by Ann Swinfen
As I slung on my cloak and fastened the clasp, Anthony clapped me on the shoulder.
‘The best of luck to you, Tom. Come straight back when you know.’
‘I will that.’
I made my way cautiously across the Court. The severe frost in the night had left the ground hard frozen and the thin winter sun had done nothing to thaw it. Suddenly I was convinced I would fall flat and be left sprawling on the icy ground like a fool, unable to get up again. I went slower and slower, partly for fear of a fall, partly to postpone what might be bad news.
The steps up to the Treasurer’s chambers had been sanded again, to my relief, and Theodore Somers greeted me cheerfully.
‘This way, Master Bennington. The Treasurer is awaiting you.’
Would he be so cheerful if I had been turned down?
‘Ah, Master Bennington, come in.’ The Treasurer waved me to the same chair as before. ‘I am pleased to tell you that Pension has decided that you may be readmitted to the Inn, to take up your studies where you left off at the end of your first year.’
I felt relief flood through me like a burst of heat. My hands were shaking, so I clasped them together.
‘We must ensure, naturally, that you have not forgotten everything you learned. I am assigning you as a pupil to Bencher Whittaker. He will examine you on your knowledge and direct your studies. As you will probably have learned from Master Thirkettle, most of our teaching is now done by making use of our excellent law books, although we do encourage our students to take part in regular moots.’
He shook his head. ‘I have to say that they are often reluctant to participate, yet there is no better preparation for a barrister’s appearance in court. One must have case law at one’s finger tips and be able to argue cogently and persuasively, without the use of printed sources. I never thought we should come to this.’
‘I am most grateful to you, Treasurer,’ I said, ‘and to the rest of Pension, for the opportunity to begin again. I shall do my best to earn your approval.’
‘Excellent, excellent. You will start with Bencher Whittaker next week. He will see you first thing on Monday morning.’
I was wondering whether I could raise the matter of the library, or whether I should wait to hear from the librarian, when the Treasurer stood up to dismiss me. I gathered my crutches and heaved myself up.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘There is also the matter of the library. I understand you have given Master Hansen a good deal of your time during the last few days. He has found you of great assistance in the work of cataloguing, though it is understood that you will be unable to undertake much of the shelving. One of the servants may do that, under your supervision. Pension has agreed to pay you the equivalent of a senior clerk’s full salary, and you will work either two full days a week or four half days, to be arranged between Master Hansen and Bencher Whittaker. I hope you will find that satisfactory.’
‘You are very kind, sir,’ I said, bowing.
Somehow I managed to make my way out of the room. I was a Member once again! And a full clerk’s salary for less than half a week’s work. I could hardly believe what I had heard. Theodore Somers was beaming at me.
‘Good news, then, sir?’
‘Aye, Somers,’ I said. ‘Very good news.’
Anthony knew at once from my face that I had not been refused.
‘Thomas Whittaker, eh? He’s somewhat of a stern fellow, but very able. You should do well under him, if you work hard. And what of the library?’
When I told him the terms of my employment, he whistled softly.
‘That is good news! We must celebrate.’
‘Indeed we shall. And this time I shall pay.’
‘Very well. But do not run mad. Did the Treasurer say when you would be paid, and how often?’
‘Nay.’
‘Well, let us hope it is not quarterly. In arrears. You must make sure you are paid regularly and soon. Have a word with Somers. He will handle it.’
I was a little dismayed at this suggestion, that I might have to wait for my money, but I was still determined to stand Anthony an excellent meal. Had I been able to get about more easily, I should have liked to go to the Peacock, but it would have been folly on crutches in such icy weather.
‘Before we send out for our dinner,’ I said, ‘tell me how you fared with the disputing heirs.’
Anthony pulled a long face.
‘I had rather deal with a parcel of rogues and pickpockets than with that trio of preening, self-important fools. In truth, their claims are all equally valid. The last owner bequeathed both land and money divided between his two sons, but both were killed in the war and predeceased their father. He had no time to make a fresh will, he was already in his last illness himself. All he could do was to add a codicil – the one you have seen – that the property should go to his nearest male relative.’
‘And he did not specify which one, or whether the property could be divided, I remember.’
‘Aye. The three claimants are each the grandsons of the last owner’s three aunts. All related to him in the same degree.’
‘But we found that precedent – that in a case of equal claims, the property could be divided, though you say that the house and manor lands could not easily be broken up.’
‘Nay. Which is why we suggest that the land goes to one and the money is divided between the other two, but they will not accept this as a solution. Each thinks he has the best claim to everything.’
‘One, you said, is descended from the eldest sister.’
‘Aye. So he believes he has the best claim. Another is the eldest man of the three, which he believes gives him the better right, while the third holds the adjacent manor and was always close to the old man and his sons. Claims he was brought up in their household like another son, so he should take precedence.’
‘A nest of vipers.’
Anthony shrugged.
‘They will not settle out of court. Our client is the third one and to my mind he has the better claim on moral grounds, but I am thankful I need not make the decision. It will go before a judge in Chancery now, and could take months before there is a decision. The Court of Chancery is overburdened with work and cases move at the speed of a tortoise. They would have done better to accept our solution.’
‘Well, put it out of mind for the rest of the day. I shall write a letter to my sister now, to tell her my good news, then let us send out for our dinner.’
We ate well that night and I felt all the pleasure of the benefactor on this occasion. Afterwards we made up a good fire, for it had begun to snow, and we mulled a pot of spiced ale to drink while we sat close to it, eating the pears preserved in red wine sent over by the Peacock.
‘I have another reason in coming to London,’ I said, ‘besides this return to Gray’s.’
Anthony stretched out his legs and scooped up the last fragment of his pears.
‘I know. You are in search of a wife. A wealthy widow, perhaps, who owns her own house and will make you a gentleman of leisure for the rest of your days.’
I laughed. ‘I cannot imagine any wealthy widow finding me desirable, with my country ways, crouched over and hobbling about on crutches.’
‘You do yourself an injustice. With a scrub and a London doublet, and perhaps a fine new hat with a feather, you would pass muster on a dark night.’
‘A very dark night, perhaps. Nay, I have no plans for matrimony at present.’
‘Wise man. You never know where it may lead. A house full of squalling brats, all expecting to be clothed and fed. I shall not wed until I am at least forty and have a good store of coin put by. Enough to afford a household of servants, to make life more easy.’
‘I am not sure I shall wait that long. Nay, my purpose in coming to London is quite different. You know what we have suffered in the Fens. We had thought we were done with it. The drainage works in the south near Cambridge, in our grandfather’s time – those were undertaken by companies of adventurers
made up of courtiers and nobles, great landowners. Most of them are now fled abroad. But the thievery has not come to an end. Instead, a new breed of speculators has sprung up, men of the middling sort, city merchants, country squires, Model Army generals. Even Cromwell himself, it seems.’
‘So I have heard. They are unscrupulous.’
‘Aye. They claim our commons are a wilderness, fit for nothing, and therefore ripe for plundering, yet they have been farmed for generations. Centuries.’
‘Even we townsmen know this. If they wreak havoc in the lands around Ely, we too shall suffer. We are barely more than an island ourselves.’
‘Not only do they plan to take possession of our land,’ I said, ‘but if they drain the Fens we shall lose the other half of our livelihood, the fish and waterfowl. Then there is the peat we use for fuel. With the drainers trespassing on our lands last year, they attacked our men who tried to dig peat. We have been short of fuel, for you know there is little firewood to be had in our fenlands.’
‘And the reed beds?’ he said. ‘Material for baskets and eel traps.’
‘Aye. And thatching and hurdles. Then, even more disastrous, they do not understand how we manage the winter floods, which bring such fertility to our arable and grass lands.’
‘You would think,’ he said, ‘that both these sets of men would have read the ancients like Herodotus. For surely the Nile floods in Egypt were the same, restoring the land.’
I shrugged. ‘They think of nothing but drying out the moss to create more arable. Yet the areas where they have drained before, south of us, have produced wastelands of peat turned to dust, and unmanageable floods.’
‘All of this is unfortunately true, but what has that to do with your coming to London?’
‘There was an ancient charter,’ I said, ‘given to our surrounding parishes, five in all. I believe it was in the time of King Henry II. It granted possession of our common lands in perpetuity to the inhabitants of the parishes. They may not be alienated.’
‘Then you can fight them in court.’
‘Aye. We could fight them in court, if we had the charter in our hands. We have not.’
‘Do you know where it is?’
I shook my head. ‘Last spring, when the surveyors appeared on our land, under a Dutchman called Piet van Slyke, employed by the adventurers, my father and other men of the village sought the help of our local squire, Sir John Dillingworth. He himself holds a small portion of common land, but most of his land lies within the boundaries of his own manor. He promised his help.’
‘And did he fulfil his promise?’
‘I was doubtful of such tame measures from the start. Sir John said he would write to his London lawyer. He was to locate the charter and take our case to court. We waited months, and in the end some of us attacked the workings, which had gone ahead willy-nilly. We set fire to a pumping mill they were building, and a sluice gate, and filled in some of the ditches. That was when I received my first injury, a bullet in my leg. My sister managed to get me home, two to a horse.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘So you abandoned the case at law?’
‘My father went to Lincoln, to put our case before a local judge. Some fellow was sent up from London to argue against him. My father was not even allowed to speak in court. Instead he was thrown into prison until he could pay a fine which was far beyond our means. He caught gaol fever and died then.’
Anthony looked down at his hands. ‘I have heard of other such cases. Many of the local magistrates and judges are in league with the adventurers. By imposing these fines, they hope to frighten people so much that they will not dare to resist. I did not realise your father had died thus.’
‘My sister even went afterwards to Sir John, who swore that he was acting for us, but nothing has been done. I thought that if I came to London, I might be able to trace the charter. Or at least find Sir John’s lawyer and discover whether he has done anything on our behalf.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘I know that he is a Member of Lincoln’s Inn, but not his name.’
Anthony sat in silence, clearly turning over my account in his mind.
‘Ordinarily, I suppose, a copy of the charter would be deposited in Rolls House, the old Domus Conversorum, in Chancery Lane. I spend a fair amount of time there, searching out documents relating to the land disputes I have worked on. Another copy of the charter would be held locally, usually by the greatest landowner. That would be your Sir John Dillingworth, I suppose.’
‘If the Dillingworths held it in the past, they no longer do so. Or if they do, Sir John is not admitting it.’
‘You sound as if you suspect him of dishonesty.’
I shrugged. ‘I have never much liked the man. He claims to be some distant cousin of Cromwell’s, but has a foot in each camp, shifting as the wind blows. Indeed, we are related, for my mother’s grandmother was a Dillingworth, but they do not admit the connection. Yeoman stock is beneath them, though I believe our ancestors have held the land as long as theirs.’
‘You say he is some connection of Cromwell’s, and Cromwell is involved in the drainage schemes?’
‘Aye.’
‘Does Sir John support the Parliamentary cause, now that the struggle has lately gone their way? You say he shifts.’
‘Sir John keeps his head down. However, his son Edmund fought on the King’s side, a fact he is striving to make people forget.’
‘You do not like him.’
‘I do not. He tried to defile my sister.’
He gave a low whistle.
‘Never fear,’ I said with a grim smile. ‘She fought him off, and he was humiliated in front of their servants. He has not forgotten it. He brought a troop of soldiers to attack our church and they near killed our rector. Then he was behind an allegation of witchcraft against my sister and an elderly neighbour. Hannah was hanged by that devil Hopkins, but Mercy was acquitted after trial by water.’
‘God’s bones, Tom! I had no idea that your family had suffered all this. What was the second injury to your leg? Were you shot again?’
‘Nay, it was due to my own folly. I fell over a scythe as we ran off from pulling down the foreign settlers’ houses. It laid open the same place in my leg and I did not allow time enough for it to heal. Then the gangrene set in.’
Anthony ran his fingers through his hair. ‘After hearing this, all I can do is offer you my help in searching for the charter.’
He glanced at the window, where we could see snow piling up on the sill.
‘As soon as the weather permits, we will start our hunt, and not rest until your charter is in our hands.’
On Monday morning I presented myself at the chambers of Bencher Thomas Whittaker in Coney Court. Like most of the senior Members of Gray’s, he now preferred the title of Bencher, though when I had been here before he was a Reader. With all the upheaval of the war, the practice of giving readings – similar to the lectures I had attended at Cambridge – had lapsed. In the past, only Readers were members of Pension, then the practice of appointing Benchers had crept in, sometime in the last century, I thought. They could be members of Pension, but were no longer required to give readings. Anthony said that the full barristers much preferred the current arrangement.
‘It means they have more time to take on paid work,’ he said.
‘You are very cynical.’
He shrugged. ‘They might not admit to it, but it is true. Although some cling to the title, there are no true Readers now, for there are no readings, just as there are no moots, or very few. We must get by with the written word.’
Bencher Whittaker’s chambers, fortunately, were also on the ground floor. I wondered whether that had dictated the Treasurer’s choice of mentor for me, but perhaps he had not even considered it.
‘Come in, Master Bennington.’
Whittaker showed me into his outer office himself, although he had a clerk sitting in a corner, writing busily. He did not even glance at the sp
ace where my left leg should have been, but he had probably been made acquainted with my physical state at the meeting of Pension. He was a tall, lean man of middle years, peering at me over the thick spectacles he wore for reading. He had always reminded me of a heron, for he had the same capacity for stillness and the same forward-leaning, acute attentiveness.
We sat down on either side of his desk and he moved a pile of papers to one side. He drew out a single sheet and studied it for a moment.
‘We need to establish how much you remember of your former studies in the law before we decide how to direct your reading from now on. I have made a list of subjects here. I want you to write me two or three pages on each, whatever you can remember, and hand it in to me on Friday.’
He passed the sheet across the desk to me.
‘I have arranged with Master Hansen that you will work in the library on Wednesdays and Thursdays, while the rest of the week will be devoted to your studies in the law. I also want you to start reading the following books. Have you pen and paper?’
‘Aye, sir.’
I took some folded sheets of paper from my pocket and flattened them on the desk. From a pouch at my belt I drew out two sharpened quills and a portable ink well I had borrowed from Anthony. I unscrewed the lid, dipped my quill and waited.
Whittaker rapidly dictated the titles of twenty law books. I had to write fast to keep up with him, and I saw him watching me, assessing how accurate I was, even though he was reading my writing upside down. My heart sank a little. How long would he allow me to read all of these? I did not like to ask, but I foresaw I should be reading far into the night. Candles would be another expense to add to my budget.
‘That will do for now. Hand in your answers to those topics on Friday and I will see you again next Monday. We will then have a better idea of how you should proceed.’
I realised I was being dismissed, so I screwed the top on the ink well and gathered up quills and paper, fanning the list of books in the air to dry the ink.
Whittaker stood up and watched me struggle on to my crutches.