The Rufford Rose

by Margaret Lambert

  Abel offered him food and wine before he returned to make his report but it was declined.

  ‘His lordship requires me to make a full written report of my findings to be sent to him in London,’ he intoned in a grave voice, putting his desk and all the papers into a stout leather satchel which he hung from his horse’s saddle.

  ‘Oh, he’s in London, is he?’ replied Abel.

  ‘Of course. He is an important personage and must appear at Court. He will, however, expect the house to be ready for him and his family to take up occupation in the summer of this year. I shall inform him of your agreement on this point?’

  ‘Er, yes, I expect it will be ready,’ said Abel, wondering when he had agreed to any date during the course of this visit.

  ‘It will be ready,’ stated the man, firmly, and swung into his saddle. Looking down on Abel he continued, ‘I was not making a suggestion, I was stating a fact.’ He kicked his horse and rode away down the track.

  ‘He was a bundle of fun,’ commented Alfric, who had overheard most of the conversation.

  ‘Do not criticise your betters,’ said Abel. ‘He has a job to do, but he could be a bit more relaxed. A smile or two wouldn’t go amiss either.’

  ‘So, we have to finish by the summer then?’

  ‘I expected to be done by then anyway,’ answered Abel, ‘but a finish date has never been mentioned yet. Still, let’s make sure we complete it for Lord Hesketh and not for that stiff-necked clerk of his.’

  The lengthening days lifted everyone’s spirits. Night guards still kept watch but there had been no sighting of Will for some time now. They dare not withdraw their vigilance though as a fire or any other damage at this late stage would be devastating.

  Cuthbert spent as much time as he could with Jennet without neglecting his work at all. His carving reached a perfection even he had not achieved before and his work throughout the house, particularly in the west wing, was outstanding. His earlier banishment there by Abel was serving him well even though Abel’s attitude towards him had changed completely and the two men frequently spent time together either working on the screen or deciding on work to be done. Unlike Will, Alfred and Thomas, the two most senior men after Abel, bore no grudge towards Cuthbert. There was no jealousy between them, instead they learnt from him, particularly when he carved intricate pieces inspired by using drawings he made from the wildlife around him. They remembered the first time Cuthbert had shown them how to frame a scene down by the Mere which he later used to create a panel for one of the principal rooms in the family part of the house and they began to look at their surroundings differently. They were all capable of drawing detailed plans for buildings, some better than others but decorative pieces were different and then interpreting from paper to wood took a very special skill.

  As the year moved towards March, the days lengthened and the weather was warmer, more detail was added to the outside of the building. Jehan fashioned the metalwork for the spits and pot hangers over the great fire in the kitchen. A stone floor was laid and a water supply for the building dug with a well in the yard outside. Stables for the horses were built away from the main building with a hayloft above. It had not been decided whether further barns would be built nearby or use would be made of those already existing on other parts of the estate. The stiff-necked clerk made a second visit of inspection, made more copious notes, barely spoke a word and left with the same dour expression he wore during his last visit.

  ‘He’s happy in his work,’ quipped Alfric sarcastically when he had gone.

  ‘Some people take their work very seriously,’ said Abel.

  ‘I can’t imagine going all day without a smile,’ replied Alfric.

  ‘That’s because you don’t have a strict master breathing down your neck.’ Abel cuffed him lightly as he passed by. ‘Now, let’s get this finished.’

  Cuthbert couldn’t help smiling. Everything seemed to be going so well now that he couldn’t imagine anything unforeseen happening.

  ***

  Will was obsessed with his hatred. He spent more and more time sitting in dark corners in an ale house, muttering to himself and growling at anyone who attempted to engage him in conversation. At times he imagined himself in his grand house somewhere where he was lord and master of all. He would be strict, nobody would be allowed to treat him badly ever again. He would have a rich young wife who would give him heirs, she would do everything he demanded of her, he would have servants at his beck and call, a stable full of horses, a kennel full of hounds and he would spend his hours hunting and fishing. Anyone who crossed him would feel the weight of his hand in law. Oh yes, he would rule his kingdom.

  The widow woman was becoming frightened of him but dare not tell him to go. He had lashed out at her a few times when he was drunk and sometimes spent whole days in bed. He rarely washed or changed his clothes, demanded food whenever he came in and complained if it was cold or wasn’t to his taste. She considered leaving but had nowhere else to go. Her sympathy for him had long since waned and she saw him for what he was, a cruel, spiteful and drunken boor.

  In his sober moments Will remembered his time at Rufford and vowed revenge but it wasn’t until April that he did anything about it. He overheard a conversation in the marketplace in the village. Two grooms were watering their horses at the horse trough. He gathered that they worked for Lord Derby and had been with their master to Rufford. The house was almost finished but what made Will prick up his ears was mention of a wedding to be celebrated in early May between the daughter of the village woodsman and a handsome young carpenter. He moved nearer with a pretence of looking for something he had dropped on the ground.

  ‘She’s a pretty wench,’ said one.

  ‘Aye, and the bridegroom is something of a hero they were saying. Saved Lord Hesketh’s boy from drowning in the Mere. He’s not bad looking though he’s not from around here. Something of a carver too.’

  The two men moved off and Will heard no more but it had peaked his curiosity. They could only be talking about Cuthbert and that haughty lass from the woodcarver’s family. So that secret tryst of theirs that he had overheard that cold day in the woods was going to end up with a wedding, was it? Well, he’d see about that. He all but rubbed his hands together as he imagined all sorts of things he could do to ruin their day. How he would love to deflower the slut before her big day. That would be a slap in the face for master carver Cuthbert. This was going to take serious thought and he went off to the nearest ale house to think, with the aid of a jar or two, of course.

  Somehow he managed to stay fairly sober that day as his mind whirled with plots and plans to spoil the couple’s special day. Ideas of murder were soon dismissed. A quick death would not be very satisfying to him although it would put an end to the marriage if one or both were dead. He wanted to make them suffer and he wanted them to know who was causing their pain. His imagination conjured up many ways of fulfilling his wishes but, being sober, he realised many were no more than fancies. He went outside to clear his head and walked up and down the lanes of the village muttering to himself and occasionally laughing out loud as some delicious moment came to him. People passed him warily as he chuckled, a foolish grin on his face and with staring eyes. He pictured what he would do so vividly that he occasionally stopped and acted out the little scene he saw in his head.

  ‘He’s gone mad,’ declared a farmer, herding a flock of geese through the village.

  ‘Not right in the head, he ain’t,’ agreed another.

  ‘Someat ought to be done wi’ ’im,’ said an old woman who Will had swept out of his way as he passed, oblivious to her presence.

  ‘He’ll murder us all in our beds, he will,’ stated another. ‘I’m telling you, lock your doors of a night.’

  Will’s fantasies became dreams and he shouted out and laughed so often in the following nights that the widow woman left her house and sought sanctuary in the church. The village priest found her curled up in a corner in the morning an
d did his best to comfort her as she gabbled her strange story out to him.

  ‘He’s possessed, father,’ she cried. ‘He talks to himself, stares into space as though he can see people there. He does things with his hands all the time. I’m sure he thinks he’s holding something.’

  ‘What does he say? Can you tell?’

  ‘A lot of it is just mumbling then he’ll say things like ‘I’ll show you who is master here,’ and, ‘You won’t say that to me again.’ I’m afraid, father, of what he will do. And then he goes quiet and looks as though he’s stroking a cat or something, all gentle like, and murmuring sweet words to it, then just as suddenly his face changes and he wrings his hands, like he’s twisting something round and round.’

  The priest was indeed alarmed.

  ‘I must go and try to ease a troubled soul,’ he said. ‘Perhaps if he came to confession?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’ve never seen him enter the church.’

  ‘Oh dear, he is deeply troubled but fear not, I will see what I can do.’

  The elderly priest hurried away and headed for the widow’s cottage. There was no sign of life and when he knocked on the door there was no reply. He tried to peer through the tiny window but all was dark inside. He walked round to the back to see if there was another door and bumped into Will who was emerging from the privy.

  ‘My son,’ he exclaimed. It was the worst thing he could have said to him. Will, dirty and unkempt, stopped and stared at him and the look made the priest turn cold.

  ‘You’re not my father,’ shouted Will. ‘My father is a lord, a real lord, not your Lord, a figment of your imagination.’

  The priest crossed himself at these blasphemous words, again the wrong thing to do for Will grabbed him round the neck and pushed him back against the wall of the cottage.

  ‘I’ll have none of your God stuff,’ he snarled. ‘God has never done anything for me.’ He squeezed tighter and the priest tried to pull his hands away as he fought for breath, soundless words on his lips. ‘Go back to your church and your God and keep away from me. Do you understand? Keep away. Leave me alone. I don’t need you.’ With a final tighter squeeze he released the poor man and turned to go back in the cottage, slamming the door behind him. The priest slid down the wall, holding his throat and gasping for breath. It was some time before he was able to get to his feet and stagger back to his own house where he fell to his knees in prayer for the lost soul. Later he would inform the village elders and let them deal with the mad man living among them.

  Inside the cottage Will continued his raving against the priest, against God, against all who had denied him his birth right as he saw it. As his fury grew and reached new heights he smashed everything he could lay his hands on, pots, furniture, windows even the fire basket in the hearth, stamping everything to pieces until, exhausted he stood and surveyed the damage, and he began to laugh. He laughed until his sides ached. People passing outside stopped to listen to the noise then hurried away, fearful that the mad man would come out and attack them. Finally, exhausted and panting for breath he gathered up his own few belongings, tied them in a bundle and ran out into the road and away, not caring where he went or who saw him. He ran and ran until he had no strength left and crawled into a hut at the edge of the woods and fell exhausted in the straw that was stored there and finally slept.

  ***

  ‘It’s time we put this monster together,’ announced Abel one morning in early April, standing back to look at all the various parts of the screen. Even in pieces it looked enormous but assembled it was going to look magnificent. ‘Is the floor complete, because once this is in place we’re not moving it again?’

  ‘Yes, at least the part where this is going is smoothed and flat,’ said Ben who had spent much of the previous day preparing the beaten earth floor. Later rushes would be spread on it and with wear it would provide a hard, firm surface.

  A group of men gathered to carry all the parts into the Great Hall and Abel collected the tools needed for fastening the screen together, then one by one each part was carried from the woodshed across to the Hall. Bog oak was particularly dense and hence incredibly heavy so there was much puffing and panting as they manoeuvred the larger pieces through the big double doors and laid them out on the floor. Then, one by one they were put in place, pegged together and the creation grew. The hardest parts to handle were the immense side structures and ropes and pulleys were employed to hoist them upright then held in place whilst the panelled part between was fitted into place. Across the top, between the uprights, the heavy beam slotted onto its appointed pegs and fixed, the head of their sovereign gazing along the length of the Hall to the top table where the family would sit, whilst that of his queen stared at the domestic wing. Not perhaps the most prominent position, but appropriate for a lady, thought Cuthbert, wryly.

  It took them most of the day to complete the work, a day of heaving muscles and straining backs but at last they were able to stand back and see it as a complete piece for the first time.

  ‘Quite something, eh?’ said Alfric.

  ‘You were right, it is a monster,’ commented Thomas. ‘Lord Hesketh did approve your drawings for it, didn’t he?’

  ‘Of course, I wouldn’t have embarked on it without showing him what I proposed. I appealed to his vanity remember, told him it would be bigger than any other.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘I hope so. I haven’t actually measured any others, but it’s big,’ replied Abel and laughed. ‘If he doesn’t like it I’m not moving it.’

  The general opinion was that they had created something momentous, fitting for the Great Hall and for a wealthy landowner. Cuthbert went to stand at the opposite end of the hall and looked back at it.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said, ‘decorative and useful. It hides all those doors from this end. Perhaps a curtain either side would make the part behind separate from this side. It’s got all the things Lord Hesketh likes: size, ornate carving, a tribute to his sovereign in those masks at the top, it’s unique and it shows his wealth to all visitors. I will be most surprised if he doesn’t like it.’ He turned round and looked up at the canopy which hung above the top table, recently completed by several of the other men. ‘It’s a great contrast to this which is relatively plain but if, as you say, the coats of arms which we haven’t carved are painted in the squares up here it will be a contrast to the dark wood of the screen.’ His eyes moved to look at the outer ends of the canopy. As a later addition it had been difficult to match it with the side walls, leaving an odd look to the join which offended Cuthbert’s eye for neatness. As he thought about it and wondered if there was anything he could do to neaten it an idea began to form in his head. He would think about it, develop it a bit more and put his idea to Abel when he had something to show him on paper.

  By the time they had cleared away all the tools and props they had used it was time to finish for the day. Abel was very pleased as it had been his idea to create something worthy in what he still expected to be the last and largest house he had been involved in and it was with that thought in his head he went to Ezekial’s home for his evening meal.

  Following Abel’s difficult time with Will, Ezekial and his wife had tried to take care of Abel by sharing meals with him, or Ezekial would meet him in the ale house and gradually Abel had opened up to them, talking more about his wife and the problems they had had with Will. It soon became apparent that they had soon realised that the boy was going to have all sorts of questions about his family and when they failed to answer them to his satisfaction he had become challenging.

  ‘I’ve never known a child who could ask so many questions and never be satisfied with the answers,’ he had said on one occasion. ‘Whatever we told him he never believed us, said we were telling him lies. He would get angry, disobedient, he hit me once but I soon stopped that so he tried it with Dora. She used to get so upset. She saw it as her Christian duty to love him but it became harder and harder and it wore her down. He could b
e so cruel, not physically, but with words, spreading rumours and stories about us. It wore her down and I’m sure it led to an early grave for her and do you know what he did when I told him she had died, he laughed and said he was glad. That day was the nearest I ever came to killing someone. I was so hurt and angry.’

  That admission had shocked Ezekial as he had always seen Abel as the mildest of men, very hard working but gentle and tolerant, but certainly not of Will.

  ‘It was the beginning of the end between us. I would have sent him away but for the promise I’d made to keep him as my apprentice and journeyman. He was like a millstone around my neck and I thank the Lord that he has chosen to leave.’

  ‘We have all seen a difference since he did go,’ said Ezekial as they sat outside their cottage, enjoying the warmth of the April sun. ‘Everyone has noticed, and you have finally accepted Cuthbert.’

  Abel shifted uncomfortably on the bench.

  ‘Aye, I feel bad about that. I treated him wrong from the start but what a mistake I made. He is truly one of the finest craftsmen I have ever seen. When he arrived I thought he was just Lord Derby’s favourite and I wanted nothing to do with him. It shows his strength of character that he stayed despite what I said and did.’

  ‘It would take more than a few harsh words to stop Cuthbert doing what he does best.’

  ‘He had more than harsh words. I could have injured him seriously when I was mad with him. I refused to see that it was all Will’s doing, dripping poison into my ear at every opportunity. Now we work together closely and he has some wonderful ideas. If only I’d listened to him earlier we may have produced even more work that has never been seen before. His ideas seem to pour out of him. But he is modest about his talent, he never boasts about what he does, never pushes himself forward despite what I have said about him in the past. He will make a fine husband for your Jennet.’