Page 20 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
“When Minnie was still alive. Although I came for her funeral, on that occasion, I didn’t go to the stable. While I met Timms several times a year, that occurred either in London or at my family’s home in Kent, so I haven’t been back to Bellamy Hall for over eight years.”
She looked at him. “Your family’s home is in the country?”
He nodded. “Walkhurst Manor. It’s in the Weald of Kent, roughly midway between Maidstone and Hastings. I grew up there. It’s an agricultural estate—crops and orchards, mostly. That was where I learned about goats.”
“Ah, yes. The goats. I’d forgotten about that.”
Her tone—that of one suddenly seeing a light—had him glancing at her.
He took in her expression and was visited by an insight of his own. “Yes, Miss Fergusson. Although I might have haunted London for the past decade, I’m a country boy, born and bred.”
Delicate color rose in her cheeks. “Yes, well, that will make explanations rather easier.” A few paces on, she added, “No one here knew that, you see.”
Which meant she’d asked. He felt mildly pleased about that.
They approached the carriage works—a large, well-appointed barn in excellent repair.
“The carriage workshop was here when I arrived,” Caitlin said. “Indeed, all the Hall’s businesses have been in operation for longer than three years—all were established under either Lady Bellamy or Timms.” She halted some yards from the open double doors and looked up at the structure. “I believe this was rebuilt about seven years ago. The carriage works came about through Jenkins, the head stableman, and his assistants developing an interest in repairing and, eventually, in constructing carriages. That was after Lady Bellamy died and fewer guests came to the Hall, so Jenkins and his men had little to occupy them.” She paused, then added, “I can’t recall hearing who suggested the workshop, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn it was Timms.”
He nodded. “She was always one to keep herself busy. I suspect she adhered to the philosophy that the devil makes work for idle hands.”
She smiled. “Indeed. I’m sure she did.”
He tipped his head at the workshop’s open doors, through which the thumps and clangs of hammers striking wood and metal could be heard. They advanced and walked into a well-lit space with a high, raftered ceiling and plain wooden walls, every foot of which was covered by racks of tools or shelves of implements and carriage parts.
Jenkins spotted them, set down his hammer, and came forward. He’d been the Hall’s head stableman for close to two decades and had met Gregory and his brothers over the years. He knew how much the Cynster family appreciated good horseflesh and also good carriages. He beamed at Gregory and nodded respectfully. “Mr. Cynster, sir. Do you have time for me to show you around?”
Gregory smiled and admitted that was what he was there for, and Jenkins promptly embarked on ushering him around and explaining the basics of the business he and his men had established.
While half of the big barn was given over to housing a handful of carriages—presumably owned by the Hall—plus Gregory’s sleek curricle, the rest was divided into a series of five bays, with each bay housing either the skeleton of a new carriage or a carriage awaiting some repair.
Viewing the two undercarriages waiting for springs and bodies to be attached, Gregory admitted, “Spending so much time in London, I always bought my carriages in Long Acre. I never thought about where those in the country would find new carriages.”
“There are carriage makers in the major towns, but, for instance, there’s only one in Northampton, and his waiting list is longer than your arm. And it’s not just a question of new,” Jenkins said. “Finding someone to repair a broken joist or spring can be just as difficult. As soon as it became known that on top of keeping all the various carts and carriages on the estate rolling along, we were willing to work on other people’s carriages, we’ve never had a time of not having some project on the go. Right now, we’ve a waiting list for new carriages that’ll see us into next year.”
“Is it just the three of you?” Gregory nodded to the other two men, who were working on fixing a new wheel to a gig.
“Nah, it’s all of us at different times. Parker—do you remember him?”
Gregory nodded. “He’s been here forever.”
“Aye, since even before my time. Parker keeps an eye on the horses and makes sure the grooms and stable lads keep up to the mark with them. But once they’re done mucking out the stalls and exercising the beasts, most will be in here, lending a hand. Everyone likes to keep busy.”
Gregory eyed the bare undercarriages. “What sort of carriages do you make?”
“Anything with wheels,” Jenkins proudly proclaimed. “Those two are a cart and a gig, and our current orders range from them to two curricles and even a phaeton.” Jenkins grinned. “That’ll be a challenge, but we’ll meet it.”
Gregory smiled back. “I’m impressed.”
“Aye, well.” Blushing faintly, Jenkins shifted his weight. “I give you fair warning—we’ll be studying that curricle of yours for pointers. We haven’t seen a carriage of that quality in our barn for a good long while.” He arched a brow at Gregory. “Mind if I use it to show the lads what’s what? Melton said he didn’t think you’d mind.”
Gregory nodded. “I don’t. By all means, use it as an example.”
“Excellent!” Jenkins rubbed his hands, then his gaze landed on Caitlin, waiting with studied patience by the open door. Parker had arrived while Jenkins and Gregory had been talking and had paused to speak with her before heading deeper into the workshop. “Ah, yes.” Jenkins returned his gaze to Gregory. “I’m supposed to tell you about our profits. Four hundred this past six months, but that was quieter than usual. We put two hundred and eighty of that into the Hall fund, but we’ll be doing better this next six months, for certain.”
“Nevertheless, that’s an admirable result.”Especially as you’re giving so many men employment.Gregory clapped Jenkins on the shoulder. “Keep up the good work.”
With a nod to the other men, he crossed to the door.
