Three Round Towers

  The entrance to Coad Farm was guarded by some mean looking dogs setting up ’nuf noise to wake the dead in the nearby churchyard. A young lad came and pulled aside the hurdles that were barring our way into their yard. I guessed him to be one of the sons by his surly but belonging look. The carter got down off the cart to stretch his legs and take a draught from his flask. I stayed put behind the horse; I could see and hear plenty. Old man Coad appeared a few minutes later and I knew him for a mean ole son of a bitch just by his swagger. He seemed to know the carter well and offered him a morsel in the kitchen as refreshment so I rushed round and tagged myself to their ankles. A big buxom woman who must ’ave been Missus Coad was in the kitchen sweating over a big pot of stew. It smelled good and I was hopeful I might get some but not a bit of it – we were given a crust of yesterday’s bread with a smear of dripping lathered over it. A young lass came into the room carrying a pot nearly as big as ’erself. She plonked it down on the table and proceeded to chop turnips and carrots into it. I moved near to her as the old-uns grumbled to each other about too much rain, too little rain and the price of barley.

  The lass were called Mary and she had been at the farm for just a couple of days but already she was a bit disheartened by the sourness of the place. No one ever spoke to her except to issue orders or threats; the missus was a real hard taskmaster and seemed very edgy anytime the master came in. ‘See that bruise on her face?’ she whispered to me. ‘She got that when he came in t’other night and she raised her voice at ’im – he swiped her one.’

  The carter broke into our talk. ‘Hey lad, time to set-to.’ I whispered to the girl to stay out of everyone’s way, specially the old man and the sons. She nodded, as if knowing why. I didna think any young maid would be safe at that place even tho’ Mary was awful plain, but I had to leave and pulling on some leathers that the carter gave me I began a long labour unloading. Truth t’tell I quite enjoyed doing summat physical and the carter gave me a drink and an offer of work anytimes he was up this way. We made our way slowly back to Lewes and though I hadn’t seen much I had got the feel of the place and I had been able to warn young Mary. One thing I did notice was that all the sacks and carriers I saw in the barn were marked by the brand C. Fm. Most farmers used branding tools for their animals and I s’pose it were a simple job to mark the sacks and leather carriers as well. Next time I went to South Farm to see Cilla in the kitchen I would see if they branded their stuff as well.

  I were mortal tired that night and joined Sally in her sty. It were getting a mite cold and she was always warm if a bit wriggly. The carter had given me a few pennies and I was able to feast on a hot pie from the baker in Market Street and a pot of small ale.

  My next trip out on Esther’s cause was to Dr Grieve. He were the coroner as well as the physician and although I didna really know what a coroner did it were clearly important and it seemed sensible to find out. I knew the potboy in his kitchen and it were a small matter to invite myself in. Pot were a real carrot top and didn’t really get know’d by his given name, everyone just called him Pot. He were blowing a fire up and puttin’ some jars in boiling water when I arrived.

  ‘’Lo Pot, what yer doin’ that for?’

  ‘Mrs Jenkins be doing her bottlin’ and she wants clean jars. If they have even a speck of dirt in them the food goes bad and missus will bellyache and then I’ll get a tannin’.’

  ‘Got anything to eat then?’

  ‘Go see Judith, she’ll find you summat.’

  Later, we sat in friendly silence as we munched on cake washed down with a drop of ale. Good it were.

  I decided to ask direct. ‘D’you know if his nibs has found out about young Becca yet?’

  ‘Dunno, but Missus Jenkins said he was planning on visiting Farmer Coad today. Quietly, like.’

  ‘What’s that mean, quietly, like?’

  ‘Dunno, Missus Jenkins said he wouldn’t be making accusations without some good reason.’

  ‘Do ’ee know what caused the hole in ’er head?’

  ‘Dunno, Missus Jenkins says ’twere a piece of wood wi’ a sharp end.’

  ‘Ow’d ’ee know that?’

  ‘Dunno, Missus Jenkins don’t know neither but says that’s ’is job to know.’

  ‘Ta, Pot… Sees ya.’

  It was still early in the day so I ventured round to the workhouse to see the lie of the land. I needn’t ’ave bovvered, they was all spark out and the place stank of brandy. I reckoned the tub-runners had been around. There was plenty of day left so I went down to Southover and made me way to South Farm. Cilla was alone in the kitchen and I settled down for a natter. She seemed glad to see me but then was all fingers and thumbs and cross. I told her what I had found out and she went to check the door was shut before whispering that Mrs Fisher was badmouthing Esther to anyone who’d listen. They’d been to market and she told everyone they met that Esther was a bad-un. She also said that Cecilia would keep Beth for her own.

  ‘She can’t do that.’

  ‘It’s better than the parish workhouse ain’t it?’

  ‘Aye, put like that, I s’pose it is but Esther will be free soon and she’ll come and get Beth. Cilla, will you do summat for me?’

  ‘Depends, what?’

  ‘Can you look at Esther’s things and see if there be a purse with letters stamped on it?’ I drew the outlines of what I had seen at Coad Farm on the table with a bit of chalk.

  ‘I dunno, s’pose I get caught?’

  ‘Just say Esther needed some money and that I’m going to take it to her.’

  ‘They won’t believe that. Why would Esther ask you to bring her money when Missus Elwood has been visiting her in Lewes?’

  ‘Well, just try, ta. Is there anything to eat?’

  I left South Farm without seeing anyone else and with a parcel of leftovers that I shared with Sally that night.

  Next day I was hauled back to the workhouse to run some errands so I couldn’t see Esther and little Beth but a young lad called round to give me a message from Cilla.

  ‘She said to tell you that there be a purse with lettering on it but she don’t know what it do say and Mrs Fisher rubbed the letters off the table.’

  ‘Stop that yakking Billy, you’m s’posed to be swabbing down the floor, not yakking, get on with ye.’ The overseer kicked out but I was too nimble for the lazy owld sot.

  ‘Ta, mate – obliged to ’ee. Here, have an apple. I gave him one from my pocket, scrumped from a nearby garden.

  Chapter Sixteen

  To Cure Rheumatism

  Take cucumbers, when full grown and put them into a pot with a little salt; then put the pot over a slow fire, where it should remain for about an hour; then take the cucumbers and press them, the juice from which must be put into bottles, corked up tight, and placed in the cellar, where they should remain for about a week; then wet a flannel or rag with the liquid and apply it to the parts affected.

  MacKenzie’s Five Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts

  I was able to use one of my mother’s receipts to bring about a cooling liquid to ease Mrs Makepiece’s rheumatism as the pain caused her great misery. My time in Lewes was very unhappy despite being in a warm house with an agreeable companion. I missed little Beth and worried that Cecilia, who was very much younger than me, would not be able to care properly for her. Even the thought that Mary-Jane was still at South Farm didn’t satisfy me. She was an experienced mother but not very reliable. Her own little tacker, as she called him, was forever suffering from something or other, he had a permanent runny nose and sores round his mouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he harboured the crawlers! I wondered if the coroner would allow Beth to live with me at Mrs Makepiece’s until he had finished his enquiries. I put this idea to my companion, she was less than enthusiastic.

  ‘Course he won’t girl. Beth is safe and well at South Farm and she hasn’t been weaned yet. How could we feed her if she were here?’

  I had no sensible ans
wer but the thought just kept going round and round in my head.

  The coroner had told Mrs Makepiece not to let me out and about in case some hotheads abused me but I was so restless we did venture out after dark just for a little walk.

  Lewes was a fine old town and I could see the many advantages of living there.

  There was a small poor-looking hamlet over the other side of the river called Cliffe. The two places were joined by the only bridge for miles. A great deal of trade was conducted by water and recently much work had been done on the navigable way. The marshes on either side of the river were being drained and the waterway straightened in places. Great banks were being built to prevent damaging floods. Mrs Makepiece told me about a time when the sea and wind had roared up the river, bringing devastation and destroying all the crops in the low lying areas; the salt wind burning all the greenery for miles around. That same year there had been a terrible snowfall and the beasts in the fields had died. A few were lucky but no one would buy them later because they thought there was something peculiar in their being found alive after twenty three days buried completely by snow. The farmer ended up selling them at a distance to a butcher who didn’t know about their lucky escape.

  I noticed that there were a great many places of worship in the town on both sides of the river. One of the churches near Keere Street had a round tower and, apparently, there were three like that – all the rest having the usual square tower. As we walked we wondered why but the only explanation Mrs Makepiece had heard was that they were all built before the Normans came.

  ‘There be one at Southease and t’other is further downstream at Piddinghoe where the river surrounds the church at high tide,’ she told me.

  I thought this very romantic and spent a while musing at the likely history.

  ‘I think my mother’s folk came from Southease.’

  ‘Oh aye, be they smugglers then?’

  ‘No, surely not, why would you think that?’ I was alarmed by this suggestion.

  ‘Most folk downriver be smugglers of one sort or other. Southease, Telscombe and Piddinghoe are known for the trade.’

  ‘That’s shocking!’

  ‘Well, I don’t see you turning down a spot of my brandy young lady. Where do you think it comes from?’

  Under cover of darkness we talked about the smugglers and how most people subscribed to getting their brandy, wines, salt, spices and tea via middlemen. The smugglers were a rough lot and it didn’t do to try and trade directly with them, not if you were respectable folk. I was amazed when Mrs Makepiece described some of the crimes committed in the pursuit of cheap brandy. Drink thinned down with cheaper strong drinks or even cold tea. But the worst and most shocking was the murder of anyone who got in their way: they had even been known to kill their own men if they were suspected of turning. There was not much that they wouldn’t do to further their business and that trade extended for miles inland through a network of tinkers and travellers; most of the excise were in their pay as well as the constabulary.

  I couldn’t make out if Mrs Makepiece was for or against them but she seemed to be willing to buy as long as she didn’t see the nasty side of things. I wondered if that might be why my mother had left the area. I still wanted to go and find my family but Southease had taken on a sinister air.

  The next day Billy-alone called round to see me and asked what had happened to the little cradle Becca had made.

  ‘I left it in the reeds where I found Beth.’

  ‘If we found it we could show that it was in Becca’s mind all along to give herself up for the baby,’ he explained.

  Mrs Makepiece was listening and butted in. ‘I think the constable and his men have searched the whole area – they would have been looking for the wooden stave…’

  ‘Did they find it then?’ said Billy.

  ‘What, the stave?’

  ‘No, the cradle.’

  ‘They won’t know nowt about the cradle, I didn’t mention it,’ I said, realising my mistake.

  Billy was gone in a flash and I cursed myself for a fool in not mentioning the cradle to the coroner. Billy was right in that it showed what Becca was planning. It still didn’t show who had hurt her body afterwards though.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The very next day I was summoned to the coroner’s office again. Farmer Elwood appeared at our door and said he would accompany me. I was very anxious but glad to have such a man at my side. I kissed Mrs Makepiece goodbye outside the clock tower. I knew she was worried sick but I tried to settle her spirits by being calm myself. She pushed her hankie into my hands and whispered to be brave, upright and remember I had good friends nearby.

  The coroner was sitting at his desk and after a formal greeting with Farmer Elwood he addressed himself to me.

  ‘Esther, I am sorry to have to tell you that Farmer Coad has made a statement to the constables that you did kill Becca in order to take her baby for your own.’

  I gasped and started to protest but he silenced me with a raised hand.

  ‘He accepts that the child was a result of his union with Becca and declares that she was a known trollop. He has called on his sons to bear witness that Becca conducted herself lewdly and he also called on various people who were at the Midsummer Fair where, he said, she was seen to flaunt herself to all and sundry.’

  I was robbed of my voice by this shameful slur on Becca and by the knowledge that my voice against Farmer Coad and his sons was unlikely to be heard. Farmer Elwood, at my side, spoke.

  ‘Have they any proof that Esther might have killed Becca?’

  ‘No, it is her word against Coad’s. But it is not my place to decide who is or is not, guilty. My role is to ascertain how she died and I am clear that she drowned, either by her own hand or someone else’s. However, as a personal friend John, I would suggest that Esther think through everything that happened and bring to bear any fact that might shake Coad’s story. He and his sons think they are – to coin the phrase – home and dry. There is the matter as to who violated the body, which might shed some light. The stave that was used to batter her has been found near the riverbank and very near to the farm. There is nothing remarkable about it other than it has been sharpened at one end and this was used to inflict deep wounds in the corpse. The level of malice is striking. The best outcome for Esther is that a witness can be found to augment aspects of her story. She can bring witnesses as to her character and demonstrate that she is not a likely candidate to inflict death or such vicious post mortem wounds.’

  I was rooted to the spot in fear of what would become of me.

  ‘What happens to me now?’ I croaked.

  ‘You must remain at Mrs Makepiece’s until such time as the constable has enough evidence to prove or disprove your situation.’

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘No. This investigation has a way to go before the constable will move against you. In the meantime, I will release the body for burial.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  It is almost everywhere too common to have churchyards in the middle of populous towns. This is not only reprehensible in point of taste, but, considering how near to the surface of the earth the dead bodies in many places are deposited, there must necessarily arise putrid vapours, which, however imperceptible, cannot fail to contaminate the air. The practice of burying in churches is still more liable to censure; and not many years ago, the pernicious effects of this custom were so severely felt in France, as to occasion a positive edict against it.

  MacKenzie’s Five Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts

  Becca’s funeral was a poor affair. No one wanted to have her buried on hallowed ground. I was shocked at the many pious people of Lewes, who needed so many places of worship, yet, not one of them would show any charity towards this young and badly used girl. In the end, Farmer Elwood took it on himself to allow the burial on part of his land where there was a family chapel, the same chapel where his own child had been laid to rest. Ev
en without much faith myself it was a relief that she was buried on hallowed ground. I wore Cecilia’s thickest veil in case anyone objected to my presence but we were only a few: the Elwoods, Mrs Makepiece, Becca’s pa and I took the body to the tiny chapel. It was surrounded by light airy woodland and had a quiet, peaceful atmosphere. Small birds chirruped amongst the autumn leaves with a gentle wind speaking in shallow sighs and whispers. I felt the chapel to be welcoming Becca.

  The hole was dug deep and proper, not like some recent burials where bones had escaped their bindings and appeared above ground mere months after the committal. This disturbing bit of information came from Mrs Makepiece who was scathing about the standard of burials in the town. She said the stink was scandalous and good people deserved better.

  Becca had been popular, her father said, but none of her childhood friends had come to pay their last respects. I felt for her. To commit herself to such a death was bad enough but to have people believe the wicked lies was monstrous.

  As Mrs Elwood laid a little posy of autumn leaves and bright berries on the earth I wept for Becca and for Beth who would never know what a fine mother she had. It was difficult not to feel a sense of bitterness against the people of Lewes who had shut their minds to our innocence, believing instead the malice of a wicked man and his family.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Later that evening we were surprised by a sharp rap on the door. It was Miss Wardle, the lady who loved her pigs more than her neighbours.

  ‘There is a young man in my Sally’s sty and I think he needs some medical attention. He says you are his friend and might help.’ Her voice was irritable but I detected a kindness beneath.

  ‘It must be Billy,’ I said. I reached for my wrap and with Mrs Makepiece followed the elderly lady into the dark.