as it narrowed along a bend. Then I heard shouting and found that the smugglers had pushed him to the ground before they disappeared into the woods!”
He would not explain further, and urgently pressed her to go on with him. Just before they got to the farm buildings, on the last bend in the track, he suddenly swerved into bushes on the left, onto a well-worn path concealed from view on both sides.
After about fifty yards, they came upon Mr. Hatton sitting on the ground with his clothes dishevelled and rubbing his head as though badly dazed.
“Here’s Miss Maitland, sir,” her companion said. “You just walk slowly back with her, Mr. Hatton, and you should be fine.”
Mr. Jones helped him to his feet. Then he doffed his cap to Julia and left them, walking quickly in the direction of the sea.
