“I’ve only been here once before!” Theo protested.
George’s expression made it clear he considered this a poor excuse for Theo’s ignorance.
Theo’s face warmed.
“Well, we’ll soon find out,” George said. “In the meantime, tell me about the property. How long is the term of this lease?”
Theo stared at him, feeling foolish. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember anyone ever telling me.”
“Haven’t you read the leases?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen them,” Theo said, weakly.
“Well,” George said patiently, “that’s one of the first things we should do. Perhaps Mr. Norris will know where they are.” After he pause, he added, “And what does Mr. Morgan do on his land? Is it arable, pastoral? Both?”
Theo’s face felt so hot now, he felt sure it must be scarlet. Embarrassing to admit but he honestly didn’t know. Hadn’t the faintest idea. He did remember looking at some fields the last time he was here, though which particular tenant they belonged to, he couldn’t recall, never mind what was growing—or grazing—there.
“I don’t recall,” he said, not meeting George’s gaze.
Thankfully, George didn’t ask any more questions. When Theo finally chanced a look at him, he looked quite his usual self, though he surely must be thinking to himself that Theo had to be some kind of idiot, to be so unknowledgeable about a property he'd inherited months ago.
They were approaching the Morgans’ farmhouse now. It was a pretty cottage, with an abundant garden at the front. As they drew closer, Theo spotted a woman in the garden, bent over a row of plants. Nearby, three young children, an older boy and two younger girls, were playing, the boy shouting instructions while the girls ran around, giggling.
“Mrs. Morgan?” Theo called, and as the woman straightened, her hand going to the small of her back, he saw her belly was rounded with child.
Mrs. Morgan’s eyes widened with recognition. “Good day, Mr. Caldwell,” she said. Her voice was tentative and unsure.
“Good day,” Theo replied, relieved that she recognised him. “Is your husband here?”
She blinked. “No, sir. He’s working up at the north field.”
Beside Theo, George was silent, but he smiled at Mrs. Morgan in a friendly way, and when her gaze landed on him, her own mouth curled in an uncertain smile.
“Well,” Theo said. “I suppose we could head up there to see him.” The only trouble being that he had no idea where the north field was. Still, it couldn’t be too difficult to find.
“I can send Michael to fetch him,” Mrs. Morgan offered. She turned to the children, who had stopped running around to observe the newcomers. “Michael, go up to the north field and fetch your da. Tell him the landlord’s come.”
“No need to send the boy, ma’am,” George said, stepping forward. “I’ll go.” He smiled and gave a slight bow. “I’m Mr. Asquith, incidentally. Pleased to meet you.”
She blinked at him, assessing. “Likewise,” she said, though she was clearly wondering who he was and why he’d want to tromp up to the north field.
“Which is the best way to go?” George asked.
She quickly gave him directions, then turned to Theo, saying, “Would you like to come inside to wait, sir? I can make tea, or I’ve got ale or cider, if you prefer?”
He would have preferred to go with George, but it would be rude to refuse her invitation, and perhaps George wanted to go alone. So he smiled and said, “You’re very kind, ma’am. Some tea would be most welcome.”
While George set off up the hill, and the children recommenced their noisy game, he followed Mrs. Morgan into a small but cheerful kitchen. A pot jar crowded with sweet peas of all colours sat on the windowsill, their sweet scent filling the room, and every surface was taken up with some half-done job. The well-scrubbed kitchen table was covered with piles of peeled and chopped vegetables, bowls, pots and several cloth-covered mounds.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Mrs. Morgan said, pinkening, “This is my baking day. I’ve got loaves proving.” She quickly moved a number of items to clear one end of the table, gesturing at a chair. “Please, sit. Ned won’t be long.”
“Thank you,” Theo said, settling into the chair she had pointed to. “And I’m the one who should apologise—for interrupting your work.”
“No, no,” she said, smiling tightly, as she busied herself with setting the kettle on the range. “It’s no trouble, sir.”
While Mrs. Morgan bustled around her kitchen, Theo looked around with interest. A rather disreputable rag doll sat expectantly on one of the other chairs at the table, a wooden spoon imperfectly balanced between its floppy arms. On the table in front of the doll, a writing slate was covered with letters of the alphabet, written in an imperfect childish hand. Theo smiled, then startled as something warm and sinewy encircled his ankle.
Pushing his chair back, he looked down to find a sleek, black cat beneath his chair.
