Retribution

by Beverley Elphick

  I felt very humbled to have been given such a beautiful present.

  We dressed Beth after me as we knew she would be unable to keep clean for very long. She wore a mint green dress which came to just above her ankles and was hemmed with yellow flowers which had been cut off one of Cecilia’s old dresses. A yellow sash with a big bow completed the picture. I handed her posy to her and she settled into pretending to be grown up; she understood the flowers were fragile and became calm and steady as we both walked down the main staircase towards our new life. Those still at the house were gathered around the front door and Farmer Elwood came forward to take my hand and help me into his best carriage with Beth at my side and Cecilia, with Freddie on her lap, opposite.

  The bells were ringing loudly as the horses stopped at the main door of the church and we climbed carefully down. We waited for Cecilia to take her seat in the family pew. Beth was clutching her bouquet to her chest and the three of us stood for a moment, collecting ourselves. My arm was linked with Farmer Elwood’s as we, with Beth, walked slowly and steadily down the aisle towards Wilf. I saw him twisting his hat in his hands but as I reached him he raised a smile that was as happy as could be. He whispered, ‘You look just beautiful, Esther. I am so proud to be your husband.’

  The minister, a fussy little man with a rather sharp manner, stepped forward to begin the service. Beth didn’t want to sit down; she wanted to be between us at the altar and I felt her little hand clutching my dress as we made our vows. I was so blissfully content and happy as I gazed into Wilf’s eyes knowing that I had almost everything I wanted: a man who loved me, a child who brought me joy beyond anything I could imagine, and now my own home.

  After the traditional marriage words were said and the replies made, a simple wedding ring (his mother’s), was placed on my finger. At that very moment there came a loud scraping noise and I turned abruptly to identify it. I heard the church door slam shut, and in the silence that followed a voice rang out - cold, and full of malice. The entire congregation swivelled to see who shouted in this place of God. Three men were standing side by side at the far end of the aisle, facing us; they all carried weapons. The man in the centre was smaller than the other two and there was something familiar about him. I couldn’t understand why they were there. I saw that their muskets were drawn and aimed at us but for what purpose? Were we all to be robbed? Apart from the Elwoods, there was no-one present with great riches, we would make poor pickings. Then my confusion turned to horror as I recognised the man in the centre, a face I could never mistake anywhere. My Aunt Tilly saw the look on my face and roared with mocking laughter. Her hair was hacked short and she was dressed mannish. She made a good man, I’ll say that for her. Then, with spite oozing out of her, she threatened everything that I held dear.

  ‘Aye, it’s me, good old Aunt Tilly,’ she shouted. ‘And now I am going to do to you what you did to me.’ She raised her arm, a musket pointed from her shoulder directly at Wilf.

  ‘No,’ I screamed, unable to move, as she lowered the muzzle slowly towards Beth who was standing in a patch of sunlight, her arms wide and welcoming. She had clearly recognised Tilly, but not understanding the meaning of her words nor the threat of their weapons, she had started to totter towards her, a bright smile on her happy little face.

  ‘Aye, niece, I’ll take that girl from you in payment for what you took from me,’ said Tilly. ‘My sons, my two fine boys.’

  I found my voice, though it cracked with fear as I yelled back at her, ‘I didn’t kill them, it was you, you and your wicked, evil ways, that’s what killed them. It was your own fault for raising them in your mould.’

  For a moment, I thought she was listening and I felt Wilf shift from my side, briefly blocking my vision, but then she fired the musket, leaving the stink of gunpowder and a great cloud of thick black smoke billowing through the air. As quickly as they came, they were gone. The door slammed shut again and all the candles flickered as my heart contracted in shock.

  There was a brief moment of silence then panic ensued with people screaming and scrambling to leave.

  ‘Beth, Beth!’ I cried, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. All I could see was the discarded posy of flowers and Wilf spread out before me on the stone floor. The door started slamming again and again as I cast about in a frenzy, thinking she might have run into the congregation, but the pews were emptying with people rushing to get away. Afterwards, when it was all over, I was to think how strange it was that people wanted to flee when my aunt and her companions had only just left and might still be outside, waiting.

  I fell onto Wilf, trying to pull him up from the cold stone, screaming that he had to find Beth. He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes unfocused, as he whispered, ‘Is she shot?’

  It was only then that I saw her, sprawled beneath his body and soaked in blood. As I reached for her, I realised the blood was not hers but his. He had lunged forward to throw himself in front of Beth as Tilly had fired and had taken a musket ball in his chest.

  ‘Help me, help me,’ I screamed, as I tore at his clothes trying to get to his bare skin. Hands lifted and pulled me away while Farmer Elwood and Billy saw to Wilf’s wound. I remember catching sight of the minister backing away from us all, as if we were the devil come to life in his church.

  Beth and I were carried out bodily and put in the carriage, which returned to South Farm at great speed with those of the remaining congregation who were on horseback surrounding us. Cecilia held me, trying to soothe, reassuring me that Wilf would be in good hands and a doctor had been sent for.

  Beth was wailing loudly, unsure of what had happened, terrified by all the blackening sticky stuff spoiling her pretty dress, and crying out for Wilf, left lying on the cold floor of the church. The shock was too much. I collapsed, harrowed by the fact and speed of such violence on our happiest day. I fainted away, all the while hearing Cecilia’s voice and Beth’s cries as they receded into darkness.

  Later, I rallied when someone burned a feather under my nose. I found myself surrounded by friends with Beth clinging desperately to me, sobbing piteously.

  ‘Wilf?’ I whispered, as I remembered.

  ‘He lives,’ said Farmer Elwood. ‘His injuries are severe, but the doctor has hope. He is comfortable but unconscious.’

  ‘Dr. Grieve?’ I asked, my spirits suddenly leaping.

  ‘We don’t know where he is, Esther, but the new man seems to be capable.’

  I wasn’t reassured and started to cry.

  ‘What are his injuries?’ I asked, even though I had seen the mess that was his chest.

  ‘One gunshot to the chest area. The ball has been taken out and every effort has been made to stop the bleeding. He is a strong man, Esther, he has every chance, and the doctor was soon there to stem the wound. Luckily Billy found the new man at Dr. Grieve’s home.’

  I remembered the wife’s dirty cap and had no confidence in the man. Where was Dr. Grieve, just when I needed him most?

  Chapter Eight

  A few weeks ago, a midwife stood in the pillory, at VIENNA she having been convicted of drowning several new-born infants, and Embezzling the money entrusted to her for procuring them a reception at the Foundling Hospital of that city. She is to be imprisoned for Life, and will receive 100 lashes annually.

  Sussex Weekly Advertiser and Lewes Journal 1750/1806

  We were locked into a living nightmare. Wilf was carried from the church on a table found in the vestry and removed to Farmer Elwood’s home. Men from the farm carried him with props slotted through the runners and it must have been a hard task, for he was a stocky man and it was a fair way to the farm on foot. I did what I could for him after pulling myself together. Gradually, he seemed to rally, and I asked that we be allowed to move to our new cottage where I could focus on bringing him back to health. Cecilia wanted Beth to remain with Freddie in his nursery, allowing us time to ourselves and
not to be subjected to the privations of a sick room. I reluctantly agreed, despite not wanting to be separated after having so nearly lost her. Cecilia pointed out that my aunt had not been caught and would remain a threat to Beth.

  ‘She will be safer with us than with you, Esther,’ she said.

  Once again Wilf was carried on his church table to our cottage. I made him comfortable downstairs by the fire. I was unable to bring our own bed down to him, so the table was used as a makeshift sickbed, and with help, I lifted him, unconscious, and slid a pallet and linen beneath him. I nursed him to the best of my ability, never leaving, constantly turning, cleaning, feeding, trying everything that might help bring him back to full consciousness. I used every herb and every skill I had ever learned: herbs to clot the blood, herbs to knit bone and herbs to restore vitality. I scoured my pa’s notes for any scrap of knowledge that I might have forgotten.

  Days passed and Wilf regained consciousness but never really engaged again with those of us who loved him. On one of the few occasions when he struggled to speak, he mumbled, ‘They got me pa and now they’ve got me.’ I tried to make him believe that he had every chance of regaining his health, but he had lost heart, while the pain and infections that set in and got control reduced him to skin and bone as his life ebbed away. I brought Beth to see him towards the end and he touched her briefly as he smiled at me. Wilf died four weeks after we were married. He fell asleep, his breath rasping in his chest and gradually slowing until he drew no more. I sat with his body for a long time; even in death I didn’t want to share him. We had never been together as man and wife. How I regretted now that I had not loved him properly before our marriage.

  After the funeral, which was attended by all the farming families and their workers, Farmer Elwood hosted a wake for Wilf. Hundreds of people came, many of them staring at me and Beth, probably wondering how much more trouble I could bring to this place. I was grateful to everyone who honoured my husband, but I just wanted to go home to our little cottage where we could have been happy. During the wake, I was approached by a constable from the town and told that my aunt had melted into the countryside and no one knew where she was. The town was in uproar at this further atrocity from her and I was reassured that it was only a matter of time before she was taken. An even larger reward was being offered for her capture which was probably the only hope of getting her back in court, this time for murder.

  During the many lonely nights that were to follow I would cast my mind back to the time when Beth and I were in Southease Church for another wedding, albeit one forced upon me. Twice I had been taken to the altar, twice Beth and I had been the victims of violence, and twice men had died. My cousins shot down by the preventative men and soldiers, and now, my lovely Wilf, another victim of my accursed life. Would there never be an end to it?

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  A kitchen, near the market house in this town (Lewes) was on Wednesday left open for the sale of cheap soup, and several hundred messes of a pint and a half each, at 1 penny per mess, were disposed of and gave general satisfaction. The above kitchen, we understand, is to be open for the sale of soup to all the inhabitants of the Borough, the Cliff and South Malling, on every Wednesday and Saturday,

  Sussex Weekly Advertiser and Lewes Journal 1750/1806

  Beth and I did our best to make a home in the cottage after Wilf died but I feared it could not last long. As his agent’s tied cottage, the place was far too large and important to Farmer Elwood. No matter, I carried on as if it were our permanent home. What else could I do? I had no money coming in, just some small savings, though I had found some coins that Wilf had secreted away. Even with these, I knew it wouldn’t last long. I asked Farmer Elwood if I was entitled to it, as I was Wilf’s widow. He reassured me that there was no-one else who should benefit; he suggested I keep it and sell anything that might raise some funds for us. He offered to put any money that was over our daily needs into the farm safe, which I was glad to take advantage of. My spirits were low, and I thought my existence threadbare, but I tried to keep this to myself; it was only in the late evening when Beth had been put to bed that I indulged in the misery that followed our loss.

  As the nights darkened and the season ground towards its autumn finale I often felt cold and desolate. At times, I laid my head upon the table instead of going to our bed to sleep. I was comforted knowing that Wilf’s essence was there, embodying all that was left of him; and if it was what I needed to console me, then so be it. The table top was made up of three flat, broad planks, such as would have come from an oak tree. It was a rich mellow brown and scarred with chips and digs as well as tankard marks. The stretchers were worn with use and I wondered if it had come originally from a public house and - as it was clearly very old - what life it had seen before Wilf breathed his last on it. In a moment of weakness, I told Cecilia about the table and how I felt that it had something of Wilf in it and that it gave me comfort. She seemed shocked by my revelation and I could see she was concerned for my state of mind. I felt the same about the table as I did about Becca’s comb.

  I missed Dr. Grieve and the society of Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. As I no longer needed Flossy for work, Farmer Elwood had put her back amongst his other horses and when I went to the stables at South Farm, she was often absent, so I missed her too. I missed the patients who made up Dr. Grieve’s workload: some were healthy but thought themselves ill; others were poorly but thought themselves well. Even the fashionable ladies who came because they had little else to do and wanted a man like him to admire them, I missed them too. I couldn’t see a future for myself and I sometimes wondered if I should try and contact Dr. Grieve and accept his offer of ‘closest companion’. At least I would have security for me and Beth, housing and work, I thought bitterly. What good had my chastity and good name done me? I was beginning to know through my own painful situation that women sometimes need to tread many paths to feed and protect their children, maybe some not to their liking or choice. Why should I think I was different? The approval of society doesn’t put food on the table and it was not my place to look down on those women who have been driven by circumstance to do what was necessary to survive. I could imagine that I might yet become one of them.

  One late October day, I made my way, on foot, to Mrs. Makepiece’s. I had heard that Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins were taking tea there and had asked me to join them all. I was feeling particularly low because Cecilia had told me that the letter Farmer Elwood had sent to an address in Venice for Dr. Grieve had been returned marked as ‘unknown’. She thought that he had either not arrived or changed his mind about going there and assured me that the letter would be sent out again to the other addresses that he had given her husband. She looked a little crestfallen at giving me this news, but she had no idea that the doctor and I had parted so awkwardly, so I had to pretend a disappointment to match her own. It was only later that I realised how downcast it actually made me.

  Mrs. Makepiece had made a lardy cake and we all took tea - I didn’t ask where it had come from and the information wasn’t volunteered. We talked about the town news before Mrs. Jenkins pulled me to one side and confided in a low voice that she had a parcel for me and that I wasn’t to open it until I was at home. She told me that she had been approached by the new doctor’s wife, Mrs. Crabbe, and that I was to take any parcels that she might send me by Mrs. Jenkins, read the content and return them as soon as possible. I was dumbfounded that this woman, whom I barely knew and had judged so harshly was prepared to help me in going against her husband’s direct wishes, and such a husband at that, a bully and mean-spirited man if ever I saw one. The documents were all relating to health matters that I might have an interest in when I try and resume my nursing. I felt humbled that someone would put herself at risk for me, and that Mrs. Jenkins would agree to act as a go-between and thereby risk her own livelihood.

  When I got home and had put Beth to bed I sat by the light of a
precious candle and read every single word and, where I was unclear of meaning, I copied whole sentences for later study. I read a treatise on infection and how to minimise risk, as well as case studies of midwifery and reasoned arguments between physicians in the form of letters. Oh, how it lifted me up. I ventured to hope that my worst had come and gone, and I could climb out of this despondency and get on with a meaningful life, a life of nursing. All my ideas about establishing a cottage with accommodation for lying-in mothers who were medically unfit to have their babies alone in their own homes would have to wait; probably for years, if at all, but at least I could offer support in their homes. My care would be better care than the old women, those ‘Mother Midnights’, who still did their worst with their dirty manners, hands and clothes; these same old women who might have just returned from laying out a diseased body. There were two of them in our area and their ways filled me with horror. One woman I heard of regularly in Lewes drank heavily and encouraged her expectant mother to do so as well, almost to the point of insensibility. She was often seen to lay out the dead and then move straight on to pull an infant from its mother. She was rough in her handling and her fingers grimed with muck and human soil. Dr. Grieve, in his role as Coroner, had done his best to drive such women away from birthing. He regularly saw the results on his examination table when called upon to pass judgement on the death of mother or child or, tragically, both.

  On that first night, after I had packaged up the papers and slipped a tiny tablet of pressed rosemary soap in amongst them, I went to my bed and slept soundly for the first time since Wilf had died. Mrs. Jenkins told me later that she had come to admire the little woman who was Mrs. Crabbe. She did not go into detail, but it appeared that the doctor’s wife took every opportunity to counteract her husband’s dictatorial ways; her nervous energy was turned to mending and healing relationships that suffered under his arch manner. He was courteous enough in attitude to his paying patients, so very few realised how objectionable he could be to his own household. I thanked heaven for Mrs. Crabbe and was pleased to think of her as my friend. When I returned the papers to Mrs. Jenkins, I always included a little unsigned note and, on occasions, a homemade gift of lip salve or more scented soap. Beth and I had often pressed flowers in the summer and it pleased me to pass on to her one of these tokens of happier days.