Page 42 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

Charlotte’s eyes opened, and she nodded. “I am fine. Sophia will see to it I return before my flowers begin blooming.”

Because of the long journey home, the women weren’t able to spend the day together, but they left assured that Charlotte would survive where she was for a week or two.

When Mary promised her sister they would visit again the following day, Agnes interrupted. “I believe we will be gone a few days.”

“Agnes, we are not so busy that—” Mary was cut off by a quick shake of Agnes’ head.

To Charlotte, Agnes said, “We may need to leave town for a few days, but we will be back. And I am sure Sophia will come see you. And Philip, too.”

Charlotte wrung her hands, blinking, nodding, and hoohooing.

On the carriage ride home, Agnes shared her new plan for disposing of Mr. Burns. “We must find Mr. Smith and discover his role in Mr. Burns’ business. I have a strong hunch that Mr. Smith is the key.”

“Your confidence is enviable.” Mary pinched her lips like she’d eaten something sour.

Mary always needed reassurance, so Agnes set herself to the task, convincing her friend that they were sure to succeed. They only needed to question Sophia about her relationship with Mr. Smith in hopes of discovering where to find the man.

“It should be you who asks Sophia about Mr. Smith. She does not trust me.” Agnes tried not to show how much this bothered her by looking out the window.

“I hardly know what to say to her. It is not my custom to question her on specifics. Once I saw she could manage the house and farm, I stayed out of her business. It might make her suspicious if I suddenly became interested.”

Agnes had little patience for these excuses. “Are you not troubled by what we have discovered already? A list of the most commonly smuggled items labeled with the name of Sophia’s future husband. Does that not concern you?”

“Who’s to say he is smuggling? Everybody knows he brings cargo to and from France and perhaps other places, as well. I am not aware that it is illegal to sell gin and lace. We cannot be certain he is not paying taxes.”

Agnes blew through her lips to dismiss Mary’s logic. “If there is something untoward, we must find it. He has a shadowy past. And Sophia won’t think twice about your questions. She loves talking minutiae and will be flattered by your questions.”

“Then you begin the questioning. She is used to your constant query.”

“True, but she does not answer me. I could not engage with her seriously.”

That evening, they gathered after dinner in the drawing room. As per their custom, Mary took up her knitting, and Agnes pretended to read. Sophia studied a ledger. Since her mother was away, Sophia had developed the habit of working during social times. Agnes nudged Mary into beginning the interrogation.

“Sophia, dear, how much wool do you expect your sheep to yield this year?”

Agnes cringed at Mary’s flat, contrived tone, but if Sophia felt surprised by Mary’s unusual interest in her business, she didn’t show it.

“We’ve nearly doubled the flock over the past five years. The sheep yielded over three-thousand kilograms of wool this year, if you can believe it.”

Mary widened her eyes in theatrical style, her needles clicking. “And…will that bring in a fair profit for the farm?”

“It will. But my dream is to sell the wool in fabric form. Exporting raw wool is illegal, but we could sell it abroad if it were woven, and that would fetch a greater profit. Thus far, I’ve been fighting for survival, but now that things are stable, I’ve started thinking about weaving.”

“And why not?” Agnes was honestly impressed with the girl’s initiative. “Someone must weave your wool. Why not do it yourself? You could have a coat made for yourself. Perhaps something for your shepherd and tenants. It’s a lovely thought, Miss Worthington.”

Sophia looked at Agnes with less derision than usual. “We spin wool in small quantities here on the farm, but you are right. I’d love to see what others are making, though it isn’t the type of wool one would want to wear. The long fleece of my sheep makes them good producers, but it’s durable rather than soft, used mostly for carpets. Only the lamb’s wool is wearable. Their coats are very soft and valuable. I sell all of that, as it is also the most profitable. I would love to get ahold of some woven lamb’s wool.” Sophia grinned. “Excuse me. My mother isn’t here to remind me not to prattle on about sheep.”

“Nonsense. It is interesting. Where does all the wool go, Sophia?” Mary asked.

“A man called Mr. Smith. He lives north of here, and Mr. Burns delivers the wool on his ship. From there, it’s distributed all over the region to small farms who spin and weave it.” Sophia paused, as if considering. “I suppose I could ask Mr. Smith where it goes and if he could bring some back. He picks it up from the farmers, and then I believe it’s exported out of Bristol. To be honest, I have not concerned myself with that side of the business. I’ve never had a list of farmers who spin the wool, and I’ve never seen it beyond its raw state, except for the small quantity that is woven here. Mr. Burns offered to handle everything that happens after the wool leaves the farm, and I’ve been so overwhelmed that I welcomed his offer.”

Agnes startled at her mention of Mr. Burns. No doubt he was somehow taking advantage of her.

“Come to think of it, Mary,” Agnes said, “perhaps you and I could investigate this. We might purchase carpets for the orphanage. We could ask Mr. Smith on behalf of our orphans and get the same information for you, Miss Worthington.” Agnes bent toward Sophia. “Do you know where we could find Mr. Smith?”

Sophia tapped her finger against her ledger and looked blankly into the room. Agnes sent Mary a worried glance. Perhaps they had gone too far.

But it seemed Sophia was only thinking, “I’ve done most of my negotiations through Mr. Burns. I have only met Mr. Smith once, and we rarely correspond. I don’t know if the letters I send him go to his home or his office. Let me look.” She rose and left the room.