‘I was just fetchin’ the saddle we repaired for Lady, mum,’ Albert, the son of the saddler in the High Street, mumbled.
‘I don’t care what you were doing as long as it is not seducing my servants in the time I pay them for. Or any other time,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘I left the saddle in the stable, mum,’ Albert said ingratiatingly. ‘It fitted beautiful.’
‘Now you just get out of here, Albert Newman.’ Eliza pointed angrily to the door, and as he scuttled out she turned to Beth, whose eyes were now brimming with tears.
‘Now, Beth,’ Eliza said, wagging a forger at her. ‘I have told you once and I’ll tell you again, I will have no courting in my kitchen in working hours. If I have to tell you again you’ll be packed straight back to Farmer Frith ...’
‘Oh no ma’am, please, please,’ Beth twittered, very different from the bold, amorous creature she was now considered to be by a few fortunate men in Wenham. ‘I beg you, ma’am. I will never set eyes again on Albert, if you say so, ma’am ...’
‘Or Ted?’ Eliza demanded, still trying to pretend she was angry. ‘I thought you were going to marry him?’
‘I can’t decide, to tell you the truth, ma’am.’ Beth stepped forward a little more confidently. ‘Or there is Benjamin Sims at the mill ...’
‘You are an absolute disgrace, Beth.’ Eliza tapped her foot on the floor in mock anger. ‘I bring you here, rescuing you from a life of slavery, give you a good home, pay you well, feed you, clothe you ... and yet you betray my trust and confidence in you.’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, please.’ Beth suddenly sank to her knees, convulsively clutching the hem of Eliza’s dress.
‘Beth, don’t be ridiculous!’ Eliza was now scarcely able to prevent herself from bursting out laughing. ‘There is no need for this performance, which I know is quite artificial. Get up please.’ As her servant struggled to her feet, Eliza went on: ‘You have got yourself a reputation in this town which greatly displeases me. There are at least two men who have proposed to you, and I don’t know how many more with less honourable intentions. Now I warn you, Beth, if I find you in the family way it will be out!’ Thoroughly enjoying her role, Eliza pointed to the door, where even Rover, his curiosity aroused by the noise, had opened an eye. ‘You will be sent to the poorhouse in Blandford, or back to Farmer Frith. I don’t know which is worse.’
‘Oh, I beg you, ma’am ...’ Beth screwed her apron right up to her chin, clutching it as a child clutches a favourite piece of cloth. ‘I promise, ma’am. But I am only twenty, I don’t feel it is the time to be wed now, ma’am. Besides, I don’t want to leave you.’
Beth looked at her with such trust, such love, which in a way, was mutual, that her mistress decided to forgive her. She pointed to a chair and, as the trembling girl sat down, she sat next to her.
‘Now look, my dear. I am very fond of you, you know that. I don’t want to lose you. But I’d rather you were happily settled than an unwed mother. Now who is it to be Ted or Albert ... or neither?’
‘Well, ma’am.’ Beth’s face became even more contorted. ‘I like Ted. He was so kind to me when he brought me from Ennerdale. I love him, I think. But Albert ... well, I like him too. I think he has better prospects, ma’am. He is a trained saddler and will succeed to his father’s business one day with his own shop. I would be nearer you then, ma’am, but, truthfully, I would hate to leave you. I would like to work for you all my life.’
‘Oh, Beth.’ Impulsively Eliza threw her arms around the young woman she regarded almost as a sister. It would have been impossible to have had a more loving, loyal and devoted servant; but she did have this weakness ... On the other hand had not she herself had it too? If anyone should understand the stirrings of the flesh it was she, Eliza Yetman.
‘I’ll tell you what, ma’am,’ Beth said suddenly. ‘if I married Ted maybe the master would employ him here to look after the stables?’
‘And what would Lady Woodville say to that? She values Ted as much as you do.’
‘But Ted loves you, ma’am. You know that. He has never quite took to Lady Woodville, kind as she is. Being foreign, they don’t understand our ways, ma’am, if you’ll forgive me saying it.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Eliza got up and, going over to the stove, lifted the lid and sniffed the broth cooking there for lunch. ‘However, I am very fond of my sister-in-law, and I wouldn’t want to start a quarrel with her. But let me see if I can have a word with her about Ted ...’
‘Oh, thank you, ma’am.’ Beth grasped Eliza’s hand and kissed it. With difficulty Eliza freed herself and pointed to the stove.
‘If you can give me some of this good broth in a billycan I’ll take it out to my husband, who is working nearby, and exercise Lady too.’
Although popular and well liked by the people of Wenham, Ryder Yetman was also regarded as a rather odd, even eccentric character. He was a loner, and did not mix too well with his fellow men. He belonged to none of the clubs or associations which proliferated so that the menfolk could get away from their wives. He was too much of an animal lover to hunt or shoot, and he rarely frequented public houses. He was known to be devoted to his family and his work, possibly in that order.
And at both he excelled. He was a devoted father and husband, and in five years he had built up his father’s business so that it now covered three counties.
Yet, although undoubtedly he was now wealthy, he did not show his wealth or behave like a wealthy man. Apart from Blandford his branch offices were small, usually in the high street of a town, and so was his staff. He employed craftsmen to do his building and had rapidly acquired a reputation for excellence. People would wait to have their houses built by Yetman rather than another builder in the area, because they knew it would be a first-class job.
Ryder, who was an expert, taught the art of thatching to his apprentices himself and would often either start them off on a job or complete it on his own. As Eliza, riding on the back of Lady, sought him out she knew that he was finishing the ridge of a house that he’d just built on the far side of the river for one of the town councillors.
Ryder was just about to climb down the ladder, having completed the morning’s task, when he saw Lady crossing the bridge with his wife on her back. He remained where he was and, folding his arms, watched their steady progress up the path that ran from the river bank to the new house. Eliza was still the slim, beautifully formed young woman he had fallen in love with in circumstances not so very different from the one today, except that now they had been married for five years and had three children.
But he still had the same passionate awareness of her; still couldn’t believe that she was his wife and would remain so until the day – God grant that it was far off – when death would part them.
Eliza had acquired a radiance and assurance with her maturity, and yet she was still only twenty-four. She had seemed to be concentrating on the narrow path, when suddenly she looked up and saw him staring at her.
She, in turn, caught her breath, because standing there on the roof he reminded her of when she first fell in love with him – chest bare, fair hair gleaming against the canopy of the sky. She waved and quickened her pace, and by the time she arrived in front of the house Ryder had climbed down the ladder, put on his shirt and was awaiting her.
He touched Lady’s nose, and she nuzzled up to him, greeting him as a familiar. Then he helped Eliza down and enfolding her in his arms, gave her a long, deep kiss.
When he released her she gazed up at him, aware of the desire that was never very far from the surface.
‘I’ve come to bring you good news,’ she said, breaking the silence.
‘You are with child again?’ He put a hand on her belly.
‘No,’ she laughed and shook her head. ‘Would that be good news?’
‘Yes. Very.’
‘But we already have three children, under five.’
‘Let us have another.’ He leaned suggestively
towards her again, the expression in his eyes not difficult to fathom, but she neatly sidestepped him, putting the billycan carefully on the ground.
‘Ryder, one of your workmen will see us!’
‘None are here today. I am just finishing the ridge and then the job is done.’
Styles of thatching varied from county to county. In Dorset the ridges tended to be round and flowing; further west they were flatter and rounder. In other parts of the country they were steeper and more angular. A master thatcher, like Ryder, had his own style, and other experts could identify which roofs had been done by whom, rather as particular styles of sculpture or painting could be attributed to an individual artist.
‘Here, I’ve brought you some hot soup,’ Eliza said, opening the lid of the billycan. ‘Though it’s a warmer day than I thought.’
‘It’s still welcome though,’ Ryder said, putting the edge of the billy to his mouth. ‘Well, what is your good news?’
‘Father has finally proposed to Euphemia.’
‘And she accepted?’ Ryder put down the billy and wiped his mouth on his bare arm.
‘Of course. She must have been waiting and hoping for this for a long time.’
‘But he’s a lot older than she is.’
‘I don’t expect she minds. It’s been clear for some time, as you know, dear, that she loved him.’
‘Well, I think it’s splendid,’ Ryder said with satisfaction, and began drinking from the billy again.
‘So do I. What’s more, she wants to live in her house. Your father wishes to give us his.’
‘Really?’ Ryder looked at her with interest. ‘And would you like that?’
‘Of course, wouldn’t you?’
‘I thought I might build us a fine, big house one day.’
‘But I want to live where your family has lived since you were a boy, by the river. I love Riversmead and I’m happy there.’
‘I am too.’ Ryder finished the soup and, replacing the lid on the billycan, handed it back to her.
‘Would you like to come inside?’ he suggested.
‘Why?’ She looked puzzled.
‘I’ve something to show you.’ His expression was mysterious and, catching her by the hand, he drew her into the house which, although almost ready for occupation, was unfurnished, with bare wooden floors.
‘What is it?’ she asked, holding his hand tightly as they stood in the hall.
‘This,’ he said, turning to kiss her again and very gently lowering her to the floor.
They must have dozed, because when they awoke the sun was at a different angle, whereas when they had made love they had lain with a bright, warm beam upon their backs.
‘Oh, Ryder’ Eliza cried, sitting up. ‘What time is it?’
Ryder squinted out of the window at the sun. ‘About two o’clock.’
‘But I’ve missed the children’s lunch.’
‘What do we have nursemaids for?’
‘They might be worried about me.’
‘They won’t worry.’ He pulled her down by him again until he could lean over her once more, smothering her face with kisses.
‘Ryder, I really must go.’ She wriggled away from him and, pulling her dress towards her, slipped it over her head. ‘If someone had come in ...’
‘I knew no one would come in ...’
‘I’ve to see if Effie’s coming for dinner.’ Playfully she pushed him off her. ‘I have all kinds of things to do and you appear to have only one thing in your mind.’
‘Well ...’ Reluctantly he let her go. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’ll just finish trimming the ridge.’
He got to his feet and then helped her up. She quickly finished dressing and ran a hand through her hair. Hand in hand they went through the door and stood outside in the sun, suffused by a deep sense of well-being.
‘I would like to learn how to thatch, you know, Ryder,’ she said, gazing critically at his new ridge.
‘Are you serious, Eliza?’
‘Yes, why not? I’m still young. When we complete our family I may be able to help you in the business. The more I know, and learn, the better.’
‘You’re an amazing woman,’ he said, stealing another kiss, ‘in every way. Are you serious?’
‘Perfectly serious.’
‘But you can’t climb the roof in skirts.’
‘Why can’t I?’
‘I might want to make love to you again.’
‘Then I shall have to wear breeches,’ she said, smiling at him.
‘You’ll scandalise the neighbourhood.’
‘I think it would be more scandalous if we were seen making love on the roof!’
Lady, who had been contentedly munching grass by the roadside, suddenly looked up at them knowingly, almost as if she understood.
12
The man removed his shiny top hat and, with a polite smile, skilfully edged in sideways past Abby while she was staring at the card in her hand. He wore a half cape, known as an Inverness, attached to his coat, and looked like a bailiff’s man. Pomphrey Blood was the name printed in elaborate italic script and then, in the left-hand corner, an address in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
‘If you would present the card, and my compliments, to the lady of the house, I should be most obliged.’ Mr Blood’s plummy overtones did not completely conceal his Cockney origins.
‘Might I ask the nature of your business?’ Abby said, trying to look severe.
‘Just present it to your mistress,’ Mr Blood replied sharply, ‘and say it is in connection with a legal matter.’
‘Oh!’
Instructing Mr Blood to wait in the hall, Abby disappeared, and within a few minutes she was back. ‘Follow me, please.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr Blood said, all smiles again.
Lally did not rise to greet her visitor, but remained lying on the chaise-longue which faced the French windows leading into the pretty garden. She extended a languid hand, which Mr Blood shook gingerly. He seemed unsure of his welcome.
‘What do you want?’ Lally asked, with complete absence of ceremony, staring at his card again.
‘If I may, Mrs ... Woodville, is it?’ The name was uttered delicately, almost in a whisper.
‘No,’ Lally replied. ‘The name’s Mrs Bowyer.’
‘Ah!’ Mr Blood seemed to make a mental note.
‘Please take a seat and state the nature of your business.’
‘Well ...’ Mr Blood perched on the very edge of his chair.
‘It is about this property, ma’am.’
‘What about this property?’ Lally looked at Abby, who, as instructed, was hovering on the threshold of the half-open door.
‘I am acting on behalf of a client who is interested in purchasing it.’
‘As far as I know it is not for sale.’
‘How do you mean, “as far as you know”, Mrs Bowyer?’ Mr Blood’s voice trailed off.
‘It is not for sale. I live here,’ she replied. ‘Now kindly take your leave. I have not been well.’
‘I am very sorry to hear that, ma’am. Very sorry.’ Mr Blood nervously rubbed a bald spot on the crown of his head with his index finger. ‘Is ... may I ask ... that is to say ... is the property in your name?’
‘And what business is it of yours?’
‘My client is very persistent ...’
‘Mr Blood, if you do not take your leave this instant I’ll ...’ Lally made a feeble effort to rise.
With considerable agility, Mr Blood got out of his chair. However, he remained standing, hands clasped in front of him, looking sorrowfully down at her.
‘Mrs Bowyer, believe me, ma’am, I do not wish to distress you; but I have reason to believe this property is not in your name, but in the name of Sir Guy Woodville. You see, there are records in these matters, ma’am. The purchase of property is a legal affair, and I am a solicitor’s clerk. My principal has despatched me to find out to whom the property belongs so that he might make an offer to the proprietor, on
behalf of his client.’
‘And why should anyone want this, my home, so much?’ Lally enquired in a withering tone.
‘It is a very attractive house, ma’am, in a very desirable part of town. I have no idea why my principal’s client should wish to live here, nor is it my business to enquire. I was merely asked to look into the matter on his behalf.’
‘Well, now you know. It is not for sale.’
‘But could you confirm that the owner is Sir Guy Woodville?
‘As you already seem to know, why should I confirm it?’
‘And your position with Sir Guy Woodville is ...’ Mr Blood put a podgy finger to his mouth.
‘Tenant,’ Abby said from the door, seeing that Lally was at a loss to describe herself. ‘My mistress rents it off ‘is lordship.’
‘Ah, thank you for making it so clear, my good lady,’ Mr Blood said with a polite bow. ‘That is all I wish to know.’
Lally sat back against her cushions as though she were exhausted and closed her eyes, waving her hand vaguely towards the door.
‘Get out,’ she said in a voice hardly more than a whisper, ‘and don’t dare come here again.’
Julius Heering was thirty-nine years of age when his wife, Sofia, died of puerperal fever, having failed in her fifth attempt to give him a living child.
Julius – a middle son – had always been an earnest, hardworking, industrious man. His life would have been rounded off by the sort of family circle that his brothers, all prolific breeders, and his sister, Margaret, enjoyed. He had given Sofia everything that money could buy: a lovely home, plenty of servants, the best medical attention. She could not give him a child, and he could not save her life. He found he was unable to forgive himself for this.
He took solace in the prosperous Heering concerns, and even though it was thought impossible that he could increase his work load, he did. He never stopped, and his home became a kind of hotel, seldom visited.
It was Julius who had come to London to cement the already good relations between the Martyns and the Heerings, and to assume his position as a fulltime partner in the firm. It was he who, at his sister’s request, had instigated the investigations into the house in the Vale of Health. She felt she could trust him where she could trust nobody else.
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 26