The Summer Fields

  ‘They have come to dine with the mistress of the house,’ Mordiford says mischievously.

  ‘The mistress of the house? Who, pray, is she?’

  ‘Her name is Elen Griffiths and soon she will be the wife of this simple farmer who has no interest or desire to live in that gloomy mausoleum by the lake.’

  ‘You do not mean to live in the hall?’ Elen says.

  ‘I cannot, even if I wanted it. My father has left too many debts. No, it has been quite shut up and I have found employment for the staff elsewhere on the estate. I have taken the best books from the library and spent the last month creating one here – for you – a safe haven where you can read after we have worked side by side in the fields. This is to be our home, my darling Elen. We will farm and fill this house with children and laughter.’

  So, as the sun sets over the winter landscape, Elen embraces her father and her sisters, shakes her brothers by the hand (for they are far too grown now for hugs) and links her arm through Mordiford’s. Together they enter the house that once stole the heart of her mother.

  Author’s Note

  I grew up in a medical family. This gave me a lifelong interest in disease but also made me a career hypochondriac. Researching things I might actually get is a dangerous exercise for my over-active imagination but smallpox, which was eventually eradicated from the human population in the 1970s, fascinated me and fitted the themes of suffering and rebirth that I wanted this story to embody.

  Smallpox was a devastating disease, extremely contagious with a high mortality rate and no respect for rank or wealth. Those who survived were often left severely scarred but at least they could never get smallpox again. This immunity was understood in 1704, but the Chinese process of giving healthy people the living virus, known as variolation, was only just reaching the western world. However, it was well-known that people who caught cowpox were immune to smallpox, hence the old-English saying that something was ‘as smooth as a milk maid’s skin’. (It was not until 1796 that Edward Jenner decided to test this observation, publishing his treatise On the Origin of the Vaccine Inoculation, the word ‘vaccine’ coming from the Latin ‘vacca’ meaning cow.) I had found the perfect way of plucking Elen from the comfort of her father’s hearth and placing her in the Gothic setting of Duntisbourne Hall.

  Duntisbourne Hall was inspired by my time working at Blenheim Palace, a magnificent English Baroque stately home in Oxfordshire. It was a ‘gift from a grateful nation’, bequeathed by Queen Anne to John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough for winning the Battle of Blenheim in 1704, a key turning point in the War of Spanish Succession. At Blenheim Palace, I worked in a room tucked away above the great courtyard and accessed not only by a wide staircase on one side, but also by a narrow stone spiral staircase hidden behind a door in the central office. Like Duntisbourne Hall, in winter Blenheim was draughty, cold and spooky but it was also breathtakingly magnificent. The incredible tapestries in the staterooms show various battles in the War of Spanish Succession, but many of the visiting public assume they show the Napoleonic Wars a century later.

  The more I learned about the Duke of Marlborough, the more surprised I became that his extraordinary achievements had always been overshadowed by the Duke of Wellington’s 1815 victory against Napoleon. When Marlborough beat the French at the Battle of Blenheim in 1704, it changed the balance of power in Europe more profoundly than Wellington’s later victory at the Battle of Waterloo.

  I think one of the reasons Waterloo eclipses Blenheim is because the politics behind the War of Spanish Succession are complicated. Spain’s childless King Carlos II died in 1700, perversely leaving his throne to the grandson of the French King Louis XIV. This gave France an extraordinary extension of influence and power because at that time, Spain had extensive territories in Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands and the Americas as well as controlling the slave trade from West Africa.

  England formed a Grand Alliance with Austria and Holland to protect their territory and trading rights against the French. Queen Anne chose the handsome, cunning and charming John Churchill, 1st Duke of Marlborough as Captain-General and Commander-in-Chief of her army on the Continent, giving him authority over the Dutch troops as well as the English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish, German, Danish and Swiss soldiers. In 1702 the Franco-Bavarian forces had broken the barrier fortresses, which protected the Dutch Republic from the French, and the following year, other Franco–Bavarian victories directly threatened Vienna. When the 1704 campaign ‘season’ began (winter weather caused havoc for soldiers on campaign, so the season started in the spring and ended in the autumn, with troops returning home for the winter months), Marlborough was determined to stop the French at all costs.

  I have had the privilege of reading John Churchill’s personal correspondence held now by the British Library. He cared deeply about his soldiers, making sure they were ‘well paid and well shod’, and that fresh saddles, boots and food were sent ahead up the lines during the long march to the Danube. He was one of the first commanders to organise the wounded, setting up dressing stations and hospitals such as the one at Nördlingen. However, these were nothing like the arrangements today. There was no formal army medical corps on campaign, and wives, camp followers and barber surgeons did the work when and where they were needed.

  Dr Argyll’s initial antipathy towards Mr Barker was standard at this time and can be traced right back to the 12th century when the clergy, who at that time acted as both physicians and surgeons, were banned from dealing with blood. Barbers, who traditionally worked in the monasteries, keeping the monks clean-shaven, took over all blood-related work such as tooth extraction, minor operations and bloodletting. The striped barber’s pole symbolises the stick the patient held in their hand during this procedure, the brass ball at the top of the pole symbolises the bowl used for collecting the blood or for holding leeches. After treatment the bandages were washed and wrapped around the pole to dry, giving it the traditional striped pattern.

  The Black Plague had a devastating effect on the number of university-trained physicians (those with a doctorate) and in 1540, Henry VIII united the Company of the Barbers and the Fellowship of Surgeons with a royal decree, the Company of Barber Surgeons, to alleviate the shortages. (Even today, a hospital doctor loses his or her ‘Dr’ title and becomes ‘Mr’, ‘Mrs’, ‘Ms’ or ‘Miss’ once he or she has acquired higher surgical qualifications.)

  Mr Barker mentions Ambroise Paré. Originally apprenticed to a barber, this famous Frenchman accompanied the French army and pioneered a number of innovative treatments such as the application of egg yolk, oil of roses and turpentine used by Elen on amputated limbs. When Paré’s book Les Oeuvres was published in 1575, his ideas spread across Europe and respect for surgeons began to build until, in 1745, the surgeons finally dissolved their centuries-old partnership with the barbers to become the well-respected profession they are today.

  Despite these advances, surgery at the Battle of Blenheim was basic, bloody and agonising. It’s almost impossible for us nowadays to understand how soldiers withstood the pain of pre-anaesthetic surgery. Perhaps the courage that made them brave in battle helped them face the pain of their wounds. In one account, I read a gunner had an arm and both damaged legs amputated in a single session but was found the following day, propped up on his remaining elbow, calmly smoking his pipe. Another soldier refused to be helped to a transport cart after having his leg amputated, preferring to hop over to it under his own steam and it was not unknown for soldiers to chat with the surgeon as he worked. All the same, Mr Barker’s speed would have been much appreciated and remained vital to a soldier’s survival – the longer the operation took, the less likely the patient was to survive. Occasionally that speed was at the expense of the fingers of a surgeon’s assistant.

  Another reason for the soldiers’ bravery may well have been the attitude to suffering at this time. It was seen as a strengthener to the soul and most surgeons operating in a pre-anaesthetic era believed it w
as a vital stimulant necessary for keeping the patient alive. They even delayed the administration of opiates and alcohol, viewing unconsciousness as a danger to the patient. It is interesting to reflect that the fear of pain in the modern world is every bit as acute despite advances in anesthesia, perhaps because we no longer view it as character forming. The only modern equivalent I can think of is when exercising or doing weight training. Knowing that pain is essential to improvement makes it easier to bear.

  Maggots had been used to aid wound healing for centuries. My mother came across it when she was nursing during WWII and there has recently been a resurgence of interest in their use. Not only do the maggots clear away dead tissue, they secrete enzymes that fight infection.

  When Mordiford told Elen that he was ‘full of the black humour,’ he was referring to the theory of the four humours, which dominated medical practice right up until the 19th century. It was based on the teachings of Hippocrates and Galen who believed that the body was composed of four liquids – blood, phlegm, black bile and yellow bile. These in turn were associated with the air, water, earth and fire as well as with the seasons. When these humours were balanced, a person was healthy in body and mind, but when they went out of balance, disease and sickness were the result. Bloodletting was used if the body contained an excess of blood, and other popular ways of restoring balance included enemas, laxatives, emetics and blistering of the skin. This story is set at the dawn of the Age of Enlightenment, a time when philosophers and intellects began to question these long-held beliefs, using scepticism and careful observation to formulate alternative hypotheses. Dr Argyll embodies this open-minded attitude to the treatment of his patients.

  This novel is of course fiction but much of it is based on fact. The Duke of Marlborough did suffer from migraines – he described his periodic violent headaches in his letters to his wife. This gave me the opportunity to bring Dr Argyll and Elen to his side and the ergotamine that the doctor prescribed is still used in migraine medicines today.

  The description of the Battle of Blenheim comes from many sources, one of the most fascinating being the first-hand accounts written by two soldiers that fought during the campaign, Captain Robert Parker, Royal Regiment of Foot of Ireland and the Count of Mérode-Westerloo, Field Marshal of the Holy Roman Empire in Military Memoirs of Marlborough’s Campaigns 1702-1712, edited by David Chandler. I also depended heavily on James Falkner’s Great and Glorious Days and George Malcolm Thomson’s The First Churchill, as well as the first volume of Winston Churchill’s biography of his forebear, Marlborough, His Life and Times. Winston wrote this majestic biography of his ancestor so that his extraordinary achievements would not be forgotten – I hope this story reignites an interest in the man who some believe was the greatest commander in British military history.

  Acknowledgements

  I started this novel during my MA at Oxford Brookes and owe a huge debt of thanks to my fellow alumni who work-shopped chunks of it during our tutorials, along with my inspirational tutor, James Hawes who had such faith in the story, and Sarah Dunant for her candid appraisal of the original battle scenes. I must thank in particular the special writing chums that I made there, Mandy Robotham and Izzy Brown who still have the patience to read and comment on my writing.

  A massive thank you to Rebecca Smith who gave me invaluable advice about bringing this unusual era of history to life. Thanks also to Louise Cullen and Canelo Publishing for adding the story to their list and producing such a fabulous cover, as well as Elizabeth Woabank for her forensic editing of the manuscript.

  I owe a huge debt of thanks, as always, to my wonderful agent, Giles Milburn who may not be a super-fan of scheming valets, but continues to back my writing career to the hilt as well as throwing incredible Christmas parties.

  I thank all the members of my immediate family for their unstinting support and encouragement including Sam, Tamsin, Katie-Jane and Tom, but in particular Ben who, as a writer himself, has to chew the fat of plot problems with me more than the rest. The exception is my husband, Chris who is always willing to listen, read and comment and who, despite claiming to be the most unromantic man in the south of England, has a particular soft spot for this story.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Canelo

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  Copyright © LP Fergusson, 2020

  The moral right of LP Fergusson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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

  ISBN 9781788633680

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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