King, Ship, and Sword

told Sir Hugo, growing angry. 'Damn 'em! Don't know what Millicent thinks, she's sweet and kind, most of the time, but Governour… he's always disapproved of my… well, ye know what he disapproved of. At their place so much, Charlotte thinks it was my fault, too! She was always Caroline's daughter, first and last, and with me gone so much, and… those letters comin' and makin' Caroline so bitter, the girl was dead-set against me and took Caroline as Gospel. Even after I came home last winter, Charlotte's been missish and stand-off-ish with me, and I don't know what t'do about it. The boys, I can understand, but her?

'I leave her in Governour's clutches, I might as well give her up,' Lewrie said with a bitter sigh. 'Don't suppose you'd take her on in London, would you? Like you did with Sophie?'

'Not a chance in Hell,' Sir Hugo baldly stated. 'Young ladies I can deal with… not with head-strong little girls. Besides…'

'She might cramp your doin's?' Lewrie said with a mirthless chuckle.

'There is that,' Sir Hugo cheerfully admitted. 'Without a wife in yer house, without a step-mother t'rear her up… I don't suppose ye'd consider marryin' again.'

'Not a chance in Hell,' Lewrie assured his father. 'Besides… how'd it look, with the first year of mournin' not half over? And who could I trust t'do right by her… and me?'

'Just a thought,' Sir Hugo said, waving one hand idly to shoo his suggestion away. 'Now, do ye let Governour and Millicent have her through an active commission, that's what… three years or more out at sea, halfway round the world, before ye have t'come home to re-fit?'

'About that, aye,' Lewrie sombrely agreed. 'A dockyard re-fit in England, but still held active, it might be five or six years.'

'And all that time, yer house sittin' empty and idle? Left in the hands of an estate agent ye don't know whether t'trust?' Sir Hugo speculated. 'Up-keep not done… rats and mice everywhere? Rent paid t'Phineas Chiswick, with little return? That's rum.'

'What are you gettin' at?' Lewrie asked suddenly, thinking that that shoe was about to be dropped, and he wouldn't much care for it.

'Ye haven't spoken with Phineas Chiswick or with Burgess?' his father asked, brows up as if surprised that Lewrie was still in the dark.

'As little as possible to the first, and not since the funeral to the second,' Lewrie answered. 'Why?'

'Ye really haven't,' Sir Hugo realised, sitting up straighter and seeming to squirm, his lined face turning pinker. 'Damn! Would've thought ye'd heard.'

'Heard bloody what?' Lewrie demanded.

'Phineas and Governour think that Burgess should have a country estate of his own, son,' Sir Hugo began. 'Near his kinfolk, d'ye see? Close t'London and Horse Guards, 'stead of way up at High Wycombe with his wife's parents. Handier for the Trenchers, t'boot, do they wish a week or two in the country, callin' on their daughter and son-in-law. And…,' Sir Hugo said with a sly, worldly look, 'I do recall that the Trenchers are simply un-Godly rich, and ye know how Phineas Chiswick slavers like a jowly hound if he hears two guineas rub t'gether. What better sort of neighbours could he wish?'

'Phineas can't turf me out,' Lewrie snapped, 'not as long as I stay current in my rents, and there's no chance o' me fallin' behind! I've prize-money in the bank, interest from the Funds, and, thank God, we've had two years o' good corn crops, and the price o' wool's still high, despite the peace, so he can't. It's a long-term lease, dammit!'

'I vow I never thought t'hear ye speak o' crops and wool prices like ye knew what they were,' his father said with a snicker. 'Oh, he could buy you out, any time he felt like it, son. There's Burgess… come home from India a 'chicken nabob' with more'n fifty thousand pounds… There's the Trenchers, who might've made a round million since the war began in Ninety-Three. Considerin' all the improvements ye've made over the years, Phineas Chiswick might have to pay ye twelve or fifteen hundred pounds. But he could turn round and offer it to Burgess as a lease, and make that back before he goes toes up.

'Phineas don't have anyone t'inherit, mind ye,' Sir Hugo sagely pointed out. 'His first two wives died without issue, so he's no sons t'leave it to, and he's the miserly sort who'd take all his property t'Hell with him, could he figure out how. Or keep it together after he's gone. It's good odds it'll all go to Governour, since he's the elder of his nephews… and Governour's been doin' the old bastard's will since he got here, schemin t'be his sole heir. Eatin' his shit and runnin' his errands and smilin' all the while, haw haw!'

'Even so, I don't see Governour keepin' Burgess as a tenant,' Lewrie said, frowning with concentration, 'thinkin' t'prosper off his own brother in rents.'

'Rent for now, then will the farm to Burgess when Phineas dies… 'til then, Governour'd be responsible for up-keep and working the crops and herds… same as he does for his own lands, and Phineas's,' Sir Hugo explained. 'Then both brothers end up freeholders, and able t'vote in the borough. Hunt, fish, trap game… both end up country gentry. It ain't exactly the Christian thing t'do, turfin' ye out so soon after Caroline's passin', but… what can ye expect from such a purse-proud old miser?

'And there's what ye leave the children t'consider,' Sir Hugo added after a long, contemplative sip of tea, and a fond gaze over his own vista and acres. 'Should the French manage t'kill ye before ye inherit Dun Roman, that is. Another twelve or fifteen hundred pounds in the bank, or the Three Percents, would help them along their ways.'

'Why go to all that trouble, when Phineas could just sell it to the Trenchers, and Burgess could be landed right away?' Lewrie fumed, getting to his feet to stamp down the length of the gallery, shouting back over his shoulder before he turned to clomp angrily back to his father. 'No matter how land-proud Phineas Chiswick is, he sold to you! First time in living memory, hereabouts, that. Like to've made local folk go into fits, it did! Thought he'd gone mad as a hatter!'

'He'd had a bad investment or two, crop prices were down, and he needed the money perishin' bad,' Sir Hugo explained with a shrug. 'Not his best land, you'll note. Too hilly to plow, too wooded, and thinner soil. Don't make tuppence from workin' this land, son, just barely break even. It's ownin' this much land, the house and my view is what matters t'me. Be the same for Burgess, long as he's in the Army. A pleasant country seat, that's all.'

'… that the Trenchers could buy, then give to Burgess as a weddin' present, and the deal's done, straightaway,' Lewrie fumed, rocking on the balls of his feet and feeling like he wanted to hit something or kick furniture. Remembering how Phineas Chiswick had turfed out that sheeper tenant who'd had the place before he and Caroline had returned from the Bahamas in '89, and had needed a place to live… close to the bosom of her family, ha!

'Bugger Phineas Chiswick!' Lewrie growled. 'Bugger Governour and bugger Burgess, too, if he hasn't the nutmegs' t'speak with me about it! Just damn my eyes!'

'Bugger 'em all, aye,' his father inexplicably hooted, laughing heartily. 'No matter how they wish it, though, me son, they can't run ye outta the shire. Hark ye…

'Shift yer traps an' furnishin's up here to Dun Roman, and this will be yer new country seat,' Sir Hugo schemed with a wry little grin. 'They might think ye'll end up in London, at the Madeira Club, but yer children can consider this their new home whilst yer at sea, and ye'll be able t'come home and be up their noses 'til the Last Trump. When I go, you're heir t'twice as many acres as yer old place, and, do I not squander all the loot I brought back from India, you and yours'll sit in deep clover, haw haw! They'll never be rid o' ye!'

Lewrie thought that over hard, sitting back down in his chair and taking a long sip of the cool tea, considering how much 'dear Uncle Phineas' might have to shell out to get him out. The house they'd run up had cost eight hundred pounds in 1789, and was surely worth more now. The old wattle-and-daub barn had been torn down before it collapsed or the rats ate it, and a new stone-and-wood barn had replaced it. The brick-and-stone stables and coach-house, the silage tower, had gotten added the next year. There were good horses for the team, and saddle horses; he'd keep those at his father's, but the rest of the livestock could go with the land. With no more rents owing at each Quarterly Assizes, and more money in the bank…!

Lewrie sat back in his chair and began to grin.

'Ye see?' Sir Hugo cajoled.

'Onliest problem, though, is that the children won't have their home any longer,'