The Rufford Rose

by Margaret Lambert

  Slowly he scrambled to his feet and turned to face Abbot Paslew.

  ‘Yes, I can repair that,’ he said, smiling. ‘Would you like to see a drawing of what I propose to do?’

  ‘No, I will trust to your judgement. Brother John will show you where you may work and where our wood is stored.’ With that, he turned and swept out of the Abbey.

  ‘Not what you expected?’ asked Brother John.

  ‘Not really. I didn’t expect to be creating some great work of art at first but repairing some minor damage in an obscure place where no one will ever see it is a surprise. Is he testing me?’

  ‘Oh yes. He often does this to see what men are made of. We have had craftsmen who have been so insulted by being asked to do something they regard as beneath them that they have walked out and refused to do it. You have made the correct decision by agreeing to do it. He will see that as a very good point. Now all you need to do is make something well and that meets with his approval. Have you any ideas?’

  ‘Yes, I have actually, but I will see what wood is available to match what is here before I make my final decision.’

  ‘We had better go to the wood store then.’

  The Abbey wood store was housed in a small building tucked away around the back of the other buildings. Cuthbert could see that a great deal of wood was stacked neatly along the walls, divided in to raw timber and discarded pieces which had been worked in some way and were the leftovers from other work. He walked slowly along the rows looking for exactly what he wanted, a small piece but one which would blend in with the stall he was repairing. He did not want a fresh piece of timber that would stand out from the original. At last he found two or three that may be suitable, all of which were clearly the remnants of something much bigger.

  ‘May I take these back to see how they blend with the existing work?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Brother John. ‘Most of our craftsmen find working under the shelter by the Abbey gardens suits them. There are good strong benches to work on and it is in a good light and sheltered if the weather turns inclement. You have your own tools but if you require anything else speak to Silas, he is usually to be found in the herb garden.’

  Cuthbert returned to the church and got down on his knees with his pieces of wood to compare the colour with that already there. It was rather dark in this corner but the first piece he had selected was definitely too light in colour. Both of the others were suitable and he turned them about, working out which was going to be best for what he had in mind. At last he made his selection and made various markings on it so that he could cut it to the exact size.

  Back in the woodshed he returned the rejected pieces then set about marking out where he would make his first cuts. He fetched his tools from the dormitory and, settling onto the seat overlooking the Abbey gardens, he began his work.

  He spent the whole morning cutting and shaping the wood, and after several visits back to the church he was satisfied that the piece was fitting perfectly and he was ready to begin his carving.

  Whenever he was creating something new like this Cuthbert spent a great deal of time just looking at the wood, noting the direction of the grain and looking for any slight knots or blemishes which may affect the finished piece. Then, slowly, he would begin to work the wood, carefully chiselling out the outline of what he was depicting. When he was satisfied with that he would start to add the detail which would bring it to life. The work was slow and painstaking but this was the part he loved, putting life into a scrap of wood. Time did not matter, he was totally absorbed, so when Brother John came to find him, Cuthbert was amazed how many hours had passed.

  ‘How is it coming along?’ asked Brother John.

  ‘Not too bad,’ he replied, covering the work with his jerkin which he had removed to work in the warm sunshine. Brother John smiled.

  ‘I see you guard your work well,’ he remarked.

  ‘I’m sorry. I like to complete a piece before I let anyone else see it,’ said Cuthbert. ‘It is a habit I have developed. Sometimes people make unhelpful and hurtful remarks when they see something part done so I prefer to keep it under cover until I am ready to show it. I hope you understand.’

  ‘Completely. When I was a merchant in cloth there were many weavers who would not let me see a partly made piece for the very same reason and also to prevent rivals trying to copy it before the original had been finished. When do you think it will be finished?’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow, then I want to put it in place before Abbot Paslew sees it. It would spoil it if he saw it out of context.’

  ‘I am intrigued as to what it may be. This is really quite exciting but I will restrain my curiosity until you are ready. However, you must eat, so put your tools away and we will go to the evening meal.’

  Cuthbert kept the piece of work with him, wrapped in a piece of cloth. It may only be small but it was important to him and to his future here at Whalley. He could not afford to let it be lost or discarded as rubbish if anyone else found it.

  After the evening meal, taken in silence as usual, Cuthbert left the Abbey grounds and walked down to the river. He wanted to be alone, to think, and to plan. If the Abbot approved of his work what might he ask him to do next? The possibilities were endless. From what he had seen so far only the best craftsmen had ever worked here and he was humbled to think that he could well become one of them. He took his carving out of its cloth and looked at it, turning it over and over in his hands. It was good, not quite perfect yet but with a few more hours work on it tomorrow, it would be as good as anything he had ever produced before.

  The quiet peacefulness of the riverside was calming and his thoughts turned to Chester. What would Mildred and Nell be doing? Were they managing without him? Of course, they would be. There were many among their friends who would help the widow, make sure they were all right, and Mildred was a resourceful woman. She would grieve for Jethro but she would not let her grief dominate her life. She would carry on as before, cooking, sewing and cleaning the house, shopping in the busy market, attending the church and doing good works in small ways among her friends and neighbours. She had Nell to share the evenings with and would be teaching the girl the skills she would need if she was to work in any household in the future. The girl had already proved herself a willing pupil and the two had a close relationship, like grandmother and granddaughter. Cuthbert smiled as he imagined the two of them, heads bent over some mending as they sat by the fire in the homely parlour of their home. Yes, they would manage without him and one day he would return to visit them.

  As the light faded he got to his feet and made his way back to the Abbey. The brothers were processing into the church for Compline but Cuthbert made his way to the lay brothers dormitory. Some of his fellow workers were already preparing for bed and Cuthbert suddenly felt very tired. His work may not be as physically tiring as theirs but the mental concentration involved was equally wearing. He removed his outer clothing and with his precious carving safely tucked under his straw mattress he lay down and was soon asleep.

  His work was complete by mid-afternoon next day and he spent some time between Nones at three in the afternoon and Vespers at sunset fitting it into place in the Church. As he stood back to look at it he realised he had been right in his first assumption; no one would ever see it down there unless it was pointed out to them. Father Abbot had better be satisfied with it and hopefully give him something a little more prominent to do next.

  Cuthbert went in search of Brother John. He found him in the cloister quietly reading in the last of the days light.

  ‘It is finished,’ he said. ‘Do you think Father Abbot would like to see it now? We would need light to find it down on the floor.’

  Brother John laughed.

  ‘I shall go and see and I will bring candles. We would not want Father Abbot to miss your masterpiece.’

  It was quite gloomy when they entered the church, a little procession of Father Abbot, Brother John and Cuthbert as w
ell as three other monks who were attached to the Abbot’s household and were curious to see what this new, much acclaimed young man could do. They moved into the choir stalls and Father Abbot took the candle holder from Brother John and directed the light towards the floor. He gave a startled gasp and stepped back, then looked more closely. The others craned their necks to see what had alarmed their Father. Abbott Paslew got down on his knees and examined the new work closely. He stretched forth a finger and touched it, feeling around where the join should be between old and new, then all over the surface of the carving. With his face almost on the floor he stared at it intently for several seconds before he got to his feet and turned to find an anxious Cuthbert standing in the aisle.

  ‘Young man, what you have done here is create something the like of which I have never seen before.’

  Cuthbert stared back. Was this good or bad? Was he pleased or angry? He waited for the Abbot to continue.

  ‘It is remarkable, quite remarkable. You have indeed a great gift, a God-given gift which you must use to the best of your ability here in our Abbey.’ He smiled, a rare occurrence. ‘I was testing you, as you may have guessed. Greater men than you have turned down the opportunity to work here after I have asked them to do work in such an obscure place, but you have produced something quite unique, knowing that only a very few will ever see it or even know that it is there. That is remarkable in itself.’ He turned, taking in all the others with his gaze. ‘Come, look upon this work and praise God that He has sent us Cuthbert to work to the glory of God in our Abbey.’

  Father Abbot stepped into the aisle to allow the others to kneel to see what had caused such commendation from him. There were gasps of astonishment, hands tenderly touched the carving and exclamations burst from lips. Brother John spoke for them all.

  ‘Wherever did you learn such skill?’

  ‘From my father and from Jethro Milton, Master Carver of Chester who taught me all that I know.’

  ‘And from your own ability,’ added Father Paslew. ‘I cannot wait to see what else you make for us during your many years here as part of our community. Welcome, Cuthbert Watts.’ He seized Cuthbert’s hand and shook it heartily before turning and walking out of the Abbey. The others gathered round Cuthbert exclaiming and congratulating and kneeling to take another look at the work. At last they all made their way outside, the three monks returning to the Abbot’s lodging, Brother John and Cuthbert to a seat in the cloister.

  ‘What gave you the idea?’ asked Brother John.

  ‘For the mice? The position so near to the floor, the ease of carving them, and the fact that even a humble mouse is one of God’s creatures and deserves a place in such a magnificent building.’

  ‘The ease of carving! Cuthbert I have seen mice carved before but a mere suggestion of shape and size. Yours is so detailed that there is a twinkle in their eyes, you can feel their fur, the stripes around their tails. No wonder Father Abbot exclaimed when he saw them. I thought they would run away, they are so realistic. I stand in awe of your ability.’

  ‘Please, I am merely doing something I love.’

  ‘Long may you live to produce many more such wonders. You are going to go far young man.’

  For the next few days Cuthbert was praised and thanked for what he had done. At some point almost everyone made their way into the Abbey to gaze in wonder at Cuthbert’s mice. Far from being an obscure position where they would never be seen it soon became a spot where everyone knelt down to see the wonder created. Even some of the visitors to the Abbey were shown them and Cuthbert became embarrassed at all the attention, but within a few days Abbot Paslew had set him his next task and his time was taken up with plans and ideas for its execution. This was going to be far more prominent than two little mice at the foot of the choir stalls.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The weeks and months flew by as Cuthbert worked on the tasks he was set. Not all were as decorative as his little mice but, nonetheless, he poured all his skill into everything he did. A small box in which spare pens and inks could be carried when one of the monks travelled to an outlying grange to record the harvest; a new chopping block for the kitchens, made from a hefty piece of an elm tree which had blown down two years previously and was nicely matured; shutters for the window in the infirmary; repairs to a screen in one of the chapels, damaged by water from a leak in the roof; new handles for some of the tools used on the farm and in the herb gardens. He soon grew used to the gentle life observed at the Abbey, fitting his work between services and meals. There were other craftsmen there with whom he became friends; Adam, a stonemason from York who was building an extension to one of the store barns; Michael, an elderly potter who made the beautiful tiles used in the floors of the principal buildings; John, the blacksmith whose work was never done, there being so many horses and mules to be shod, tools to be mended, latches to be created. All of them were able to call on the lay workers for help carrying things or holding pieces whilst they were fixed permanently into place and Cuthbert soon felt completely at home in the community.

  He was working one day in the woodshed the spring after he had first come to Whalley when he heard a number of horses ride into the courtyard. Curious to see so large a group of men arrive he watched as they dismounted, their horses taken in charge by some of the Abbey’s grooms, and the men taken towards Abbot Paslew’s lodging.

  ‘Looks like trouble,’ murmured John who had just carried a new spade into the shed for Cuthbert to fit a handle to.

  ‘Trouble? Why?’ asked Cuthbert.

  ‘There are rumours going about that the king wants a new wife.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with us?’

  ‘Not absolutely sure. Summat to do with the Pope, I hear,’ replied John as he walked out.

  Cuthbert stared after him. New wife? What was wrong with the old one and why should it affect them here. Why should anything the king did affect them? They were just an Abbey. How could their life have anything to do with the king? In London? It was a mystery. A mystery he put to Brother John when he saw him in the cloisters later that evening.

  ‘I’m not altogether sure,’ was the unsatisfactory answer. ‘They were talking to the Abbot for most of the afternoon. There were even raised voices, I hear, but nothing has been said to anyone else since they departed. No doubt we will be told at Chapter tomorrow.

  If anything was said regarding the visitors Cuthbert never got to hear of it and the incident was soon forgotten, the life of the Abbey going on much as before. Cuthbert completed his latest commission, a Bible box to be sent as a gift to a neighbouring Abbey in gratitude for their help over some legal matter concerning land exchanges. Once again Cuthbert had used the motifs from nature he so enjoyed carving and the substantial box was richly decorated with leaves and flowers, insects and small animals. Even Father Abbot was seen to smile when he saw the finished box and he praised Cuthbert for his remarkable gift. For several days it was kept on a table in his lodging awaiting its transport to its recipient and it was here that it was seen by another very important visitor.

  Once again a large group of men rode into the Abbey grounds and some of them were taken to the Abbot’s lodging, the rest, mainly servants and a sizeable bodyguard, were taken to the kitchens for refreshment after their long ride. Cuthbert noticed the livery many were wearing and asked one of them to whom they were pledged.

  ‘My Lord Derby,’ the man replied.

  That was a name Cuthbert had heard many times before. A great lord and landowner hereabouts, he had the ear of the king and was influential in the Royal Court. What could such an important personage be doing here? Or was this to be another unsolved mystery? Realising his curiosity was getting the better of him Cuthbert returned to polishing the chest he was working on, working the beeswax into the grain to give it a beautiful sheen. It was therefore unexpected to hear his name being called from the path outside the shed. When he went to the door he was surprised to see one of the Derby servants standing there.
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  ‘You are to come with me. My master wants to see you,’ he said, turning to go.

  ‘See me? Why?’

  ‘I was sent to fetch you. Come now else my master will be displeased.’ The man walked on, so Cuthbert quickly wiped his hands on the piece of sacking he had tied round his waist to protect his clothes from the wax, untied it and followed the man. They were headed for the Abbot’s lodging.

  ‘Wait there,’ ordered the man, entering an inner room. Cuthbert stood by the window, wondering what warranted this summons. What could Lord Derby want with him? He did not have long to wait. The servant reappeared and beckoned peremptorily to Cuthbert. He went into the room where the Abbot received visitors. The man he took to be Lord Derby was standing by the table where Cuthbert’s chest was sitting. A small group of other people were standing nearby, talking amongst themselves and drinking from goblets which only came out for the most important of visitors. They were looking at some papers and pointing out passages to each other.

  ‘Young man,’ said Lord Derby in a voice that was used to giving orders and being obeyed. ‘I understand that this is your work,’ he said, pointing to the chest.

  ‘Yes my lord, it is,’ replied Cuthbert.

  The man turned back to the box and bent to examine it more closely, touching the surface and feeling the richness of the carving.

  ‘It is quite remarkable,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I have ever seen such incredible detail in a piece of wood. This is not the first such box you have made?’