Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"There's no easy way to say it, my Lord. The money's gone. There's nothing left - only the assets. But that would mean selling Downside, and I'm sure…" the lawyer, Mr. Haxby, said, but Jacob Kirk, the Earl of Swadlincote, interrupted him.

"I won't sell Downside. It's the family side. The Swadlincotes have inhabited Downside since the reformation. It was our gift for loyalty to the crown," he said, shaking his head in disbelief at the thought of what had happened.

The lawyer sighed.

"Then my Lord, you must think of something and fast. The money's gone. Your investments haven't paid the proper returns. And you're… overspending hasn't helped, either," he said.

Jacob shook his head. He knew he had been foolish - reckless, even with his inheritance. He had grown up with no concept of earning money - only spending it. Whatever he had wanted, he had had, and there had never been any question of going without.

He was the Earl of Swadlincote, and the Swadlincotes had always been a family with money. But the lawyer's news was sobering, and Jacob knew he had to take responsibility or risk losing everything.

"We can sell some of the paintings - or the Chinese vase," Jacob said, glancing across the drawing room to where a large and ornately decorated vase stood on a pedestal.

It had been a gift from the Chinese Emperor to his grandfather during a trade negotiation, and Jacob had always been told it was worth a fortune. The paintings, too, had their worth - as did all manner of artifacts around the house. His forebears had been great collectors, and Downside was filled with all manner of interesting objects with the potential to sell.

"My Lord, that would only be a temporary measure. Your expenses are too great. You need an income - something to sustain the estate and yourself," Mr. Haxby replied.

"Work?" Jacob replied.

It seemed an astonishing thought. His father had always been so disparaging of those men who had "made their fortune."

"A man doesn't make a fortune, he inherits it," his father had once said, and Jacob had grown up knowing the difference between old money and new.

But the social scene was increasingly filled with those men - and their wives - who had benefited from the ever- expanding opportunities of empire. Money was being made through hard work and shrewd investments, and those with inherited wealth were fast being outnumbered by those who had started with nothing and now had everything.

"You still have some money left, my Lord. My advice would be to invest it shrewdly with the help of someone who… knows what they're doing," Mr. Haxby replied, raising his eyebrows as Jacob shook his head.

The very thought of it was humiliating - to go with a begging bowl, him, an earl…

"And would one of these men who knows better than me agree?" Jacob asked.

The lawyer shrugged.

"These men are interested in profit, my Lord. That's what matters to them. If you present an attractive proposition, there's no reason why one of them shouldn't be glad to advise you, or even enter business with you," Mr. Haxby replied.

Jacob did not like the idea of begging. But it seemed he had no choice but to do so. Downside was at risk, and the thought of being the earl who had lost the family's wealth was humiliating.

And there was Olivia to think of, too. Jacob was in love with Olivia Wright, the daughter of the Earl of Burton-Upon-Trent. They had been childhood friends, and Jacob intended to ask for her hand in marriage. But if the money was gone, what sort of life could Olivia expect when they were married… if they were married?

"Then I suppose I have no choice," Jacob replied, shaking his head sadly.

He felt humiliated, even as he knew his misfortune was entirely of his own doing. His parents had given him no sense of responsibility when it came to money. His father had lived off his inheritance, and his mother had had whatever she desired.

They had died together in a carriage accident three years previously, and Jacob's grief had expressed itself in lavish spending as a means to forget the unexpected responsibility he had found placed on him. Now, the money was gone, and he had no choice but to seek the solution Mr. Haxby suggested.

"I can suggest some possibilities, my Lord. There's a man in the district - Thomas Davidson. He's a merchant - a trader in tea from the Orient, I believe. He'd be the best person to approach," the lawyer said.

Jacob had heard of Thomas Davidson, though he knew very little about him, preferring to mix with men of aristocratic rank and their families.

"I see… and what else do you know about him?" Jacob asked.

"He's married to a woman with a vague connection to royalty, and has a daughter, Charlotte. They live at Bexton - ten miles or so from here. I could arrange for you to call on him, if you wish," Mr. Haxby said, raising his eyebrows.

Jacob's pride was dented - but what choice did he have? If he was to have any chance of saving the house and estate, and of marrying Olivia, the money had to be raised.

"Very well, Mr. Haxby, make the arrangements. I won't sell the Chinese vase just yet," Jacob replied, and the lawyer nodded.

"Very good, my Lord. I'm sure Mr. Davidson will be very pleased to make your acquaintance," he replied, and Jacob sighed, wondering what he was letting himself in for.

***

"A higher collar, my Lord?" Harold Hayes, Jacob's valet, asked, holding a tall, starched collar in his hand.

"No… the half size. I don't want to feel like I'm choking. But I'll wear the gold cufflinks," Jacob said.

"Forgive me, my Lord, but aren't you trying to show… the need for money?" Harold asked.

He had been Jacob's valet since he was a young man, and at thirty years old, he was old enough to offer advice to the younger earl, who now nodded and smiled.

"Ah, yes… you're right. He's meant to feel sorry for me, isn't he? The penniless aristocrat," Jacob replied, and the valet nodded.

"Perhaps the tweed jacket, my Lord - and the brass cufflinks," he said.

Jacob agreed. Harold was a confidant - the sort of valet one could trust to act discreetly in all things. Jacob had told him of his financial difficulties - though not to their full extent - and that today he was to call on a man named Thomas Davidson, a merchant and businessman who resided in the district and who he hoped to enter in a business arrangement with.

It was all very unsatisfactory - the thought of begging to a self-made man. Jacob was an earl, and his family was an ancient and noble one. Thomas Davidson was no one, and yet he was the only one who might be able to help.

"Do I look the part of a poor beggar?" Jacob asked, as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom a few moments later.

Harold smiled.

"Your Lordship looks… gentlemanly, as ever," he said, and Jacob smiled.

"A tactful response, Harold. Well… it's time I faced the lion's den, I suppose. Goodness knows what he'll think of me," Jacob said, shaking his head.

It was his lawyer, Mr. Haxby, who had set up the meeting with Thomas Davidson. They were to meet that afternoon at the merchant's home, but as for the details of their encounter, Jacob was in the dark.

He had a little money left to invest, and intended to propose a joint venture with the businessman, not wanting to reveal the full extent of his misfortune, but intent on making money, too. He wanted Thomas Davidson to think he was doing him a favor, even as it would certainly be the other way around…

"I'm sure he'll think you are a gentleman worthy of his time, my Lord," Harold said, and Jacob smiled.

"Well… we'll see. Thank you, Harold," Jacob said, and the valet gave a curt nod and left the room.

Jacob sighed, glancing at himself again in the mirror and wondering what he was doing. It felt humiliating to be begging for money in this way, even as he knew he had no choice but to do so. The house, his reputation, his very well-being was at stake, as were the prospects of his marriage to Olivia.

He had said nothing to her of his troubles, and had written to ask she and her mother to dine with him that evening, hoping to make some progress in his attempts at securing a more formal agreement between them. But Olivia had appeared reluctant at the thought of such an arrangement, and despite their long friendship, Jacob was beginning to wonder if she would ever feel as he did.

"One thing at a time," he told himself, glancing at himself once again in the mirror, before leaving his bedroom and making his way down to the hallway, where the housekeeper, Mrs. McDonald, was waiting for him.

Mrs. McDonald had been with the family for as long as Jacob could remember. An older woman, with silver- streaked black hair and bright blue eyes.

She had a stern face, but behind the facade was kind and gentle demeanour, and since the death of Jacob's parents she had been as much a mother to him as a housekeeper - occasionally becoming exasperated at his antics, but always there to give a listening ear. Jacob was only twenty-three years old, and burdened with such responsibility at a young age, he was glad of Mrs. McDonald's steadying hand to guide him.

"Are you ready, my Lord?" she asked, holding out his coat, and Jacob nodded.

"As ready as I'll ever be. It feels… embarrassing, though," he said, and the housekeeper smiled.

"Sometimes we have no choice but to ask for help, my Lord. There's no shame in it," she replied, and Jacob nodded.

"You're right, Mrs. McDonald. Better this than the alternative," he said, and the housekeeper nodded.

"Good luck, my Lord," she said, as she helped him into his outdoor coat, and as Jacob left the house, he knew it was not only his own fortunes he had to save, but those of his household, too.

***

The carriage pulled up at the entrance to the drive leading to the home of Thomas Davidson and his family, Thrushcross Grange. Jacob had told the driver to drop him there, for he had not wanted to arrive in a carriage and give the impression of wealth. Instead, he would walk the last distance and approach the house through the gardens - it was the brass cufflinks approach, and he hoped the merchant would see he was serious about making money.

Thanking the carriage driver and instructing him to wait, Jacob made his way up the drive, turning off into the garden - he intended to feign getting lost to avoid any formal introductions to the rest of the family, not wishing to suffer the humiliation of being entertained by new money. This was business, and that was that.

"Let him take pity on me - the genteel poverty of the aristocracy," Jacob thought to himself, as he made his way through a large vegetable garden, with its neat rows of cabbages, leeks, and potatoes.

Jacob could see the house over a tall redbrick wall, its chimneys rising up into the sky. The gardens were pleasant, and a gate at the far end of the vegetable garden led into what appeared to be an orchard. Jacob was early, and he lingered a few moments among the vegetables, consulting his pocket watch for the right time to approach.

"But what am I going to say to him? There has to be a reason for consulting him. He'll think it odd, otherwise," Jacob thought to himself.

The time had now come, and Jacob intended to appear on the terrace, apologizing for getting lost and asking to be taken immediately to the merchant's study. Taking a deep breath, he made his way towards the gate leading into the orchard, imagining what he would say and how he would be received. He had never met Thomas Davidson, and the thought of humbling himself in this way was far from attractive. It felt humiliating, and yet it was a necessity, too.

"Just get on with it," he told himself, and now, still with his mind filled with thoughts of humiliation, he hurried through the gate into the orchard.

But as he did so, he collided with a woman coming through it at the same time. She, too, appeared lost in thought, and as they bumped into one another, the ink pot she was holding - along with an armful of papers - flew into the air. There was much apology on her part, but as Jacob looked down at himself, he saw his shirt and coat were covered in black ink…

"You foolish girl," he exclaimed, taking her for one of the maids, as now she stared at him in horror.

"Foolish? How dare you speak to me like that? I apologized, didn't I? You're the foolish one for hurrying through the gate like that," she exclaimed, glaring at him, as Jacob felt somewhat taken aback by the force of her words.

She was pretty - yet forceful, too - tall and slim, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was dressed simply, in a cotton dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and now she proceeded to pick up the papers and ink pot, as Jacob looked down at himself in dismay.

"There's ink all over me," he said, glaring at the woman, who shrugged.

"Well, I didn't throw it over you purposefully, did I?" she said, and to this, Jacob had to agree.

But what was he to do now? His shirt was ruined, and he could hardly go and see Thomas Davidson in such a state as this.

"No, but… I've got a very important meeting with your master and now my shirt's ruined," he said.

She looked at him and shrugged.

"Is that so? Well, I'm very sorry for your inconvenience. But there's nothing much I can do about it, is there?" she asked, just as another woman appeared behind her in the orchard.

"Miss Davidson, quickly. Your mother's about to come outside. She's calling for you," she said, and before Jacob could say anything further - suddenly realizing the mistake he had made - the woman had hurried off across the vegetable garden with the other woman following behind her.

"The daughter - oh, how foolish I've been," Jacob thought to himself, looking down at his shirt and despairing of ever making the right impression now.

But he had no choice but to carry on - the meeting was arranged, and looking at his pocket watch, he realized he was already late.

"What's he going to think of me now?" he asked himself, as with trepidation, he approached the house, his shirt reminding him of the unexpected encounter he had had with Thomas Davidson's daughter.