Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [535]
“What is your opinion, Captain Shockley?” Forest asked.
It was a trap. Adam had drunk a quantity of wine, but he saw it clearly enough.
“I think the change is inevitable,” he replied. And remembering a long and informative conversation he had had recently about the subject with Benjamin Mason he added: “There’s another consideration you did not mention. Many small farmers earn the extra money they need to survive by encouraging their wives and daughters to spin. But there is a new invention coming into use – the mechanical spinning jenny. It’s appearing in this county already. Once that’s in general use, there’ll be no need for the spinsters and I think that will tip the balance in these parts. When the small farmers can’t survive, then they won’t require the common land at all and the objections to enclosure won’t exist. I regret it,” he admitted, “because I’ll be heartily sorry to see the passing of a way of life I knew as a child. But it will happen.” He paused for a moment before adding: “As to your question – enclose now or not – then I say every man must answer to his conscience. If you hurt a man by doing so, compensate him fairly.”
He stopped. Why was he so dissatisfied with his answer, every word of which he believed and knew to be true? He frowned.
But the effect upon the table was dramatic. Every eye was turned upon him in admiration. Finally Forest spoke.
“That’s the most damned sensible speech, sir, I ever heard in my life.”
And then Adam knew why he despised himself for what he had said, true as it was. It was because it was a politician’s speech. He had told them exactly what they wanted to hear. If Forest chose to rack rent or dispossess, he could do so, armed with such advice, secure in the knowledge that he had only his conscience to answer to.
It seemed to him that a sort of relief descended on the table. If he was being tested, then the examination was over.
He raised the question of sheep as well, and recommended the introduction of the Sussex breed to replace the failed new Wiltshire animals. This, too, seemed to meet with approval.
Now came apricot tarts, gooseberry tarts; custards; also a trifle and, for those with a more savoury tooth, stewed mushrooms. And more wine.
“Do you care to hunt, Captain?” the clergyman asked.
“Not at present,” Adam confessed.
“Hunting the fox is the best sport in the world,” the clergyman said pleasantly. “Lord Arundel has a fine pack of hounds – we call it the South and West Wiltshire – not twenty miles from here. Perhaps you’d care to join us in the new season.”
The tarts were followed by dessert – a melon, oranges, almonds and raisins.
Decanters of port appeared on the table.
A mood of satisfaction descended upon the company, contentedly aware that they had done the duty of every gentleman in England and eaten all that it was physically possible to consume with dignity.
At the second glass of port it became clear that Forest and the clergyman had the clearest heads, but Adam was keeping pace with them.
“I recently had a long conversation with a Wesleyan,” he remarked to the clergyman. “What do you think of them?”
“They are enthusiasts,” the younger MP interrupted, “like all reformers. The line between an enthusiast and a fanatic is too thin to see.”
But to Adam’s surprise, the hunting clergyman with many benefices was tolerant.
“To tell the truth, Captain Shockley,” he replied candidly, “I think better of them than they do of me. They say we live too easy in the Church and preach too little. ’Tis often true. They say we have no fire. I don’t deny it.” He sipped his port thoughtfully. “Wesley, you know, is an honest man: a fine one. If he can reform the existing church – if he adds salt to our meat – let him do so. I care less for his followers, though.” A brief expression of distaste flitted across his large, fleshy face. “They complain that the Church of England is become a social institution. So it is. And ’tis very well. They want to break with us – Wesley doesn’t – and there I oppose them. For I believe in the institutions of society.