A Green Bay Tree

by Margaret James

  She picked up the first sheet. It was a scale representation of a basic steam–engine. Very detailed, it was meticulously drawn. ‘You had this done on your own initiative?’ she enquired.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Lyddy blushed. ‘You remember Mr Harris? The toymaker? Well, he sometimes calls here of an evening. Just to chat, sort of thing. Well, he's had one of Mr Boulton's engines installed. He says he wouldn't be without it now.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, look at this.’ Lyddy handed Rebecca another drawing. ‘A small engine,’ she urged now. ‘A neat, unobtrusive work–horse, that's all we need. Twelve or fifteen horsepower — no more.’

  ‘You're sure of that?’

  ‘Oh, certainly!’ Complacently, Lyddy smiled. ‘Such a one could easily power a forge the size of ours, and provide us with the means to work other machinery, too. Think of it, Becky! Think how wasteful it is to have apprentices working bellows, or men blowing air through coals. An engine could do all that for us, leaving human hands to do what machines cannot.’

  ‘How much would it cost?’

  ‘Eight hundred. Maybe a thousand. No more.’ Lyddy found a letter, which she passed over. ‘I wrote to Mr Boulton myself. It was merely an enquiry, you understand. He estimates a round thousand, all in. Becky, I agree the Soho engines are expensive. But everyone says they're by far the best.’

  ‘They still break down.’ Rebecca shook her head. ‘Parts wear out, or are found to have been ill–made. Then they need to be replaced.’

  ‘True. But here in Birmingham, it would be easy to find engineers who could do the necessary work.’ Clasping her hands together, Lyddy looked earnestly at her child. ‘Mr Boulton's own engineers are close by, after all.’

  ‘I suppose you're right.’ Rebecca did some rapid mental arithmetic. ‘Where would we find the money?’

  ‘We can raise credit. Mr Harris says — ’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mr Harris.’ Rebecca grimaced. ‘Well, Aunt. If you are determined, I suppose I could — ’

  ‘Becky, the factory is yours. I'd do nothing, take no action whatsoever, without first consulting you.’

  ‘Or Mr Harris.’ Rebecca put the papers down. ‘A thousand pounds,’ she said. ‘Well, the factory's insured for four and a half thousand. It's worth at least four. Could we borrow against that?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lyddy clapped her hands. ‘So you agree!’

  ‘I'll speak to Ellis. But I'll let to know one way or another long before the month is out.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Lyddy had become quite pink. Rebecca smiled. It was delightful to see her so happy. Whether it was worth a thousand pounds of steam engine, however, was different matter entirely.

  * * * *

  By the end of their third week in London, Ellis and Alex had finished all their business. Late one Friday evening, a full seven days before he was expected, Ellis walked into Rebecca's bedroom. She had just begun to brush her hair. In the candelight it shone like a saint's diadem, cascading over her shoulders and framing her pretty face with tendrils of pure gold.

  ‘Becky?’ he whispered, unwilling to startle her.

  ‘Ellis!’ Dropping the hairbrush, Rebecca spun round on her stool. Jumping up, she fell into his embrace, kissing him, hugging him, laughing and crying, all at once. ‘I thought you were Molly, come to plait my hair.’

  ‘Ah. Molly is dismissed for tonight. I told her to have her supper, then go to bed.’ Ellis kissed his wife. ‘Well, darling?’ he demanded. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I'm in excellent health. Never, ever, better!’

  ‘What about the baby?’

  ‘He's well, too. Feel!’ Taking Ellis's hand, Rebecca placed it on her bump. ‘He kicks and kicks. He gives me no peace at all. I'm sure I shall be brought to bed of a goat.’

  ‘I see.’ Ellis laughed. Then he yawned, hugely. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned, ‘I'm so tired. I couldn't sleep at all in that wretched inn.’

  ‘Because it was so noisy?’

  ‘Because I was away from you.’

  ‘Come to bed.’ Rebecca hugged him again. ‘Sleep the whole night through. You can tell me what happened in London tomorrow morning.’

  * * * *

  Unlike Ellis, Alex had slept perfectly well while he was in London. So now, he ate a good supper, finished a second bottle of wine, then told Simmons he could go to bed. Leaving the dining room, he walked about the salon for a while, observing how much this had changed for the better.

  Since Rebecca had been mistress of Easton Hall, her presence had filled the old house. Now, in addition to modern conveniences like efficient flues and effective draught–proofing, there was close carpeting and new furniture, too. Comfortable sofas had joined awful old settles, and some other modern pieces, carefully chosen or specially made to compliment their setting, gave the rooms a more up–to–date air.

  Rebecca's own little parlour had been papered in a pale Chinese print, and completely new–furnished. But that remained the only room in the house which was entirely modern. The rest of the old barn stayed more or less as Ellis wanted it. Old–fashioned and grotesque.

  Alex shook his head. The trip to London had been exhausting, the business meetings interminable. There'd been no opportunity whatsoever for the licentious pleasures in which Lalage supposed husband would indulge. Meek as a lamb, Alex had trotted behind as Ellis strode from bankers to brokers, from attorneys to stock–holders, more or less bludgeoning them into taking an active interest in Alex's affairs. Eventually, he'd worn them down. So, the business had been concluded in three weeks instead of the originally anticipated month.

  As a result of Ellis's efforts, it now seemed likely that a little of the Lowells’ money — three or four thousand pounds, certainly no more — might be recovered.

  Alex had expressed his thanks. Then, taking a last, longing look at the Town and miserably recalling all the pleasure gardens and theatres still unvisited, he packed his boxes and waited for the coach to take him back to the green solitude of Warwickshire.

  On reaching Easton Hall, Ellis went haring off to Rebecca's bedroom, leaving Alex to his solitary supper and his reflections. What a fool Ellis was now! What an uxorious, drooling zany. That girl had bewitched him. She'd cast an absolutely unbreakable spell.

  Alex rang for more candles. His supply of new novels – for he had managed to snatch one visit to a bookseller, and made the most of it — would beguile the next few hours.

  * * * *

  At about three o'clock in the morning, when Alex was nodding over Miss Burney's latest effort and deciding it was much inferior to Evelina, he smelled smoke. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Simmons the butler liked his pipe of tobacco, the more evil–smelling the better. Now, presumably, he was coming up the passage, no doubt returning from a visit to whichever of the more comely kitchen maids was his current fancy. Alex rose from the sofa and opened the door of the salon. He would tell the wretched butler to get to bed at once.

  The passage was full of smoke. Puffs of it invaded the room, while belching black fumes rose up the stairs, swirling in menacing spirals all around the banisters above.

  ‘Good God!’ At a loss, Alex blinked. Then, coming to his senses, he shut the door again. But the room was already polluted. The whole atmosphere was thickly fogged with acrid, stinging smoke. Taking out his pocket–handkerchief, he stuffed it into a flower vase, then clamped the wet pad of cambric to his mouth.

  He went back into the passage. ‘Fire!’ he shouted, coughing and choking as he inhaled a foetid mouthful of smoke. ‘Fire! Oh Christ Almighty, where's Simmons? FIRE!’

  No one seemed to hear him. So, half–blinded and gagging horribly, he made his way to the front door.

  * * * *

  Dead asleep for the first time in weeks, Ellis was roused by Rebecca pushing his shoulder and repeating his name. When she smelled burning she'd pulled back the bed–curtains at once, thinking the candle had caught. But now, by the light of that same candle, she could see wisps of smoke snaking into the
room. They were coming from around the door.

  Ellis opened his eyes and sat up just in time to see his wife get out of bed. ‘No!’ Suddenly wide awake, he caught her hand. ‘No, Becky! If the corridor's full of smoke, you mustn't open the door.’

  ‘Ellis, there's a fire!’ Her eyes wide with alarm, Rebecca stared at him. She tried to free her hand. ‘What else can we do?’ she demanded. ‘Burn alive?’

  He shook his head. His hand still held hers, and now it increased its vice–like grip. He thought for a moment. He glanced towards the window. ‘The roof,’ he said, at last. ‘We must get out on to the roof. It's the only way.’

  ‘What?’ Already very frightened and now panicking, Rebecca struggled to get free. ‘But it's pitch dark!’ she wailed. ‘We'll never — ’

  Her hand was within inches of the latch.

  ‘Rebecca, you will not open the door.’ Now, counting on her obedience, Ellis released her. ‘Put on your wrap,’ he said. ‘Then get over by the window.’

  Reaching for his shirt and breeches, he pulled them on. Opening the casement, he peered out. ‘There's a full moon,’ he observed. ‘It's quite light enough to see.’

  ‘But Ellis, I'm pregnant! I've no head for heights. I'm bound to fall.’ In tears now, Rebecca gaped at him. ‘You're mad,’ she sobbed. ‘Stark, raving mad!’

  ‘I'm not.’ Ellis forced himself to be calm. ‘Darling, I've climbed out of this window many a time. I've spent whole days scrambling over the tiles, going where I pleased. I — ’

  ‘Yes, you told me.’ Still Rebecca wept. ‘It's so steep!’ she cried, staring in horror at the dizzying drop below. ‘I can't go out there. I'm sorry, Ellis. I just can't.’

  ‘You can. You must.’ Ellis grabbed her wrist. ‘No shoes,’ he said. ‘Bare feet grip better, you see. Now. Swing your legs over the sill. Hold tight to the water–spout here. Trust me.’

  * * * *

  Running through the cold night air, Alex made his way to the kitchen wing, where he located the source of the blaze. Now, he and the butler, together with three kitchen maids and the cook, were trying to put it out. Other tenants and servants, who had seen the flames and smelled smoke on the night breeze, came to join them.

  ‘The master, sir! The master and mistress!’ Beating ineffectually at the inferno which now completely engulfed the stairs, Simmons stared tearfully through the flames. ‘What will become of Mr Darrow, sir?’

  Alex told him to shut up and keep beating. There was a chance, a slim chance, that they'd get the fire out before it reached Ellis and Rebecca.

  But the single staircase was now well ablaze. Why, Alex wanted to cry, had Ellis never thought to put in a second, servants’ stairs? For there was now no other way to reach the upper floor.

  Half an hour went by. Sweating, dirty and exhausted, the labouring firefighters realised they would never get the blaze under control. If they valued their own lives, they should leave the house very soon.

  * * * *

  Alex was sure Ellis must be dead. Standing on the gravel sweep, watching the house burn, he gazed blearily into the fire.

  Now, he reproached himself bitterly. Why hadn't he roused Ellis? Why had he not even thought of his friend? What would Lalage say? She would revile him absolutely. Hate and despise him forever. He buried his face in his hands, and sobbed.

  ‘Alex!’ An angry shout from above made him start. ‘Simmons! Alex! Get ladders, damn you!’

  Alex looked up. He stared in disbelief. For there, on the roof of the long gallery, stood Ellis. Rebecca crouched beside him like a suppliant, clinging to his knees.

  ‘Ladders!’ cried Ellis again, his eyes blazing as brightly as the fire. ‘For God's sake, fetch ladders. This roof's red hot!’

  But nobody moved. The firefighters merely stared, hardly believing what they saw. The man in the torn white shirt, whose black hair streamed in the burning wind, was surely a vision. A ghost.

  Alex recovered first. He let out a whoop of joy. ‘Jump!’ he shouted. ‘Jump, Ellis! We'll catch you.’

  ‘Don't be ridiculous.’ Ellis glared down at Simmons. ‘Ladders, man!’ he howled, desperate now. ‘Hurry!’

  * * * *

  At last, a dozen or so tenants raced off to one of the barns, to do Ellis's bidding. They found ladders. They lashed them together. They propped them against the walls, and held them.

  Then, very carefully and slowly, Ellis and Rebecca were brought down from the roof. Rebecca went first, assisted by three or four labourers who steadied and encouraged her. Then, Ellis followed.

  As his foot cleared the bottom rung, the roof of the long gallery collapsed. With a great roar, the timbers fell. Scarlet flames shot a triumphant sixty feet into the sky.

  It was pointless to go on fighting a fire like this. Helplessly, tenants, villagers, master, mistress and servants stood together. They watched the house burn. It was a terrible sight, which held them all entranced.

  By the time streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, however, Easton Hall was no longer a spectacle. It was a blackened, empty ruin.

  Chapter 18

  Instead of taking to their heels and putting as much distance as they could between themselves and Easton Hall, the two arsonists stayed to watch the results of their evening's handiwork. Enthralled by the awesome sight of a great house ablaze from end to end, they gawped like idiots, hardly able to believe they'd been so successful.

  Then, coming to their senses, they joined the firefighters. They took their positions in the chain and passed leathern buckets full of water, to be hurled into the flames.

  His arm around his wife's shoulders, Ellis stood for an hour or more, watching his house burn. ‘Your honour?’ Now, a villager touched his arm. ‘Mr Darrow, sir?’

  ‘Yes?’ Ellis peered into the gloom. ‘Oh. James Tarrant, isn't it?’

  ‘That's right, master. I lives down yonder. In the house on the green. This here fire, sir — ’

  ‘What about it it?’

  ‘I reckon those two over there might know summat the rest of us don't.’ Tarrant jerked his thumb towards a couple of men standing just a few feet away. ‘I think they ought to be asked to explain theirselves, like.’

  ‘I see.’ Ellis glanced towards the two strangers. He frowned. ‘Do they come from the village?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir. They do not.’ Rubbing his tired eyes, Tarrant grimaced. ‘But they've been round and about the place for the past few days at least. Harry Green's seen ‘em in your park. Fred Brewer noticed ‘em too. Thought they was after the deer.’

  ‘Oh.’ Still too shocked and upset to think at all clearly, Ellis shrugged. Helplessly, he sighed. ‘Well — ’

  ‘I think you ought to question them, sir.’ Boldly, Tarrant shook Ellis's arm. ‘Beat it out of ‘em even, if your honour has to! But you should definitely make them buggers talk.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ Ellis sighed again. ‘Bring them over here.’

  Farming his own little bit of freehold in addition to those acres he rented from the squire, James Tarrant was well respected by his peers. He nodded to a friend. Now, the two strangers were surround by a mob of villagers, all hostile and all excited. Their arms were pinioned, then they were dragged unceremoniously to where Ellis and Rebecca stood.

  Looking at them, Ellis realised they were vaguely familiar. ‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Did you two burn my house?’

  Normally a rather more subtle inquisitor, Ellis's extreme fatigue and personal distress were responsible for the bluntness of this demand. But now, questioned so abruptly, the two men reddened. Usually bold and fearless, tonight they shuffled like a pair of embarrassed virgins. They grimaced. They would not meet the squire's eye.

  A silence or two or three minutes ensued. But then, prods from behind and audible muttering that there was an oak tree handy and plenty of rope readily available, helped one of the men to find his tongue. ‘We were just passing,’ he mumbled. ‘We saw the flames, like. So we — ’

  ‘We were on the road, se
e. Tramping.’ The other man shrugged. ‘We're tinkers, sir. Poor travelling men.’

  ‘Poor travellin’ poachers, I'd say.’ Tarrant poked one of the men in the chest. ‘I seen you before,’ he said. ‘You was at the Sessions. His honour sent you down for six months.’

  He turned to Ellis. ‘Mr Darrow, sir!’ he cried. ‘This fellow was tried at the last Session but one. You give ‘im ‘ard labour. Now he's come back, to take his revenge!’

  ‘Hang ‘em both, that's what I say.’ This shout from the back of the crowd made Ellis look up. Now, as the tenants gazed at their landlord's blanched, stricken countenance, the cry was taken up with a vengeance.

  ‘Hang them both!’

  ‘String them up, like dogs!’

  ‘Hang them, your honour. Do it now!’

  ‘But the lady made us!’ Now, the smaller of the two men sank to his knees. He grovelled at Ellis's feet. ‘She put us up to it,’ he wailed. ‘It was the lady as wanted it done!’

  ‘What?’ Ellis stared at the man. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘The lady, sir! She gave us gold.’

  ‘A lady gave you gold?’ Now, Ellis took hold of the man's upper arm. Jerking him to his feet, he glared. ‘What lady is this?’ he asked.

  ‘Sir, I — ’

  ‘The lady! Tell me her name!’ Shaking him as violently as a terrier shakes a captive, doomed rat, Ellis's hard fingers bit almost to the man's bones. ‘Speak!’

  ‘Your honour, I — ’

  ‘Answer me!’ Ellis's eyes glittered. ‘If you won't talk to me,’ he hissed, through clenched teeth, ‘I'll hand you over to the local militia. They'll not be half as tender of your limbs as I am.’

  At the mention of the militia, various tenants who served in the ranks of those trained bands rattled farm tools. They made martial noises. The two men made up their minds. They made a full confession there and then.