start. ‘The estate had not paid its way for many years, harvests had been poor and taxes heavy on account of the war, and in order to recoup the late Earl invested in stocks that he hoped would make a quick profit, but they failed, leaving him with heavy losses.’
‘Did you advise him to buy them?’
‘No, I did not.’ The man was outraged by the suggestion. He was very small and wiry and his bony hands were continually on the move as he spoke. ‘I do not know who advised him. It might have been Cartwright, but if he did, he did not take his own advice, or he was high enough in the instep to absorb the loss. As soon as I heard what had happened, I begged his lordship to retrench, but he would not. He continued going on as he always had, entertaining lavishly, buying the latest fashions for her ladyship, maintaining horses and hounds—for he was Master of the Hunt—and gaming. The more his pocket pinched, the more he gambled and the more he lost.’
‘And all this happened in the last six years?’
‘No, my lord, it started while you were at university, but he would not have told you of it even if you had been at home.’
Roland acknowledged the truth of that. ‘So when Cartwright came along with a lifeline, he seized it?’
‘Yes. Unfortunately he did not envisage you would not agree to the arrangement. Naturally, Cartwright demanded the money back. The Earl did his best, sold off a few paintings and ornaments and managed to find the initial capital, but Cartwright refused it. He wanted a vast amount of interest as well. He was a businessman, he said, and money was a commodity like anything else and should make a profit. Your father had deprived him of the profit he expected, namely a title for his daughter, so he was entitled to make it another way. He offered to expunge the whole debt in exchange for Browhill. The strip of land was nothing but heather and scrub, so I advised his lordship to agree. Soon after that Cartwright began successfully mining for lead…’
‘Poor Papa. That must have galled him. According to my mother he thought he had been tricked into parting with the land and Cartwright knew there was lead there even before he suggested taking it. Is that true?’
‘I have no way of knowing. It was enough that your father believed it. He thought if he could recover the land and take over the mine, the profits would be enough to set all to rights. After all, there was a war on and lead was needed for ammunition, not to mention for roofing, piping and paint.’
‘Are you still pursuing the suit?’
‘I have had no instructions to the contrary. Of course, if you should instruct me otherwise…’ He stopped to look enquiringly at Roland.
Roland had been prepared to drop it, but the notion that his father had been bullied into agreeing to the transaction when he was far from well made him hesitate. ‘Tell me, when the bargain was made, was it wrapped up tight? No loopholes?’
‘That is what we have been endeavouring to discover, but Cartwright was far from co-operative and I have no reason to think his daughter will be any more so. My dealings with her have led me to believe she can be stubborn. And as money means nothing to her…’
‘On the contrary, I think it means everything to her.’
Mountford gave a twisted smile of acknowledgement. ‘She has that from her father. He made a fortune trading cotton, sugar and slaves.’
‘So she would not mind losing a few pounds fighting me.’
Mountford shrugged. ‘Who is to say? Do you want me to continue with it?’
‘I will think about it and let you know. Now, what about the house and its contents? Could they not have been saved?’
‘As soon as the Earl’s problems became common knowledge, the dunners were on the doorstep. Tailors, vintners, jewellers, saddlers, butchers, those he has lost to at the tables, not to mention estate workers and servants, all turned up, wanting to be first in line for whatever was going. I was obliged to advise his lordship that simple retrenchment was not enough.’ It was said apologetically. ‘He stubbornly refused to sell, but in the end he did allow himself to be persuaded into moving into the dower house, letting it be known it was on medical grounds and as soon as his health recovered he would return to the main house. The Hall was put up for rent, but no one came forward and he was obliged to realise whatever assets he still had, except the house itself and the rest of the estate, to pay everyone off.’
‘And have they all been paid?’
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘That, at least, is a relief.’
‘If I were you, my lord, I would endeavour to sell,’ Mountford went on. ‘There must be someone who has the blunt to restore the place.’
Roland was reminded of Charlotte Cartwright. How she would crow! She might even put in a bid herself. He would not give her the opportunity. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am surprised at you suggesting such a thing. I will bring it about myself.’
The man gave him a tired smile. ‘It will cost a great deal.’
‘I am aware of that,’ he said, standing up to leave. ‘I will find the wherewithal.’
His next call was at a tailor’s shop where he bought two new coats, two waistcoats, pantaloons in superfine and riding breeches in soft leather, several shirts, a dozen muslin neckcloths, and a pair of Hessians, arranged for them to be delivered, then he returned to Amerleigh, and, with Travers, set off to inspect his domain.
The estate was large and included dairy farms on the lower ground and sheep grazing higher up and some woodland in between. It had never occurred to him that it would not continue to dominate the surrounding country and its people for centuries more, not even when Cartwright had turned up and bought up the neighbouring estate, pulled down the old house and built an edifice that had the locals wide-eyed with astonishment. He was a mushroom, the detractors said, and like a mushroom would flourish for a day and then be gone. How wrong they had been. It was Amerleigh that would crumble before Mandeville unless he did something about it.
They rode round the village, noting that there were few people about. ‘All working at the Cartwright mill,’ the smithy told him when he asked. ‘’Twas the only work they could get when his lordship let them go.’ He spoke to one or two of the older women who remembered him as a boy and welcomed him home, convinced that now he was back, the jobs would return and the repairs to their cottages be put in hand. From the village, he made his way to the Home Farm where Ben Frost gave him a catalogue of grievances, which did nothing to improve his despondency: his barn leaked, the window casements on the farmhouse were rotting, and, what was worse, a wall separating his sheep from the road had collapsed and the animals were straying onto the highway. Roland promised he would do what he could and then set off up to Browhill to take a look at the disputed land.
The mine was set in the side of the hill. There was a great wheel-house in the centre of the site and several brick buildings were scattered about, one of which had a very tall chimney from which a column of smoke drifted. The sound of their horses must have alerted its occupant, for he came out to meet them.
‘My lord Temple,’ he said, recognising Roland. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You can show me round,’ Roland said.
The man was middle aged, with a stooped shoulder and a distinct limp. His name was Job Bunty and he had once been an Amerleigh gamekeeper, shot,
