Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [527]
The month of March was a time of continuous delight. He had forgotten it was possible to feel so happy. He bought new clothes; he even acquired some of the newly fashionable shoes with a diamond ornament instead of a buckle. “More fit for a woman than a man I’d have thought,” he protested laughingly when Frances insisted he buy them. She did not let up. Before he knew what had happened, she had taken him to buy a new wig as well, with splendid short side curls, worn with a tight plait behind, turned up and tied with a ribbon at the nape of his neck. She fitted it on his head and arranged it herself.
“It’s the latest fashion for a military man to wear his hair,” she assured him. “They call it the Ramillies style.”
He submitted to all this cheerfully. It was seldom enough, he thought, that he had had a woman to tie his hair.
“I look like a fop,” he remarked with a grin, when all these improvements were completed; but she only laughed and kissed him.
It did not take him till the end of the month to love his sister and brother. They were both so artless and high-spirited. He went to watch Ralph at his studies at school; he sat through and admired the theatricals in which Frances took part.
“My children keep me young, now their mother’s gone,” Jonathan remarked cheerfully.
But there were serious matters to be discussed too.
“I’ve been able to provide for the children,” Jonathan told him after he had been there a week, “not handsomely, but enough to keep them from penury. And their mother has a brother at Winchester who has engaged to look after them if anything should happen to me. But I’m afraid that doesn’t leave anything for you. What do you intend to do?”
It was a question he had several times asked himself, and at present he did not know the answer. For the time being he was on half pay. He must either resume active military service, or sell his commission. The commission would give him a useful sum, but not nearly enough to live on.
“Is there anything for me to do here?” he asked.
“Not much,” Jonathan had replied. And he had carefully outlined the local economy.
They had talked for an hour. He had forgotten, once one made allowances for his Tory prejudices and his carping wit, what a sound, clear mind his father had. Despite his age and retirement, there seemed to be very little going on in Sarum that he did not know about.
“Our landowners are doing well. They don’t like the land tax of course, but some of them are passing it on to their tenants. Corn prices are rising, so the landowners’ incomes are good. But the tenants are being hit – not only by taxes either. With rising prices many landlords, I’m afraid, are being tempted to grant only short leases so they can raise rents. We were doing it on the Forest estates, though I didn’t enjoy having to go round the tenants and tell them, as you can imagine. So if you’ve a mind to farm, I’d advise against it – you haven’t the money.”
He asked his father about the sheep he had seen on the high ground. Were they not different to the sheep he had known as a child?
Jonathan sighed.
“I told Forest not to try it but he did,” he answered, “as did many others.” The Wiltshire farmers had experimented with an improved strain of the ancient breed – a heavier animal with larger legs and its belly free of wool.
“It’s a handsome animal, but it doesn’t thrive on our downland pasture and it’s liable to goggles – half of them are sick already. It’s true that the old breeds could be improved, but the only region in South England that has really made strides is on the Sussex downs, where they’re a breed of sheep with much finer wool. It should be introduced in Wiltshire, but our people have been too slow about it so far, so we suffer.”
There were parts of the cloth industry that were growing, it seemed: cottons, flannels, serges and fancy-cloths. Salisbury bone lace was excellent. But most of these were businesses run by tradesmen and craftsmen. “Hardly of much interest to you,” Jonathan said.
Then there was the carpet business at Wilton. Adam remembered this being started when