Page 46 of Impetuous

“Eely,” Crispin drew out the word, making a face. He was hanging out the window across from Cassandra, with Olivia right behind him, maneuvering to see. He turned to Olivia and made a snaky movement with his hand. “Better watch out, Livvy, or the eels’ll get you.”

“Not anymore,” Sir Philip commented with a smile. “But you are right, Crispin, the name did come from the word eels. Ely used to be an island rising up out of the fens all around, and the eels in the water were the staple of the local people’s diet.”

“It’s where Hereward the Wake hid out for years, fighting the Normans,” Cassandra told her brothers.

“Yes, until some of the monks got tired of hiding him and showed the conquerors the way in through the fens,” Philip added.

“Can we go inside?” Olivia asked.

“It is reputed to be beautiful,” Cassandra commented.

“It is. And I promise that one day soon we will make a trip here. It isn’t too far from Haverly House. But today I think we should continue.”

“Yes, you are probably right,” Cassandra agreed.

Crispin nodded. The excitement of their journey had worn off somewhat over the past couple of days, even for the boys.

After they passed through the small cathedral town, Cassandra continued to gaze out the window, fascinated by the new landscape. “It is so unusual here. So flat. And what is that odd, long mound over there on the left? It seems to have been running on for miles.”

“It has. It is a river.”

“What?”

“The banks of the rivers are higher than the land around them. You see, this all used to be marshland, but when they drained the marshes in the seventeenth century, it left the land much lower than the banks of the rivers. They had to build up the banks of the rivers to keep them from overflowing.”

“But why did they drain them?” Crispin asked, disappointed. “I would have liked to see the swamps.”

“So you shall. There is still a fen left on our lands. The Neville of that time—the father of Sir Edric, the one who was affianced to your Margaret—did not approve of draining the fens. When the Earl of Bedford brought Vermuyden in to drain the land, my ancestor held out. Of course, eventually he died, and his son, the much despised would-be groom, hired another Dutchman to drain our lands, too. Out of respect for his father, however, he did leave a small portion of the fens intact. I shall take you there while you are at Haverly House.”

“But why?” asked Crispin. “I don’t understand why they wanted to get rid of the fens.”

“Economics, dear boy. As your sister will tell you, we Nevilles have an eye toward money. The land left when the marshes were drained is very rich, black, arable soil. Instead of acres and acres of unproductive fens, we now have acres and acres of farmland, all leased or sold and making profits.”

“I wish I could have seen it the way it used to look.”

“You know, Crispin, I wish I could have, too.” Sir Philip looked a trifle wistful. “I always enjoyed the time I spent on Blackley Fen.”

“What are all these windmills?” Olivia asked. “Why are they here and why are there so many of them?”

“To pump the water out of the fens. They are no longer used, of course. Now they use steam engines for the pumps, but in the seventeenth century they were all over, driving the huge pumps that kept the fens from reclaiming the soil. Many of them were torn down after they went out of use, but there are many of them still standing.”

“It’s fascinating,” Cassandra breathed. “It looks…almost foreign.”

“There are those who say that fen country is a world unto itself.”

In a little more than two hours, they turned off the road and started up the lane leading to Haverly House. The lane was shaded by a row of stately silver birches on either side, and among them grew masses of rhododendrons, delighting the eye with great splashes of red, purple and blue. Cassandra drew in her breath with astonished pleasure, and Sir Philip smiled, pleased by her reaction.

“This is beautiful!” she exclaimed, craning her neck this way and that to take in all the color.

In the distance the trees ended before a magnificent gray stone house, its stately walls softened with ivy. Cassandra felt a stab of pleasure at the beauty of the estate, but mingled with it was regret that their journey was over. The three days had been tiring, but they had been wonderful, too—spent largely in Sir Philip’s company and largely out of her aunt’s and Joanna’s. She knew that it could not be the same once they were inside his house.

The massive double doors were opened by liveried footmen before the carriage came to a halt, and by the time the vehicle had stopped, a footman was there to fold down the steps and open the door. A tall man with a yellow, cadaverous face and a wealth of thick white hair descended the steps of the house with great dignity.

“Good day, Sir Philip. Welcome home,” he said gravely, bowing.

“Good day, Shivers. These are my guests, Lady Cassandra Verrere, Lady Olivia, Lord Chesilworth, and there, in the driver’s seat, is Master Hart. No doubt you will think you are seeing double. His lordship and Master Hart are twins.”

“Of course, sir.” The butler bowed gravely toward the two young boys. Even Hart seemed subdued by his dignity.