Page 68 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

She continued her questions, trying to show Mr. Cunningham that her uncle knew nothing about farming and even less about her farm in particular. She kept stalling as her uncle continued to sink lower and lower in his chair. Philip was taking his time coming back with Mr. Gregory.

While Sophia worried, paced, and questioned, shouts were heard from upstairs.

“Ten empty bottles of port!” Mrs. Eliot’s voice traveled down the stairs.

“How could you have violated my sister’s chambers in such a fashion?” Those words were from Aunt Mary.

There was also activity on the stairs. Betsy and Tom added to the cacophony as they went up and down, dragging and carrying crates of garbage as well as Charles’s trunks.

Over the noise could be heard voices and wheels on the gravel outside. It sounded like a crowd of people had arrived. She hurried to the window, wondering what Philip had done.

From the window, she saw a farm cart loaded with tenants. Mr. Gregory and Philip helped the women dismount. Philip looked up and waved with the open face she loved.

Mr. Gregory entered the house followed by Philip, Sophia’s mother, and a cartload of tenants. “If I may, Miss Worthington, I have some things to say to the squire and to Mr. Cunningham, if that is acceptable to you.”

Sophia’s eyes stung and her throat ached at his words. “Yes, I accept your help, Gregory. Thank you,” she whispered.

With the squire still sitting and Mr. Gregory standing before him looking grave, one might have thought the squire was on trial. Sophia hoped he was.

The library filled with people, and they flowed through the double doors, into the foyer, and out the front door. Philip opened the windows so they might hear what went on inside.

A hush fell as Gregory began. “Since Squire Thorpe began inflicting stipulations on the farm, it’s been nothing but chaos.”

“Here, here!” shouted the crowd, and Sophia jumped at the outburst. Her eyes met Philip’s, and he grinned at her.

“We’ve done everything possible to avoid obeying his instructions because following his orders would lead this farm into ruin.”

“Here, here!” shouted a tenant.

Mr. Gregory nodded at Mr. Cunningham, and during that short breadth of time, the tenants took over the conversation.

“He tried to sell the sheep,” yelled Shepherd Stanton.

“He told us to plant all the fields,” someone called from outside.

“Charles is lazy and fast becoming a drunk.”

“Not fit to manage a farm.”

“The squire told us to replant the turnips with oats!”

“Madness!” And it was. Everyone began talking at once.

As the tenants shouted their grievances and complained to each other, Mr. Cunningham shifted on his feet, looking from the squire to the multitude of people. Sophia leaned in to hear. Cunningham bent toward the squire and said in a low voice, “You might reconsider if your claim is worth the cost. If your judgment is questioned and you lose your commission as Justice of the Peace, your social standing will not recover.”

Squire Thorpe froze. Even his jowls stood still. But his face grew the blackest shade of purple Sophia had ever seen. The squire took stock of his situation. He surveyed the angry tenants, his eyes growing as wide as they could as he measured the crowd that spanned the library.

Using his cane, Uncle Thorpe pushed himself to his feet. Then he thumped his cane on the floor. Everyone silenced.

Thorpe opened his mouth, but Mr. Gregory spoke first. “While you may be the squire, Miss Sophia is our mistress.”

Sophia’s heart swelled. She beamed at Gregory and all who had accompanied him.

Uncle Thorpe breathed heavily, audibly annoyed at having been spoken over. He cleared his throat. “Very well. I have decided to allow my niece to keep her farm. I will no longer impose here.”

“Hurrah!” Hats flew and shouts rose to the ceiling. Everyone was hugging and kissing and shouting.

Uncle Thorpe thumped his cane again. “This is only under the condition that she run it properly.”