The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  ‘I’ll be seeing you then, Ted,’ Albert said, slamming down the window.

  ‘Right, Albert.’ Ted was just about to turn, his horse having assuaged his thirst, when he saw Beth. Politely he raised his hat but Beth came close up to the horse and, leaning against it, smiled at Ted in a way that infuriated Albert, who had had his nose pressed to the window pane, but who now abruptly and angrily turned away. His blood boiled so furiously that he felt like seizing the stitching machine and throwing it out of the window. However, when his temper had cooled and he strolled back again there was no sign of them.

  For the rest of the day Albert’s mind was not on his work. His father was not satisfied with the bridles he stitched for Lord Mount and told him at supper that night, that if he went on at that rate he’d never become a master saddler. He said the cost of the new leather to replace the straps Albert had ruined by his sloppy workmanship would be taken from his wages.

  Albert didn’t care. He had brooded all day about Beth and Ted, about the glances they’d exchanged by the fountain, and the suggestive way she’d rubbed herself up against his horse. It implied an intimacy he’d suspected but never proved.

  But as this was the very day of the christening of the latest child to be born to Sir Guy and Lady Woodville, Albert decided that the coast would be clear for him to try and make some encounter with Beth while festivities continued at Pelham’s Oak that night which would be sure to preoccupy Ted.

  ‘I can’t understand the boy,’ his father observed to his wife as Albert hurried out, his supper only half eaten. ‘Something’s got into him and it do worry me. If he goes on at this rate he’ll never make a master saddler.’

  ‘I think it’s love that’s got into him.’ His wife cast her eyes sadly towards the door. ‘Love for the wrong woman, if you ask me.’

  ‘God help us,’ Mr Newman said piously, and got down the Bible from its shelf by the kitchen stove to see if he could find in that good book some words of comfort for himself and his wife.

  Ted had spent all day at Pelham’s Oak helping with the preparations for the christening, but by evening, when the family party started, his work was done. The family would not be needing his services again, and he was invited to go and celebrate in the large marquee that had been raised on the lawn for the servants and townspeople.

  But as soon as he heard the sound of the revellers and knew that the parties were in full swing, Ted mounted his horse and, taking one of the bridle paths across country, set out for Wenham. When he got to the town the streets were deserted, the only light coming from the top window of the saddler’s, where Mr Newman was trying to make up for the bad work his son had done that day.

  Ted went down the street and entered Riversmead by a side gate. He tethered his horse to a tree and went stealthily towards the kitchen door, which stood a little open, casting light from the oil lamp on to the stone flags outside.

  He prayed that Cook wouldn’t see him. She was as bad as Mrs Yetman, and would have sent Beth upstairs to bed if he so much as put his nose through the door.

  Very carefully he peeped round the door, but the kitchen was empty. Its stone slabs and wooden boards wiped clean, the pots and pans in their places, all shining. Not even the kettle bubbled on the range. Everyone was either in bed or at the christening party.

  Ted was about to go in a little further when he felt something sticking into his ribs. Turning sharply, he saw, in the light from the kitchen, the grinning, mischievous face of Beth, her fingers pointed towards him.

  ‘Thought you’d come,’ she murmured as he lowered his face to hers. ‘I’ve got a little something put by in one of the stables where we won’t be disturbed.’

  ‘I want more than a “little something”,’ Ted said amorously as he tried to thrust his hand down her blouse. But Beth gave him a sharp slap, and giggled. Then, taking his hand, she put her finger to her lips as they crept round the back of the house towards the stables.

  The night was very still except for the occasional call of a bird or the whinny of a horse. There was a crackling sound nearby, and Ted, whose ears were very sharp, stopped.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered.

  ‘No,’ Beth whispered back.

  ‘I think there’s a prowler.’

  ‘Go on. Everyone went to the christening party up at the Oak. It’s probably Peter taking his dog for a walk.’

  They reached the stable door, and before they opened it Ted took Beth in his arms and crushed her to him.

  ‘I love you,’ he said when, after a long, passionate kiss, he released her. ‘What do you say to that?’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she replied coquettishly. ‘You’re not the only one. There’s Albert says he loves me too. I’ll have to toss for it.’

  Ted curled his fist and grunted.

  ‘Albert ... If I see Albert so much as touch you, I’ll ...’

  There was a sudden movement behind him, and as something crashed hard down on his head his eyes rolled upwards, showing only the whites, as he slumped senselessly to the floor.

  In the dim light from the kitchen door Beth saw the face of Albert Newman staring down at the man she thought he’d killed.

  ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ She started to scream. ‘Oh. Oh ...’

  ‘Hush,’ Albert snarled, trying to put his hand over her mouth. ‘I told you, Beth ... I told you that if I so much as saw him near you again ... I warned you, didn’t I?’

  At that moment windows above them began to fly open as those members of staff who were too old or too amorously inclined to go to the party had their slumber or love-making disturbed.

  ‘Ain’t you got nowhere to go?’ Peter the gardener called out crossly. Then, looking down, he saw his cousin Ted supine on the floor, blood oozing from a gaping wound in his head.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he cried. ‘Oh my God.’

  Albert pushed Beth away, threw the club with which he’d felled Ted to the ground, and fled.

  ‘I baptise thee Matthew Julius Carson Woodville,’ the Rector pronounced in a sonorous voice as he poured water over the baby’s head. ‘In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.’

  ‘Amen,’ answered the large congregation which had packed into the church of St Mark for the baptism of the youngest son of Wenham’s most important citizen.

  Matthew Julius Carson Woodville, who had been sleeping happily in the experienced arms of his godmother, Eliza, emitted a lusty cry as the cold water trickled over his head and down his face, and wriggled so much that Eliza nearly dropped him. He was a large baby whose birth nearly brought his mother to grief. As she had laboured her mind had dwelt terrifyingly on the fate of her late sister-in-law, Julius’s wife, poor Sofia. But she was determined not to let Guy enjoy all her money without the disadvantage of having her nearby to guard it, so she struggled with all her might against the odds, and she and her baby remained alive.

  Vigour and strength, rather than sensitivity, plus his mother’s tenacity, would be his characteristics, and he would always be known by his last name, Carson.

  It was many years since so many members of the Yetman and Woodville families had been gathered together, and one of the rare times that Ryder and Eliza had stepped into St Mark’s Church since the Rector had preached about the woman taken in adultery, at their wedding. The other godmother was Lady Mount, and the godfathers were Prosper Martyn and Julius Heering, chosen in the hope that they would be able to look after their godson from a materialistic point of view.

  After the ceremony the doors of Pelham’s Oak were thrown open. The guests were entertained indoors, where a lavish buffet had been prepared. A small string ensemble played tuneful airs in a corner of the drawing room, and from the comfort of the reception rooms some people found it amusing to look out on the lower orders drinking themselves into insensibility or dancing their hearts out on the lawn below.

  The little Woodville and Yetman cousins, scampered around, supervised by their nursemaids. Baby Hugh was j
ust about able to toddle, but sat for most of the time on the knee of his doting grandmother, who was thrilled to see her family again so soon after their reconciliation. Laurence and little Dora were not far away, dressed in white like their small Woodville cousins.

  ‘Are you all right with Baby Hugh, my lady?’ Nancy, the nursemaid, asked solicitously. ‘If he is too heavy for you I could take him for a while.’

  ‘Don’t you think I love seeing my grandchildren?’ Henrietta replied, hugging Hugh close to her. ‘I have been deprived of them for too long. But if you could find my daughter and ask her to come and see me I would be grateful.’ She looked anxiously at Hugh and touched his cheek. ‘See here, he has a little spot. I do hope it’s nothing contagious like the measles.’

  ‘Oh, have no fear, my lady,’ the practical nursemaid replied. ‘Hugh often has little spots like that. Maybe the milk is too rich. I do assure you ...’

  ‘Nevertheless I would like to see my daughter to reassure myself,’ Henrietta said firmly. ‘At once.’

  ‘Very well, my lady.’ Nancy turned sulkily away and took her time about finding Eliza, who was standing with Guy and Margaret and some acquaintances while Ryder, his back turned to her, was talking to Prosper.

  ‘Mrs Yetman.’ Nancy gave a little bob. ‘Your mother would like to see you. She says “at once”’ Nancy gave a disapproving sniff.

  ‘Is there something wrong, Nancy?’ Eliza looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Master Hugh has a tiny spot, ma’am.’ Nancy indicated, with her fingers pressed close together and by almost closing her eyes, just how minute that spot was. ‘She thinks he has the measles.’

  ‘And you told her, of course, that he did not, that Hugh does get spots.’

  ‘I told her it was probably the richness of the milk, ma’am.’ Nancy folded her hands over her stomach, a look of outraged virtue on her face.

  ‘Well, go and tell her,’ Eliza gestured about her, ‘I will come when I can.’

  ‘I’m afraid I dare not return without you, madam. Her ladyship looked vexed.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Eliza said with an air of resignation, ‘maybe she feels neglected.’ She turned to Ryder, who was still deep in conversation behind her.

  ‘Dearest, do come and meet Mama. She wants to see me, and I’d like you to say “hello.”’

  ‘Has your mother asked to see me?’ Ryder raised an eyebrow. ‘That is the point.’

  ‘Ryder!’ Eliza stamped her foot. ‘You are both too stubborn.’

  ‘You have to meet, you know;’ Prosper remarked in amusement. ‘This feud can’t go on for ever. Come,’ he put an arm through Ryder’s, ‘I’ll accompany you to give you courage.’

  ‘I don’t need support, thank you.’ Ryder still looked thunderous, but under the good-humoured gaze of Prosper he appeared to change his mind. ‘Oh, very well, maybe I do if I am to meet the Gorgon.’

  Henrietta was busy showing her grandson off to some friends when the family party joined her, arranging itself in a semi-circle until the admirers finished their flattering remarks and moved away.

  ‘Eliza I wanted ... Oh!’ As soon as Henrietta saw Ryder she stiffened. ‘It was you I wanted to see, Eliza.’ She enunciated the words very carefully. ‘You.’

  ‘And I wanted you to say “hello” to Ryder, Mother, and bring this silly feud to an end.’

  ‘There is no feud as far as I am concerned.’ Henrietta turned her face away. ‘What nonsense.’

  ‘Come, Henrietta,’ Prosper said, ‘you have never accepted Ryder. Now is the time for forgiveness ...’

  ‘Forgiveness,’ Ryder spluttered. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Henrietta snapped. ‘You seduced my daughter – or have you forgotten?’

  ‘Please, Henrietta!’ Prosper hissed, leaning towards her. ‘Everyone will hear.’

  ‘I will not listen to another word of this,’ Ryder said wrathfully, and, breaking away, he strode across the room. Eliza ran after him.

  Prosper looked anxiously after them. ‘Now, Henrietta what have you done? I thought you and Eliza had made up your differences?’

  ‘We have. I have no quarrel now with my daughter: she was only eighteen and knew no better. But that man,’ she said, indicating Ryder, the baby wobbling precariously on her knee until the nursemaid swooped down to prevent him falling, ‘is no better than he should be. When I forgave Eliza, I did not forgive him.’

  ‘You have created a very awkward situation, Henrietta,’ Prosper said reproachfully. He looked up as Guy, having seen the disturbance from across the room, joined them.

  ‘Something wrong?’ Guy asked.

  ‘Very wrong,’ Henrietta said.

  ‘Eliza brought Ryder over to be re-introduced to his mother-in-law.’ Prosper said looking concerned.

  ‘Well, it is high time he was,’ Guy said with a laugh. ‘They have three children.’

  ‘That is not the point,’ Henrietta said stiffly. ‘I love my daughter and I forgive her. But I do not love him – and as for forgiveness, it is right out of the question.’

  ‘Well, I must go and see if I can smooth his feathers,’ Prosper said and went in search of the offended party.

  ‘Tut tut, Mother,’ Guy muttered. ‘I thought we were all friends.’

  ‘I am friends with Eliza only,’ Henrietta repeated stubbornly, ‘not him – and the sooner he realises it the better.’

  ‘Oh, I think he realises it all right,’ Guy said. There was a pause. Then he yawned and said: ‘Would you look over there at those men.’ He indicated a crowd in the corner consisting of Julius and Willem Heering and his Martyn relations. ‘They never stop talking business, even on an occasion like this.’

  ‘I wish you were prepared to discuss business, Guy,’ his mother said sharply. ‘You would have more independence. Instead I hear you’ve given it up – forsaken it all for a life of idleness in the country.’

  ‘I have only contempt for men of business, Mother,’ Guy replied loftily. ‘I consider them a loathsome breed, manipulating people by their cunning and deceit, and greed. I am proud to be known merely as a gentleman – with a name and a title that no one can take away from me. I would not be one of them again for anything.’

  ‘But what if something happened to Margaret, Guy?’ His mother glanced at him. ‘Supposing she had died in childbirth, as I hear she almost did? You have married well. You might not be able to do so again.’

  ‘Oh, I think Agnes Yetman has a little money,’ Guy replied, a note of amusement in his voice.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Making a joke.’ Guy glanced at his mother, then at Eliza’s pretty sister-in-law, who was talking to Lord and Lady Mount nearby.

  ‘I should hope you are,’ his mother said frostily. ‘Agnes Yetman’s wealth is nothing compared to the Martyn-Heering fortune, and the Yetmans are a low breed of people.’

  ‘But she is a very pretty girl, Mother.’ He glanced at her slyly. ‘Were poor Margaret to have another bad labour as you suggest, who knows?’

  ‘Really, Guy!’ Henrietta’s cheeks had flushed and she looked shocked. ‘I don’t like that sort of talk.’

  ‘But you have no liking for Margaret, Mother. You never had.’

  ‘I don’t say I have, but neither do I wish her dead.’

  ‘Mother, I don’t wish her dead either.’ Guy, said, then whispered in her ear: ‘But if it were to happen ...’

  ‘If it were to happen that’s something else. I say you are better off as you are. Margaret leaves you alone.’

  ‘On the contrary, she never leaves me alone. She watches me like a schoolboy: “Where are you going Guy?” “Where have you been?”’ He imitated Margaret’s heavily accented Dutch voice so well that his mother was forced to smile.

  ‘Then you must train her better, dear. You are in absolutely no position to do anything else.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Guy said and, winking at his mother, he walked casually over to greet Lord
and Lady Mount, who frequently came to dinner parties at the house.

  ‘Of course you know Miss Yetman,’ Eleanor Mount cried. ‘She’s Eliza’s sister-in-law. We are hoping she will come as a governess to our children.’

  ‘What an excellent idea,’ Guy replied bowing to Agnes. ‘Miss Yetman is very well qualified. And how pleasant it will be for Eliza to have her again in the district. Well,’ he looked at Eleanor Mount and smiled, ‘when will your new governess be taking up her duties?’

  Lady Mount looked uncertainly at Agnes. ‘It’s not quite decided. Miss Yetman has yet to consider the matter and accept.’

  ‘I think you can take it I will accept,’ Agnes said, beguiling her prospective employers with a modest smile and also glancing shyly at Guy.

  ‘In that case,’ Lady Mount said effusively, stooping to embrace her slim shoulders, ‘we cannot believe our good fortune.’

  From the other side of the room Eliza was watching her brother anxiously. He seemed to flit around the room like a moth round the flame of a candle. Although he pretended to be happy, she knew he could not be, subject as he was to the whims of people he professed to despise. She knew he did not love Margaret, and it was clear that Margaret was no longer as enamoured with him as she had once been.

  The proximity of Agnes worried her: the talk about staying in Dorset, working for the Mounts, who lived only five miles away. She wished Guy would find an occupation. Though he lived in the country, he had no real interest in country matters and not enough to do.

  Meanwhile her father-in-law was showing off his newly pregnant wife. At thirty-nine Euphemia was enchanted by the prospect of being a mother, but her health was not good and she was forced to take care of herself.

  The shock of marriage and almost immediate pregnancy had taken its toll on one delicate from birth, and nurtured and cosseted all her life. Even though it was what she had wanted most in life, it seemed there was a price to pay.

  Every now and then she was forced to pause and sit down, and John would stand protectively by her side.

  Eliza smiled across at Euphemia, but she still looked distracted. Ryder had gone off in a sulk after her mother’s rudeness. He had refused to talk to her when she tried to make peace, and deliberately joined the Heering and Martyn men grouped in a corner earnestly discussing business. When she tried once more to speak to him, he briskly motioned her away.