Page 135 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle

He was plainly already a familiar sight, as people stepped hastily off the road onto the grass edge, and waved to him as they passed. At the next stop, a child was waiting beside the churn platform, and handed a small parcel to Jobson, saying, ‘Ma says please can you put this into the post office when you’re done, and here’s tuppence for the post, and,’ she drew another package out of her apron pocket, ‘a piece of her currant cake for your trouble.’

‘Can’t your mother get into the village herself?’ Richard asked, from the cab window, while Jobson dealt with the churns.

She looked up at him, squinting against the light. ‘Her leg’s bad again, please sir. I’ve stopped off school to help with the little ’uns.’ She lingered to watch Jobson – the fascination of the new. Richard leaned out of the window to look back as they moved away, and saw her waving him vigorously off as though the lorry was an ocean liner.

When they got to the bad part of the road, Richard saw for himself how it slowed matters down. ‘Damnit, the road-menders couldn’t have done a very good job. I’ll have to get them back, and make sure they’re supervised this time.’

‘Can’t bump the old girl about too much,’ Jobson said. ‘Not just the springs, but your milk’d turn to butter, sir, by the time I got it back to the station. Oh, now what’s this?’

A horseman was coming along the centre of the road, and having just got up speed, Jobson was forced to stop.

‘It’s Lord Shacklock,’ Richard said. ‘I recognise the horse.’ A groom was riding behind him, and edged his horse out of the way, but his lordship’s mount was snorting and goggling at the unfamiliar dragon, and skittering in the nerve-racking way horses had, swinging first his quarters then his head across the road as his rider tried to keep him from bolting.

‘Better go really slowly,’ Richard said to Jobson. ‘I’ll get down, hold him.’

‘Ah, Tallant,’ Lord Shacklock called, as Richard slid himself out of the cab. ‘Well met, sir. I’d like a word or two, if you don’t mind.’

‘It’s going to put me out of time, sir,’ Jobson said, ‘if I have to wait for you.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Richard said, as he closed the door. ‘You go on, do your job, I can walk home from here.’

The horse shied from his hand, but as soon as he had hold of the rein it dropped its nose and seemed grateful for the reassurance. The lorry came creeping forward. There was one bad moment when, resenting being held back, the engine backfired with a noise like a gunshot and the horse jerked so hard in affront that it almost sat on its haunches. But then it was past, clattering and clanking away down the lane, and as peace returned the horse consented to stand still.

Still holding the rein in a precautionary manner, Richard looked up at Lord Shacklock and said, ‘You had something to say to me?’

‘About this milk scheme of yours.’ Shacklock, a long, bony, choleric man of sixty, was staring after the lorry. ‘Ash Valley Dairy? Bit presumptuous, ain’t it? Sounds as if you owned the whole damn’ valley.’

‘I’m looking to the future,’ Richard said. ‘Not to owning the land, of course, but to the time when every man with a herd sells his milk through me. And I thought it had a certain ring to it – Ash Valley milk.’

‘Ring be damned. Whatever made you think of such a thing?’ Shacklock said scornfully.

The horse was still twitching, shifting its forefeet, chumbling the bit and sending a generous stream of foamy saliva down Richard’s sleeve. He bore it patiently, and stroked the bay nose with his other hand. ‘I was taking drawing-room tea with a lady in Golden Square one day, and she was mourning the fact that you couldn’t get decent milk in London. I thought, Hey-ho, I have milk, and there’s a fast train straight from Canons Ashmore to Marylebone – the plan wrote itself, really.’

‘But you think it can pay?’ Shacklock said crossly.

‘There are millions of people in London all wanting milk,’ said Richard. ‘I can’t see how it can fail.’

‘Hmph. Well, I’ve been hearing things. People are talking. M’groom said Gregory of Shelloes has bought his wife a new hat, said it was milk-money. That something to do with you?’

Richard smiled. ‘I haven’t seen the hat in question, but I’d say it was. In order to get the thing moving, I’ve taken on all the costs of setting-up, and I’m paying the farmers straight away. I couldn’t expect them to wait for their money. But the price I’m getting in London is such that I think we should have cleared the costs and be making a small profit by the new year.’

‘But is this Stainton’s scheme, or yours?’

‘It’s my brother’s scheme, of course, but I’m running it for him. He has enough to do with the rest of the estate. He’s given me full powers.’

‘Good God,’ said Shacklock, not very flatteringly. He used the end of his crop to rub his nose thoughtfully, and finally cleared his throat. ‘Everyone with a herd, eh? You’d better come up to the Park and tell me about it.’

‘You’re thinking of joining the scheme?’

‘Steady the Buffs! Should need a lot more information about it before I decided. But perhaps, perhaps.’

Richard concealed his elation. ‘I’m sure we’d be happy to have you with us,’ he said. ‘But something would have to be done about your section of the road. Can’t have the lorries shaken about too much once the milk is on board.’

Shacklock harrumphed. He was notoriously bad at keeping up his roads. To divert the subject he said testily, ‘Lorries, lorries, what the devil are lorries?’

‘The motor-wagons that collect the milk and take it to the station. Speed is of the essence, as I’m sure you understand, which is why we went with motor-transport.’ He freed one hand to pull out his watch. ‘I must be on my way, now your horse seems quiet. I’ll pop into Ashridge Park some time when I’m passing with a few facts and figures, shall I?’

‘Tomorrow, at noon,’ Shacklock said, taking back the initiative and, before Richard could say whether that was convenient or not, wrenched his horse away with rein and heel and sent it on down the road at a butcher’s trot. The groom, as he passed Richard, rolled an eye at him in what might have been disdain, though it might just as well have been sympathy.