Chapter 1
His Grace Adolphus Gillespie Vernon Ware, (Gilly to his friends, Adolphus to his Cousin Gideon and Vernon by preference) Seventh Duke of Sale smiled and, clearly enjoying Mr. Liversedge’s loss of composure, added, suavely,
“And I made sure you would be pleased to see me. Tell me now; it must have been well over seven years? Are you well?” he enquired urbanely after smiling at mine host's discomfiture, “you look quite out of sorts.” Painfully and unpleasantly aware that he was now the object of significant and unwelcome curiosity Mr. Liversedge pulled himself together and with an effort bowed deeply to the Duke. In something close to his normal serene tone, he turned round to the liveried lackey standing behind him and requested a chair for his noble visitor. Before the lackey thus addressed could leap to his master’s bidding the Duke raised his hand to indicate that he had no need to be seated. “Mr. Liversedge and I are old friends and I would like very much to have a word with him in private. Perhaps there is a private room...?”
“If Your Grace would come this way?” Mr. Liversedge’s response was rather hurried, almost as if he would be glad to remove himself and this unexpected visitor from the many speculative stares from the members. He bowed again and indicated that the Duke should precede him, clearly taking the view that, at least until he had time to compose himself, it might be better if he took himself off. With none of his customary aplomb and little dignity, and to the astonishment of the other patrons, he ushered his noble guest towards the door into his private offices.
Some two minutes later the Duke was seated in Mr. Liversedge’s private Library holding a fine cognac.
“Well,” he said, “you appear to have put the money I gave you to very good use.”
“As Your Grace says,” nodded Mr. Liversedge, by now restored to something approaching his normal equilibrium, “but if Your Grace will recall, on the last occasion we met I told you that I was a man of large ambition.”
Mr. Liversedge cautiously regarded the Duke. Over the years, he had wondered what he would do if Sale came to The House but he had always thought he would have received some warning. The reputation he had acquired, and carefully maintained, was simply a result of avid perusal of the society columns of a range of newspapers and a keen interest in gossip. As he knew that almost every noble visitor to his adopted city would want to visit his premises, it required little skill if he heard that a particular nobleman was intending to visit the city, to predict that individual would soon thereafter present himself at his door requesting admission. The possibility therefore that an English Duke, the possessor of one of the largest fortunes in England, might arrive without him having some warning of the event simply had not occurred to him.
Mr. Liversedge knew that there were very few people left in England who now would remember him. His immediate family were all dead, as was the elderly gentleman whom he had served for a number of years as Valet. Although there were doubtless a few people who might recall young John Liversedge, the younger son of a blacksmith from a small village in Lincolnshire, the likelihood that they would cross his path was so remote that he disregarded it. The Duke however, was one of the very few people who could, if they wished to do so, destroy the position he had managed to create for himself. His surprise appearance therefore put Mr. Liversedge seriously out of sorts.
The last time Mr. Liversedge had seen his noble visitor was at Cheyney, one of the Duke’s homes near Bristol. On that occasion, the Duke had told Mr. Liversedge that he should leave the country, and had arranged for his Steward to pay him five thousand pounds to hasten him on his way. There had been an incident between Mr. Liversedge and the Duke which the latter had not wanted to become common knowledge. Mr. Liversedge had been paid the money to buy his silence and his absence. This was a very generous offer as Mr. Liversedge had kidnapped Sale and then offered to arrange his disappearance if his Cousin Gideon, who was also his heir, would pay him a handsome sum. The incident could, Mr. Liversedge admitted sanguinely to himself, on the whole, not be said to reflect on him entirely favourably.
Mr. Liversedge had taken the opportunity offered by the Duke’s largesse with both hands. He had opened a small establishment and then over the years his ambitions had grown with every success. He had now reached the pinnacle. He knew that his establishment was as good as might be found in any other major city in Europe and better than most. Unfortunately, his very success meant that he now had a great deal to lose and, try as he might, he could not quite keep the concern out of his normally impassive countenance. Were the Duke to expose him he would be lucky to escape arrest especially as there were those, jealous of his success and influence, who were looking for just such an excuse to close him down.
He studied the Duke carefully. It was apparent that the intervening seven years since last their paths had crossed had been rather more kind to the older man than the younger. The change to what had then been a very youthful countenance would, he thought, have been clear to even the most casual observer. When Mr. Liversedge had last seen the Duke, at that time newly in love and about to come of age, he looked younger than his 24 years. Although now only thirty-one he looked closer to forty. His face was deeply lined and there was a record of pain and suffering etched on his every expression. This older Duke was a very serious man. True, he smiled occasionally, and when he did it reached his eyes, but whereas before he was carefree, now even the most casual of observers could see that the Duke of Sale carried a great deal of reserve. His conversation was considered and thoughtful and lacked spontaneity; his gait was purposeful and he had a look of quiet determination which made Liversedge extremely wary. This was not a man to cross lightly!
Mr. Liversedge was not homesick; Alsace had been far kinder to him than the country of his birth had ever been, but he kept up to date with news from England through talking to the many English visitors to The House and from the newspapers that he had delivered on a regular basis. In view of his history, the ex-valet had maintained a particular interest in the Duke of Sale and he was thus able to guess with considerable accuracy what had wrought such a stark change.
At the time Mr. Liversedge left England the Duke had just become engaged to the Lady Harriet Presteigne. The marriage ceremony had taken place a month or so later and it had been the match of the season. The couple, it was said, were made for each other. Although the engagement had been planned since both were in the schoolroom, each had had the good fortune to find, in the other, their soul mate.
Lady Harriet was neither a great beauty nor a celebrated wit and prior to her marriage she had the reputation of being somewhat mouse-like but she eminently suited the quiet and understated Duke of Sale. With the confidence that comes with being one of the most important peeresses in the realm and with the support of her husband she came into her own. Sale Park, His Grace’s principle seat located in the rolling countryside of the Midlands was transformed from a hidebound establishment, characterised by excessive formality, into a happy home. Even Lord Lionel Ware, for so long the Duke’s guardian, and the sternest critic of anything which he did not hesitate to stigmatise as ‘modern’ was obliged to own that Harriet’s taste was impeccable and the House better run than it had been since the death of the 6th Duke and his Duchess.
It seemed that the happy marriage was soon to be blessed with a happy event. Only a few short months after the marriage had taken place her Grace announced within the family, that she was increasing. Sir Lionel proudly, if prematurely and optimistically, announced that Sale was to have an heir, her Grace quietly hoped for a boy and the Duke scandalised the whole household by proudly proclaiming that he wished for a daughter who might look like her Mama. On the seventeenth of October 1817 Harriet was brought to bed and the household waited expectantly. Less than two days later both Harriet and the baby – indeed a girl - were dead.
Harriet held on long enough to apologise to her Lord for failing to present him with an heir. He told her not to be silly and stated that she would soon recover an
d there would be plenty of time for more children. She smiled and shook her head sadly and died in his arms a few minutes later.
His Grace dealt with the funeral arrangements with a straight back and a forced smile; gentlemen of his order do not wear their heart on their sleeve. Only once did he come close to breaking down. Nettlebed, His Grace’s valet, chanced upon him as he changed for dinner. The Duke was sitting in his chair and staring into space with such a look of abject misery on his face that the gentleman’s gentleman, who had served his master since he was in short coats involuntarily started “Oh Your Grace.” The Duke turned to him and asked in a voice his Valet had not heard since his master was twelve years old,
“How are we going to manage, Nettlebed? What shall we do?” Nettlebed could only answer, because he knew that it what was needed
“We shall get ready for dinner Your Grace.”
Worse was yet to come. Some months later Gideon, the Duke’s cousin and his closest friend, was riding in the park when his horse was startled by the sound of a wheel coming off a passing Barouche containing two ladies. Always the dashing cavalry officer and far more concerned for the safety of the ladies unceremoniously tipped out onto the grass than his own, Gideon forgot to tend to his horse and was thrown. He would never ride again. His father, Lord Lionel Ware, the Duke’s guardian since birth and for so long the driving force in the family rushed to his son’s side but he was unable to deal with his son’s injuries and suffered a stroke. He recovered somewhat but he was never the same man; gone was the restless energy and determination, he was now happy to agree with any suggestion and to sit quietly in the sun with a book. He slept often during the day and became forgetful. He was always glad to see his nephew but he was no longer able to advise or assist him with any matter concerning the estate.
The Duke, only relatively recently of full age and now the head of the family dealt with these new disasters efficiently and with a sad smile, but he felt the weight of his many responsibilities pressing down on him. A posthumous child; his father having died some months before his birth and his mother following her husband onward as a result of the effort of bringing her son into the world, the Duke was singularly ill equipped to deal with the sudden change in his life. He had been a sickly child and for some years, despite the effort of a small army of nurses, doctors and other staff hired to secure his health, there remained some real doubt as to whether he would survive sufficiently long to take command of his inheritance. He was protected from the smallest ill wind and his every whim was instantly attended to. He was not allowed to indulge in the rough and tumble of his peers in case he might take hurt. This might have, were it not for Lord Lionel’s abrasive personality, have turned him into a precocious spoiled child but his uncle was determined that he should be fully aware of his obligations.
Fortunately, the Duke knew of and appreciated the services his many staff performed for him and he bore with his overprotective retainers with much more patience than would most boys his age. He was very sweet tempered never failing to acknowledge even the smallest service with a smile and quiet thanks. In contrast to his quiet and thoughtful ward, Lord Lionel was loud, bluff and much addicted to sport. It never occurred to his Lordship that the Duke’s failure to be assertive could largely be laid at his own door. On the few occasions The Duke had ventured to propose his own ideas Lord Lionel had told him forcefully that he had no idea what he was talking about and should be guided by his elders. Unfortunately, Lord Lionel’s dominant personality, coupled with his charge’s dislike of argument, meant that the Duke found it much easier simply to do as his Guardian advised.
There was little change when he achieved adulthood. He was sent on a grand tour with a man chosen by his uncle. He never could take to Captain Belper who was loud, not particularly cultured, over jovial and seemed to think that, given time, his young charge would come to enjoy those manly pursuits he himself enjoyed. The sole reason Lord Lionel chose the Captain was for his ability to protect the young Duke and Belper followed Lord Lionel’s strict instructions that he was to take no risks to the letter. He had seen risks everywhere the Duke wanted to go and, as he had no appreciation of ancient Rome or Greece, he simply refused to allow his protégée to stop at what he saw as pointless ruins. The Duke therefore spent two miserable years travelling from one place to place to another, never seeing anything at all and in intimate company with a man he cordially detested.
He had a season or two on the town before his marriage but Lord Lionel again prescribed where he should go and whose balls he should attend. As Lord Lionel’s decisions were based solely on whether the company was such as would be in keeping with the dignity of the Duke of Sale he was bored most of the time. He was uncomfortable at many of the fashionable squeezes to which he was invited and he had no taste for society gossip. He was only too well aware that, while he was much sought after as a dance partner, most of the ladies whom he dutifully led out onto the floor were concerned only with the contents of his wallet, and the size of his consequence. Not one of these very high bred ladies were remotely concerned with getting to know him.
Had Harriet lived for two or three more years it is possible that the Duke would, by that stage, have developed enough self-confidence and a sufficiently secure sense of self-worth to have weathered the storm. Unable to grieve for his beloved Harriet and their child and deprived of the support of his friend Gideon who, although putting a brave face on his physical limitations, had enough problems of his own, the Duke withdrew inside himself. With Lord Lionel no longer able to remind him of his obligations, cousins and various other relatives were firmly but politely rebuffed. A few hardy relatives and neighbours endeavoured to keep contact and, for a while, some succeeded. Even they, in the end, gave up. In less than a year the Duke of Sale found himself alone.
The Duke found talking to people exhausting and he was initially glad when the visitors stopped. Sale Park became a mausoleum. Most of the House was closed up with only the Duke’s private rooms and the servants' quarters in regular use. Many of the staff were let go; with no visitors to cater for and an undemanding master there was nothing for them to do.
Even the solitude of Sale Park afforded the Duke no respite, the lengthy corridors and large salons which he and Harriet had planned to renovate seemed to echo with so many shattered hopes. After a while even the home he had known since boyhood started to become oppressive. Hoping to outrun his demons the Duke looked for accommodation elsewhere. A mean inn unfrequented by the ton, felt much more comfortable than his own houses haunted by the ghosts of his own past. By the time a year had passed after Harriet’s death he could bear neither Sale House in Curzon Street nor Sale Park. No matter where he looked there were memories, bitter as gall, crowding in on him and reminding him of events he wanted to forget. Eventually, apart from a couple of rooms kept for the rare occasions his Grace remained overnight, both houses were completely closed up, the furniture obscured by Holland covers and only minimum staff retained to keep the Duke’s rooms barely habitable.
Sale Park was a great estate and the business of collecting the rents and managing the land continued much as it ever had during the Duke’s minority with the loyal Scriven, his Grace’s steward, at the helm. Although the house developed a neglected feel, the gardens were still maintained albeit not to the same standard. There were fewer gardeners as there was no-one in residence to feed and in any event, there was little pleasure for the outdoor staff in exerting themselves. Their master was hardly ever at home and even when he was he appeared not to notice the neglect. The few staff left fondly remembered the days when they had played host to the local hunt or a shooting party. The most exciting event to happen there now was when a party of visitors applied to the housekeeper to see the house and grounds. Even these visitors slowly dwindled to nothing. Word soon reached the guidebooks that the whole house was under Holland covers and there was nothing to be seen. It was not long before Sale Park disappeared from the lists of recommended destinations.
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After the Duke made the (in his eyes) mistake of visiting Cheyney, the sizable property he owned near Bristol and had to endure the sympathy of his staff and tenants, he sent for his Steward. This worthy hurried to attend his master hopeful that he would be told something that would lift his spirit. He was disappointed.
“Scriven, please arrange for all my houses with the exception of Sale House and Sale Park, to be made available for rent. The staff may remain, if the tenant wishes to hire them. Alternatively they are to be given good references and six months' pay in lieu of notice.”
“But... but Your Grace,” Scriven was horrified.
“Do I need to repeat myself” said the Duke frostily, reminding Scriven strongly of the Duke’s late father “if you are not prepared to carry out my wishes, then you may, as an alternative, take your pension.”
Further instructions followed over the next few months. The Duke, unable to face living at Sale Park and with nothing to occupy his mind recalled, somewhat tardily, that he had obligations to his properties across the country and to those who depended on his estates for their livelihood. His forefathers had managed their estates but none of them had taken as much direct interest as the current Duke did now. He threw himself into visiting his estates, long left to his agent’s management. He did not stay at any of his houses, although any one of them would have been pleased to welcome him, preferring instead to put up at posting houses or provincial inns. He liked the impersonal feel and the knowledge that no-one knew, or cared, about his history. Usually he used the name of Mr. Rufford (Baron Ware of Rufford being one of his lesser titles) to avoid, as he saw it, the excessive, and unjustified, deference and fawning afforded to the Duke of Sale.
Much to Scriven’s dismay the Duke did not always like what he saw and demanded immediate and major changes. Scriven was to arrange for the demolition and replacement of certain cottages - they were not fit to occupy. Scriven was to put in hand certain drainage works. Scriven was to ensure that Sunday Schools were opened in the villages where the Duke had estates. Scriven was to ensure that a hundred and one other improvements or changes His Grace desired to be carried out were put in hand immediately.
It is too much to say that the Duke’s interest betokened the Duke’s recovery but it did give him a purpose for a while. He slept but fitfully and the walls he had built around his heart were as impenetrable as ever, but the housing which his tenants occupied and the privation of many of the estate workers came as a shock to him and he resolved to improve matters.
This personal involvement was regarded by his Steward as unwelcome and unnecessary; he had always assumed that his noble employer would allow him to continue on in the same manner as had Lord Lionel during the Duke’s minority. Few members of the nobility interested themselves in the minutiae of estate management limiting themselves instead to considering and approving the accounts, spending the estate revenues and endorsing their Steward’s recommendations. To Scriven’s chagrin it rapidly became obvious that such an approach would not do for his Grace of Sale.
Initially, Scriven protested the expense of the Duke’s suggested improvements and moreover repeatedly suggested that the matters in which the Duke was now interesting himself should be left to those he employed to see to them and who had always looked after his best interests. Believing that the Duke would not remember the instructions he had issues he quietly, but deliberately, omitted to deal with those matters with which he disagreed. As he was to find out this was a mistake.
“Why did you not put in hand my instructions relating to new pig sties at my Stone estate?” the Duke demanded in arctic tones. “I have received a letter from Evans which tells me that, after I left you wrote to him to say that this work was not, after all required.” It had not occurred to Scriven that His Grace would write to his Bailiff enquiring as to the progress of the work, and he was therefore completely caught unawares. His immediate apology saved him, despite his many years of service, from immediate and ignominious dismissal and the Duke continued, “Very well. I accept your apology. Do not make the same mistake again. You may go.” A much chastened Scriven bowed himself out vowing to carry out his instructions to the letter in future.
It says much about the affection and respect in which the Duke was held by his servants and retainers that never once did they criticise him. Most of them had known him since he was a boy and they understood only too well that the short temper and restless energy was his way of dealing with the series of tragedies which had befallen him. In private they shook their heads and worried but as none of them could think of a solution, there the matter stood.
Much to his surprise, Scriven rapidly discovered that his reservations about the works and changes the Duke had put in hand were misplaced. Contrary to his expectations, far from being expensive and pointless, the effect of works was to increase the Duke’s income and the initial expenditure was soon repaid many times over. The improved land and buildings commanded higher rents and the land grew more produce. The Duke’s Houses which, until recently, had all been kept open and staffed for the Duke’s sole use generated significant rental income and the estate no longer had to bear the staff wages. Word spread that the new Duke would not only ensure his tenants and workers were properly housed but would also ensure that their children received an education and his estates attracted the most skilled and hardworking people. Masters who were fair and looked after the welfare of their tenants were most unusual and therefore a person who could secure employment on one of the Duke’s estates was regarded as fortunate indeed.
Yet the Duke learned that he could not, no matter hard he worked, forget his past. His quick intelligence allowed him to learn faster than his Steward could have possibly imagined and as the work became easier, it occupied his mind less. The memories he had tried so hard to block out intruded again. He received no pleasure from the increased income although his steward regularly presented accounts which testified to his success. He had no-one upon whom to spend his wealth. For himself, while he would have found it difficult to live on a very small income, his personal needs were few, and his personal expenditure fell to only a few hundred pounds a year out of an income of many thousands.
The final break with the past came four years after Harriet died. Nettlebed, by now an old man, found that he could no longer keep up with the reckless pace the Duke set. Moreover, he had no desire to do so because, despite his devotion to his master, he had lost interest in serving him. The Duke no longer needed a valet as he rarely wore anything other than his riding clothes, never wore evening dress and did not dress for dinner. There was no pleasure or professional satisfaction in dressing a man who no longer cared how he presented himself to the world. To be sure, his clothes were always well made but the Duke no longer patronised the best tailors and had no interest in fashion. Comfort and practicality presented no challenge to a valet who had only a few years before prided himself in sending his master out dressed in the first stare of the mode.
Then there was the constant packing and unpacking. Nettlebed was prepared for his master to move to London in the season and to make the occasional visit to stay with friends but constantly living out of a portmanteau had become a strain. Nettlebed liked living in the Duke’s houses but His Grace now lived mainly in inns and hotels and moved on every day or so. The elderly valet became visibly unhappy and, as the Duke was genuinely fond of him, in an attempt to ease the load on the elderly retainer, the Duke started leaving him behind. Although this was something of a relief, Nettlebed could not reconcile this with what he saw as his duty. The coup de grace was unthinkingly delivered by the Duke early in March 1821 when His Grace, on a rare visit to Sale Park announced that he was travelling to his estates near York and he would be away at least a month. Upon Nettlebed, with a heavy heart confirming that everything would be ready for the morrow he was informed that his services would not be required. The Duke’s next words were like a dagger to his heart, “I shall do very well, someone in the inn will see to
me.” Upon his return Nettlebed sought, and was given his release.
The Duke treated his servants with much more respect that was commonly the case but the man who had looked after him for more than twenty years held a special place in his heart. He also knew perfectly well that he owed his valet a considerable debt of gratitude. Nettlebed understood the Duke better than any other person alive except, perhaps, Gideon and he had dragged him from the few boyhood scrapes he had been allowed to get into. Although he knew that his uncle loved him as well as he did his own son, the young Duke had stood in considerable awe of Lord Lionel. He had applied to Nettlebed on more than one occasion, for assistance and the valet had accepted responsibility for a significant number of the Duke’s misdemeanours thus deflecting the guardian’s anger onto himself. As a result, and in recognition of his long years of loyal service, the Duke chose, though he hated to do so, to remain at Sale Park so that he could see Nettlebed off on his journey into retirement as he left to live with his widowed sister in Kent.
It was to be inferred that the Duke planned further changes to his establishment because Simpson, the Duke’s man of business together with Rigg, his Grace’s lawyer, arrived not more than an hour after Nettlebed had left Sale Park. These two gentlemen spent the whole afternoon closeted with their employer in his Grace’s study. The following morning Scriven also arrived. This was a sufficiently unusual circumstance that it created considerable speculation amongst the staff. As the Duke’s visitors were tight lipped, gave no clue as to what might be afoot and no-one had the least idea as to what was planned, the creative imaginations of the staff were allowed full reign. Rumours flew; some said that they had heard that the Duke was considering selling Sale Park, others speculated that a return to the glory days was planned. Not one of the suggestions was correct. All that was known was that, whatever it was that was afoot, it had generated a large number of letters which had to be taken to the post office and some of them had foreign addresses.
There was however one who, had he a mind to, could have enlightened them.
John Francis, a blunt, but largely taciturn Yorkshireman in his early forties, had commenced his employment as a footman in the Duke’s household a little over a year before His Grace’s marriage. He was thus, by the standards of the Sale household, a “new” member of staff, notwithstanding he had been in post more than four years. He regarded gaining employment in the Duke’s household as the greatest stroke of good fortune yet to befall him. The Duke paid excellent wages, he was a tolerant and unexacting employer and he treated his staff with a civility which Francis, in service since the age of twelve, had never before experienced.
Francis’ father had been the head gardener at a large and well-appointed house occupied by a clergyman who was the second son of a local nobleman. As a result of the number of his appointments and the generosity of his deceased father, this gentleman was possessed of a larger income than was normal for the incumbent of a country parish. Despite his relative comfort, he took his responsibilities most seriously and set up a school for the children of the parish. The young Francis was an adept pupil and so impressed was this worthy by his scholarship that, upon reaching the age of twelve when his father expected him to seek employment, the parson offered to take him into his own service on condition he continued his studies. Understandably, Francis’ father, fully aware of the opportunities an education could bring, readily consented.
When Francis was just seventeen his employer died and, as the new incumbent lacked the income to retain such a large staff as had his predecessor, Francis perforce left the vicarage to seek employment elsewhere. He could read and write English and Latin and had, in addition a little French and Greek. He had had a successful career working a series of great houses and always impressing his employers with his abilities, commitment and discretion. In some houses the owners had discovered his learning and, on occasions as reward for his diligence had permitted the servant to discretely avail himself of the library. There had been opportunities for advancement too; on one occasion the elderly butler had told him frankly that, were he to apply himself, Francis would be almost certain to be offered the post of butler upon his retirement. He had considered it but, in the end had decided it was not for him and had moved on.
Unlike his peers, he never took it upon himself to comment on the Duke’s activities or try to persuade his employer along a different course to that which he had chosen. Indeed, there had been times when the oppressive solicitude with which the household staff surrounded the Duke, together with the autocratic dictates of Lord Lionel had induced considerable sympathy. By the time he had been in the Duke’s employment for a month, Francis had decided Sale was so hedged about by well-meaning individuals it was hardly surprising he was blue-devilled and he refused to engage in any schemes or plans designed to further what The Duke’s staff considered to be the Duke’s best interests. Therefore, while the majority of the staff had fretted over the Duke’s apparent inability to recover from the death of his wife and had expended considerable and ineffective energy in trying to persuade him that he should sit at home and let them look after him, Francis gave it as his view that the Duke had to exorcise his own demons and he should be left to do it in his own way.
Initially, the Duke had thought that such unusual reticence among a member of his staff betokened indifference to his welfare. To a man cosseted by overprotective staff and relatives this came as a welcome change. A servant who did as he was asked purely on the basis of the generous wage the Duke paid and for no other motivation made the Duke more comfortable with Francis than with almost anyone else. With his other servants and his own family he was conscious of a need to explain and justify himself but if he asked Francis to do something the only response he received was a stolid ‘yes, Your Grace.” Over time it was brought in upon him that appearances were deceptive, Francis held him in the same affection as did all the other members of his household but he chose to show it differently and as the footman maintained a respectful silence, an impassive countenance and kept his own counsel, in time, the Duke entrusted him with many of his private errands.
Francis never disclosed the nature of his activities to any of the other servants. This was despite being bluntly ordered to do so by the Duke’s Butler who fervently believed he needed to know all about the Duke’s business so that his Grace could be protected from himself. Upon meeting with a blank refusal to even discuss the matter, Francis’ superior complained to his master with a recommendation he be dismissed. It was tantamount to insubordination; how could a Butler run the household if the staff were keeping secrets from him?
Herein the Butler had made a mistake. Although the Duke was generally the most easy-going and reasonable of employers and one who moreover allowed his personal staff a considerable amount of licence, he could, if provoked, cut up very stiff.
“It is a pity” said His Grace in a tone which froze his Butler to the marrow, “that all the members of my household staff from the top” the Duke glanced pointedly in the upper servant’s direction “to the bottom, do not practice the same level of discretion as does Francis.” The Butler received the message; Francis would be staying and moreover, he enjoyed The Duke’s protection.
Following this incident, the word spread through the house that Francis had ‘special’ status and this aroused considerable jealousy especially amongst the upper servants who did not regard a mere footman, especially once whose appointment was of such recent date, as anything remotely special. Furthermore, the fact that Francis could read and write in English and Latin and apparently enjoyed doing so, set him apart. In quiet moments, when most of the servants could be seen sitting out in the sun Francis would be found in a solitary corner reading a book conned from the Duke’s library. As only the upper servants could read and write, and then only in English, this evident scholarship was a little intimidating. The situation was not helped by Francis’ disinclination to engage in the gossip that was de rigueur in the servant’s quarters and t
herefore, while he was not actively disliked, Francis was regarded downstairs with some suspicion. He did not have the proper concern of a servant in the Duke’s household for the well-being of their employer.
One day, provoked beyond endurance by a conversation over dinner in the servant’s hall in which it was concluded that they should all redouble their efforts to make the Duke feel better, he was heard to comment that his Grace’s servants would be of more assistance to his Grace by giving him a little peace and quiet rather than cosseting over him all the time. This was, perhaps, not the most tactful remark as each one of His Grace’s personal staff jealously guarded what they saw as their right administer such cosseting and advice as they saw fit and the implied criticism from an individual they regarded as a menial was decidedly not well received. Henceforth the relationship between Francis and the upper servants became decidedly frosty.
A very few minutes after Scriven, Rigg and Simpson left, the Duke sent for Francis. Pausing only to ensure that his livery was clean and un-creased, he silently entered His Grace’s study carefully closing the door behind him,
“You sent for me Your Grace?”
“I did. Can you ride?” asked the Duke bluntly.
“Aye Your Grace, not like a gentleman, but yes, I can ride.” There were few things that put out the imperturbable Yorkshireman and he had been asked enough strange questions over the years to know to answer truthfully and wait to see what followed.
“I am leaving the country and I may not return for some time.” It was apparent the Duke was choosing his words carefully because it was some time before he continued. “I shall need a servant to travel with me. I do not need a valet, although I shall need some help with my baggage and my clothes. I do not need a groom although I shall need help with the horses. I will be travelling on horseback under the name of Mr. Rufford and I do not” he paused for emphasis “wish to take my household with me.”
“Why, Your Grace?” Francis did not pretend to misunderstand, “I can understand that you want to travel and that you want to leave that lot of booberkins,” he jerked his head in the direction of the servants’ wing, “behind, but why just one servant, and why me?”
His Grace blinked. He had never heard Francis string half so many words together and was a little surprised. He supposed however, as he proposing to spend a great deal of time in this man’s company, Francis deserved a reply.
“A few years ago, I undertook a Grand Tour. To ensure my comfort,” The Duke’s lips curled into a sardonic smile, “Lord Lionel decided that I should be accompanied by a Priest, my valet, two Grooms, a doctor, a coachman, two postilions, a footman and an agent. In addition, and to ensure my safety he also engaged,” a look of distaste crossed his face, “Captain Belper.” Francis had met the Captain and found him loud, ill-informed and encroaching. He smiled grimly for a second. “Just so,” his employer nodded and then continued. “As a direct result of all this solicitude, for nearly two years I put up in the best hotels in Europe. I saw all the sights but never once did I talk to anyone other than the odd maître d’hôtel. I spent the whole time being transported from one place to another like an important work of art but I didn’t do anything at all.” His Grace stood up and paced around the room. It seemed to Francis as if His Grace had forgotten his presence and was now talking to himself. “I am twenty-eight years old. For most of those twenty-eight years I have done what I was told. For the last four years, I have done nothing but work pointlessly trying to leave behind my past. I have never had to think for myself or indeed do anything for myself. The only thing I know I’m any good at is that I’m a fair shot, but even then I have someone who insists on loading and cleaning my guns for me. I need to know who I am and I can’t do it here where everything conspires to remind me what I am supposed to be.”
While the Duke paused to draw breath, Francis considered what he had just heard. Most of it was, he thought, true and he agreed it would be good for his noble employer to manage his own life for a while. All that said the Duke was very hard on himself, he was considerably more accomplished than he gave himself credit for. The Duke looked up and met Francis’ eyes again.
“I have arranged for money to be made available to me in a few European cities, I have given a power of Attorney to Scriven and Simpson so that they can manage the estate in my absence and I’m leaving tomorrow before breakfast. You do not have to come if you do not wish to do so ...” The Duke stopped mid-sentence as Francis turned towards the door.
“Your Grace must excuse me. If I am to be ready to accompany you tomorrow there is much to do.”