It was a slight, and I saw Downall’s expression turn grim, but Mallinson nodded at him, and he skulked reluctantly out of the door. When he had gone it was as if the whole room exhaled. I kept my mouth shut. I secretly hoped the committee would turn Thomas Fanshawe down, for how could there be a future for me with Kate, if her husband was to return?
‘Constable Mallinson, what can we do to ensure the Fanshawes retain their rights to the land?’ Kate asked, tapping her fingers impatiently on her knee. Oh Lord. I was right.
‘Nothing certain,’ Mallinson answered. ‘There is such a tower of correspondence from Cromwell over the conditions and exceptions. God’s eyes, it might take months to wade through it all.’ He looked to his son. ‘Jacob is helping me, but still, it’s a mound of work, and haven’t I got enough to do already?’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but we cannot make any guarantees. Your husband needs to sign a number of different agreements, and there is the question of whether Parliament owns the farm tenancies —’
‘The tenant farmers? Are they not secure?’ I could not be quiet, knowing my own livelihood was at stake.
‘There’s no reason why the tenants should not remain. Though there will be inspections to make sure they are suitable — that they support Puritan values and the new regime.’
‘Who will be making these inspections?’ I asked, already fearing the answer.
‘On this estate? Jack Downall.’
9 - IN REMEMBRANCE
For a few days Cutch and I kept out of everyone’s way, tilling the land in the scorching heat. I had no heart for anything. I thought of Kate all the time, wondered whether she ached as I did. But she did not approach us, so I had no way of knowing. We had not spoken alone since our argument about the Diggers. Twice a boy came from the town with letters, and I wondered if they were instructions from Cromwell now that the King had fled, or letters from Thomas to Kate. I did not like the thought of him writing to her. But nobody came to tell us anything, so I just carried on, with a great hole in my chest, as though someone had unearthed a boulder there.
I watched Downall and his men from a distance, crawling over the land like locusts, as they inspected the tenants’ cottages. Mother told me they had been there the previous night, asking leading questions about their allegiance to Cromwell or the Crown. Mother had given them short shrift, told them her husband died for the Lord Protector, and surely that was good enough?
On Sunday we left from Mother’s house for church where we were to give thanks for the lives lost in the recent troubles. The pews were packed with weeping women, the sun shining onto their black-clad shoulders; the church stifling with the smell of wool and sweat. We spotted Abigail near the front, and went to join her. Cutch shuffled in, his hat in his hands, and sat next to me and Mother. I scanned the congregation, but saw no sign of Elizabeth.
At the side of the church in the Fanshawe box, I could see Kate in profile, her head bowed. She glanced my way, and when she saw me watching her she snapped her head back. Even from here, it was as if invisible lightning crackled between us. I couldn’t get over the fact she had betrayed me, ridiculed my ideals.
Abigail was peering down the pews, and at the front, I saw Jacob’s head turn to give her a smile and mouth, ‘later’. She nodded vigorously, and tried not to look too pleased. Constable Mallinson, who was next to Jacob, turned and frowned at us, and cupped his hand to whisper something in Jacob’s ear.
When the parson read out the list of names of the deceased, my mother gripped my hand tight. So many men, names I’d known since childhood. Henson the baker, Enwright the cobbler, Mr Johnson the ostler at the Three Tuns. Mother’s shoulders heaved with sobs as Father’s name was read out. I squeezed her hand but she withdrew it to dab at her eyes. A movement alerted us to the fact that Cutch was crying too. His cheeks were wet and he was scraping away the tears with his sleeve. Mother stared at him a moment as if she’d only just registered his existence, then she handed him a kerchief, empathy softening her expression.
The prayers were long, and my knees numb with kneeling before it was over. Those near the front of the church stood to go, and Kate was one of the first to leave. She darted a look my way, and smiled to Abigail and my mother, but I studiously ignored her. When she’d gone I let out my breath and wished my heart did not pain me so much.
Outside the church a knot of people had gathered to give thanks to the parson and to express their sympathies to each other. I heard Mother say to Cutch, ‘Did you know my husband well?’ and Cutch’s reply, ‘I would not be here at all, were it not for him.’
‘Tell me,’ she said. And he offered her his arm. She paused only an instant, before slipping her arm in his. I watched them walk away together down the path.
‘Abigail —’ I touched her shoulder to get her attention. I wanted to talk to her about Kate. But Abigail paid me no attention. Her eyes were fixed on Jacob Mallinson and his father who were arguing in low tones over by the graveyard wall. We watched as Constable Mallinson threw us a sidelong look and then tried to persuade Jacob to leave.
Jacob turned his back on his father and strode over, a worried look on his face. His father slapped his riding crop on his thigh in annoyance and was soon trotting away.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Abigail said, when Jacob arrived.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘Yes it is,’ Abigail said. ‘It’s about me, isn’t it? I read his lips.’
Jacob sighed. ‘He thinks we’re not a suitable match. He doesn’t want me to see you again.’
‘Why? What’s he got against Abigail?’ I asked. ‘Aren’t the Chaplins good enough for him?’ He’d struck a nerve, and my anger was quick to rise.
‘Calm down Ralph. No, it’s not that.’
Abigail was watching him with a resigned expression. Her shoulders slumped, the light in her eyes died. ‘It’s because I’m deaf.’ Her mouth trembled. ‘I’m right aren’t I?’
‘I told him,’ Jacob said, ‘tried to reason with him, but he thinks it a curse,’ he turned to me, ‘he thinks it a sign that God does not favour her. He’s adamant. I tried all last night to change his mind, but he’d have none of it.’
‘Your father’s right,’ Abigail said, two spots of red on her white cheeks. ‘I would not want to bring you down.’
‘Bring me down? Don’t be foolish.’ Jacob was quick to protest. He took hold of both her hands. ‘Of course you would not bring me down!’
‘We’ll call on your father,’ I said. ‘Make him see sense. If he could get to know Abigail a little better, then he’d see how little difference it makes.’
‘What if he won’t receive me?’ Abi brushed her cheek with her sleeve, where a stray tear had trickled down.
Jacob cupped her face, and wiped the tear gently away with his fingertips. ‘Hush. I’m not giving up yet. Ralph’s right, if you could persuade your mother to come with us … she’s a gentlewoman, and might reassure my father of your good background, add weight to our cause. Do you think she might be willing?’
‘I can ask her, and I’m sure she’ll say yes. It’s just that, the news has only just come about my father, and it wouldn’t be seemly for her to be seen to be socialising so soon.’
‘Oh.’ Jacob was crestfallen. ‘Of course. I’m so very sorry. Maybe we should wait …’
‘No, I couldn’t bear to wait,’ Abigail said. ‘I’ll go and talk to her tonight.’
‘And Ralph …?’
‘Yes?’
‘Like most of the villagers, Downall’s fallen on hard times, and my father’s trying to help him. They are old friends. It won’t help our cause if you make an enemy of him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s all round the village that you had a fight with Downall at the Manor. Stay away from him. My father grew up with him, and they go back a long way. For my sake and Abi’s sake, just keep away from him.’
At that moment the Fanshawes carriage drew up beside us, and the coachman opened the door for Abig
ail. I caught a glimpse of Kate’s unhappy face before she turned to look out of the other window.
‘I must go,’ Abigail said.
Jacob kissed her hand. ‘I’ll see you on your day off on Thursday. Noon at the market cross.’
‘I’ll be there.’
In one swift movement Jacob pulled her to him and hugged her hard. ‘Keep safe.’
Abigail was reluctant to leave, her eyes were fixed on Jacob as she climbed in next to Kate. But the coachman applied his whip and the horses trotted off. Jacob stared after it until the noise of the wheels died away.
‘Will you be able to persuade your father, do you think?’ I asked.
He sat down heavily on the wall. ‘I don’t know. He says he’ll cut me off, that he’ll stop paying my mercer’s apprenticeship if I carry on. And my mother backs him up. She thinks a deaf girl will be no good for my business, and wouldn’t be able to manage as a Constable’s wife. It would be a meagre marriage without their blessing, and my father’s stubborn as hell.’
‘You’d better persuade him then. Because it’s all your fault. You’ve led her on. And you’d better not hurt her, or you’ll regret it.’
‘Don’t be like that with me. What’s the matter with you? You’re angry as a bear over something, and I can’t stomach it. I’ve said, I’ll talk to my father.’
And with that, he strode away.
The marriage of a Chaplin girl to the Mallinsons could only improve our family fortunes, yet something in me resisted the dealings with dowry and coin it would entail. Abigail was right, women should not be valued in coin. I thought regretfully of Winstanley and his Diggers pamphlets, and that so few thought the way we did.
I hoped Mother would not get too excited on hearing marriage plans were in the air. Not only were Jacob’s parents against it, but the other stone in the shoe was Elizabeth. What a weasel she was, plotting to sweet-talk Jacob. Poor Abigail, did she not have problems enough, without a scheming sister like Elizabeth to add to them all?
10 - THE MATCHMAKERS
Two days later I pounded the iron knocker on Constable Mallinson’s substantial oak door. Mother and Abigail stood nervously to one side, with Abigail frowning at my boots which were thick with farm dust and needed cleaning.
Jacob opened the door, smart in snowy white shirt and doeskin breeches. He smiled reassuringly at Abigail. ‘Come in, come in!’
Abigail stood aside to let Mother and I go in first over the polished stone step. Mother looked thin in the customary black mourning dress, with her hair covered with a black linen coif which made her face appear even more grey and wan than usual. Abigail pressed her lips together in worry. Jacob led us indoors to where his parents stood waiting in the parlour, before a blazing fire. They were dressed in what were obviously their finest clothes, starched and pressed to perfection. The heat was oppressive, and the fire completely unnecessary in summer, but I knew it was designed to give the impression they had money to burn.
With frustration, I saw it was working. My mother was visibly shrinking further into herself, at the sight of them.
‘Come on, Mother,’ I said in bracing tones, leading her by the arm.
Where was the commanding woman who used to entertain wealthy gentlemen in our fine house? But I knew the answer. That woman had been vanquished by fire, and war and widowhood.
I caught Abigail’s eye, gave her a half-smile. I could almost see her thoughts, that Mother did not look very impressive next to the solid, plumpness of Mrs Mallinson, and that I looked like what I was — a tenant farmer.
I bowed, doffed my hat, and wished them a polite good evening.
‘This is Mrs Chaplin, Father,’ Jacob said. ‘And you know Ralph.’
Constable Mallinson’s look was enough to let me know he remembered me from my time in his cells, and that it was not a savoury memory.
‘Pleased to meet you, and may I express my condolences.’ Constable Mallinson made a light bow towards my mother, but did not actually meet her gaze.
‘It’s quite all right …’ Mother tailed off anxiously, seeking Abigail’s eyes.
Constable Mallinson indicated where we should sit. He had drawn up three chairs for the ladies next to the fire, but even the roaring blaze was not enough to stem Abigail’s anxiety; she had not been properly introduced, and was twisting her hair in her fingers, a flush of red embarrassment staining her neck and cheeks.
Mother had barely had time to spread her skirts on the chair when Constable Mallinson began. ‘I know that Jacob’s grown fond of Abigail, but we think these matrimonial matters are not to be entered into lightly.’
‘No indeed,’ Mother said, too quick to agree.
‘Jacob will inherit this house, and of course will take on my mercer’s business as soon as his apprenticeship is done, in say four years. Isn’t that right Jacob?’
‘If I pass out well enough,’ Jacob said, looking modest.
‘Oh you will, you will. He’s a hard worker my Jacob. I’m right proud of him.’
‘Oh, Father —’
‘And it’s just like him that he’s decided to stand for the constabulary. A chip from the old block.’ He smiled fondly at Jacob. ‘Though you understand it’s not easy. You deal with all manner of felons and wrong-doers in my position.’
I could swear he was meaning me, but I said nothing and tried to look innocent.
‘And the wife of a constable is an important position in our community,’ Mrs Mallinson said. ‘She has to put up with the screams of drunkards coming from the cells next door. Not to mention sharing a roof with murderers and being woken all hours, cooking meals that never get eaten, never knowing where her husband has got to —’
‘That will do, Jane.’ Mr Mallinson cut her off. ‘All told, the mercer’s shop and the Constabulary will be a substantial living.’
‘A substantial living,’ echoed Mrs Mallinson.
‘To show gratefulness for the good years to come, we would expect any marriage prospect to bring a dower box to the value of … shall we say twenty five pounds?’
Silence. I looked at Mother uncomfortably. It was a sum we could not hope to match, and Abigail’s slumped shoulders showed she knew it too.
‘It’s only half of what he’d expect in a year,’ Mrs Mallinson said.
It made me angry.
‘I don’t see why we should not manage that, in time,’ I said, thrusting out my chest.
Mother and Abigail both raised their heads and gawped at me as if I had lost my wits.
I blundered on, buoyed by the sudden flicker of hope in Abigail’s eyes. ‘With Lady Fanshawe’s permission I intend to expand my father’s land,’ I boasted, ‘and I aim to grow some of the new crops — the clover and alfalfa that the Dutch speak so highly of.’
Constable Mallinson stepped away from the fireplace where he had been leaning on the mantel. ‘But surely Jack Downall is in charge up at the Manor? Thomas Fanshawe and I agreed it. What does he think of your new-fangled crops? You can’t expect Lady Fanshawe to know anything about it, she’s but a chit of a girl.’
‘On the contrary. Lady Fanshawe seems to know exactly what she is doing with the estate. And she gave me the impression that Downall’s position is only temporary,’ I said, knowing full well it was just my own wishful thinking. Constable Mallinson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I’ve agreed with her — I plan to use a fourfold rotation. This will yield more profit per acre.’
‘Fourfold rotation? This isn’t some ridiculous Diggers notion is it?’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ Jacob said, hovering behind Abigail’s chair, and anxious to preserve the peace.
I crashed on, ‘We could pay you the dowry in instalments —’
‘How long?’ Constable Mallinson interrupted.
‘Five years.’
It was a rash promise I had no idea if I could keep, but it silenced Constable Mallinson. He pursed his lips, went back to the mantel to fill his pipe. Jacob and I sat ourselves down on the settle under the windo
w, but Abigail and my mother stayed motionless on their hard chairs, perspiring in the heat of the fire, whilst Constable Mallinson sucked and spat and puffed, a stubborn set to his lowered brows.
‘Two,’ he said. ‘If you can do it in two then we might be talking.’
‘Joseph!’ Mrs Mallinson leant over to whisper urgently behind her hand to her husband. ‘There’s still the issue of her … her …’
‘I know, I know,’ he hissed, as if we were all deaf. ‘Leave it to me, woman.’
I saw Abigail’s intent gaze watching Mrs Mallinson’s lips as she pressed him. ‘Ask her. Ask her, will she be able to do everything a proper wife should?’
Constable Mallinson rubbed his hand over his mouth. ‘The matter is a little delicate … it concerns children … we wondered if any future children might be born with … with …’
‘Will they be deaf?’ Abigail asked. ‘Of course not. I lost my hearing after an illness.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Mallinson looked to Jacob. ‘Is that right dear? Only when I was talking to her sister in the apothecary’s, she gave the impression Abigail was deaf since birth, that she —’
I could not be silent. ‘Don’t listen to anything Elizabeth says! She said that deliberately to mislead you. She’s a liar and —’
‘Ralph!’ My mother’s warning made me bite off my words. But it was too late. Mr and Mrs Mallinson were looking at each other dubiously. By denouncing my sister as an inveterate liar I had added one more nail to our family coffin.
‘Refreshment. Nobody has offered you refreshment.’ Jacob stood, a desperate expression on his face.
‘Perhaps you misunderstood Elizabeth somehow,’ Mother said nervously. ‘And we’re not here to talk about her. She will easily find someone … I mean, I just wanted to say that Abigail is the sweetest-natured, bravest girl you could imagine.’
‘It seems a hard lesson that God is giving her, then.’ Mrs Mallinson lifted her nose.
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