Page 17 of A Housekeeper for the Earl of Drinkwater
But what of a bailiff?he wondered. He had never needed to know anything about running the estate, let alone how to go about selecting a suitable estate bailiff. He tried to recall anything his father might have told him about such affairs, but he could remember nothing. If any such thing was discussed, it would have been with Austen.
Perhaps, though, the farmers would know something about it. After all, they worked under the bailiff. And he himself was a captain in the army; he knew how to deploy men, didn’t he? All he had to do was find a man who was intelligent, reliable, and capable among the tenant farmers, one who was prepared to take on the job, and he could appoint him straightaway. They could all work together to improve things.
With this plan in mind, Edward rode on, across the fields separating the manor grounds from the farmland itself. Just as he approached the home farm, he saw a small group of the tenant farmers coming to meet him.
Even from a distance, Edward could see from their faces that they were tired, hungry, and, in many cases, angry. He saluted them, slipping into military mode as he dismounted and walked up to meet them. They immediately removed their varying headgear and nodded or glared at him.
“Good day, gentlemen,” he said, doffing his hat politely. “First and foremost, I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to you all.”
“Apologies ain’t gonna feed my family, my lord,” said one farmer angrily.
Edward looked at the short, gaunt man. He had thinning brown hair, and the way his clothes hung off him suggested he’d once been much larger. He looked as if he hadn’t eaten well in months.
Edward nodded, holding up his hand.
“I understand, my man. I can see very clearly how dire the circumstances are,” he said. “You may know that I only returned home from the war yesterday, when I was made aware of many—tragic happenings that have taken place in my absence.” The farmers nodded, some of them with sympathy. Relieved they seemed ready to listen, Edward briefly explained further, about his brothers’ being killed, his mother’s subsequent illness, his father’s death, all of which he had only learned about himself the day before. The farmers listened quietly. He then went on to talk about his understanding of the financial lack resulting from having no reigning earl to oversee the estate, which was causing them and their families so much distress.
He did not seek pity, but nor did he seek to lie to the farmers. They deserved an explanation for why they were destitute and starving and, as much as it hurt his pride, Edward gave it to them. He was relieved when the collective outrage seemed to only simmer a little rather than erupt. When he’d finished, he held his breath.
“My lord,” said one of the men at the front, who, Edward noticed immediately, wore an eyepatch. He was dressed in rusty black trousers held up with suspenders and a stained white shirt.
“My name is William Stamp. As the elected spokesman for the farmers, I’d like to offer our condolences for the loss of the earl and your brothers, and to wish the countess well. Of course, we know somethin’ of what’s been goin’ on, but we appreciate you comin’ here to explain in person. We want to tell you that we tried our best to stop the rot, but, after a time, livestock dyin’ and no money left to replace them, no new machinery, and crops failin’, with no proper harvest to take to market, there’s been little we could do. In truth, it’s taken all we have to feed our families, my lord, and that poorly too.” The other farmers murmured in agreement, while Stamp turned his battered felt hat in his hands, as if apologising himself.
Edward nodded, clearing his throat against the lump of emotion forming there.
“Thank you, Stamp,” he said, nodding respectfully. “I understand. I think, for now, we must focus first on replenishing the land and repairing the farms, so we may plant something to sell, to get some money coming in again, for us all.”
The balding, brown-haired man spoke again.
“Does your lordship have any ideas?” he asked, notably less enraged than when he had first spoken.
Edward nodded, relieved.
“I have one immediate plan,” he said. “I believe the first order of business should be appointing a new bailiff. I shall leave the nomination and selection of the right man for the position to you, however. I do not feel I have the right, or the knowledge, to make such a decision.”
Soft mutters ran through the group at Edward’s declaration. It seemed he’d made the right decision, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief once more. He allowed the men to talk amongst themselves and was pleasantly surprised when Stamp held up his hand, silencing the group all at once.
“If you men agree, I think it best that we take the new Earl of Drinkwater around the farms,” he said. “I think he will know better how to help us if he sees the true state of things.”
The rest of the men uttered their agreement, stepping aside, allowing Stamp to lead Edward down the hill toward the homesteads, before following them.
“The men seem to have a great deal of respect for you,” Edward told Stamp as they walked.
Stamp grunted.
“I, too, returned from fighting the war not long ago,” he said. “I was born on this estate, and I know you can imagine my shock and horror when I returned tothis.” He swept out an arm, gesturing toward the empty fields and ruined buildings scattered across the landscape before them. Edward had seen much of the disrepair before the meeting, but now he was at close quarters, he could see it was worse still than he’d first thought.
“I cannot apologise enough, Stamp,” he said, clenching his jaw. “The people who have worked this estate and served my family for generations and who depend on the earldom for survival, deserve far better than this.”
“I’m sure we all appreciate your apologies, my lord,” the farmer said. “And most of us will come to understand that none of this is your fault. But what we need now is solutions. If we come up with solutions, folks will be far more forgivin’ and work harder.”
Edward nodded, clearing his throat.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I am afraid I know nothing of farming, but I trust your judgement and advice. Please, just tell me where we should start.”
The man gave him a wry smile.
“You have only just met me, and already you trust me?” he asked.
