Page 20 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

‘Beg pardon, sir?’

‘This comes just at the right time. I have an idea I’d like to try, and now Fate has presented me with a farm on which to try it.’

‘And what idea’s that, sir?’ Adeane asked indulgently.

‘Milk,’ said Richard. ‘No, hear me out! I’ve been in London, and seen how hard it is to get good fresh milk. In some parts, the stuff is hardly drinkable – thin and grey and full of bits. Bits of what I don’t like to know! Now, London is barely an hour away by train. If we can get the milk promptly from farm to station and arrange the distribution at the other end we could make a fortune. Everyone wants good milk, and no-one‘s providing it. The market is wide open.’

‘Interesting idea,’ Markham said. ‘But could you produce enough from Hundon’s to make it worth while?’

‘Not from poor old Bunce’s twelve bony cows,’ Richard said. ‘My idea is to clear the pastures, expand and improve the herd, raise the quality of the milk, and then, once we’ve got the thing established, bring in all the other farmers along the valley. They would keep the cows, produce the milk, then we’d collect it along with our own and send it up to London for the capital’s breakfast tables. “Ash Valley Milk – the Londoner’s Choice!” What do you think?’

‘You’re talking about a very long-term project,’ Markham said. ‘This can’t happen in months – it will take years. And you’d have to have a standard quality of milk.’

‘I don’t see that as a problem,’ Richard said. ‘At the moment, each farmer just keeps a couple of cows for the house, but if you told him he could make a profit out of milk if he increased his stock and followed some rules, well, he’d jump at the chance, wouldn’t he?’

‘I know some as would,’ Adeane said. ‘But there’s others that’d want some convincing. Farmers don’t like change. They want to do things the way their fathers and grandfathers did.’

‘But farmers have sons who will be taking over from them one day,’ Markham said. ‘And they’ll want to take over something that has a future.’

‘Exactly. This is the future.’ Richard smiled engagingly at them. ‘I’m thinking – Dairy Shorthorns. I’ve looked into it, and they’re hardy, productive, and they give high-quality milk. We encourage our farmers to buy more cows, and we keep a top-quality bull to serve them. We oversee conditions and practices, and build up a sort of co-operative herd. London will clamour for our fresh, clean, creamy milk. No fine lady will brook anything else on her tea-table.’

Adeane was shaking his head. ‘They’ll never go for it, sir. It’s not farming the way they know it. It more like . . . manufacturing. They won’t like it.’

‘I think the younger ones might take to the idea,’ said Markham. ‘But it’ll need a lot of investment – on their part as well as on ours.’

‘But think of the returns! For them as well as us.’

‘And there’s the business side of it. Collecting the milk and getting it to the station – well, that’s just a matter of organisation, I suppose, but it’ll need some thinking about. And then the distribution in London – that’s not an area of commerce we know anything about.’

‘Fortunately, I know a very canny businessman . . .’

‘Someone in the dairy trade?’ Markham said hopefully.

‘No, but business is business, and what he doesn’t know, he’ll know how to find out. After all, jam wasn’t his area of expertise, but he jumped on board our expansion there.’

Markham’s brow cleared. ‘You’re thinking of Mr Cowling?’

‘Indeed. He’s my sister-in-law’s best friend’s husband, which makes him practically my brother-in-law, and one should always make use of family connections.’

‘What’s in it for him, sir, giving away all this advice?’ Adeane asked suspiciously.

‘Well, if he thinks the idea has possibilities – which I’m convinced it has – he’ll probably want to come in with us as a partner.’

‘It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have someone with some business experience involved,’ said Markham. ‘But first we need to talk through the whole scheme, work out some details, and put something down on paper.’

‘You’re in favour, then?’ Richard said hopefully.

‘It’s worth looking into,’ Markham said cautiously.

‘I’m not. It’d be throwing good money after bad,’ said Adeane.

‘If we’ve got to take the farm back in hand anyway, we might as well be bold and try to make something of it,’ Richard said. ‘And it won’t be your money that’s thrown at it, Adeane, my good fellow, so you needn’t look so glum.’ He strode to the desk, pulled out a sheet of paper, and headed it in big capitals, ASH VALLEY DAIRY COMPANY. He looked up at the other two men and grinned. ‘It’s rather fun being in at the birth of something, isn’t it?’

The thaw came. Slowly at first, but increasingly rapidly, the white blanket retreated, revealing a world almost forgotten, a world of greens and browns, grateful to the eye starved of colour for so many weeks. The grim silence that had gripped the land relaxed, and suddenly there was sound and movement: drips and trickles, little spurts and forces, gurglings and chucklings, as the great mass of water held up in the snow came back to life and rushed gladly on its way. The two little brooks, the Shel and the Wade, that ran down the hillside swelled into streams and chattered self-importantly as they bounded down to join the Ash at Watersmeet. The ditches filled and overflowed; the tracks flooded and became rivers; leaves and twigs and other debris were borne along, spinning. The Ash swelled and ran fast, crowding under the arches of the stone bridge, tugging impatiently at tethered boats and tree roots as if suddenly realising it was late for its appointment with the sea. The level in the Carr rose, and its normally still water ran and flowed. There was water everywhere, vast sheets reflecting the sky. Life was starting up again, for water is life, and spring could not be delayed for ever.

Kitty stood at the window for hours, watching the countryside change. There was still no going out – even the tops were too muddy and slippery now, and it would be a few more days until the floods went down and the wind dried the earth. But then, she thought, nothing would keep her in. There was her garden to walk round and inspect; there were still a few more weeks of hunting; and there was a pent-up backlog of visits to be received and made, before country families went to London for the Season.

She thought about Giles. There had been no further letter from him, but she hadn’t expected one. What would he have to say, anyway? Every day she had wondered when he would come back. Now, she began fearfully to wonder if he would return at all. It was so easy for a man to be elsewhere – for any man, but most of all for a wealthy lord for whom there were, effectively, no limits. She had brought him her fortune, which had freed him to leave her and roam the wide world. In return, she had got a home, a position, and her adored son. It was a reasonable exchange. That didn’t mean she liked it.