He talked to his neighbors. One of them, who was also in full possession of the tithes of his parish, stared at him in incomprehension when Geraint raised the matter. Tithes were a part of the whole establishment of the church. Church and state would collapse without them. And if one man refused to collect them on the grounds that he did not need them, then the whole fabric of society might crumble.
“One might almost call such a man a traitor,” the neighbor said severely.
It seemed extravagant to Geraint. But it was a disturbing idea that perhaps he was not free to act alone on a matter because it was something that concerned the whole of society. Perhaps at least he could see that the tithes were spent on the church—or, better still, on the chapel.
And all his neighbors were agreed that rising rents were desirable for all concerned. They trotted out arguments so exactly like Harley’s that Geraint realized anew why he was so envied in his steward. He could find no one sympathetic to the idea of lowering rents or at least freezing them for a few years until there had been a few good years for crops and until the demands of the market had improved.
“It is a mad idea and one you had better not institute, Wyvern,” Sir Hector Webb told him sharply. “You would not be popular with your relatives and friends, and your tenants would see you only as a weak man. They would not respect you for it.”
“It is just the sort of thing I would expect you to suggest,” Lady Stella said coldly. “You are still one of them at heart, are you not, Wyvern? But you must remember that according to Papa’s will, I will inherit Tegfan if you fail to marry and produce a legitimate heir.” She put slight emphasis on the adjective.
“Your aunt is right, Wyvern,” Sir Hector told him. “I would not take kindly to your wasting her inheritance.”
Geraint merely nodded. He refrained from arguing or from reminding them that he was only twenty-eight years old and perhaps capable of producing a dozen sons.
Life was not going to be easy.
Chapter 8
HE sought out Aled again, early one evening, entering the forge just when Aled was finishing work for the day and dismissing his apprentice. They walked into the park of Tegfan as they had before.
“You were right,” he said, bringing to an end the meaningless exchange of talk that had occupied them for a few minutes. “Things have not been well done since I inherited Tegfan. And I cannot plead ignorance, though I have been deliberately ignorant. My problem now is seeing a solution.”
Aled maintained a silence.
Geraint told him about his visits to his neighbors. “And it seems that I have no power over the road trusts at all,” he ended by saying. “Although I draw lease money from them, their actions are beyond my control. And even when the lease is due for renewal, mine is only one voice among many. I would be outvoted.”
Aled still said nothing and Geraint sighed.
“But the problem is mine, not yours,” he said. “You do not have a great deal of respect for me, do you, Aled?”
His friend shrugged and looked intensely embarrassed. “I can understand your situation well enough to know that I would not wish to be in your shoes,” he said.
“I will do what I can,” Geraint said. “When rent day approaches I shall do my best to see that there are no raises at the Tegfan farms.” He sighed. “But that will help only a few farmers out of hundreds in this part of Wales. It is a problem not only here but all over, is it?”
“Yes,” Aled said shortly.
“And what happens,” Geraint asked, “to the farmers who are driven off their land when they cannot afford the rents? They have to become laborers? They are employed on my own lands? Foolishly it is a question I have not yet asked Harley.”
“Perhaps it is he you should ask, then, Ger,” Aled said.
Geraint nodded. But he had a sudden thought. “You know a family by the name of Parry?” he asked. “They live up on the moors, I believe.”
“Yes,” Aled said, his jawline tightening. “I know them.”
“It is a last resort, moving up there,” Geraint said, “as I know from experience. What happened to them?”
He was afraid that he knew the answer. He almost wished he had not asked.
“Not all of them find work as your laborers,” Aled said dryly.
Geraint closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists at his sides. “I will do something,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Before rent day comes along there will be some changes. I am very much the enemy, aren’t I?”
“The numbers of those who were prepared to give you a chance has dwindled since the incident with Glyn Bevan,” Aled said. “It was not well done, Ger. He has little ones.”
“Glyn Bevan?” Geraint asked with some dread.
“A farmer cannot last very long when his horses and his cattle are taken from him,” Aled said, “and all in the name of a church he does not even attend.”
Tithes? But Geraint would not even ask what had happened. Obviously it was something that must have occurred since his own return to Tegfan, and therefore it was something he ought to know about. It seemed that his estate was running very well without him. He was almost superfluous—as he had set out to be two years ago, of course, when he had realized he was the owner of land he had poached on as a child. Land that brought back memories he did not want to harbor.
Yes, there were going to have to be some changes.
“Aled,” he asked, “what do you know about the, er, accidents that have been happening during the past week?”
“Accidents?” Aled looked instantly wary.
“Sheep grazing on the lawn before Tegfan,” Geraint said. “Coal tipped all over the driveway. Milk spilled all over the terrace. Mice in the dining room during dinner and the cat just happening to have escaped from the kitchen.”
“I imagine they are just that,” Aled said. “Accidents, man. They happen—even to peers of the realm.”
“I have the feeling,” Geraint said, “that the list is going to get longer as the days go on.”
His friend shrugged and Geraint nodded.
“At least,” he said, “whoever is organizing them appears to have a sense of humor. At least no hayricks have been burned yet. Rebecca does not roam these parts, Aled?”
His friend looked startled. “Rebecca?” he said. “Who is she?”
“If I did not know you,” Geraint said, “I would be under the impression that you are remarkably stupid, Aled. But I do know you. I would say conditions are ripe in these parts for her visits. Would you not agree?”
But Aled was tight-lipped again.
“Perhaps she has some justification too,” Geraint said. “But I would not take kindly to her visits. Perhaps you know someone to whom to pass along that message, Aled.”
“No,” his friend said. “I don’t.”
“If I were not who I am,” Geraint said, his voice brooding, “I might even follow her myself. Make myself into one of her daughters, perhaps. It is just the sort of thing I would have done as a boy, isn’t it? No, not quite. When I was a boy it would have been more like me to be Rebecca herself. With you as one of my daughters.” He grinned, but Aled was not amused. His face had paled.