Gates of Paradise

by Beryl Kingston

  But at that point he was overcome by such a violent coughing fit that he had to sit down and was quite unable to speak. Blake was most concerned and so, as the coughing went on, was the duke. He conferred briefly with his fellow judges, as Blake bent to ask his champion if there was anything he could do for him and the courtroom buzzed and fidgeted with concern, then he sent the usher out for water and brandy, rose and made an announcement.

  ‘My fellow judges and I,’ he said, ‘are of the opinion that there is no need to prolong this trial by an adjournment. All the necessary evidence has been adequately given, the closing speeches have been made to all intents and purposes. In the light of the indisposition of our colleague, and if both counsellors are agreeable, we suggest that the jury should now consider its verdict.’

  They were remarkably quick. By the time the usher had returned with the brandy and Counsellor Rose had taken a few sips and had begun to recover his breath, the foreman was on his feet, signalling that he was ready to give their decision.

  It was short and to the point. They found the defendant not guilty and that was the verdict of them all.

  There was an uproar, as people cheered and threw their hats in the air and declared what a splendid verdict it was. Blake’s friends and neighbours ran from their uncomfortable benches to shake their hero by the hand and thump him between the shoulder blades and tell him how glad they were to see him set free, ‘which is no more than you deserve an’ we thanks God for it,’ as he smiled and smiled and grew rosy with triumph and relief. After such a long anxious wait he felt like a bird released from its cage, rising on a current of pure clear air and dizzy with the delight of freedom.

  The soldiers were gone in a second and in high dudgeon, but everybody else stayed where they were to celebrate. Mr Hayley wept for joy, Mr Rose, still pale but no longer coughing, was praised and cheered until he said they were making his head spin, and Mrs Haynes and Johnnie were the heroes of the hour, thumped and patted and congratulated until their arms were sore. Finally, Mr Hayley dried his eyes and strode to the dais to congratulate his old enemy on a job well done.

  ‘I congratulate Your Grace,’ he said, ‘that after having been wearied for so long with the condemnation of sorry vagrants, you have at last had the gratification of seeing an honest man honourably delivered from an infamous persecution. Mr Blake is a pacific, industrious and deserving artist.’

  The duke accepted his dubious congratulations in the spirit in which they had been offered. ‘I know nothing of him,’ he said coldly. ‘Clear the court.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a riotous journey home. Although there was a sharp rain falling and it was as dark as pitch, they talked and laughed and told one another what a triumph it had been all the way from the Guildhall to Felpham village, and halfway there they broke into a rousing chorus of ‘Rule Britannia’ led by Mrs Taylor who said she’d never seen such a trial – as if she’d been frequenting courthouses all her life – and wouldn’t have missed a second of it, even though she hadn’t been called. Even Mr Cosens’ little mare, which was normally a very sober animal, caught the mood and ventured a canter.

  Betsy was the first person to be dropped off and was kissed goodnight by the entire company, Johnnie included. ‘’Tis a feather in your cap,’ Mr Grinder told her, as she climbed out of the cart. ‘You and young Johnnie here.’ And that was the opinion around the supper table at Turret House, where the tale was told at great length and with every detail embellished.

  By the time he got to bed, after an evening in The Fox where he was admired and petted and treated to more porter than he’d ever drunk in his life, Johnnie was beginning to feel like the hero they all said he was. He lay awake in the inky darkness, feeling so pleased with himself his chest felt as if it was about to explode. Despite it all, they’d stood together and given their evidence in exactly the right way and refused to be bullied and now Mr Blake was a free man because of what they’d done. And Betsy had smiled at him all the time he was in the witness box, which was the best thing of all. Oh, they’d be back together now. He was sure of it.

  The next morning Mrs Beke warned them all to be quiet about their work because Mr Hayley had come home very late and was still in bed and asleep. Not an easy thing, Johnnie thought, when his first job was to fill all the coal buckets and carry them up to the rooms where they were needed. But chores were nothing to him that morning and he worked easily, his head full of happy dreams.

  Halfway through the morning, Bob the boot boy came up to the library to tell him that his mother had arrived and was waiting outside the back door to see him.

  It didn’t surprise him. News of his triumph was sure to spread and Father would have told her about it last night, when he got home from The Fox. ‘Come to hear how I got on,’ he said, as he wiped his hands on his apron, and went down at once to tell her. He was so full of himself he’d rushed into a description of the trial before he noticed how drawn and anxious she looked. ‘You should ha’ been there, Ma,’ he said. ‘You’d ha’ been proud of us.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said and her voice was so weary it shocked him. ‘I heard. Your Father told me.’

  ‘What is it?’ he asked her. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Can we walk somewhere away from the house?’ she asked. ‘Would they let you?’

  ‘I’ll get my jacket,’ he said and went, feeling horribly anxious. Someone must be ill. It couldn’t be Father. He’d been fine in The Fox last night. So it had to be young Harry. They walked in silence along the winding street, past The Fox and Blake’s empty cottage, heading for the grey sea and the debris on the beaches, as the wind buffeted their faces and whipped his mother’s heavy skirts about her legs. When they reached the shore, he couldn’t wait to hear what it was any longer and begged her to tell him.

  ‘Is it Harry?’ he asked. ‘Has he took a fever? Is he ill? Is that it?’

  ‘No, son,’ his mother said, sadly. ‘’Taren’t your brother. ’Tis you. Oh, Johnnie, I don’t know how to tell ’ee. We’ve had the bailiffs round.’

  Now, with a shrinking of his heart, he knew what it was, could feel the threat under her sadness. But he needed to hear it spoken and to know the worst. ‘What did they want?’ he asked.

  ‘They didn’t say exactly,’ she told him, grey eyes brimming tears. ‘Just how they thought ’twould be better if you was to go away. They said they was considerin’ all the tied cottages and – what was it they said? – how to use ’em to best advantage. Yes. That was it. To best advantage. An’ then they said they’d got a ticket for you on the stagecoach to London an’ how ‘twould be best all round if you was to take it. Oh, Johnnie, what are we to do? If you don’t go they’ll have us out sure as eggs is eggs.’

  It was the retribution they’d all feared. It was what they’d all said would happen in the weeks when he and Betsy had been pushing and persuading.

  ‘Did they go to anyone else?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not so far as I knows. ’Tis just us, seemingly. Just you. Oh, Johnnie, what are we to do if they turns us out? Your father’s in such a state you wouldn’t believe.’

  He took charge of the situation. He’d caused it, so it was only right and proper he should answer for it. ‘Don’t ’ee fret,’ he said to her, speaking gently and comforting her, as if she were the child and he the parent. ‘I won’t let them turn you out.’

  ‘But what will you do?’

  ‘Go to London if needs must,’ he said. ‘But first I shall visit all the others in case they been threatened, too. Go and tell Pa not to worry. Everythin’ will be all right. I’ll come an’ see you soon as I know what’s going on, an’ tell you what’s what. I promise. Don’t ’ee fret. I won’t let them turn you out.’ Inwardly he was shaking with anger that punishment should have been meted out so swiftly and in such an underhand way but outwardly he stayed calm. It was the risk they’d all taken. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t known it was likely. Now he had to face it. I’ll
visit Mrs Haynes first, he thought, as he kissed his mother a temporary goodbye. She was the other one who’d fought them in that court and if they’re after me, they could be after her, too.

  To his relief, Mrs Haynes was still happily enjoying her triumph. ‘No,’ she said, when he’d told her his news. ‘No one’s been here. I’d’ve given ’em a piece a’ my mind if they had. What a thing to do to put pressure on your poor Ma.’

  ‘What about Betsy?’ he asked. ‘Has she been to The Fox yet this morning?’

  ‘Been an’ gone,’ her mother said. ‘An’ no, no one’s after her, I’m glad to say. Except that ol’ Miss Pearce. She was on at her for stayin’ out so late. She told me this mornin’.’

  So far so good. ‘I can’t stop,’ he said to Mrs Haynes. ‘I want to see all the others.’ He felt more and more responsible for them the more time he had to think. And more and more resigned to the fact that he would have to do as the bailiffs suggested.

  She wished him luck, ‘whatever you decides to do. Come back an’ let me know.’

  Mr and Mrs Grinder were busy in the taproom, dispensing porter. They were angry to hear what had happened to his mother ‘but not surprised’. And no, they hadn’t been approached by anyone and neither had William.

  ‘But then,’ as Mr Grinder explained, ‘they’d be hard put to it to come after me, being I’m my own landlord.’

  ‘If you ask me, they’re pickin’ you out for a scapegoat,’ Mrs Grinder said, ‘on account of you give the best evidence.’

  On to old Mrs Taylor, who was incensed to hear what was being suggested, but hadn’t had any visitors at all that morning. ‘Not that they’re like to pick on me. I never said nothin’.’ Down to the mill to see Mr Cosens, who’d been hard at work since dawn and hadn’t seen anybody either. Then back to the house to ask Mr Hosier, who, since it was past midday, was sitting in the kitchen with the others waiting to be served a portion of one of Mrs Beke’s meat pies.

  ‘We’d given you up for lost,’ Mrs Beke said in her acid way. ‘Where have you been, if I may make so bold as to ask?’

  He told her briefly and without any emotion, for by now the news hung about his heart like the heaviest of Mr Cosens’ millstones. And like all the other people he’d talked to that morning, they wanted to know what he was going to do. The answer was engraved on the millstone. ‘I shall go to London,’ he said. ‘I can’t have my family turned out on my account, an’ Heaven knows there’s little to keep me here. I shall go to London and make my fortune.’

  ‘Good luck to ’ee, then,’ Mr Hosier said. ‘Tha’s what I says. When d’you have to go?’

  It was the one thing Johnnie hadn’t thought to ask, and the first thing he did ask when he saw his mother that afternoon. Her answer came as a shock that stopped his breath.

  ‘Tomorrow mornin’,’ she said. ‘They give me the ticket. See. Here ’tis. Tomorrow mornin’ on the first stage.’

  So soon, he thought, taking the ticket. So quick. There was barely time to digest what had happened or to think what he would do when he arrived. But his mind was made up to it, quick or not. He’d been the one who’d urged revolution and organised that meeting and pressed his neighbours to stand up for the right. He’d felt like a god standing there in that courtroom, fighting back and answering up, and now there was a price to pay for it.

  ‘If you go I shall never see you again,’ his mother wept. ‘We can’t let you do this, Johnnie.’

  ‘I’ll come an’ see you whenever I can,’ he promised. ‘It could be the makin’ a’ me. Think a’ that. Off to London. I could make my fortune there.’

  But she wept and wouldn’t be comforted and in the end he had to leave her red-eyed and head back to Turret House to tell Mrs Beke he would be leaving his job at first light the next morning.

  The announcement caused a stir, for like him they hadn’t imagined he would have to go so soon, but they wished him luck and hoped he would find a good job and Mrs Beke told him she wouldn’t go into details when she told Mr Hayley in case he wanted to argue about it, ‘which would make matters worse for your poor mother, would it not? You know how he goes on when he means to do good. Like a bull in a china shop. I shall tell him you’ve a good job offered and that I’ve urged you to take it, so I hope you’ll prove me right. You must write to us and tell us how you get on.’

  Then there was nothing more to be done except tell his mother, finish his work and wrap his few belongings in a piece of sailcloth that Mr Hosier found for him. Not that there was much to wrap. Gardeners don’t run to many possessions.

  His mother wept all over again and said he was a dear good boy, the best a mother could wish for. While she was crying his father came home and was told the news too and he went off to his bedroom and returned with a small leather pouch.

  ‘Oi been keepin’ this for a weddin’ present,’ he said, ‘but tha’s gone by the board now Oi s’ppose.’

  ‘That went by the board a long time since,’ Johnnie admitted, surprised by how calmly he was speaking. ‘We ’aven’t been walkin’ out for months.’ And now they never would again. But he was calm about that, too.

  ‘In that case,’ his father said, ‘you’d best have this now. ’Twill buy you lodgin’s an’ vittles an’ such until you gets settled.’ He put the pouch into his son’s hands.

  It contained two silver sixpences and a gold sovereign and the sight of them moved Johnnie so much he couldn’t trust himself to speak. To have saved such a sum when he was so poorly paid was miraculous – and more generous than he deserved. ‘Oh Pa!’ he said.

  Hiram was gruff with unshed tears too. ‘Don’t thank me,’ he said. ‘Tha’s little enough in all conscience. Oi wish Oi could do more for ’ee.’

  At which Johnnie threw his arms round his father’s neck and wept for quite a while.

  When they were both recovered, they made plans for the next morning. ‘We’ll walk with ’ee part way,’ Hiram said. ‘See you off loike.’ Which they did.

  It was very cold out there in the fields and very dark for the sun was only just beginning to rise and apart from a few pale green streaks in the east, the earth and the sky were black. The family trudged along in silence with Annie clinging to her son’s arm and Harry rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he thought his father wasn’t looking. And if Johnnie shivered from time to time, that was only to be expected on such a raw morning.

  When they’d been walking for a mile or so, they reached a bend in the lane and Hiram stopped. ‘This is as far as we goes,’ he said to Johnnie. ‘You got enough light now.’ Which wasn’t quite true for, although the sky was laced with spreading colour, the downs were still as black as ink and the distant spire of the cathedral was little more than a ghostly shadow. ‘You’ll write to us. Oi knows we can’t read much but Oi daresay we shall make out, an’ Mr Grinder will read what we can’t manage.’

  Johnnie was shivering in earnest now. He promised to write, kissed them all, over and over again, and let his mother cling about his neck for as long as she wanted, but the parting had to be made for all that. It was like being wrenched apart with hot irons and the pain of it was so acute it was an agony to walk away. He turned to wave again and again until he had rounded the bend and they were out of sight. And then he was miserably on his own in the darkness.

  Hiram took Harry’s hand and held it firm. ‘Don’t ’ee ever forget,’ he said angrily, ‘that this is what comes a’ speaking out against a landlord. When you’re a grow’d man with a wife an’ family to support, you just remember it. There’s onny one defence against the rich an’ tha’s to keep your mouth tight shut an’ never say nothin’ to annoy ’em. Never, ever forget.’

  Harry was shivering now. ‘No, Father,’ he said, solemnly.

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘Yes, Father. I promise.’

  ‘Well tha’s all roight then,’ Hiram said. ‘Now we’d best be gettin’ back.’

  As Johnnie walked on, the sun rose slowly and the ploughed earth began
to steam. The dawn chorus began, with a single blackbird piping alone and plaintive in the darkness. And gradually the countryside was unveiled and the mists rolled away and after a while he could see the huddled shapes of a flock of sheep, gathered together under the bare branches of a spreading oak tree, folded into breathing bundles and still half asleep and he watched as they knelt to stand, one after the other, and began to graze. The sky lightened with every step he took, the grass grew green, and the anguish of walking through this familiar landscape for the last time made his chest ache. This is my home, he thought. This is where I belong and where I ought to stay. But the sun was a red disc in a pale green sky and Chichester was waiting on the horizon and every step took him nearer to the new life he’d been pretending to accept and the fortune-making adventure he didn’t want.

  When he finally reached Lavant, he’d made such poor time that the London coach was already waiting in the courtyard and many of the passengers were on board. There were two women climbing into the coach as he approached, one very fat and the other very thin and both carrying enormous baskets covered in cloths and tied about with string; and four men settling themselves in the outside seats with a great deal of fuss and laughter and their brandy flasks at the ready; and an old countrywoman wearing a brown blanket like a shawl over her head and shoulders and sitting very still in one corner. Poor old thing.

  He climbed aloft and took the last remaining seat, which was next to the old woman, packed his bundle neatly underneath the slats and wished he’d brought a flask to sustain him on the journey. And then the chocks were being removed, the horn was sounding and they were off. And the old woman turned her head towards him and she was Betsy Haynes.