Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3) Read online

  ‘There should have been wine,’ he said, lying on his back and looking up at the sky. In the tops of the trees a cuckoo was calling and wood-pigeons cooed. ‘Or champagne would have been nice.’ He put both hands behind his head, his profile a line as clear as a statue against the darkness of the wood behind him, the wind lifting his fair curls off his forehead. ‘They keep trying to stop me drinking,’ he said sulkily. ‘They even suggested I had come home inebriated!’

  ‘You were drunk as a lord,’ I said plainly, watching the droop of his lazy eyelids.

  They flashed open at that but the blue eyes were merry. ‘I say, that’s rather good!’ he said with a chuckle. ‘And yes, I was! But what else is a chap supposed to do? Anyone would think it was a household of Methodists the way my sisters go on. Mama is all right most of the time. But even she scolds a bit. And now I’m down from Oxford it’ll be even worse.’

  ‘Down?’ I asked, not understanding him.

  ‘Thrown out,’ he explained. He grinned at me, his white teeth even and straight. ‘I never did any work – not that they cared for that – but I kicked up a few larks as well. I think it was the hole in the dean’s punt which finished me off!’

  I stretched out beside him, lying on my belly so I could watch his quick, fluid face.

  ‘Candlewax!’ he said. ‘I made a hole and then filled it with candlewax. It took ages to do, and a good deal of planning. It went perfectly as well! It didn’t sink till he was well out in the river. It was a wonderful sight,’ he sighed, a smile haunting his mouth. ‘Everyone knew it was me, of course. He never could take a joke.’

  ‘What will you do now then?’ I asked.

  Lord Peregrine frowned a little. ‘Where are we?’ he asked vaguely. ‘Not July yet is it?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Nearly May.’

  His face cleared at once. ‘Oh well then,’ he said. ‘London for the end of the season if Mama will give me some money that will take me till June. Then I’ll be here and Brighton for the summer, as well as going to some house parties. I go to Scotland for the shooting in August, every year, and then to Leicestershire for the fox-hunting. That sort of thing.’

  I nodded. I had not known that the Quality had a seasonal movement as clear as that of travelling folk. It was only the respectable middling sort, from the yeoman farmers like Will Tyacke up to city folk like James Fortescue, who stayed in the same place and could tell you what they were doing year in, year out with no changes for any seasons.

  ‘It sounds fun,’ I said cautiously.

  Lord Peregrine closed his smiling eyes. ‘It is,’ he said with deep satisfaction. ‘If there were more money in my pockets I should think myself in heaven. And if I don’t have to go back to university in September I shall be in heaven indeed.’

  He stretched out and dozed and I rested on one elbow and watched his face. The trees sighed over our heads, the river babbled softly. We were so still that a kingfisher came out of its hole a little further upstream and darted away, a fat little dart of turquoise, past us. Then he stirred and sat up and yawned.

  ‘Come and meet my mama then,’ he said. He got to his feet and put a hand out to me and pulled me up. I went unwillingly and unhitched Sea.

  ‘I had better go home and change and come back in my riding habit,’ I said. ‘And I should tell Mr Fortescue where I am.’

  Lord Peregrine laughed. ‘Don’t you dare!’ he said. ‘She’s delighted to catch you before anyone has a chance to warn you off. She and Mr Fortescue have been daggers drawn for years. She doesn’t like the way he runs Acre, she thinks he keeps wages up and wheat prices down. She’ll love you just as you are, and if it upsets Mr Fortescue – all the better!’

  I led Sea out through the wood and Lord Peregrine came behind swinging the basket.

  ‘Does she really dislike him, Lord Peregrine?’ I asked. A seed of an idea was in my mind. If Lady Havering knew anything about wages and wheat prices she might be the very person I needed to give me an outsider’s view of what was talking place on my land.

  ‘Call me Perry,’ he said negligently. ‘They were on good terms at first, she approached him about buying the Wideacre estate. Papa was alive then and there was some money around, we would have mortgaged it of course, and rented it out. Probably built some houses on the farmland, or planted more wheat. Your Mr Fortescue read her a lecture on profiteering and refused outright to sell. They didn’t like that much of course. But then when the whole estate went over to this Levellers’ republic both Mama and Papa thought that Mr Fortescue was simply insane! Playing ducks and drakes with your money, too!’

  I nodded. ‘Did she ever tackle him with it?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh yes! He told her,’ Perry’s eyes sparkled. ‘He told her that there were more important things than an extra percentage on investment! He told her that there were more important things in life than a quick return on capital!’ He laughed aloud, a joyous innocent laugh. ‘My papa had died by then and my mama would say that there was nothing more important than money. Especially if you don’t have enough of it!’

  I nodded and said nothing. I liked the sound of her ladyship more and more.

  ‘Does she run this estate or do you?’ I asked.

  Lord Peregrine looked at me as if I had suggested an impossibility.

  ‘Well I can’t yet,’ he said. ‘Not while I’m at university. My mama does it all with her bailiff. When I’m married and take over I shall run it then, I suppose. Or I’ll keep the bailiff on and he’ll do it all.’

  ‘So she does it now?’ I confirmed.

  ‘She does it,’ he said. ‘Until I marry or come of age.’ He broke off and looked at the trees consideringly. ‘It’s a plaguey long time to wait,’ he complained. ‘I’m only seventeen now and I never get enough money. I shall owe the place a thousand times over by the time I get hold of the full income.’

  The track we were following took us to the side of the house and Lord Peregrine led the way around the back of a tall-walled garden. ‘Formal garden,’ he said nodding at one section. ‘Kitchen garden,’ he said where the pale greying stone turned to soft red brick. He opened a little gateway into a cobbled stable yard and showed me the loose-box where I could leave Sea. I went in with him and took off his saddle and bridle. Lord Peregrine watched me over the half-door, not offering to help.

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asked, as if it had just occurred to him.

  I glanced up. The sunlight behind him was glinting on his fair hair so that it gave him a halo around his perfect face. The world of the show and the travelling life and the noise and the hardship was unspeakably distant.

  ‘I was working before I came here,’ I said briefly. ‘These were my working clothes. I haven’t any new ones yet.’

  He nodded and opened the stable door. He leaned towards me confidentially. I could smell the warm hint of brandy on his breath, he had taken a drink in the house while they were packing the picnic.

  ‘It’s awfully improper,’ he said owlishly. ‘Thought you should know. I don’t mind. Mama won’t mind, because it’s you. But there’s no point in setting other people’s backs up for nothing. Much the best thing to wear girls’ clothes.’

  I nodded, ‘I will,’ I said as serious as he.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Mama.’

  He took me in through the stable door across a marble floor patterned with black and white tiles where my boots sounded common and loud and where Lord Peregrine’s footsteps weaved noticeably from the direct path. He led me up a shallow graceful flight of stone steps. I had a confused impression of another floor and a huge arched window making the whole place coldly bright. Then up another flight of stairs, dark noisy wooden ones this time and along a gallery lined with pictures of forbidding ladies and gentlemen who looked down on Lord Peregrine as he tacked from side to side, narrowly missing the occasional armchair and table. Then we went along a carpeted corridor and he tapped on a large double door set in the middle of the wall.

  ‘Enter