by R J Lynch
The rector took his watch from his pocket and looked at it. ‘Well, it is still but early. Barraclough may yet be sober enough to speak sense to you.’
And sober the doctor was – but of little use for all that. Speaking clearly in unslurred words he told Blakiston that the boy had been strangled, for small bones in his neck were broken and his head hung to one side; that he had no way of knowing whether the murderer had been man or woman, tall or short, young or adult; and that, no, there was no sign of old bruising on the body.
As Blakiston mounted Obsidian and rode away he found himself wishing that the dead boy’s pony could speak – for it alone seemed to have witnessed its master’s death. He also wondered why Lord Ravenshead had called for the rector’s presence.
Chapter 13
Next morning was Thursday, the thirtieth of August. When Blakiston answered the door to the usual knock to say his breakfast was here, a man he had never seen before was waiting behind the inn’s serving maid. ‘Are you here to see me?’
‘Yes, sir. Emmett Batey, Sir.’
‘Ah, yes. Batey.’ The man’s clothes were scarcely more than rags but they were clean and his face was clean-shaven but nothing could hide the hunger in his gaunt features. Blakiston spoke to the maid who had placed his tray on the kitchen table and was about to leave. ‘We will be two for breakfast, Betty. Bring another tray. As quickly as you can, now. Come in, Batey. Sit down, man.’
Emmett Batey sat at the table on the chair Blakiston had indicated, his round hat on his knee. He looked ill at ease.
‘So. If you are here this early, I take it you want to work on the harvest?’
‘Yes, sir. If it please you, Sir.’
‘It will please me greatly since we are a man short and you know one of the farms on which you will be working. And here is Betty. Well done, girl. Set it down in front of Mister Batey.’ He took a sixpenny piece from his purse and pressed it into her hand. ‘Now, Mister Batey, it will give me pleasure if you will join me at breakfast while we talk.’
Batey looked astonished at the generous portions of bread, butter, ham and cheese laid out before him.
‘Eat, man, for I cannot sit here and breakfast alone while you watch. You will take tea with me?’
The man drained the cup and then fell on the food with such glee that Blakiston found himself taking extra pleasure in his own repast. ‘You are a trencherman!’
‘Sir?’
‘I mean that you enjoy your food.’
‘Sir, I cannot remember when I last ate this well.’
‘Well, enjoy it, and while we eat I shall thank you to tell me what you can of Margaret Laws.’ The shock on Batey’s face was clear to see but Blakiston ignored it. ‘She was the mistress when you worked at New Hope Farm. Come, man, don’t let our conversation keep you from your meal. But she was the mistress, was she not?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ He spoke through a mouthful of ham.
‘Was there any commerce between you? I mean, beyond the ordinary dealings of farmer’s wife and hired man? Batey, I do not wish to have to repeat everything I say. I am not here to sit in judgement but merely to find out what happened. I have heard suggestions that you may have known Mistress Laws in a manner normally confined to the marriage bed. Is there any truth in that?’
Batey had stopped eating entirely. His head hung down. Quietly, he said, ‘Sir, she would not rest until I had her.’
‘Well, if that is how it was then that is how it was. Did her husband know?’
The voice was even quieter now. ‘Sir, that is why he told me to go.’
‘Thank you, Batey. That is what I wanted to know. You are not in trouble, though I may wish to speak to you again when I have confronted Joseph Laws. And now finish your breakfast with a glad heart for you have done what a man should do and told the truth though it hurt you to do so.’
The next three days continued as dry and sunny as the previous weeks and the harvest occupied everyone. For Kate it involved long hours helping Florrie and Lizzie prepare food for the workers – their “allowances” – taking it out to the fields at dinner time and cleaning and making beds where the men were sleeping. She saw Blakiston only from a distance but doubted whether he had any time to spare on investigating two murders.
And then it was Sunday.
Kate was in church before anyone else and took a seat at the back. When the rector came in he laid a hand gently on her shoulder and smiled. It was probably the first time she had known him look at her as anything other than an object and she was suffused by a feeling of warmth and happiness. ‘Is it going to be all right?’ she whispered.
‘God is with you, Kate Greener.’ He passed on towards the vestry.
As the church filled up, Kate watched the congregation. The better off occupied the private pews as they always did and Kate smiled when she saw young Susannah Bent looking around at the lower classes in that sniffy, superior way she had. What a shock that young madam was about to get. Then Blakiston entered, touched Kate’s arm for a second and walked on towards the pew set aside for the estate’s officials but which for now only he occupied. Kate put a hand over her mouth as she remembered what would be expected of her next week. A Greener in a private pew! The rector must hope God would not strike the church with a thunderbolt. As Blakiston took his place, Kate watched Susannah Bent go through the same motions as she did every Sunday: eyes lowered, a becoming blush on her cheek, bonnet high on her forehead, her head moved round so that any man less unaware than Kate’s James would have known that he was being courted. But Blakiston, for all that Kate had so recently pointed out to him Susannah’s interest, seemed oblivious.
The service wound its usual slow way. The rector’s sermon seemed to last for ever. Was it chance that led him to speak on the subject of the rich being cast down and the poor receiving their just reward? At last it was over and was that…was it possible…yes, the rector had given James an almost undetectable signal and James rose from his pew, walked back to where she was sitting and took his place beside her and now the rector was smiling broadly as he began to speak the words she had so longed to hear but had feared she never would. “I publish the banns of marriage between James Blakiston, late of Burley parish in the county of Hampshire and now of this parish and Catherine Greener of this parish. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.”
Pandemonium. Hubbub so loud it drowned the rector’s final sentence. Was that a screech from Susannah Bent? Actually out loud, for all to hear? It was. But almost the whole congregation was talking, heads now bent towards each other and now turned to stare at her and James sitting side by side, James looking pleased with life and she, she knew, radiating uncertainty at what they had stirred up. The rector coughed and, when there was no fall in the volume of chatter, he raised his voice. ‘All stand.’ And all did, and with bowed head they received his blessing, but still the buzz continued.
When they were outside, the first person to speak to the betrothed couple was Lady Isabella, who hugged Kate to her. Standing in line behind Isabella was Jane Maughan, her husband in close attendance. ‘Mister Blakiston,’ said Walter Maughan, ‘you are a rogue.’ But he said it with a smile. ‘When you called to tell us of Margaret’s death, we gave you our opinion of the Greener family, and of this young lady in particular, and you said not a word.’ He reached out and seized Blakiston’s hand, shaking it vigorously. ‘Well, my dear sir, I congratulate you.’ He looked behind him to where the Bents were leaving the church. ‘But I fear goodwill may not be universal.’ Kate, wondering what the Maughans had had to say about her, allowed herself a quick glance at Susannah Bent’s face. The expression there was murderous. As she hurried past them she gave Blakiston a look of scorn but her eyes when she turned them on Kate were full of hatred. Her distressed mother was struggling to keep up, but she paused as she came to the knot of people around Kate and James. Kate felt
sure she was about to receive a withering blast but Mistress Bent laid a hand on her arm and her smile was warm, if a little sad. ‘My dear, my daughter has lost something she had no reason to believe would ever be hers. One day I hope she will congratulate you as I do now.’ With that, she leaned close to Kate and placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘I hope you will both be very happy.’
Then came Susannah Ward, the maid at New Hope Farm. ‘Now I understand,’ she said. ‘I am sorry I said what I did.’ Kate threw her arms round her and hugged her close.
Hanging back, Lizzie was the last to approach the pair. She looked up into James’s eyes. ‘Mister Blakiston, I am sorry I ever doubted you.’
Blakiston smiled. ‘You had your sister’s best interests at heart. But could you not, now, call me James?’
Dinner that Sunday at Chopwell Garth was an hour later than the usual time of twelve thirty because the labourers there for the harvest had to be attended to first. Florrie, Lizzie, Kate, Tom and Ned came to the table along with little Louise, known to all as Lulu and the outcome of Lizzie’s violation. Without her, Tom would still be a labourer and not a farmer and they would all be living in poverty. Blakiston was not of the company; he would take dinner that evening at the rectory.
‘Mister Blakiston wants me to call him James,’ said Lizzie. ‘I do not believe I can do that. Nor do I think he is right to ask it. Heaven help us, will you look at this girl’s face? I swear she is not here with us at all.’
Kate knew that she was the “this girl” referred to and it was true that she did not really feel present as she usually did. Like someone who has been through a great loss or great triumph, she was overwhelmed by thoughts and memories and had to speak them. ‘I thought I should be damned,’ she said. ‘I thought people would hate me. But they were so kind.’
‘I don’t think Susannah Bent cares much for you,’ said Ned.
‘No, but…her mother…and I wonder what it was that Walter Maughan and his wife had said to James about me?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘You are blessed, little sister.’
‘And she deserves it,’ said Florrie.
‘Oh, she deserves it all right.’ Lizzie rose from the bench she sat on and hugged Kate to her. ‘Some of those people in church are gentry, but none of them are what is called Society. The kind of families Mister Blakiston comes from would not welcome you as you were welcomed today, and you should not mind. The chances are you will never meet them anyway.’
Lizzie was not quite right in what she said, for Lord Ravenshead at any rate was well disposed to the match. When Blakiston arrived at the rectory that evening, early as Thomas had instructed him, he asked why the rector had been called to the castle.
Thomas poured two glasses of madeira, one of which he handed to Blakiston. ‘Why, to talk about you, my dear fellow.’
‘Me?’
‘You and the girl you intend to wed. His Lordship approves of your choice of bride.’
‘I should have thought him above such matters.’
‘Well, I shall tell you what he said, which was that your coming to Ryton was the best thing that has happened here for several years; that your marrying a girl of the parish will make your continued presence here more certain; and that your common sense in choosing for love and not for material gain, as the Blacketts offered you, says all that need be known about the man you are. I agreed with every word and did not tell him what a nincompoop I had made of myself. But that commotion must be our other guests arriving. Drink that down like a good fellow and let us welcome them.’
Job King and Mistress Susanna Spence had each come alone, for Susanna was widowed and as far as anyone knew King had never married. It crossed Blakiston’s mind to wonder whether Lady Isabella had brought them together at her table with match-making in mind but he kept the thought to himself and it was as well that he did for they had not finished the soup before Mistress Spence was quarrelling with King. Blakiston caught the look of surreptitious amusement that Thomas cast in his direction.
‘It is thirty years since you left this parish and these shores for the Americas?’ Susanna asked.
Job nodded. ‘I was twelve years old. I saw nothing for me here but poverty and death.’
‘And now you wish to inflict the same poverty on our landowners?’
Blakiston expected a strong response from King but the man simply smiled. ‘The labourer is worthy of his hire, Mistress Spence.’
‘And where will he get his hire when all who might give him work are bankrupt? Mister Blakiston, how does Lord Ravenshead regard Mister King’s activities?’
Blakiston paused, shaken by the sudden challenge to join a debate he did not feel part of. ‘We have not discussed it.’
‘Not discussed it? A man brings foreign practices to our English farms, hostile foreign practices, and one of the biggest landowners in the county has not discussed it with his overseer?’
King was smiling. ‘From what I hear, Mister Blakiston is not above bringing in foreign practices himself. I believe you have the farmers hereabouts in a tizz over your ways with wheat among the turnips.’
Blakiston had been aware of Lady Isabella’s growing unease and now she intervened. ‘I am sure there is a place where farming methods should be discussed,’ she said. ‘The rectory dinner table is probably not it. Mister King, I believe we should all learn much if you would be good enough to tell us about conditions in America.’
‘Before he does that,’ said Mistress Spence, ‘we should perhaps join in congratulating Mister Blakiston on his engagement. It shows a courage bordering on effrontery.’
As the others murmured their agreement, Blakiston wondered whether he had just been praised or insulted. ‘Thank you,’ he said, nodding towards Job King. ‘But I, too, would like to hear Mister King’s stories of the new lands.’
King looked down as though considering what to say or where to begin. Then, as he began to speak, his eyes went round the company person by person. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘that when I left here I was less than nothing. A pauper from a family of paupers; a difficulty to my betters. There was work in the summer but in winter the parish had to give us enough to keep us from starving.’ He looked at Mistress Spence. ‘Just as they do for the poor today. And some of us did starve, despite what our…betters…did to save us. I watched them, and I knew that, perhaps before long, I should be one of them. And so I took ship for Virginia. A passage would have cost six pound, but I did not have six shilling never mind six pound and so I agreed to be indentured and to work for my keep alone till the fare was paid. It was five year before I had paid the debt and became a free man. They do the same for transported felons, you know, but in their case they must work for seven year and not five.’
‘Five years of servitude,’ said the rector, ‘and far from the people and place you knew. You must have wondered sometimes whether you would have been better off staying here.’
‘Never,’ said King, ‘for in America I had no “betters.” You are taken there for what you are and not for what your birth was. And the terms of the indentured labourer are that at the end of the five year the government gives you fifty acres of land and your employer must give you the tools to farm them.’
‘That is what happened to you?’ asked Blakiston.
‘It is. You know, last year King George issued his Great Proclamation that forbids settlement west of the Appalachians, but when it was my turn there was no such law and my fifty acres were in Indian lands.’
Lady Isabella shuddered. ‘Did you not fear for your life?’
‘Perhaps I should have done for it is certain that some died. We banded together, all the settlers in the area, to help each other with the building of homes and the breaking of new land and to defend ourselves when we had to. Most of the time it was a hard life more than a dangerous one and those of us who were used to hard lives at home did well. And those who weren’t went off to become clerks or storekeepers in the towns.’
‘What happened to the
ir land?’ asked Blakiston.
‘Sometimes they sold it to one of us. Sometimes they simply left without saying they were going; those farms we divided among ourselves.’
The rector said, ‘Blakiston here will not allow a farmer to keep his tenancy unless he has a wife. You must have found the life even harder without a helpmeet?’
King nodded once and looked down and Blakiston, watching carefully, would have sworn that there was something the man was not telling them. ‘In any case,’ he said, ‘you built a life for yourself.’
King spoke more quietly now, reinforcing Blakiston’s sense that something was not being said. ‘I worked every day from sun-up to sun-down. As the towns grew the price of grain and sheep and vegetables and cheese and beef rose. I spent nothing I did not have to spend except on things the farm needed. After five years I had two hundred acres. After ten, eight hundred. After fifteen, two thousand.’
‘A huge spread,’ said Blakiston.
‘The land was there, it was fertile and it was cheap for there was more than enough to go round. If you showed you could fence it and break the sod, it was as good as given to you. It was only when you had worked it successfully that the value rose.’
As quietly as King, for he felt sympathy with the man, Blakiston said, ‘You could not work two thousand acres alone.’
King was again looking down. ‘I had ten men directly in my employ.’ He looked up, his direct gaze addressing Mistress Spence. ‘They worked hard and I made sure all were fed and paid enough that they could clothe themselves and put a little aside in case they wanted one day to do what I had done and strike out on their own. But most of the land I leased out, for that is the way in the Americas. Mostly, the people who go there are the sort who want to be their own masters and not the servants of others.’ Now he looked around the room. ‘But the thing that matters most I have not told you. I had been on my own land for two years and I was struggling to survive. There were simply not enough hours to do all that was needful.’ He pressed his hands together as though unsure what to say next.