The Silk Weaver's Daughter (29 page)

The following week found Paul and Louise, along with their driver and a footman bound for the village of High Wycombe, about half way between Oxford and London. They planned to stop at that town for the night, as Alston Manor, the property Paul wished to see, was about five miles to the west.

“I like the idea of being close to Oxford,” he said. “It’s been the seat of learning in England for such a long time, and besides, it’s a beautiful old city, with its spires and ancient towers. You’ll love it. I hope Peter will go there for his education. He could come home every weekend.”

“Oh, Paul. You certainly are looking ahead.” She laughed at his eagerness. “He’s not even two years yet.”

“Yes, but at my age it’s good to plan beforehand. You never know what could happen. I might not even be here when he reaches that age. No, it‘s better I get everything arranged now, for the sake of Peter and Alice and for yourself as well.”

As soon as they were out of the city, Paul felt himself begin to relax. Simply being away from the pressures of London, and the terrible memories the city now held for him, helped him unwind. He looked at his wife sitting beside him in the coach. It was almost as though they were on their nuptial trip. He reminded himself, they had not had the honeymoon period the bards sang about. It made him feel young again to be travelling with such a lovely, young woman on this new adventure.

He tried to remember what it had been like with Diane when they were young. She was a merry, pretty girl—not a dreamy beauty like Louise— and he had believed himself very much in love with her. They met when he worked with his grandfather in Canterbury. After most of his family died from the plague, he’d felt terribly alone. He fancied a wife would be the answer and Diane was the daughter of another goldsmith of Huguenot descent. She had several admirers at the time, but flirted with him in particular; and he fell for her fun-loving cheerfulness. They suited each other estimably and, without a doubt, he experienced an enormous sense of grief when she died in childbirth after four miscarriages. However, he recognized his love for Diane had never been as intense as what he now experienced with Louise.

He had realized just how much he loved her at the time of Peter’s birth. He believed he would have gone mad with anguish had he lost her. He wasn’t sure whether it was her exceptional beauty or some inner, intangible quality. He had sensed it the first night Pierre had brought his family for dinner. Young as she was, he became almost instantly obsessed with her and now, after almost six years of marriage, she had matured into an exquisite woman, and a delightful companion. He perceived she was a match for him in every way.

They stopped for the night at an expensive and comfortable lodging called The Chequers Inn. It was extremely romantic to drink champagne and eat dinner, in the delightful, candlelit dining room, off the main entrance; then go hand-in-hand up to the snug, canopied bed in their cozy room.

They stayed in bed late the next morning, something that never happened at home where Paul had so many duties. They ordered breakfast sent up to their room, and finally, looking every bit like lovebirds, and giggling like naughty children, descended to find their coachman, Oliver, waiting patiently for them in the public room. Paul had not felt so carefree and light-hearted for many years. In spite of the new grey streaks in his hair, the image he saw in the mirror looked ten years younger than back in London. Many of his recently acquired worry lines had disappeared.

“Well, now, Oliver,” he directed the driver. “We’ll head west, my good man, and see what awaits us at this Alston Manor. I hope it’s as first-rate as the advertisement in ‘The Gazette’ made it out to be.”

Chapter 38

C
lipped bay trees lined the approach to the principle entrance of the manor. It ended in a large circle surrounding a Venus fountain. As they drove up the drive, Louise gasped at the loveliness of it. “Why, it’s beautiful, Paul,” Louise said. “So much grander than our farmhouse in France. It’s huge.”

“It’s not so big,” Paul replied. “Not compared to most country houses these days. But what’s important to me is that it‘s well built and can be added onto without looking odd.”

He went on to explain that while built in the Jacobean era at the turn of the 17
^th
century, its half-timbered frontage, and crisscrossed beams showed it was constructed in the Tudor style. The white plaster between the beams, and the timbers painted a dark brown made it look Elizabethan. The frontage, he figured, was about one hundred and fifty feet wide, but it was hard to judge the depth of the house from that angle.

There were three large gables evenly spaced along the facade as well as several chimneys. He counted the number of chimneys to estimate the likely taxes he would be required to pay. It was on these the king’s Inland Revenue men calculated the amount.

They emerged from the carriage, and he stood back, sizing it up for a few moments before they walked to the front entrance. The numbers 1606 carved into a large beam over the front door proclaimed the year it was built.

“That’s not very old, though, is it?” Louise asked. “Our house in France was built in the 16
^th
century, and there was nothing at all wrong with it. Of course, it was made of stone.”

“But they used the best timbers for these old Tudor-style houses. With care, they should last a few centuries. Of course, a lot will depend on what we see inside.” He smiled down at her as he rang the front door pull. A portentous-looking butler opened the door and, after Paul presented his card, escorted them with great dignity into the large reception hall.

“Mr. Buckley is Lady Alston’s steward. He will be with you shortly, sir,” he said, indicating two comfortable chairs in the spacious hall.

It wasn’t long before the steward showed up, and after shaking Paul’s hand and bowing courteously to Louise, he asked that they follow him. There were seven large rooms including a ballroom on the main floor—all elegantly furnished. A curved, flying staircase led up to the second floor, with eight bedrooms, as well as a nursery and a large playroom for children. On the third floor, there were smaller bedrooms for the servants.

“It’s marvellous, Paul,” she whispered. “It’s all so imposing inside—it reminds me of the old chateau in our little French village. I never pictured myself living in anything like this. Do you think we need it?”

“No, we probably don’t need, it.” He laughed. “But I think it’s what I want, Louise. For the generations to come, don’t you see?”

When they finished the tour of the house, Mr. Buckley took them outside to the grounds. Directly behind the house a path led through magnificent gardens to a picturesque lily pond. Beyond was a hedge that separated the floral and vegetables gardens from the outer buildings, the working pastures, and other small fields. In the distance, a woodland formed a semicircle around the cleared land.

“There’s one hundred acres right now, and lots of work to be done here yet, as you can see. There are a few milk cows but no horses, although there is a paddock. I have five tenant farmers working the land right now. Their cottages are in the village, beyond the woods.” He stopped walking and waved his hand over the land stretching away to the horizon.

“We only have half of the area cleared as yet, and there are surrounding properties, which could be purchased if it’s not large enough for what you have in mind. Since the restoration, Lord Alston kept too busy looking after the king’s affairs to get everything he wanted done. He passed away shortly before King James fled to France. There are no heirs, and Lady Alston only wants to end her days in the city where she was born, and where she has an unmarried niece. So she’s willing to sell it for much less than it’s actually worth.”

“Yes, of course,” Paul replied. “But, as you say, there’s much work to be done. Perhaps we could hire transient workers. You have no interest in staying on as the steward?”

“No, I’m sorry to say I have not, sir. I’ve wanted to retire for a long time now, but his lordship was so ill I didn’t have the heart to leave him. And, after he died, I felt I must stay out of loyalty to my lady. But once a sale is arranged, I have my dear wife and a little cottage in Abington waiting for me.”

“Well, Mr. Buckley. I thank you for your time.” They turned to walk along the side of the house where they passed through another imposing, landscaped garden.

“It’s a marvellous layout, and I am certainly going to consider the idea of purchasing it. I have the name of her ladyship’s solicitor. Please inform him that mine will be contacting him as soon as my wife and I make some decisions.”

Mr. Buckley gave Louise a quick glance, looking a little surprised, that Paul’s wife would have any say in the matter, but tactfully made no reply. “You’re very welcome, sir. It’s been my pleasure ma’m.” He bowed again to her. “I’m positive you would find the farm everything you desire in a home. I have spent many happy years here myself.”

By now, they were back around the front of the manor, and Oliver was ready for them to board. Louise took one last look around at the magnificence of the estate. Paul heard her sigh as she entered the coach.

That evening, back at the inn, they enjoyed another succulent dinner in the peaceful dining room. Over their meal of ham, baked with cloves and served with applesauce; buttered, green beans; and a small salad of lettuce and cucumber; they discussed the management of such an estate.

Although she tried to be enthusiastic, Louise still had a few qualms about such a venture. “You definitely would need a steward, Paul,” she declared.

“Yes, I have been giving it some serious thought. I’m thinking about Pierre.”

“My father? Why would you think of him for such a position?” she asked, breaking off a piece of bread.

“I don’t believe either of your parents like the city, do you?” They are both so sweet and unworldly, and I feel some of the things that go on there disturb them. Your father loved the farm in France, but he didn’t do much of the actual work, did he?”

“No. He had to be careful of his hands because of the weaving, so he hired the villagers, which actually helped them out. The king didn’t make it easy for Huguenots to get work. But Papa always told them what he wanted done, and how to do it, and he paid them well.”

“That’s what I gathered. So you could say, in a way, he’s already been an estate manager. This would be a much bigger property, that’s all. They could live there all year. When they want to come to the city, they could stay with us. Perhaps Jean Guy or Claude will eventually want the house on Fournier Street. That is, if they don’t sell it.”

“But what about their church? There’s no French church in Oxfordshire is there?

“No, but I’m sure there are Protestant groups. They’re all based on the teachings of Luther and Calvin, so there’s not much difference in their beliefs. Both your parents have a good understanding of English now. They’d fit in anywhere, I think. Well, of course, it’s just my idea. We’ll have to wait and see how they feel about it.”

“What would you plan for the property, Paul? I mean, it’s so much land.”

“The house will do fine for now; and I think it’s the type of house that could be added onto and still look nicely balanced. As for the land, it will always be a work in progress. We’ll see about buying those adjacent properties. One hundred acres isn’t much. We’ll want orchards and we’ll need to acquire more horses. Perhaps more cows also.” He paused to refill their goblets of claret.

“You can never go wrong owning land, Louise. It’s real—real estate. The whole idea is that we will do some things now, and then when Peter inherits, he can do what he wants. As I said, it’s an absolute necessity to have land to become a peer of the realm in England.”

She looked into his face. He had never looked happier. Oh, I pray nothing ever happens to Peter, she thought. I’m afraid it would kill him. Aloud she replied, “If it’s what you want for Peter, then I’ll help in any way I can.”

“But you have reservations? Is that what you are telling me?”

“I suppose I do, but they are not important, dear.” Her lovely smile reassured him.

A few days following their return to London, Louise asked their coachman to drive her to Fournier Street. Her parents were rather surprised to see her again, so soon and unannounced.

“Will you have lunch with us?” her mother automatically asked. “Although it’s nothing special, today. Catherine has gone to visit her mother-in-law.”

“Whatever you’re eating is fine with me. It’s important I speak to both of you right away. Before you see Paul again.”

“My word, child,” Pierre interjected. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know really. It’s only that Paul has changed. It goes back to his time in Newgate, I think. Since then I almost don’t know him anymore. He’s gone rather—well—acquisitive is the only word I can think of.”

“Acquisitive? Whatever do you mean?” her father asked.

“All of a sudden, he wants things. Large things. Things he never talked about before. Now he wants to be in society—the gentry. He even spoke about purchasing a knighthood for Peter. I didn’t know you could do that. And he is serious about buying an estate called Alston Manor way out in Oxfordshire. Papa, the house is huge and there are one hundred acres of land.”

“A hundred acres isn’t much. Not if you want to make money farming. Is Paul interested in agriculture then?

“That’s the thing I’ve come to warn you about. He’s suggesting that, since you know something about farming, you might like to live there and be the steward. It’s way out in the country, Papa. Almost a day’s drive from London.”

Pierre and Claudine glanced at each other—astonishment on their faces.

“He would want me to be the steward of a hundred acre estate?”

“Yes, but he said we don’t have to worry about making money right away. It’s all for the children. For their future. So Peter can be considered a gentleman, and Alice can marry into the nobility. Papa, you don’t think he is going mad, do you? Do you think the time in prison did something to his mind? I know he’s coughing a lot, but it’s not just that—he’s different—in the way he thinks.”

“Zut alors.
It’s not what I would want, but I don’t suppose a man has to be insane to desire to get ahead in society. Even though, he isn’t a particularly religious man, Paul is a good person.” Pierre pulled at the hairs of the small goatee he was growing; his forehead furrowed, which she knew, meant he was deep in thought.

“He certainly believes in God, although he does have a few doubts about doctrine. Paul reminds me of Jacques in many ways. He believes we make our own destiny, and it’s not all pre-planned by God. We’ve had some deep discussions about Calvin’s teachings, and we certainly differ on that point. But I believe he’s an exceptionally fine man and quite sound in mind.”

“You don’t think it’s strange to have all these grandiose ideas then, Papa?”

“Not if he has the money from an honest source, and he isn’t going to put his family at risk by doing so. And, who knows. Perhaps this is God’s plan for him. Luther always said God blesses those he loves. So we can’t judge him on that. Maybe, because of the cough, he
is
worried about his health to some extent. I can tell you that living on a farm, away from this dirty, odorous city tempts me.”