‘Holless.’ He never needed to call loudly, for his man had preternatural hearing. ‘There are wood shavings on my carpet.’
‘Pardon, Denzil,’ he’d noticed that Holless enjoyed the use of his given name when there were no others to hear. ‘I instructed the wench to clear up well. I shall speak to her.’ He was already on the rug collecting the debris.
Denzil stepped over him. ‘The cabinet has been mended.’ There was surprise and alarm in his voice.
‘Aye, the new man, Haslet. Seems he is able with carpenter’s tools – although messy. I did supervise him myself, never fear my boy.’ Holless looked pleased that he’d employed a man with skills since there were so few about now and Denzil winced at the familiarity.
‘Haslet has been in my chamber repairing my cabinet?’ his voice was muted and before Holless could ask why he was concerned, it became steel, ‘You did not leave him alone in here for even a moment?’
‘I did not . . .’ and the memory of Cook’s rat infestation gave him pause.
Denzil saw the truth dawn on him. ‘Leave. Now.’ He closed and locked the door behind Holless. He hoped that the idiot would be unnerved by it. Sometimes the man forgot himself. He checked the small cabinet door. It seemed secure. His hand wandered unconsciously to the centre of his chest where its keys hung on a fine chain. Reaching in to the new door, rested against its housing, Denzil noted the quality of the fit. He ran his thumb across the edges expecting splinters but there were none. It was smooth and edged well. He examined every part of it, every edge, the top, underneath and then the hidden hinge edge.
There was something etched there. Denzil loosened the hinges and pulled off the door. ‘NAT & FLORENCE 1985/2020-1643’. Denzil frowned at it. This was a message that he did not yet understand - but he would. He replaced the door and removing the key from around his neck, opened the inner sanctum of his safe. It was untouched. Denzil took out the small object and held it to his lips. He would have words with Holless concerning the better employment of Haslet. That the varlet had been in his very chamber!
The labourers were in the yard, loading the sheaves of hazel twitches for fencing. They’d reported to Holless that the sheep were beginning to wander and he’d reluctantly been up to the pasture and agreed that the fences needed repair. They prepared for it now. It was not heavy work and they liked to see the woven fences in place by the end of the day. Nat had never seen it done and was anticipating learning something of this ancient craft - until Holless materialised from the shadows of the house. ‘That wagon is ready to be taken out, I think. No dawdling here. Be on your way. Haslet, to me.’ The boys paused waiting for Nat’s word with Holless to be ended and for him to join them. ‘I said, be gone!’ Holless added. ‘This man has other tasks today.’ They nodded to Nat and left him in the yard.
Silence was the prudent policy, Nat had learned, and so he waited for Holless to speak. ‘Master Moorcroft spoke to you in the Lee field.’
Nat was instantly alert to the warning signal. They’d already taken the punishment for that small act of assertion.
‘He noted that the field is indeed very stony – as you observed to him.’ Holless was enjoying this. ‘You are directed to work on Lee field today. The master expects it to be cleared of large stones and rocks and I am to tell you not to return until it is done. Whenever that may be.’
This was a blow. The field was large and had not been regularly ploughed so that it was indeed full of rocks and large stones. He saw the back-breaking work set out before him but was determined to show no reaction. ‘I see. I shall take the small cart and . . .’
‘No cart. You may take an adze to lift the stones.’
The two men faced one another. Nat quelled his rising anger. He was balancing the Hall’s need for his labour with his need for the Hall’s refuge. It would be so very easy to make his reply to Holless and then walk away. And then he saw Florence cross from the milking barn, lugging a heavy bucket, so, with a fixed expression, he gathered his water flask and snatched up an adze from the nearby wall. An instinct made him look up towards the house where he saw Moorcroft standing fully in the centre of the first-floor window with a broad sneer on his face. This time, Nat did not look away but continued to stare until Holless knocked him on his boot.
‘There is no satisfaction in that path, lad. Be gone to Lee field.’ Nat’s focus was altered. He wondered if he’d ever heard Holless utter a helpful word before but the moment had passed and when he looked back to the window, Denzil had gone.
The day was back-breakingly long. No one brought food and Nat was glad that he’d brought his water flask. He’d decided to work systematically on the field, marking it into squares and clearing each of them in turn. If Moorcroft thought to humiliate him with this, then he could think again. Nat had had training in humiliation at better hands than Moorcroft’s, and he resolved that the way to overcome it was with pride and dignity. To begin with, he thought that the work might go easier if he sang and here he could indulge himself in remembered songs. After all, there was no one around to hear! He managed a rousing chorus of ‘Money For Nothing’, belted out, ‘I Need a Hero’ – which made him laugh - and then cavorted around with his adze, playing air guitar to, ‘Out in the Fields’ which seemed appropriate: ‘the fighting has begun’ and ‘death is just a heartbeat away’. Something in him was released as he sang and he was pleased not to have forgotten. Denzil Moorcroft couldn’t take any of this away from him with his petty spites.
As the stones piled up steadily at the edges of the field, the singing stopped; he needed his breath. Nat threw the ones he could manage – like a shot putter – and carried the ones which were too heavy to fling. He was sweating and breathless with the struggle of it all and the effort seemed less dignified with every rock shifted. All that remained in the next few hours were the rocks and the lowering sky above him and back breaking work. Eventually, it became revenge, every rock a defeat of Moorcroft and his superciliousness and that way, none of them were too heavy for Nat to shift. His fury shifted to exhaustion and finally, he was simply mechanical.
In the early evening, he reached the last square of the field only to find the rare sight of Holless standing at the edge of it, silver buckles splashed with mud. ‘Is it done, man?’
‘Aye. It is as am I,’ Nat sighed.
‘Then back for your supper,’ said Holless colourlessly and walked away, preserving his buckles from further damage with Nat stumbling, less carefully, after him.
All Nat wanted was a simple supper taken alone and then his bed. Instead, everyone had been ordered to wait until he returned and they were standing in the yard, tired, impatient and hungry. Denzil had even come down to the yard earlier and spoken to them. Florence had stood at the kitchen door and listened.
‘Friends,’ not a snigger, ‘it is only right that you wait for your work fellow to return before partaking of supper. I know that you feel that he has brought some little . . . difficulties upon you by his reluctance to be in fellowship with you and your own sincere efforts to secure this house’s resources, but I ask you not to judge him harshly. Those who have been vagrants for some time – for whatever reason,” he looked briefly towards Florence, “may have forgotten the customs of those of us used to civilised living in a body of fellowship.’ He smiled indulgently to them. ‘Today, Nathanial Haslet has tasted what it is to truly earn his bread – an understanding which you will all be familiar with.’ He looked pained at the thought of the prodigal. ‘And I have asked you to wait upon his return. The effort of his industry will define the length of your wait here. We can only hope that he has discovered his care for you as he moves a few simple stones. And if he is tardy, we must try to forgive him and show compassion. I am quite sure that he will be the better man for it and that he’ll not keep you waiting long. I urge you to harbour no grudge against him.’
Denzil was no match for these simple youths. Jonathan suspected that they were being taught a lesson here but all were confused. They
had thought Nat to be one of them; had valued his strength and his leadership and now it seemed that yet again he was the cause of their delayed supper and had somehow betrayed them. This youthful army certainly fought upon its stomach. Their master was trying to explain it to them: if only Nat Haslet would comply with the tasks sets for him, then the Hall would be a better place – and they’d get their supper on time! It seemed simple.
Manipulation always was.
Florence saw Moorcroft was harsh, there was no doubt of that but Nat had been foolish in challenging him. Had they not been taken in here when a war was about to explode in the wider world? She knew where she’d rather be. She understood Nat’s anger at Moorcroft’s exertion of his power. She’d felt the same for so very long, wanted to cry out against the inequality, the oppression and the downright abuse of power, but if she’d managed to swallow her dignity, then he could too. All he’d managed to do now was to antagonise the Master of the house and the whole workforce. What could two people achieve against a whole society? And it didn’t help their cause in finding out what Moorcroft might know.
Nat dragged himself into the yard to find all eyes on him. No one offered him water or ale so he helped himself from the well. Still, there was silence but the boys were standing now just watching him, simmering with resentment. Hunger can do that. Holless had waited for him and was now looking up to the window where the dimming light revealed Moorcroft who nodded once. Nat didn’t even notice him.
‘To your supper now,’ Holless said and they needed no further invitation, Nat limping in behind them.
As soon as Florence was seated next to him, she saw how bloodied his hands were and saw the price of his humiliation. The stones had been rough. She looked up at Cook who gave a smileless nod and fetched some balm for him.
He let her smooth the comfrey ointment into his cracked and bruised hands and was glad for the touch of her warm skin. With a few mouthfuls of food inside them, the others were relaxing again and talking.
‘I’m so sorry, Nat,’ she sighed at him. ‘Your poor hands.’
Nat was now stuffing his face with calories. ‘S’alright. Not your fault. ‘S’over now.’
‘No, it wasn’t my fault,’ she replied.
He stopped chewing, cheeks like hamsters.
‘You have to stay in your place – just like I do! If you challenge him again, we’ll be out of here. His is the power, Nat. We’re nothing.’
He’d endure a great deal for Florence but this was intolerable. ‘Fool,’ he breathed, crumbs hitting her. ‘We are everything,’ he hissed. ‘Denzil Moorcroft is damaged – even by the standards of the lordlings of this day. There’s something wrong with the man, Florence. Can’t you see it! Something that enjoys inflicting punishment just because he can. They’re not all like that – even here.’
‘No. I can’t see it. He is exactly what you’d expect here and we’d be wise not to antagonise him. Just stay away from him Nat. Don’t look him in the eye; answer respectfully if he speaks to you; tug that forelock!’
He growled, ‘Not sure if I can, Florence.’
‘You will if you care for me.’ Trump card played. Now what?
Nat chewed through the rest of his food but had to swallow hard; everything was much harder to digest. He would have to push Florence a little to make her leave here because he was quite certain that he couldn’t, wouldn’t stay. He would rather be living on the road, scraping a living together, than be under the heel of a prick like Denzil Moorcroft.
Denzil wiped his lips and thought that Cook had excelled herself tonight and made a note to himself to make sure that Holless told her so. Somehow, she’d made use of the oregano he’d brought back with him and it added greatly to the stew. Delicious. Even more delicious was the sight of Haslet faltering back into the yard to the resentment of the others. He’d seen the girl, hanging back in the doorway and thought that she wasn’t entirely compassionate in her demeanour. That was a bonus. A rift between them would be . . . useful before he made sure that Nat Haslet disappeared from Montebray.
‘It is time, Holless. We need to learn why Florence Brock is so important to the Taxanes.’
22
So That’s How It Is
It took effort to regain the trust and friendship of the others. Over the coming days, he worked longer and harder than the rest, easing their burden a little and wearing away their lingering resentment so that they were tacitly grateful to him. Nat kept his peace and waited patiently for them to speak to him, gently joking and laughing with them when they did. The truth was, the young men couldn’t help genuinely liking him, looking to him for simple leadership, an older brother to guide them. Within days, the missed suppers were forgotten and they had bonded again.
Florence and the girls continued to take out the food mid-day, until the Friday when Cook announced, ‘Florence, stay with me today. There is a great deal to do. Leave the men’s food to the others.’ She didn’t explain why and Florence couldn’t see what extra work there was, but if she’d thought Cook’s voice a little agitated, she didn’t voice any objections. That wasn’t how things worked here. She sighed, carried on with her tasks and watched the other girls head out into the fields.
Prudence leaned into her, ‘Fear not. I shall tell him.’ Florence thanked her.
The day passed and the men returned. Nat sat with Florence at the end of the table and she watched him eat. He was very subdued. ‘You didn’t come out today?’ there was a question in his voice.
‘No, Cook needed me here. Pru told you?’
‘She did.’
‘Miss me?’ she whispered.
‘I did,’ he smiled and continued to eat.
‘Meet me outside . . . later?’ They had found a few moments after supper when all of the tasks were done, when the servants had time to themselves. These were rare moments and to be made the most of. Florence and Nat always meandered separately to the far side of the hay barn, which was a risk but one that neither could resist. Tonight, he was there first, leaning against the barn wall and looking towards the sunset. She skipped towards him and threw herself at him, bouncing against his chest, waiting for his arms to fold around her after his mock oomph. She kissed him and after a fraction of a second, he kissed her hard and long. It took her breath away.
‘Well! You have missed me haven’t you!’ she was pleased with his reaction.
‘I miss you every moment of the day that I’m not near you, Florence Brock. You know that.’ He was very sincere tonight.
‘And I miss you.’ She smiled at him. She had a gift for him. ‘I’ve been thinking, Nat,’ she wanted to see his reaction to this, ‘I think that it’s time for me to introduce myself to Denzil Moorcroft. If I can get close to him, I can start to find out if he knows anything at all about these watchers – maybe about that poor man on the road.’
‘No.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Moorcroft is dangerous, Florrie. I don’t think that there’s any way that you can get near him that won’t be a risk to you.’
‘And what’s the alternative, Nat? We just set off on the road again for Oxford where we know no one and have nothing – oh, wait! Is that where I start shovelling coal?’
‘Drop the coal thing, will you?’ he was well aware how insensitive the idea had been. ‘How the hell would you attract the attention of the Master without him thinking just one thing? You’re a fucking scullery maid!’ That hadn’t come out well either, he thought.
Her expression darkened. ‘Indeed I am. But I’m an educated scullery maid and I can write.’ Her eyes shot sharp little darts at him. ‘I plan to let him find me writing,’ she stopped his interruption, ‘and once he’s intrigued, I shall tell him the tale of how I became separated from my family in the troubles. Why not? Plenty do.’
He saw her determination, ‘You’ve been planning this haven’t you? Didn’t you think it was worth sharing it with me?’
Florence’s triumphant look faded, ‘You’ve been too busy clear
ing rocks in fields,’ she retorted and immediately regretted it as her eyes fell on his torn hands.
‘It won’t work, Florrie.’
‘It might – it will. I have to try, Nat. I have to know how Moorcroft has come here and why the history that I knew has changed. You know that this is the first solid clue that we’ve had.’
He did. ‘Florrie, be really careful. Moorcroft is not stupid – spiteful, petty, manipulative – yes. But he’s sharp. I don’t think that you’ll fool him.’
‘But it’s worth a try isn’t it?’ she was encouraged by his tacit understanding that she was going to do it. ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be OK. After all, if we don’t find anything out, we can simply leave, can’t we?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Let’s give it just a week and if there’s nothing, I’ll sweet talk Cook into some supplies, we’ll get paid up, and just go.’
Cook liked Florence but liked a well run kitchen even more. She was seriously annoyed that her best helper for months was planning to leave. ‘You have plans for elsewhere? Somewhere that you think you should be?’ She watched Florence’s response.
‘Oxford.’
‘Not London, then?’ the woman was surprised.
‘Well, there’s the university. Seat of learning. I have skills which might be . . . recognised there,’ she offered Cook a sheepish smile.
‘Do you now, Florrie Brock. What skills might they be – not anything of any practical use I’ll warrant.’
Why did everyone here assume that she was useless! Florence was stung in to a reply. ‘Well, I might not be very practical but I can read and write which I doubt any other servant on the estate can.’ Her pride had goaded her into a revelation.
‘Mm. Assumptions can be dangerous in my experience.’ Cook moved away to her business at the range and left Florence to consider what she’d said.
Shadow of the Savernake: Book One of the Taxane Chronicles Page 22