by Craig McNish
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
“I might ask the same of you” Mills retorted, his voice calm. “Were you never taught to respect your elders, or anyone at all for that matter?”
“Course I was, but look at the state of 'er! I'll have you know I was brought up good and proper!”
“I tend to think more that you were dragged up by that long, lank, lice-ridden hair on your head. Maybe you should be mindful of your own appearance before judging that of others, don't you think?” Barton ran a hand over her hair, suddenly very aware that the focus was now upon her rather than Sanders, as was intended. She didn't expect anyone to leap to the larger woman's defence; nobody ever did, so why now? But Liz Barton was not a woman to give up so easily.
“Well I knows this much” she called out to Sanders. “Them men will only come to your room at night so they don't have to look at that big ugly face of yours while you give them their farthing's worth.” Sanders had looked ready to speak up but Mills was there first.
“Or maybe she just prefers her days to be free so that they might be enjoyed like any other person might enjoy theirs. You, on the other hand, have been got at by so many men that they pay rent for being able to live under your dress.” Barton turned scarlet; even her younger sister was laughing at her now. Someone of better mind might have been able to accept defeat and walk away while they were able to retain a shred of decency, but Elizabeth Barton was not that way inclined.
“Bastard, you are! Do you ever shut that mouth of yours?”
“I think the more appropriate question is, do you ever shut those legs of yours? The crows are looking to build their nests and I fear that's where they'll soon be headed.” The humiliation was finally too much for Barton to take; the tears fell in torrents from her eyes as she upped and left, headed in the direction of Durham City. Everyone was laughing, applauding Mills. Some were even patting him on the back, and the shoulders. Anne Sanders came over to him and voiced her thanks, kissing his cheek as she did so. Mills accepted her words and actions with good grace, while politely refusing her offer to thank him more fully that night in the privacy of her own home.
Three more carriages had entered the market place in the meantime, but no one had noted their arrival. Two gentlemen had watched the altercation between Mills and Barton with great amusement, their wives bristling at the choice and suggestive language being used. The occupant of the third carriage had also disembarked and while she found the exchanges somewhat crude, there was definite appreciation for Mills and his willingness to defend the larger woman, who would most likely have struggled to do such a thing on her own. But the lad was fast with his retorts, and he looked the sort who would be unlikely to back down first when it came to protecting someone that he loved. He's also quite handsome, the young lady noted, her face becoming flushed. She decided to wait and see what would happen.
“You there – the large woman. What is your name?” Robert Cutter had a loud, booming voice that commanded attention. Everyone was looking at Anne Sanders, who felt nervous but also hopeful she might be getting some work. Mills listened quietly as the insults from Cutter to Sanders began, and he knew now that this was his time. Whatever he did in these next few moments was to change his fate and the rest of his life. He could feel it in his bones. An opportunity would make itself known where he could act, set himself on the right path to follow. He just had to wait.
“My friend here has a farm. He tells me the crows keep scavenging on his land, making a meal of his crop. He could use someone to run around his fields all day and scare them off. What might you say?”
“I'd say that you could do a much better job of that than Miss Sanders” Mills said, stepping forward and looking Robert Cutter in the eye.
“I beg your pardon? Do you not know who you are speaking to, boy?”
“I do” Mills replied with confidence. “I am talking to a man whose wealth has made him ugly. He has no love or appreciation of anyone or anything but his money. With one as grotesque as you stood in that field I doubt the crows would fly within a mile of it. And what might you say to that?”
Cutter's friend – a local farmer by the name of John Brass – had thought the young man had spoken out of turn, but that there was also much truth about what he had said. Maybe he would offer him work.
“With my social standing I will see to it personally that you never gain employment in this city, not ever! And as a man with friends in positions of influence, you will find yourself lucky to secure work shovelling horse manure until the end of your days!” Cutter had lifted his cane and was prodding Mills in the chest with it; he had looked ready to cuff him until his wife had stepped in to calm his temper. As Cutter smoothed down his jacket and wandered off to inspect the remaining choice of hands for hire, John Brass approached Mills.
“That was quite an attack you made on my friend there. I have to say that I'm surprised.”
“My apologies to you, sir, but the man was asking for it. If he shows no respect to others then he should expect none in return.”
“I quite agree” said Brass, startling Mills with his reply. “I came to offer you work on my farm. I pay a fair wage, and you would have your own lodgings. The hours would be long and the work hard, but you look like a lad who could manage. Would you be interested?”
“I would, but did you not hear your friend's last words to me? He said I would never work in this city again, and while I do not believe that to be true I also feel it would not be a good idea on your part to employ the man who has just put him in his place good and proper.” Brass laughed at this; he could see the logic in what Mills was saying.
“So you would put my friendship with this man before an offer of work to you?”
“I believe that would be for the best, yes.” John Brass nodded in an approving way.
“Well I guess that would be my loss – you are an intelligent lad, Andrew Mills. I daresay you will find good work soon enough. Here, for your honesty...” Brass took out of his pocket a small velvet pouch and removed a few coins, pressing them into Mills' palm. Mills quickly counted the coins three times; he had just under three pounds.
“Thank you, sir. You are most kind.” Mills placed the coins in his pocket and shook Brass' hand warmly. The two were about to part ways when another thought made itself apparent in Mills' mind.
“Sir, if I might ask; would I be right in saying your eldest child Jane will be marrying soon?”
“That would be correct. You know Jane?”
“Not precisely, but I do know of her. I believe she is to be wed to Mister Cutter's son, William Cutter?”
“Again, correct. Is there some point you are trying to make here?”
“If I might be so bold, Mister Brass, I would ask two things of you. First, you must not let the wedding go ahead at Candlemas, as you have planned. Second, you should tell your friend Mister Cutter not to follow his son's suggestion regarding his business.”
“And what suggestion would that be?”
“I feel sure that will be shared with you at the appropriate time. But if you want your daughter to be married into a good household and be kept in the manner to which she has become accustomed then it is imperative you do not let them marry for one month more. I believe you would think that time a small price to pay for your daughter's happiness?”
“Most surely, but Robert has a narrow mind when it comes to business. If he sees an idea he believes is the right one then he will pursue it, no doubt even harder if I were to tell him not to. He is very successful so is more likely to trust his gut than my word.”
“Then it will be to his detriment.” Although he did not show it, Mills had hoped that this would be the result. If a man is pushed in the extreme to carry out an action by another, then he will refuse to do so simply on the basis of not wanting to be told what to do. That was what his father would often say. And so it proved to be right, or at least Mills hoped it would. John Brass now moved away, and Mills was left feeling li
ke he had accomplished something no other man on earth possibly could.
“Hello, Andrew Mills.” The beautifully-pitched voice that sounded from his back give Mills cause to turn on his heel. Stood there, looking delightful in a long blue dress and with a hold on a parasol of the same colour, was a woman he recognised.
“Miss Constance, hello. A pleasure it is indeed to see you here, but I must ask; have you married a man with money? I do not mean that in a way as to be rude, but I know you to be a schoolteacher and of modest means. I did not think you would be here today looking to hire help.”
“Oh, I'm not looking to hire anyone” she said with a smile that made her look quite radiant. “Let me be blunt. I have dedicated so much time to my work that it seems life has passed me by in the mere blink of an eye. I am of an age where I see my friends settled in homes with children, and husbands. I could think of no other way than this to try and find a husband to whom I might be able to give at least one child, and he to give us his love in return. I am a good judge of a person, and I believe that you might be the man I find myself looking for.” And in this moment, as Andrew Mills considered her words and just what they would mean, he felt a strange calm settle in his mind. There was no fear, no sense of having lived the moment before. Instead, Andrew Mills felt as though he had just taken his first step on the true path to a life full of love, happiness and a much-blessed existence.
“I would be nothing but a fool to turn down your offer, Miss Constance, but we will do this properly. A ritual courtship would be the proper way to proceed, don't you think? I'm sure you understand.” Merryman smiled, touched Mills' cheek.
“Walk with me” she said. They headed out of the market place, talking about any number of possibilities that lay ahead of them.
*
This story was inspired by actual events.
If you would like to see more information about Andrew Mills and the Brass Farm murders,
Google 'Andrew Mills Ferryhill' and check out the many links related to the crime.
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