bugger could at least have offered tea.
"I wish to extend the mill," Henry began, referring to the flour mill which stood just outside the village, on a bend of the River Avon, "I want to add a second wheel to the village side of the mill, but to do so I will need to construct a leat."
"That's all well and good," Lord Crabb replied lazily, "But what does that have to do with me? You didn't need to rouse me from my bed to tell me this--unless, of course, you mean to involve me in some way."
"The construction of the leat would involve the use of your land--temporarily, I hasten to add--though I have no doubt that many of your tenants will make use of the expanded mill."
"Do you wish me to help finance this silly business?" Lord Crabb spluttered, aghast at the idea of parting with money.
"No," Henry was flat, "I just require your permission for the use of the land. Though I cannot think why you might refuse; the Corn Laws have driven the price of flour sky-high, our tenants are suffering, and it is our duty to help them."
"I will think about it."
Lord Crabb's response to Henry's impassioned plea sounded rather bored. Henry bristled with indignation; aristocrats like Lord Crabb, with their indifference to their tenants, were the reason why bread riots were taking place the length and breadth of the country. England might go the way of France if the landed gentry did not try to help their fellow man.
"I don't know why you need to think on it," Henry retorted, no longer able to hide his annoyance, "The fields I require the use of are used only for pasture; you can stick your beasts on my land for the duration if needs be. We have a moral duty to our tenants--"
"I won't be lectured on duty by a man who has been absent for these past five years."
It was often said that the truth stung and Crabb's words hit Henry like a slap to the face. He could feel himself flushing--as he often did when embarrassed--but refused to be browbeaten by the crabby viscount.
"Not that it is any of your business," Henry said, adopting his most ducal hauteur as he spoke, "But I left Northcott Manor and its lands in the care of my very able agent, Mr Silks. Had there been one word of complaint about his work, I would have returned at once, but there were none. I choose my staff very carefully, Lord Crabb."
Henry placed a heavy emphasis on the word "I", in order for the viscount to understand that Henry did not feel that Lord Crabb was as equally discerning about his own employees. No well-trained servant would have left a duke to freeze in a hall without even so much as a sniff of a cup of tea.
"Is that so?"
Lord Crabb looked so delighted that Henry momentarily wondered if he had walked himself into trouble. However, he could not think of any member of his vast retinue of staff who did not distinguish themselves admirably in their duties.
"Yes," Henry was bold enough to allow a note of certainty.
"That's not what I have heard," Lord Crabb cleared his throat, "Though, of course, it might all be rumours. You know what small towns are like; if you even so much as sneeze at the top of Church Street, the local gossips have you dead and buried before you reach the end of it."
The viscount smiled lightly at his own joke and did not appear to wish to press the matter further. Henry would have done well to follow suit, but curiosity got the better of him. Curiosity and a pressing urge to know which of his staff was not up to scratch. Henry was, as his mother often noted, wholly committed to fastidiousness. And this commitment came, she also often added, at the expense of fun, though Henry usually paid no heed to that part. He was a duke; there was little fun to be had when one had several estates, thousands of tenants, and an ever-expanding retinue of dependents to whom he must attend.
"May I ask who in my service, according to the town tabbies, is not performing their duties exactly?" Henry queried, with a frown.
"Oh, I wouldn't like to give credence to gossip, Northcott," Lord Crabb replied, innocently, "Though if you insist on knowing--"
"I do."
"Mr Parsims."
"The vicar?"
"I think you'll find he's a rector, Northcott," Lord Crabb grinned, thoroughly delighted to