ChapterFive
“Just a minute,” Piers’ brows rose over widened eyes. “What do you mean my sheep need a few changes?”
“Oh dear. Here it comes,” chuckled Sir Gerald beneath his breath.
“And what do you mean bychanges?” Piers ignored his father’s comment, fighting against the anger rising in his chest. Nobody told him what to do with his sheep, especially a female estate manager. It was beyond anything rational.
“Mr Crawford,” she began, her voice calm, her face expressionless.
“What sort of knowledge could you possibly have of this matter? This flock, this breed…it’s mine, do you hear me? I created it. I’ve tended these animals extremely carefully for several years now. I know each of them. They do not need any changes, woman.” He wanted badly to leap from his chair and throttle her, but his father gently touched his wrist.
“Piers. Let Miss Nightingale speak?”
“Well,” he huffed, sitting back with a frown. “This had better be good.”
“Thank you, Sir Gerald,” she said quietly. “Had I been allowed to finish what I was going to say, Mr Crawford, you would have understood that it’s not your flock that needs any changes, but the fields in which they graze. I would not,” she glared at him, “be so presumptuous as to suggest any alterations in your breeding and rearing program. From what I see, the wool from these sheep, especially this year’s youngsters, will be of decidedly superior nature and may well set a trend for other producers.”
She tucked her feet beneath her skirt, an obvious distraction for a moment to catch her breath.
Piers’ response was a muffled snort. “What do you mean?” he asked grudgingly.
“I see from the records that you rotate the fields in which you graze your sheep.” She inclined her head. “An excellent practice, sir.”
“What of it?” He knew he sounded belligerent, but he had no idea if she realised how important these animals were to him personally.
“You have a rapidly growing flock. Split them. There are two fallow fields that have yet to be turned over to your sheep. The one they are in now will need a couple of years to recover because the number of lambs this year exceeded past seasons by a factor of two.” She kept her gaze steady on his face. “You know full well that overgrazing can be an issue and if you don’t split the flock in the spring, you’ll be facing it in this year’s pasture and next year’s as well.”
He blinked as her words sank home.
“Obviously this late in the year, keeping them where they are until winter is the best course of action. But come the spring, and with it the new crop of lambs I fully expect from your ewes, it will be time to make some important decisions in relation to grazing.”
She turned to Sir Gerald without giving Piers chance to respond.
“With this matter in mind, Sir Gerald, I am going to suggest that one of your wheat fields be allowed to lie fallow in preparation for an expanded flock. I understand there are tenants involved here, so discussions will have to be held, but I do believe Mr Crawford’s sheep to be quite astounding in the potential that exists in regard to their wool.”
“You do?” Sir Gerald’s eyebrows rose.
“Indeed I do. The quality it has displayed so far exceeds anything I’ve run across in my preliminary reading. The lower lanolin content and softer texture will simplify spinning and weaving, bringing a unique fabric to the market, and a bit of research on the latest reports from that industry—which I was thrill to see you have—” she nodded at a shelf to one side, “all but guarantee an excellent financial return.”
Sir Gerald turned to his son. “What do you think, Piers? Is she right?”
He knew he was frowning, but that was a superficial response to a discussion that was churning within his mind.
Finally he shrugged. “I cannot disagree with Miss Nightingale’s assessment, Father. Yes, overgrazing is an issue, and one I’ve avoided thus far. I’ll admit that I’d not considered the expansion rate of the flock, which is a mistake, since many ewes will be presenting us with new lambs, I hope, early in the spring. I’d have dealt with it then, of course, but Miss Nightingale is probably correct to raise it now, so that we can make preparations.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “As to her comments about the wool? I’m surprised. Astonished, in fact, that she presents such a statement unless she has a background in the wool trade.” He turned his gaze to the woman sitting calmly behind the tea tray.
“That I cannot claim, Mr Crawford,” she answered politely. “However I have spent many hours working with a variety of wools in my days as a seamstress. Those alongside me during that period were kind enough to educate me on such matters. Actually sewing with the stuff, Mr Crawford, can be as educational as any lecture on the varying kinds of sheep and the fabric they produce.”
She turned her attention once more to Sir Gerald. “Which leads me to another suggestion, and this one for you, sir. Shift some of your investments into the wool market. I know it’s smaller and with less aggressive profits, but your son’s first deliveries of raw wool are going to change that, I believe.”
“Really?” Piers couldn’t help the exclamation.
Jessie glanced at him with a small smile. “Yes, sir. Really. Your flock is unique, and I predict that their wool will be spun into a yarn so fine and soft it will fly off the shelves as soon as the bolts arrive from the weavers.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Piers muttered.
Sir Gerald rose. “It seems we won’t need that month to make a decision as to Miss Nightingale’s effectiveness, son. I’m pleased with her progress thus far and it’s been less than a day.”
Ever stubborn, Piers rose with chin raised. “I will concede that this discussion has been enlightening. But I still reserve judgement.” He looked down at Jessie, who had risen to her feet as the gentlemen stood. “You should see my flock, Miss Nightingale. And perhaps confirm your assessment. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’d like you to actually feel the fleece, and see if it will live up to your predictions.”
