Page 52 of From Unwanted to Duchess
After three more attempts, they managed to dislodge it from the patch of mud, which in the process splattered Frances’s gown and face. She was covered head to toe in muck.
“Cor! You’ve got dung all over you, missus—I mean, Your Grace!” the little boy cried, his eyes wide.
“Jack!” his mother hissed. “Do not speak to Her Grace like that. It is impolite!”
“It is also the truth.” Frances pulled a handkerchief from her pocket.
“No, no.” The woman shook her head. “That is much too fine. Too fine by half for farmwork. Here, take one of mine.” She handed her a handkerchief.
Frances took it and wiped her face clean, glad she hadn’t put any powder on that morning. “I will have the handkerchief cleaned at the house and return it to you. Which farm is yours?”
“Sweeting is the name,” the woman answered. “Mary Sweeting. And my husband is Ernest. Thank you so very much, Your Grace. It was very kind of you. Or I would’ve been here all day.”
“I do not doubt it,” Frances said. “Pray, what would you normally do if such a thing happened?”
“Normally?” Mary heaved a sigh. “Well, normally, my husband would be here. But if something like this happened, then we would just try our best. We might call my cousins to come up from the village and help.”
Frances inclined her head. “But what of the other farmers? There are so many farms here. Do you not call on one another?”
Mary shook her head. “No. Everyone keeps to themselves. Each man for himself, as it were. Occasionally, the women will have tea together, or the men will play cards, but we do not interfere with one another’s business.”
“But would that not be beneficial?” Frances pointed out. “If all of you got together? That way, if you ever had a complaint, you could come together and fight together as one. Strength in numbers, that is what I always say. United you stand, divided you fall.”
“A complaint? Against whom?” Mary asked. “Your husband?”
Frances noted the edge to the woman’s voice. “Yes. Why? Has there been a problem?”
“Not with him. Not thus far. We had a problem with the wretched steward, but His Grace let him go. I hear he has hired another one who is coming in a few days. We are all at sixes and sevens about it. We do not know the man. We do not know how he will treat us.”
“Well then, perhaps you should elect a representative. Someone who can represent you well and can speak for you. You truly should consider forming a cooperative of some sort. A farmers’ union, as it were.”
“A cooperative? A farmers’ union?” Mary said with a laugh. “Quite revolutionary, that.”
“Yes. Why not? At my home, some of the farmers did this, and it worked very well.”
There were indeed three farmers who had worked on her father’s lands, and they had conspired together to ensure he did not drive them into utter ruin, even after the Corn Laws. Of course, it had only worked marginally since they still struggled, but at least their families did not go hungry, unlike others on the estate.
“You ought to talk to my husband about this,” Mary suggested. “Once he has recovered, I will ring a right peal over his head if he gets into his cups again. I will give him a scolding he will never forget.”
“You do that. Tell him that the Duchess said he needs to keep his wits about him.”
“I will. Perhaps he will listen to you more than he listens to me,” she said. “I need to get on with the plowing, but I want to thank you very much.” She paused. “Perhaps you could come by our house tomorrow?”
“I would love that. And perhaps if he has some friends, or you have some friends, they could come, and I could talk to them together.”
Mary smiled and gave a nod, and they agreed that Frances would come at lunchtime.
As she rode back, she felt much better. She had been useful. She had made a difference.
She wasn’t quite sure what James would make of her attempt to bring the farmers together in such a manner. Perhaps he wouldn’t like it. But if he didn’t, it was his fault. He should not have ignored her as he did and given her something to do. Now, she had found something to do for herself.
This is what I am meant to do. Not sit in a grand house, playing at being Duchess. But helping those in need.
She pulled the horse to a stop before the front door, dismounted, and handed the reins to a groom. Then, she climbed the stairs and let herself in.
She was about to make her way up to her chamber to call for Lizette to help her change out of her uncomfortable riding habit when a crash sounded from the second floor.
She hurried up the stairs and arrived just in time to find Franklin in high dudgeon, standing at the corner, wagging his index finger at a young boy.
