The Rufford Rose

by Margaret Lambert

  Abel, unfortunately, had other ideas and once he had seen the wood safely undercover he went in search of the person he thought was the source of his trouble today: Cuthbert.

  Cuthbert heard him coming up the stairs, his wet boots squelching mud all the way up the new treads and into the room behind him. He got to his feet and turned to face his tormentor. Abel was standing in the doorway, water streaming off his leather jerkin and pooling on the floor around his filthy boots. His face was red, his fists clenched at his sides and he was clearly looking for trouble.

  ‘There you are,’ he roared, ‘hiding away where you thought I wouldn’t find you?’

  ‘I was completing the job you set me,’ replied Cuthbert, calmly.

  ‘The job I set you, yes, but not the job you want to do, eh?’

  ‘I will do whatever task you set me. I am a carpenter.’

  ‘You are also a woodcarver, as everyone keeps telling me,’ snapped Abel, advancing slowly, leaving a trail of mud across the newly laid floor. ‘A wonderful woodcarver, a marvellous woodcarver, a woodcarver of great renown. Everybody keeps telling me I won’t see the like anywhere else. Well, master woodcarver, where is this marvellous work? What have you done since you got here? Tell me that. Where is it?’

  ‘You have not, as yet, asked me to do any carving,’ replied Cuthbert, reasonably.

  ‘No, I haven’t, have I, and shall I tell you why? Because I have woodcarvers already, men I have worked with for years, since before you were born. Why should I need another one when I have them? Tell me that.’ He began to circle Cuthbert, his dark little eyes fixed on him, a pulse beating in his temple as he worked himself up into a fury. Suddenly he jabbed Cuthbert’s arm, his sore elbow, though whether that was a coincidence or whether he knew of his injury he wasn’t sure, but it made Cuthbert gasp with pain.

  ‘Come, that didn’t hurt, did it?’ Abel taunted, and hit him again. Cuthbert grabbed his arm and held it away from Abel. He would not fight back. He felt a sharp dig in his ribs, then a kick behind his knees that sent him sprawling. He rolled away and tried to get up, but a shove in the back sent him down again. Abel moved closer and kicked him on the back of his thigh, then again in the small of his back. Cuthbert tried to roll away again, away from the onslaught but Abel followed, landing kicks on any part of his body he could reach. Kick after kick struck home until Abel ran out of breath and stood bent over him, panting. Slowly Cuthbert got to his feet and backed away against the wall hoping he wouldn’t fall down again. Abel’s face was distorted with rage, spittle gathered on his chin, as he glared at his victim.

  ‘Don’t you ever disobey me again, boy, do you hear?’ he growled. ‘Don’t you ever go crawling to the gentry again, making friends with the child so that you could blatantly come to their notice by bringing him down to them, claiming he had made his own way up here and you had to see him safe downstairs again. How did you entice him up here in the first place? Tell me that.’

  ‘He came up of his own accord,’ gasped Cuthbert, holding aching ribs. ‘He’s a child, he was exploring. He heard me hammering and came to see what was happening.’

  ‘A likely story,’ sneered Abel. ‘The lad’s only five years old.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  Abel sneered and straightened up.

  ‘I told you to stay out of their way and you couldn’t do a simple thing like that, could you? Well, now I have to find you some carving to do or your friend, Lord Derby, is going to want to know why not. He and the young master are going to come back in a couple of weeks to see what progress we’ve made and he expressly told me before he left that he expects to see your work too. I tell you, master carver, if I had my way you would be off this site by tonight, but my hands are tied, I’m stuck with you. So, I want to see some drawings of work you have done and work you think you could do and I’ll let you know if it is good enough for my building. You are not touching a piece of wood here until I am satisfied you are as good as everyone keeps telling me. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes’ said Cuthbert. ‘I have several drawings with me. When do you want to see them?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, first thing. Now finish here and get out of my sight.’

  He started to turn away then spun back and punched Cuthbert hard in the stomach, doubling him over, before walking away and down the stairs.

  Cuthbert collapsed on the floor, fighting for breath, every bone in his body hurting from the attack. He gagged and vomited then lay panting in a heap by the wall.

  Suddenly he heard a noise by the door and looked round in alarm, hoping it wasn’t Abel coming back for another go at him. There stood Will, leaning nonchalantly on the door frame, grinning.

  ‘How do you feel now?’ he sneered. ‘Not so high and mighty are you after all. Just another carpenter like the rest of us. Needed taking down a peg or two. Master carver indeed. Let’s see you come back from that.’ He walked over towards Cuthbert who scrambled to his feet and flinched expecting another kicking but Will just looked at him then spat in his face before turning on his heel and walking away.

  Cuthbert slid down the wall and sat on the floor trying to gather his thoughts. Never before had he been subjected to such an unprovoked onslaught. He gingerly moved his arms and legs. Nothing appeared to be broken but he was going to be covered in bruises. He touched his jaw where one blow had landed and opened his mouth wide to ease it. Blood trickled down his cheek from a cut on his brow. His ribs were sore and he could feel where kicks had landed on his back and thighs. Thankfully his hands were untouched though whether by luck or deliberately on Abel’s part he did not know for without his hands he would not have been able to do any carving for some time. He flexed his fingers and turned his wrists. It occurred to him suddenly that if he had not had the word of Lord Derby he could well have been more severely injured or even killed, a victim of an ‘accident’, not unheard of in building projects, but he could never let Lord Derby know what had happened here today.

  He bowed his head on his knees. He had to lay the last couple of boards somehow then go back to his pallet and find the drawings he had done of some of his work at Whalley Abbey, then spend some hours doing some more for new work here. He was not going to get much sleep tonight.

  Outside the rain continued to pour. All work was suspended for the day and many of the men took advantage of the break and made their way to their shelters or to the village inn where it was, at least, dry. The tracks turned to liquid mud. Carts were stuck up to their axles and the horses were led away into their stables and rubbed down for the night. It was still light but the dim light of a dreary, dull day. Thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance over the far hills and occasional flashes of lightning split the sky and the rain poured down relentlessly, a continuous roar all around.

  How long he sat there he wasn’t sure, he may even have nodded off but a sound broke the stillness of the room.

  ‘Cuthbert? Cuthbert? Are you all right?’

  Cuthbert put his head up trying to work out where the voice came from.

  ‘Cuthbert? It’s me, Ezekial. Where are you?’

  He gave a sigh of relief.

  ‘Up here, in the saloon,’ he called. ‘First floor, top of the stairs.’

  He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, more than one pair of them and hoped it was indeed friends. He was in no fit state to cope with another attack. A head appeared round the door. It was Ezekial followed by three of the other men, fellow carpenters Thomas, Alfric and Harry.

  ‘Good God, man!’ exclaimed Ezekial, hurrying over to crouch by Cuthbert. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Abel didn’t like me talking to Lord Derby,’ said Cuthbert.

  ‘We heard the shouting,’ said Thomas. ‘Abel was fair mad wi’ you but we didn’t realise he’d laid into you.’

  ‘’E don’t like being told what to do, don’t Abel,’ said Alfric, ‘and we knew there’d be trouble as soon as we ’eard t’master was comin’.’

  ‘That was no reason
to beat the living daylights out of you,’ said Ezekial, touching the bruise that was already appearing on Cuthbert’s face. ‘Where else has he got you?’

  ‘Pretty well everywhere. He went berserk, knocked me down and kept kicking me over and over until he lost strength. I thought I was for it.’

  ‘He’d have had some answering to do if he had. As it is the young master isn’t going to be best pleased when he hears about this.’

  ‘Don’t tell him,’ said Cuthbert, quickly. ‘No, I’ll be fine, no harm done in the long run. Bruises will fade. I don’t want to get the reputation of being a troublemaker. Let it go.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Ezekial, ‘Best get you to Liliath. Let her see to you.’

  ‘No, I can’t, I’ve work to do.’

  ‘What work?’

  ‘I’ve to finish this floor then produce drawings of work I’ve done at Whalley and work I could do here.’

  ‘There’s time for that.’

  ‘No, I have to do it by morning or there’ll be trouble and I don’t want to antagonise him any further.’

  ‘Harry and I can finish here,’ said Alfric. He looked round. ‘There’s only two boards to do. We’ll soon do it, don’t you worry.’

  ‘Thanks, that would help.’

  ‘Meanwhile, we’ll get you to the forge. I’m afraid we’re going to get wet, the rain hasn’t eased at all. Thomas, give me a hand with him.’

  Cuthbert accepted the help offered. He was too sore to argue anyway. The two men lifted him to his feet and he groaned.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m a nuisance, I know.’

  ‘Nonsense. You lean on us and we’ll get you there.’

  Slowly they helped Cuthbert down the stairs. He didn’t like to admit it but he doubted he would have been able to do it alone. The cold rain revived him a little and the three made their slow way towards the forge.

  Jacob saw them coming through the doorway of the forge and ran out to meet them, calling to his brother over his shoulder.

  ‘What in heaven’s name happened to him?’ he cried, taking Cuthbert’s weight on his broad shoulder to let Ezekial stand upright.

  ‘He’s taken a beating,’ said Ezekial. ‘He needs Liliath’s work.’

  ‘Get him round the back, out of this rain,’ said the blacksmith.

  Liliath came to the door of the cottage and opened it wide as they approached.

  ‘Put him down by the fire,’ she said, and the men lowered him into the wooden rocking chair beside the roaring fire. ‘Now go, I’ll see to him,’ she said, shooing them all out of the door again. They trudged back through the rain and into the warmth of the forge where they told the blacksmith what had happened.

  Meanwhile, Liliath was examining Cuthbert. The walk had exhausted him more than he could have imagined and he wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep it off but Liliath was trying to get his clothes off him so that she could see the damage. Clad only in his breeches she examined every inch of him.

  ‘Well, he’s drawn very little blood apart from re-opening the wound on your elbow and the cut on your face, but there’s not much of you that’s not going to turn black and blue. Who did it?’ she asked.

  ‘Abel,’ he said, and told her briefly what had occurred.

  ‘He’s always had a temper, has Abel,’ she said, busying herself with warm water and cloths and potions. ‘One day he’s going to go too far. His wife used to be able to calm him but since she died there’s no one who dares cross him for fear of what he’ll do.’

  ‘You know him from before?’ asked Cuthbert and winced as she touched the spot where the kick to his back had landed.

  ‘Yes, his reputation goes before him. He’s a good builder, one of the best, but his temper gets the better of him if he’s crossed. I take it you crossed him?’

  ‘Not intentionally, no.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be intentional. Sometimes you only need to look at him wrong and he flares up. Now hold still while I put some of this salve on the cuts.’

  Cuthbert bore her ministrations stoically. He was sorer than he had first thought and her touch, though gentle was painful. He dreaded to think what he would be like in the morning, that is if he got any sleep at all.

  Only when she was satisfied she had done all she could did she fetch a spare tunic of her husband’s and held it out to him. ‘Yours is soaked through’ she said. ‘I’ll dry it by the fire, get it back to you tomorrow. I could give you a sleeping draught?’ she suggested.

  ‘No, I have work to do if I don’t want to draw Abel’s wrath again on the morrow,’ he said.

  ‘Surely not! You need rest.’

  ‘I’ll go to my bed when I’ve done what I have to do, not before.’

  Liliath looked at him, hands on hips. There was no arguing with him, she could see that.

  ‘Very well. In that case you are staying here tonight. There’s a pallet in the storeroom at the back of the forge. That way I’ll see you get a meal inside you as well. You can work in here but once you have finished you are having something to help you sleep. I tell you, you’ll be too sore else.’

  Cuthbert could see she was not going to back down. At least he wouldn’t have to meet a gloating Will again tonight if he stayed.

  ‘I need my bag with my things in,’ he said.

  ‘Jehan can fetch it if you tell him where. No one will question him.’

  Jehan was despatched to the builders’ shelters to collect Cuthbert’s bag and explain where he was staying. Most of those he met asked about Cuthbert. By now everyone knew what had happened and most were concerned about Abel’s behaviour yet Jehan got the impression they were too scared to do anything about it. Afraid they would lose their jobs probably. He returned, carrying the leather satchel, soaked to the skin through the pouring rain which had not let up for hours now.

  ‘Water will be high if this continues,’ he reported. ‘It’s not rained this hard for years.’

  ‘Will the Mere flood the building?’ asked Cuthbert.

  ‘I doubt it, it never has but it could come close. Let’s hope it stops soon or we’ll all suffer if the Hall goes under.’

  After a good hot meal of rabbit stew Cuthbert set to work sorting out drawings he had done for Whalley. He had always kept any designs for future reference and frequently returned to those he found most successful. Among them were designs for the sort of decorative carvings Abel wanted. One in particular brought painful memories. It was the design he and Jethro had been working on when he had the fatal fall. He looked long and hard at it. Could he do that one again? No, it would remind him too much of that painful day and it was not something he would let Abel mock him over. He carefully returned it to the package of drawings.

  There were, however, some others which would be good enough. With perhaps two or three new ones that would be enough surely to satisfy the most recalcitrant employer, so he settled down to produce some new ones. He never found it difficult to come up with new ideas, his mind was always buzzing with shapes and details and he loved to draw them, developing them as he worked, adding bits, removing other parts until he was satisfied. Working thus his physical aches seemed to melt into the background as he bent over his sketch book and it was no surprise when Liliath came to him and said it was nearly midnight and he must stop if he was to get any rest at all. He agreed and even let her give him some of her sleeping draught before settling down on the borrowed bed and in a short time fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Dawn came with a freshly washed face, a delicately pale blue sky that looked as though the rain had washed all colour out of it. Small fluffy clouds drifted by and everything dripped. The thatch was darkened by the soaking it had had but was as watertight as ever. The trees dripped into puddles around their trunks, the vegetables in the little patch by the cottage were flattened. Jehan was looking ruefully at them.

  ‘They’ll come back as long as we don’t get any more rain,’ he said. ‘Surprising what a bit of
sunshine will do.’

  Liliath set bowls of oat porridge before them, warm and filling. Cuthbert was surprised how hungry he felt but he was stiff from his beating and moved gingerly as he made ready to go to the site.

  ‘The bed’s there for as long as you want it,’ she said as he went out of the door and Cuthbert turned to smile gratefully at her.

  ‘I’ll see how today goes,’ he said.

  The track to the Hall was full of puddles surrounded by mud, not a dry inch to be found and his boots were caked in mud before he was halfway. He wondered what sort of reception he would get but he had his drawings with him and hoped Abel would find something to assuage his anger.

  As he neared the shore of the Mere he noticed that many of the bushes on the bank were standing in water, the level having risen during the night. The little jetty where a rowing boat was usually tied was almost underwater. It wouldn’t have taken much more to flood over onto the track and he wondered how near it had been to flooding across the track and onto the building site. Surely they wouldn’t have planned to build it where it was if there was the possibility of inundation.

  Men were surveying the building from all angles, assessing whether there had been any damage during the storm. Everything was still standing though very wet. The parts already roofed were driest but the half built walls were surrounded by mud. It was going to be incredibly dirty work for a few days.

  Thomas saw him coming and ran across to greet Cuthbert.

  ‘My word, you’ve a face to behold!’ he said. ‘How many colours would you say, Alfric?’

  ‘Oh, at least a dozen,’ replied Alfric, then asked seriously, ‘How are you? Did you get any sleep? We finished the floor without Abel knowing so we won’t tell him. Best that way.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cuthbert. ‘Liliath gave me a sleeping draught so, not too bad. Where is Abel? I’d better get these drawings to him as soon as I can.’