– Of course, your Lordship, I will answer all your questions," said the parson, glancing at the large wall clock: he had not expected the Count to be interested in such things, and he intended to finish his business quickly and return home to his sick daughter.
The Count of Draymore sat down in the armchair opposite the parson's chair. The Viscount settled himself on a nearby sofa.
– When I was in the village, I couldn't help but notice how many young children and women there were, and how few men," the Count began. – How could this discrepancy have come about?
– The fact is, your Lordship, that the past winter has brought a real tragedy to our village: many men, women and children have died of disease, and some have frozen to death in their own beds," replied the pastor, with a heavy sigh.
– How many people lived in the village before this winter? – asked Viscount Wilworth, who was interested in the parson's information.
– One hundred and ninety-five, sir.
– And there are one hundred and fifty-one left," said the Count thoughtfully. – It is sad, very sad.
– Yes, sir, it was a great loss, but we did not bury the dead until the beginning of March, as the ground was frozen. My parishioners are very religious, kind and charitable, their lives are devoid of many goods and comforts, but they all live in the fear of the Lord.
– What do the villagers live by?
The maid entered, carrying a tray with a teapot, cups and a large dish of toast. She placed the set on a low table in front of the parson, poured a cup of fragrant, freshly brewed tea and quickly left.
– Farming, Your Lordship: growing cereals, fruit, vegetables, looking after the livestock, fishing, baking bread, and in the summer tending the potato field. But two months ago, our mill went out of order and the peasants have to grind grain by hand," replied the pastor.
"What a disgusting Middle Ages!" – Lord Draymore thought with disgust, only now realising the enormous amount of money that would have to be invested in the development of this remote corner of the countryside. And the waste of money was not to his liking.
– Sir, our village loses people every winter, with more and more single mothers and orphans. There are very few young men left, no more than twelve, and they are mostly girls who have no one to marry, for there are no single men…" The parson thought of his own daughters. – Forgive me, sir, but I cannot stay long: my youngest daughter is ill, and I must be near her.