This dwelling on the matter was pointless. She stood up decisively. She would go for a ride. So far she had not been able to ride around the entire estate since she had returned to England, it had either been raining, or she had too much else to do. Even though she was no longer the owner, she would like to see some of the tenants. They had been her friends, many of them nearer to her in age than Walter and his cronies.
She sent to have her mare saddled, then rang for her new maid, Blodwen. She was a Welsh girl from Swansea who, when her former mistress died, had come to live with an aunt in Bristol to find another position. The registry had sent her and another cook, and so far Catarina had been satisfied with both of them. Blodwen spoke with a strong Welsh lilt, which confused poor Clarice even more than the local accent. Catarina herself, and Staines, were the only people in the house Clarice could understand properly.
Soon Catarina was cantering along the edge of the common. What ought to be hay in a few weeks did not look promising, the constant rain had flattened the grass. If there was not a good crop the villagers would have little with which to feed their animals during the winter. She turned towards the marsh, wanting to see what Jeremy had done with the drainage. The way lay alongside the woods, and she dropped to a walk, since the storms had blown dead and fallen branches across the path, and brought down a few trees. Ought she to suggest they be cleared, or would that be presumption? Then she recalled that although Jeremy was not here Nicholas was. But she would not inform him of the problem. She did not wish to have to meet him again. She had to stop thinking about him.
One particularly large oak had fallen right across the path. She was trying to find a way round it when someone rose up in front of her and caught the mare’s reins. Catarina’s heart gave a leap of fright. Perhaps she ought to have brought the groom, she thought in sudden panic, but she had always ridden alone, expecting to be safe on Walter’s land.
It was a man, dressed in what looked like rags, his hair wild and tangled, his face and hands streaked with dirt. The mare, startled, tried to rear, but he held her firmly, and began stroking her neck, crooning softly so that she soon quietened.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, thankful to find her voice calm and steady. Then she looked closer at him. ‘It’s Dan, isn’t it? You used to work for Mr Lewis.’
‘Aye, used to, missus. My lady, that is. I didn’t mean ter frighten the mare. I’m sorry. But I ’as ter speak wi’ someone. An’ Mr Jeremy ain’t ’ere.’
‘I’m so sorry about your wife, Dan, and that you’ve lost your cottage. Where are you living? Have you another job?’
Looking as he did, he would have problems finding anything, she thought. She had heard that some of the people from villages nearby had left and gone to Bristol to find work, since there was not enough on the farms for everybody. Was that because of the enclosures everyone was talking about?
Dan was shaking his head. ‘It were me own doin’s; I were daft, an’ my poor Annie ’ad ter suffer fer it. I could a’ killed meself after what she done, but that there Ellen, enough ter drive a man mad, she were. And Annie, she dain’t want me no more. Said as ’ow six childer were enough, an’ on’y one livin’, so I weren’t ter go near ’er. It were more than flesh and blood could stand, so it were, lyin’ in same bed an’ ’er so cold. We’d bin wed sixteen year.’
Catarina pushed away the thoughts of Dan and his wife in bed, together, but forced to be celibate. At least she and Walter had always occupied separate rooms.
‘You had a boy, I think. What’s happened to him?’
‘Annie’s sister took ’im. ’E’s got a good job now, errand boy fer a shop in Bristol.’
‘So where are you living?’
‘Shack. In woods. I’ve got fellers bring me bread. I’m not poachin’ Mr Jeremy’s conies.’
Fleetingly Catarina thought that a pity. If he were convicted he would be sent out to New South Wales and might be reunited with Annie. He seemed fond enough of her, deep down. But she could hardly suggest such a course.
‘What do you want?’ she repeated.
‘Could yer ’av a word wi’ Mr Lewis? If ’e’d gi’ me me job back, I’d work fer lowest rates. I know I don’t deserve it, but it weren’t my fault Ellen’s lad an’ ’is friends come lookin’ fer me an’ started a fight. I’d sleep in barn, I don’t want cottage back. It ’ld remind me too much of my Annie.’
‘I’ll speak to him,’ Catarina promised. It had, from what Staines had told her, been Dan’s fault in the first place, and Annie had been provoked. Losing her, and the guilt he felt, was punishment enough.
‘Or Master Jeremy might ’av work fer me. I ’eard he were goin’ ter enclose common, there’ll be men needed ter put up fences.’
‘I don’t know if he is,’ Catarina told him, ‘but when he comes down from London I’ll ask if he could find you some work.’
‘Bless yer, me lady. You was always kind.’
He disappeared into the woods as silently as he had come and Catarina went on towards the marsh soberly. Was Jeremy going ahead with his plans without getting the villagers on his side? Could he make enclosures, legally, without an Act of Parliament? She must try to talk to him when he returned from London. He would probably consider it interference, and resent it, but she felt a continuing responsibility to the people who had once been Walter’s.
Nicholas was sitting in the library at Marshington Grange. The book he had been trying to read was discarded on the floor beside him. He had dismissed Mr Trubshaw brusquely when the man wanted to ask his advice. After three glasses of wine he had rung to have the decanter taken away. Getting drunk, which he would very much like to have done, would not solve his dilemma.
All night he had tried to decide what to do. Seeing that baby with her olive complexion, dark curly hair, and large eyes, so like Catarina’s, had given him a severe jolt. She had contradicted her immediate acceptance that the child was hers, and then spun him some unlikely tale that the baby was her Portuguese cousin’s. He supposed it might be the truth, that a cousin had died. Many women did, in childbirth. But she had presumably possessed a husband, so what was he thinking of permitting his child to be taken out of the country and brought to England? Were there not many other cousins in Portugal, married and with families, to whom the child could have gone?
He rubbed his hands over his eyes. Lord, he was tired! In London he could sit up all night at play and feel no ill effects, but now he was spent. He did not know what to do. Yesterday his instinctive reaction was to walk away, to do nothing until he had thought over the implications. He had, fortunately, not actually made Catarina an offer. Did he still wish to?
He wanted her body, he freely admitted to himself. He had spent many nights dreaming of possessing her while she had been away. But there was some mystery regarding that baby, and it seemed as though he did not know the real Catarina at all. Until he did, there was no way he could ask her to be his wife.
There was a tentative knock on the door and his valet came in.
‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed,’ Nicholas snapped. ‘What the devil are you doing here in any case, Chettle?’
‘No one else dared interrupt, my lord, so they begged me to tell you.’
‘Tell me what, man? I trust it’s important!’
‘Some of the villagers have asked to see you. Apparently Mr Jeremy has sent orders that the whole common is to be enclosed immediately.’
*
Mrs Eade was waiting in the drawing room when Catarina returned to the Dower House.
‘Please, my lady, I won’t keep you a moment,’ she said, when Catarina said she ought to change out of her riding habit. ‘I have to get back soon, we have one of our daughters coming to stay, but I really had to come and tell you what is happening in the village.’
She paused for breath and Catarina sat down. ‘I think I know. It’s the common, isn’t it?’
‘Were you aware of Mr Brooke’s plans?’
She sounded accusin
g and Catarina quickly shook her head.
‘I saw Dan up near the woods while I was out, and he seemed to think that was what had been ordered.’
‘We thought, the Reverend and I, that Mr Brooke was concerned for the village. He completed the drainage scheme your dear husband started, and the new earl hastened the building of the new cottages. But to rob the poor people of their grazing land, the rights they have held for centuries, is cruel! Most of them will have nowhere else to graze their beasts, and nowhere to grow winter feed for them.’
‘Is there no other provision being made for grazing?’
‘We have not heard. But there is also the hay that grows there, which has always been allowed to the villagers for the winter feed.’
‘Lord Brooke is in residence at the moment, I believe. Can you not speak to him?’
‘Will he contradict his brother’s orders? As far as we understand he gifted the estate to Mr Brooke, so he may not feel able to overrule him. However, the Reverend and I hope you, as the former owner, might have some influence. Can you not speak to both Mr Brooke and his lordship?’
How could she explain that at the moment she did not know whether his lordship would ever speak to her again?
‘I really believe that a representation from your husband would do more good,’ she said at last. ‘From me it would seem to be interference, as though I were unwilling to relinquish the estate, but you and the Reverend have a duty to care for the village. You have a right to be concerned. And, perhaps, a man speaking to his lordship might be listened to more sympathetically than a mere female.’
Mrs Eade looked at her closely. ‘Perhaps you are right. Now, my dear, tell me about this child you have brought home with you. There are all sorts of rumours flying around.’
Catarina tried a light laugh. ‘Indeed? People will always gossip, won’t they? Maria de Freitas’ – she emphasized the name – ‘is a cousin’s child. It was very sad, she had so longed to have a family, but she died giving birth and, as her husband had died six months earlier, I offered to take the baby in and bring her up. After all, now that Joanna is married and so far away I have no close family. I think you know I do not get on well with my uncle in Bristol.’
She was getting almost as good as Joanna at inventing untruths, Catarina thought in disgust. But what else could she do to protect her sister’s reputation?
Mrs Eade sighed. ‘Such a pity when families cannot get on. I don’t have time now, I must go, but I hope you will soon tell me all about this sudden romance of Joanna’s. A Portuguese prince, I heard.’
Catarina did not bother to correct her. To the villagers people from further away than Bristol were considered foreigners, and real foreigners would be singularly exotic, even to people more educated, like the rector and his wife. She ushered Mrs Eade out, and went upstairs to change from her riding habit. Now, as well as her own problem, she had the village concerns to worry about.
Nicholas looked at the three men in front of him. They were all elderly and had clearly worked hard all their lives if the gnarled hands and weathered faces meant anything.
‘You tell me my brother has sent orders for the whole common to be enclosed? To whom did these orders come?’
‘His agent, Mr Trubshaw. He said he were going to tell you this morning,’ said the eldest, who seemed to be the spokesman.
Nicholas guiltily recalled how he had dismissed Trubshaw that morning, telling him he did not wish to be bothered with estate business at the moment. He’d been too absorbed in thoughts of Catarina and the child.
‘I’ll speak to Trubshaw and send a message to my brother. He will have to stop if he does not have the agreement of the villagers. We’ll delay doing anything until he is able to come down and speak to you himself.’
Jeremy would fume and accuse him of not wanting to permit him full control over property which had been given to him, of not being willing to let go, but Nicholas decided he had to convince his brother that he could not take away these ancient rights on a whim. Having Jeremy angry with him was preferable to having the whole village so angry with Jeremy he might find life at Marshington intolerable. He was young and impatient, but he needed to understand what his own powers were, and learn how to deal with the people who depended on him for their employment and their housing.
‘I’ll go and find Mr Trubshaw at once.’
They left, but Nicholas had the distinct impression they only half believed his assurance that the work would not begin yet. He looked in the estate office where Mr Trubshaw was normally to be found in the morning, but the man was not there. Sighing, he went to change and was soon riding towards the village.
He found Mr Trubshaw standing near the church, surrounded by a noisy group of villagers, women as well as men. The three men who had come to see him appeared to have just arrived and were all speaking at once, presumably telling the agent what he had promised.
Someone saw Nicholas, and the crowd immediately deserted Mr Trubshaw and came hurrying towards him. For a few moments he had problems controlling his horse, disturbed by the noise and the press of bodies around him, but one of the younger men, an ostler from the Bear, grasped the bridle and managed to soothe the horse. Nicholas was irritated, but bit back the sharp rebuke. He was quite capable of controlling his mount, but the man was trying to be helpful and he did not wish to antagonize these people further.
Several of them were talking; he held up his hand for silence.
‘I am sure this is a mistake. I will write at once to my brother to discover what he is about. I do not believe he intends to deprive you of your grazing land, so all the work will be halted until he can come himself and explain what he is intending. Mr Trubshaw, can you come to see me this afternoon, please?’
The three men he had seen earlier nodded, and some of the others appeared to accept what he said. The crowd was beginning to disperse, but a few, younger men, he noticed, remained behind.
‘That be all very well, me lord, but your brother wants changes, an’ they’ll not be good for us,’ one said, and the others nodded.
‘The drainage of the marsh is good, is it not?’
Reluctantly they agreed.
‘But that were the old lord’s plan. He’d never have wanted ter steal our grazin’ land.’
‘My brother has new ideas, to make better use of the land, and breed better animals that will give us all more wool, more milk and meat, but he wants this to benefit everyone. Won’t you at least listen to what he wants to do?’
‘In some parts, we’ve ’eard, folk ’ave lost their work from these improvements,’ another man said. ‘They can’t make a livin’ if the land they get’s too small, the fields too small fer grazin’, an’ they can’t use the common no more.’
‘Nor can they get logs ter burn when wood’s enclosed.’
‘Then they ’as ter sell ter bigger chaps wi’ more land already, an’ either get work as labourers, or go ter towns an’ work in mills or mines.’
‘Then they bring in machines ter do the work o’ ten men. The on’y ones ter profit be the farmers and men what own the land.’
‘There’ve bin riots,’ the first speaker said, with some relish. ‘Like them fellers what broke stocking machines. We don’t want no machines takin’ our work away.’
When Nicholas rode back to the house he was considerably worried. He would write to Jeremy at once and insist he was needed down here to explain what he was doing, not leave it all to his agent to make his excuses.
Jeremy arrived at Marshington Grange on Saturday and both brothers were in church the following day. Catarina saw how many of the villagers avoided looking at Jeremy, while others were throwing him angry looks.
She hoped to avoid speaking to them after the service, but Mrs Eade beckoned to her as she was heading for her carriage, so there was no escape. The brothers stood with her and the rector, Mr Lewis and a few other of the more prosperous farmers.
‘I will do as I please with my own land,’ Catarina hea
rd Jeremy say, as she approached. ‘I’ve explained all the advantages to them, but they refuse to listen. Some of them want to amalgamate the strips, and I will organize that. For now, until I get the power to change it, the rest can carry on in their hidebound way until they see sense!’
‘But the common, that’s different,’ Mrs Eade was saying. ‘Catarina, my lady, can you not persuade this stubborn young man that he should at least provide alternative grazing?’
Jeremy frowned. ‘I’ve promised to do that for those who accept my plan of joining their land into compact units.’
‘Some of them fear they will be left with just the inferior land,’ the rector explained.
‘It they would all sit down together and talk we could deal with that. Can you not at least persuade them to do that, Rector? But I’m warning them, if they won’t co-operate willingly I’ll get an Act and force it on them.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mr Brooke, but feelings are strong.’
Catarina began to move away, but Nicholas’s voice, cold and stern, arrested her.
‘My lady, I need to speak to you. May I call tomorrow morning?’
All she could do was nod. She moved on, past Mr Lewis. She could speak to him now and plead for Dan.
‘He’s truly sorry,’ she said, when she had explained about meeting Dan. ‘I don’t know how he is managing to survive in the woods; it’s much colder than usual at this time of year. From what I have heard the fight at the Bear was not instigated by him.’
‘You think I’ve been hard on him?’
‘Yes, I do. It would be charitable to forgive him.’
Mr Lewis slowly shook his head. ‘I daren’t risk having him about the farm. From what I’ve heard from the other men he’s been threatening me with reprisals, even saying he’ll burn down the barn. He’s a troublemaker. If you see him again, my lady, advise him to go back to Devon where he came from.’
Catarina could do no more. She climbed into her carriage and went home, to spend the rest of the afternoon wondering what Nicholas would have to say on the following day. From the tone of his voice and his unsmiling face she doubted he wanted to offer for her.
Scandal at the Dower House Page 11