Retribution

by Beverley Elphick

  Retribution

  Beverley Elphick

  Copyright © 2018 Beverley Elphick

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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  ISBN 978 1789019 049

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  For Martin, Elle and Alex

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Note

  The excerpts at the head of each chapter come from a variety of sources. Spellings and punctuation are as depicted at source. I have endeavoured to reproduce the original copy except in the case of the local newspaper where early editions used the letter ‘f’ to signify ‘s’.

  The difference in punctuation, style and spelling does not detract from the information contained which illustrates the conditions found in the late eighteenth century.

  ***

  I would like to thank the following people for their assistance in the creation of this novel:

  Catherine Stewart whose care and advice in editing Retribution resulted in a better book; Alison Green and Amanda Deadman who helped in many ways; Darryl Wratten, Julie Windless and Lyn Hayward, all dear friends who insisted on there being a sequel to Three Round Towers, as well as the many others who encouraged me.

  I would also like to thank all the people who bought Three Round Towers, read it and demanded to know more of Esther Coad.

  Part One

  May 1796

  Chapter One

  On Sunday last a respectable tradesman was going to his accustomed place of worship, when some rude fellows (who throng Cliffe Corner at these times) were throwing at each other, and a handful of garbage struck the individual referred to, and whose expostulations were grossly insulted for daring to be offended. Where are the police on these occasions is the question demanded by the ratepayers? I am, Sir, yours faithfully. AN INHABITANT

  Sussex Weekly Advertiser and Lewes Journal 1750/1806

  We wanted to be married with the sun on our backs, gladness in our hearts and no shadows from the past to haunt us. Wilf and I counted the days to our summer wedding as we prepared the cottage that Farmer Elwood had offered us, a place suitable for a married land agent and his wife - me, Esther Coad, spinster of the town of Lewes with a child, Beth, who had been born in tragedy but lived in love.

  Beth was the illegitimate daughter of my best friend Becca and our employer Farmer Coad. Becca had been violated by this evil man who was, I am ashamed to say, a member of my distant family. We had both worked together as servants at Coad Farm, Hamsey, near Lewes. Becca had been unable to bear her shame and the cruelty of the family and after birthing alone in the nearby church she drowned herself in the river Ouse above Lewes.

  Following a period of great distress, I had been made Beth’s guardian. Farmer Coad had been fined heavily for his sins, which included an attempt to implicate me in her death. At the direction of the court, he was forced to give me a sum of money for her upkeep. With his wife and three sons, he still lived at Hamsey and I did everything I could to avoid meeting them. The horror of the days when I had been falsely accused and jailed for Becca’s murder still hung heavily on me but, with the help of some good, kind people, I had overcome my sorrow and was raising Beth to be a happy, beautiful child who lived in comfort, surrounded by laughter as well as love.

  Most evenings Wilf and I tried to meet up at our new cottage and do our best to make it homely. Cecilia, Farmer Elwood’s wife and my closest friend, had opened her linen chest for me to pick some fabrics and offcuts from her old gowns and linens to make into a colourful warm bedspread. With coins I had saved from my work with Dr. Grieve, I bought cheap plain cotton for window curtains before embroidering a border for decoration. We had glass in our windows but there were still draughts and most of all I wanted us to be warm and snug. Wilf was honing his carpentry skills on the bed his parents had left him; the thick oak board at the top now had our initials carved into it and a surrounding garland of oak leaves – that, with my pretty spread and curtains, was enough to make it home.

  We giggled every time I felt it necessary to try the softness of the bed, and when he wanted to try it more thoroughly I was hard pushed to fend him off. Beth loved the cottage and wanted to stay every night; we planned to bring the little truckle bed from South Farm for her to sleep on and there was just room in the one good-sized upper room for all of us. There were two smaller box rooms for when she grew bigger and, perhaps blessed with little ones of our own, we thought we could build on to the back of the cottage, making another bedroom. We were fortunate to have so much room.

  It had been a glorious spring, so I was able to harvest some early sweet-smelling herbs and grasses before they bolted to seed, and it was these that I stuffed our mattress with. Luckily, I still had plenty from last year for the floor. I dried the new fresh ones in the sunshine ready for our wedding night and put the remainder in one of Farmer Elwood’s barns until the cottage was ready. I sprinkled some of my store of lavender in amongst last year’s crop; I didn’t want to overpower the grasses, but lavender in small quantities has a freshness about it and discourages the bugs.

  The cool spring eveni
ngs had been perfect for digging and planting our garden; I had already located some herbs that were not easily found in the hedgerows and replanted them for later medical use. Mr. Jenkins, Dr. Grieve’s gardener, had supplied me with many young plants and some saplings and they were all growing well. I used my papa’s apothecary notes to remind me what to plant and how to prepare and harvest although, essentially, I seemed to know just what to do. I clearly remembered my mother’s teachings, but it was good to refresh my knowledge and read his neat hand again.

  Life felt good and one evening when Dr. Grieve called at South Farm, it got even better because he asked me to resume my old employment as a midwife and nursing assistant. When Cecilia had been due to have her baby, I had returned to South Farm to be her nurse, companion and friend but young Frederic was strong and healthy now and I hankered for my work and the fulfilment it had given me. I had given up all nursing while caring for Cecilia and Freddie as I had little spare time for outside work, so I was enormously happy to return to my daily duties in the doctor’s home and to ride Flossy regularly again.

  ‘You really can’t wait, can you?’ Cecilia smiled at my efforts to contain my joy. ‘What about me, Freddie and Beth? Are we to be left to the ministrations of Mrs. Fisher?’

  She laughed at the guilt on my face. ‘Oh, Esther, I am only teasing, though I think I will rely on Mary-Jane and Cilla to be nursemaids rather than Mrs. Fisher.’

  I couldn’t resist rushing around to the stables to tell Flossy my news and it was while I was whispering into her velvety ears that Wilf came upon us. He certainly wasn’t pleased to hear my plans.

  ‘I can’t see why you be going back to Dr. Grieve. You be a married woman soon and will ’ave more than enough to do in our own home.’

  A chill struck my heart as he grumbled on. ‘Why can’t he employ someone proper, like?’

  ‘What do you mean, proper?’ I asked as anger surged through me.

  ‘Someone suited: an apothecary.’

  ‘I am proper. I am his apprentice; he teaches me,’ I declared.

  He looked straight at me, his face stiff with suspicion, which angered me even more.

  ‘And why is that, Esther, why you?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this, Wilf, let alone thinking it. What about the money I earn - good money that will make us more comfortable?’

  ‘I earn enough for the all of us, and I don’t want my wife trailing around after another man.’

  I was dumbstruck for the minute, especially as I recalled a barbed comment from the workhouse overseer who had taunted me with being the doctor’s fancy woman when I had criticised him some months previous.

  Flossy tossed her head and I caught her eye before I rounded on Wilf.

  ‘I have a job, I am good at it. Dr. Grieve values me for that reason alone and I have no intention of giving it up, so, if you think I will, then let me remind you – I am a nurse, and in due course I intend to be a midwife. If you can’t abide it then perhaps you should say so now, afore we wed.’

  I left him there, his face bearing that shut-down look that it has when he is cornered or angry. Fuming, I went back to the house and ran up to my room. I splashed my face with water from the jug, glancing in the mirror as I did so. My colour was high and I felt so angry at Wilf’s jealousy and expectation that I would be just another homely wife. Most women were not taught to do anything other than tend their own hearth, raise their children and have a meal on the table but I was being trained up, and I didn’t want to stop learning or putting my skills, particularly my herbal knowledge, to good use. I was more than capable of running our home, raising Beth and any other children that might come along and becoming - what I wanted most of all - a good midwife.

  I caught sight of my friend Becca’s comb and clutched it to my breast as hot angry tears coursed down my face. Becca had been dead and gone for a while now but this, her most prized possession, still had the power to comfort me. Thinking of her was enough to remind me that her child, Beth, needed me to be strong and capable. I would not be trammelled by men, even good men like Wilf. If he didn’t like it, he would have to put up with it or there would be no wedding and I would be sore sorry about that for I loved him, most of the time; but not when he was taken by his darker mood.

  I drew the comb through my ruffled hair and with a bit of prodding and fixing with pins I saw my face return to its normal colour. I liked to think of Becca’s spirit nearby; she soothed me. I dried my tears and pinched my cheeks to fetch some colour before going up to the nursery and the noisy prattle of Freddie and Beth who were running Mary-Jane ragged.

  The next day I was wakened early by the birds chirruping their chorus into the thin pale dawn. Having roused Beth and completed our toilet we stood at our window watching a shy sun soften the garden with pastel light. Later, I left Beth at her breakfast with Cilla and Mrs. Fisher before Mary-Jane came to take her up to the nursery to join Freddie. Mary-Jane had stayed on at South Farm after Beth was weaned; she helped in the kitchens or wherever she was needed. Fortunately for me she was very good with both babies and toddlers and Cecilia trusted her to act as nursery maid. She’d got rid of the nits, and her mother took care of her own little boy who was much too old to nurse. It was a good arrangement for her as she had a better and more reliable income than being a wet nurse whose milk could dry up at any moment.

  Once I was certain they were all settled for the day, I rushed to get Flossy from the stables. She was tacked and waiting with a bright gleam in her eye and as I stroked her quivering brown nose she whickered with pleasure. I used the mounting block to clamber onto her broad back. It wasn’t very graceful, but I was becoming quite adept. I didn’t ride as Cecilia did; I put my legs firmly astride which was much easier for me and my limpy leg. Gathering the reins, we turned out from the yard and trotted toward Lewes and Dr. Grieve’s house. He lived just behind the castle and I loved going there. I couldn’t help humming a little tune as I admired the beautiful day developing around me.

  The doctor’s workroom was in a state of complete disarray, so I spent a deal of time sorting medicants, bandages and instruments which had been sterilised but not stored as I liked. In short, I had to tidy up before I could begin to transcribe the pile of notes and add them to the patients’ particulars. By the time Dr. Grieve returned from his coroner’s duties in the town, Mrs. Jenkins was ready to serve a light lunch. We sat together, just as we used to; it all felt so familiar and right.

  ‘It is good to have you back here, Esther,’ said the doctor. ‘We have all missed your good cheer and industry. I hope we can continue like this?’ He raised an eyebrow, looking deep into my eyes and hopefully not seeing Wilf’s mean suspicions lurking there.

  ‘I am that pleased to be back and I can’t wait to get on with some proper nursing. Perhaps I could come with you on your rounds?’ I suggested eagerly. ‘I can catch up on the notes later, at home.’

  ‘In that case, since you are so keen, you can come with me to see Mrs. Thomas. She is having her first and presenting with some difficulties. We might need to better position the baby if it hasn’t done so naturally by now; it will be good experience for you.’

  As I pulled off my work apron, I couldn’t help thinking of Wilf’s previous sweetheart who had died in childbirth because her baby was positioned wrong and no-one had gotten help for her in time. I didn’t remind the doctor how I had accused him of ignoring patients who couldn’t pay. Perhaps my angry words had had some small effect because he had changed his ways a little since that horrible day. Wilf had been quite unkind to the poor girl who had begged him to help her. I later found out that she had taken up with a travelling carpenter sometime after Wilf stopped seeing so much of her. The carpenter had disappeared as soon as there was a child in the offing. Molly was one of the reasons I was so determined to become a good midwife. I had been deeply upset by the tragedy of her plight – two lives lost but for the
care she should have received. The lazy drunk who oversaw the workhouse and who left her to die should have been held to account.

  Mr. and Mrs. Thomas lived near the rectory in Glynde and as we pulled up in the trap, I saw someone at the window. The door was opened almost immediately by a pink-faced girl in a grey uniform.

  ‘I be that glad to see thee, Doctor. Missus is awful pained, and I didn’t rightly know what to do to ’elp her, like.’

  ‘Where is your master, girl?’ he asked as he gave her his hat.

  ‘He went off to stay at ’is brother’s house. He told missus she would be better off with all women about her. I don’t rightly know when ’e’ll be back. There’s only me and cook ’ere and whilst she be sure to know what to do, having six of her own, I don’t know naught about birthing.’ The poor girl looked as if she was about to cry, so I patted her arm and suggested that she prepare some water for the doctor’s hands and make some of my own herb tea. I gave her several twists, each containing a measure of a restorative brew. She couldn’t stop chattering and told us she thought the master would not come home until it was all over, and cook was doing her best, giving the missus some of his best brandy.

  Dr. Grieve grunted but made no comment as we mounted the stairs.

  Mrs. Thomas was not easy in her bed. She cried when we arrived, cried throughout the examination and cried when the doctor reassured her by saying that the baby was fine and only a little poorly positioned.

  The girl, Sarah, reappeared with the tea for the mother-to-be. Cook was following on behind and she insisted on giving the doctor her advice until he silenced her with a look.

  Gradually, we were able to calm our patient and I put my arms around her shoulders as Dr. Grieve prepared to manipulate the child in the womb. I nodded to Sarah and cook to leave us and Sarah, at least, looked only too ready to escape, whereas the cook clearly thought the good doctor wasn’t as experienced as she!