The House of Allerbrook

by Valerie Anand

  The track up the hillside from Rixons to Allerbrook took a zigzag path, to minimize the gradient, and in places was sunken between banks and hedgerows of hazel and bramble with a few small trees growing through them and one or two gates, giving onto fields.

  When they were young, he and Jane and Sybil had often, on sunny afternoons in early autumn, wandered along this very path with baskets, collecting nuts and blackberries. They were happy, innocent days. It was a pity they were gone.

  Somewhere on his left he heard what for a moment he took to be the cry of some bird or animal. A buzzard flew up from a tree and slanted away over the opposite hedgerow. Then came another shriek and a shout, this time from unmistakably human throats, and a young woman, skirts flying, tumbled headlong over a gate to fall to the ground almost under Silvertail’s hooves. Silvertail reared.

  Francis, keeping his seat with difficulty, recognized the Allerbrook maidservant Beth. She was scrambling to her feet and gaping at him and as she did so, another figure burst shouting and laughing onto the scene, leaping over the gate, pouncing on Beth and flinging her to the ground. She screamed and Silvertail, further provoked by the noise, reared again and squealed. Once more Francis held on, but lost a stirrup. The new arrival then, belatedly, realized that Beth was no longer alone, let her go and stood up shamefacedly.

  “Tom Hayward, what in hell’s name do you think you’re doing?” roared Francis.

  “Oh, Master Sweetwater, thank the sweet saints in heaven you’re here—he’s been chasing after me. I’ve run all the way across Quillet Field. Oh, dear God…” Beth got breathlessly to her feet. Her pretty round face, normally a pleasant pink, was scarlet and streaked with tears. Her cap was gone and there was a bramble twig caught in her brown curls.

  “I don’t mean no harm. It were just a bit of fun,” said Tom.

  “No, it weren’t!” shouted Beth, emboldened by Francis’s presence. “You’re allus after one or other of us and you do mean harm, you do! Master Sweetwater, he jumped out from behind a bush and got hold of me and I only just got away and what was he doing on Sweetwater land anyhow, if not prowlin’ to see if he could find me or Letty?”

  “How dare you, Tom Hayward?” There had been complaints about young Hayward before, and Francis took them seriously. His employees often grumbled at the amount of work he wanted from them, but it was known that maidservants were safe in his house. Francis, furious, raised his whip and struck. Tom flung up his arms to protect himself and yelled as the lash came down across his forearm. And Silvertail, outraged by this further loud noise so near his sensitive black ears, reared again, forelegs reaching for the sky.

  This time Francis did not keep his seat.

  It was Silvertail who alerted Jane to the disaster. He would rather have bolted home, but because Tom, to whom the horse had taken a dislike, was standing between him and his stable, he wheeled on his hocks, bolted the other way instead and came charging riderless into the Rixons farmyard.

  Jane, who had stayed in the kitchen, ran out at the sound of the agitated hooves, saw Silvertail come to a halt in the middle of the yard, stirrups flying loose, white-ringed eyes rolling and ears flat back, shouted, “See to the horse! Look after Tobias!” at Violet and rushed off along the path that Francis had taken.

  Gasping, she came at last on the scene of the accident. Francis was lying on the ground, with Tom Hayward standing there, looking stupid, and saying, “It weren’t my fault. Lot of fuss all about nothing. What’s wrong with ’un?” while Beth from Allerbrook knelt at Francis’s side, crying and shaking his arm and begging him to speak to her. Jane threw herself down at Beth’s side. “Francis!”

  And knew at once that it was useless. No living human neck could be bent in that particular way.

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “The horse threw ’un. He went headfirst into that tree,” said Beth, pointing with a shaky finger. “Horse were upset. We gave ’un a fright, bursting into the lane. I were runnin’ away from him.” She scowled at Tom.

  “I just come on her and axed her for a kiss and she run off as if I’d got horns and a tail,” said Tom sulkily. “Stupid girl.”

  “I’m not stupid and you wanted more than a kiss and I didn’t want to give you even that but I had to kick you to get away, you…!”

  “Stop that, both of you!” Jane stood up angrily. “Can’t you see that Francis…that my brother…I think his neck’s broken.” She heard her voice tremble. “What were you doing here, off Rixons land, Tom? Looking for girls, I suppose. Well, go and find your father and Master Hudd and bring them both here. Go on, don’t stand there like a booby!”

  She watched his slow mind grasp the seriousness of the calamity. He understood at last and ran off, and she turned to Beth, who had also risen sobbing to her feet. “Beth, whatever made you come out alone? You know that Peggy’s warned you not to.”

  “Peggy sent me! There’s word from Clicket Hall—from Master Stone. Oh, everything happens at once!” Beth wailed. “The messenger said to fetch Master Francis from Rixons, that Master Stone is ill but needs to see him, something about the lease of Clicket Hall—he wants it to pass to Dorothy when he’s gone or something…it sounded important. Peggy told me to run down the hill, she said I’m younger and I’d be quicker than she would, and to bring Master Francis back. I think she just forgot about Tom Hayward—after all, I’d be on Allerbrook land almost all the way. I thought to take a shortcut across Quillet…”

  “All right. Never mind that now. Go back up to the house and fetch Dr. Spenlove. Is he there?”

  “Yes, yes, he’m there.”

  “Bring him here. Hurry! I’ll stay with the master.”

  Beth ran off, still weeping, leaving Jane alone with the rustle of wind in the hedgerow, and after a moment, as the human noises ceased, the sound of birds came from near at hand: a stonechat, a blackbird. Francis lay on the track, his face white, his neck twisted at that dreadful, unnatural angle. Only a short time ago she had been talking to him; he had been giving Tobias a finger to hold. Now he was dead and her life had just gone around another blind corner.

  The sound of voices roused her. Her husband was hurrying toward her, along with Ed and Tom Hayward. She said something she had never expected to say, at least not in those heartfelt tones.

  “Oh, Harry. I am so glad to see you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Knowing One’s Place

  1541

  It was rotund little Dr. Spenlove, though, who took charge. Beth must have recovered her usual common sense by the time she reached Allerbrook House, and explained things to him properly, for he came hotfoot, and unusually solemn of face, saying that he had ordered Tim Snowe to find helpers and bring something on which to carry Francis home.

  Tim and two of the other farmhands arrived shortly, carrying a hurdle. At Spenlove’s behest, Harry sent Tom Hayward off again, this time to fetch his mother, Violet. “And the baby. We’ll be goin’ up to Allerbrook,” he said. “And don’t think,” he added, “that ’ee’ve heard the last of this. Half-dead ’ee’ll be when I’ve dealt with ’ee. Meanwhile, send your ma and my boy Toby yur as quick as ’ee can, or half-dead might be all dead. Send them. Don’t want the likes of ’ee up at Allerbrook. You’ll stop at Rixons and wait till I get back. Hear me?”

  Tom, loose mouthed with fright, made off at speed, and Violet appeared with the baby a short time later. Spenlove had made everyone wait for them to come, then marshalled them all up the hill together, following the makeshift bier. Peggy and Letty ran distractedly out to meet them.

  “Carry Master Sweetwater to his bedchamber,” said Spenlove, authoritatively. “Peggy, Violet, you both understand the business of laying out. You attended to Mistress Eleanor, if I remember rightly. Kindly do the same for Master Sweetwater. Give the child to his mother, Violet. Letty, they’ll want hot water to wash the master. Set some to heat. Beth, I see the hall fire is laid—light it, please, quick as you can, and then bring us some cider o
r ale—something to hearten us. Hot milk for Mistress Hudd. Mistress Hudd, bring the baby and sit by the hearth. The day’s none too warm, for all it’s sunny, and you need warmth to comfort you. You sit down, too, Master Hudd, yes and you, too, Ed Hayward. I made sure that you all came up to the house because there are things that I must tell you. They affect every one of you.”

  “What things?” asked Jane nervously as they sat themselves down. She was holding Tobias on her lap and joggling him gently while her mind continued to spin with shock.

  It was not possible, it was just not possible that Francis could be dead. This was his house, his hall. Jane had not been here since the harvest supper and now, looking confusedly around her, she saw her brother’s goshawk still on her perch. (There were mutes on the floor again; Eleanor would have been horrified.) In a moment Francis would join them. Little over an hour ago he had been admiring Tobias….

  Beth lit the fire and fetched the drinks. The chaplain let everyone settle before saying, “I can see no point in delaying this. Disaster has struck very suddenly and we have hardly been able to take it in, but it has happened and already, I have no doubt, some of you will be wondering what your position is now. Wondering who will be master of Allerbrook House now that Francis Sweetwater has left us. I see no reason to waste time.”

  “Did he make a will?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, Mistress Hudd, he did. He made a new will just after his wife died, while you were still at court. He talked its terms over with me, and I can tell you that I was sorry that your sister was cut out and tried to persuade him to change his mind, but he would not. Finally, I was a witness when he signed it in the presence of a lawyer in Dulverton. The lawyer himself was also a witness. Then when you and he…disagreed…”

  “He changed it?” said Jane, cutting in. “He left Allerbrook to me to begin with, but then he took it away?” She heard the pain in her own voice.

  “Here, you shouldn’t go interruptin’ the man like that!” said Harry.

  “I’m sorry.” Jane’s voice shook. Though half of her mind couldn’t believe that Francis was dead, the other half had indeed begun to wonder what would happen to Allerbrook. He’d hardly have bequeathed it to her, not now.

  But Spenlove was smiling at her. “No. He left it to you, and he didn’t change his will. Oh, he meant to—he told me as much. But he’d heard that the Dulverton lawyer, a man he knew and trusted, had just died. He’d need a new adviser, and at the time he was too busy to look for one. Finally, he said he’d leave it until he had found a new wife. He meant to marry again as soon as possible. Francis Sweetwater mourned his late wife most sincerely, but Allerbrook House needs a mistress. He said there was no point in making a new will and then having to do it all over again when he remarried. He was a young man. He didn’t expect to die for many years. The old will stands and I can show you where he kept it. It’s in one of the drawers of the desk he used for his accounts.”

  Harry stood up. “Thee’d best bring it out,” he said.

  They all went together, to the panelled downstairs room that Francis had used as a study. Jane was still holding Tobias in her arms. Spenlove opened a drawer beneath the table and took out a sealed cylinder of parchment. Remarking to Jane that Master Hudd was after all her husband and also that he had his hands free while hers were full of Tobias, Spenlove offered the will to Harry, who shook his head and said, “No use givin’ ’un to me. I never learned to read my own name. Jane here ought to be the one. She can read. Give me the baby, Jane.”

  Jane, detecting the irritable note in his voice, also shook her head and held on to Tobias. “Dr. Spenlove, please break the seal and read the will aloud. That would be best.”

  So in the end, though Jane stood close enough to make out her brother’s somewhat sprawling signature at the foot, it was Spenlove who unsealed the cylinder and Spenlove who announced that according to the last will and testament of Francis Richard Sweetwater, except for some modest bequests to his servants and a donation to St. Anne’s church in Clicket, he had chosen—because his wife was dead and he was childless and was estranged from one of his sisters—to make his remaining sister, Jane Sweetwater, residuary legatee. “Which means,” said Spenlove, “all the rest. And that means the Allerbrook estate.”

  “Master Sweetwater’s gone and left all that to us?” Harry almost shouted it. He glanced at Jane and then around the hall, and shook his head. “But that b’ain’t decent. I’m a plain man and I know my place. A man ought to stop where God put him. That’s Christian humility that Father Drew gave a sermon about only a week afore last. We can’t say yes to this.”

  “You have little choice,” said Spenlove dryly. “It’s what the will says and in law, it stands.”

  Harry crimsoned angrily and then shrugged. “We’ll settle all that later. Meanwhile, I s’pose there’s the funeral to see to.”

  Confound you, said Spenlove to himself. I know your breed. You’re going to be obstinate.

  Peggy begged them all to stay for supper, and they did. Most of the conversation concerned funeral plans and making sure that everyone who should know of the tragedy was informed. Dr. Spenlove agreed to remain in charge at Allerbrook House for the time being. When the meal was over, Jane and Harry and the Haywards went back down the hill, taking a sleepy and slightly irritable Tobias with them. They found a scared-looking Tom awaiting them. There were the usual evening tasks of milking the cows and filling mangers and locking up the poultry for the night. Tobias had to be settled, and as he was fretful, it took time. While Jane attended to this, she heard Harry order Tom to come with him, and heard the kitchen door slam behind them as her husband marched Tom out. Presently Harry came back alone. Jane did not ask questions.

  As soon as possible, ignoring the whispers and curious glances from the Haywards, Harry and Jane went to their bedchamber and, having got there, locked the door behind them and sat down side by side on the bed.

  Harry had taken little part in the supper conversation. But now he said, “I’ve attended to Tom. He’ll sleep on his stomach for a few nights now. So. What happens next?” His voice was aggressive. Jane was not surprised by this, but the strength of her own resentment was so great that it startled her. What was he complaining about? What had she done wrong?

  “We’ve been left a good inheritance,” she said, and was aware that her voice had steel in it.

  She folded her hands in her lap and sat staring at them, trying to appear serene, though she did not feel serene. Savage would be nearer to the truth. She had been so thankful to see Harry, down there in the lane beside Francis’s body, but now…

  If Harry objects to this bequest—if he says he wants to sell my home, I’ll hate him forever. I’ll never forgive him.

  She had never known that she was capable of feeling like this, never known till now how much she cared for Allerbrook. She was horrified by her own violent thoughts. She dared not look up, dared not look into Harry’s eyes in case he read her mind. She waited.

  “Well,” said Harry deliberately after a moment or two, “it’s all been a bit of a shock, b’ain’t it?”

  “Yes, Harry. It’s certainly been that.”

  “Poor old Francis.”

  “Yes.” Jane searched within herself and to her relief found that the proper emotion of grief was actually there. “He was just riding up the hill toward home and then, all of a sudden…he can’t have believed it, either. I mean, if he had time to know about it.”

  “Good thing he came to see ’ee. You two’ve not been on proper speakin’ terms, have ’ee? Don’t think I don’t know!” His voice was rough. “You upset him, comin’ home from court. He pushed you off on to me. Well, I wanted a wife and a son and if a man’s got sense, he don’t argue with ’un’s landlord, not when the landlord’s doing him a favour. Can’t say ’ee’ve not done right by me—good maid you are, Jane. But I don’t suppose I was what ’ee wanted. I don’t suppose I’m what ’ee wants now. I can see that. I can’t read nor write, but I
b’ain’t the village idiot. Only idiot hereabouts is that gurt fool Tom Hayward.”

  “Harry, you’ve always been kind to me and you mustn’t think I don’t…” She lost herself and started again. “I’m better off with you than I would be with some of the men I saw at court. And you’ve given me Tobias.” She swallowed and then made herself say, “I’m perfectly happy with you.”

  I wonder where Peter Carew is now? Doing what? Is he in danger?

  “Yes, Tobias.” Harry seemed to be thinking. “This’ll make a difference to him. Next, ’ee’ll be sayin’ the lad ought to get some schooling. I don’t like the sound of that. Don’t want my son thinkin’ he’s above me.”

  “If he’s got to look after property one day…” Jane ventured. “I mean, he ought to learn to deal with accounts and letters and…”

  “I know I’m ignorant. Just said as much, didn’t I? Well, same as I said to that chaplain up at the house, that’s the station in life I were born to and I b’ain’t presumin’ to leave it. And I don’t want my son lookin’ down ’un’s nose at me, either!”

  “He won’t! I’ll see to that.”

  “I don’t doubt ’ee’ll try,” said Harry, sounding slightly mollified. Jane put out a hand, searching for his without looking for it, but he only took the offering momentarily before putting her hand down as though it were something he had inspected and found wanting. There was another pause and then he said, “Jane, just what is it ’ee’ve been left? Don’t think Spenlove finished readin’ it all, did he? So tell me.”

  Jane cleared her throat. “There’s Allerbrook House and its home farm, and three other farms. Hannacombes, Greys—the place that used to be Shearers—and Rixons. That’s us. There’s the village—all the houses are rented from Allerbrook. There’s Clicket Hall that’s on lease to the Stone family, but it belongs to Allerbrook really. So does the water mill on the far side of it—that came into our family when Clicket Hall itself did. There’s a home farm attached to Clicket Hall, as well. And there are two farms on the eastern side of Somerset.”