by Lynch, R J
Tom nodded and Blakiston turned his gaze on Florrie. ‘Widow Greener. Joe Greener is your son?’
Florrie nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘In fact, your stepson, I believe,’ went on Blakiston.
‘It makes no difference. They are all my children.’
Lizzie thrust her chin forward. ‘He’s one of Crowley’s Crew. What about him?’
‘I believe he did work at Crowley’s Ironworks, yes. You have not heard from him recently?’
Lizzie stared at him in silence. Blakiston held her gaze, then shook his head sadly. ‘If he does make contact, you’d do well to tell him the justices have a warrant for his arrest. Not that I think he does not know that. He should turn himself in before someone finds him.’
‘Warrant?’ said Lizzie. ‘Arrest? What is he supposed to have done?’
The embodiment of calm, Blakiston stood and took up his hat. ‘Murder is what I heard. I could be wrong.’ He nodded in a friendly manner towards Tom. ‘Till Sunday, Laws.’
Given what she had just heard, Lizzie seemed oddly calm when Blakiston was gone. ‘We have been given a warning, Tom Laws. The Overseer tells you that you are to be favoured above other farmers.’
‘Because we are better,’ put in Ned.
‘Mebbes. In any case, you’ll have the new cattle. You are also to get some of the land they will steal from the ordinary people you left behind so very recently. And in return you are to tell my brother Joe to surrender to a justice of the peace. Would you give yourself up to one of our magistrates?’
‘I would as soon hang myself from that oak tree and save them the trouble.’
‘Would you welcome him, and hide him, if he came here looking for help?’
‘I would if I knew him to be innocent.’
‘You doubt it?’
‘I hardly know him.’
‘He is no murderer.’
‘I should like to hear that from him.’
‘And if you did? You would help him?’
‘Of course.’
Lizzie nodded. Then she stood, stretching her back in the way that is common to pregnant women everywhere. Without another glance at Tom, she walked out of the kitchen door and into the yard. Kate followed her.
‘Lizzie?’
‘What is it?’
‘There is something you are not telling me. About Joe,’ she went on when Lizzie said nothing.
‘He did not kill Reuben Cooper, Kate. I asked him on the day of my wedding and he said he had not. I believe him.’
‘But he is suspected?’
‘Not of that. He is accused of another killing altogether.’
‘But…but whose? I have not heard of another death.’
‘In Winlaton. Not here. And he did not do it. He says he did not and I believe him.’
‘But, Lizzie. You told Mister Blakiston you had not seen Joe.’
‘I lied. I do not like lying, but sometimes there is no choice.’
Kate stared at her. ‘You haven’t been anywhere, so he must have come here.’
Lizzie did not answer.
‘He’s here now,’ said Kate. ‘Isn’t he?’
‘Kate. Sometimes it is better not to know something. If you don’t know, you can’t tell.’
‘I told no-one you thought Joe had killed Reuben Cooper. In any case, who would I tell?’
‘Well, for a start, who knows what you might say to someone as infatuated with you as Mister Blakiston?’
‘What?’
‘Oh, Kate. I love you for it, but you are a simpleton. The man cannot take his eyes off you.’
On the way back to the fields, Ned babbled happily about bigger cattle and the growing of turnips. As they reached the place where they had left their tools, Tom hushed him. ‘You must not speak of this in front of the men.’
‘Why not? They will know soon enough.’
‘Soon enough let it be. They will wish to know where we are to run these cattle.’
‘Why, on the enclosed…they will not like the enclosures?’
‘I should not in their place. We will speak of it later. At home. And not a word about your brother Joe.’
Chapter 23
Blakiston’s feelings this morning as he rode away from Chopwell Garth were in uproar. He could not believe the reason for this turmoil was a girl so young she was almost a child, and yet so it seemed to be.
He had carried Kate Greener on his horse, and teased her. He had spoken to her when the chance arose. He had seen her in church most Sundays. He had not—how could he have?—failed to notice the cool disdain in her grey eyes as she held her Sunday best petticoats above the dust and mud; the calm in those same eyes as they looked out at the world; the astonishing beauty that promised to flourish on a day not too far away.
Come down in the world Blakiston might be, but he retained the prejudices of his class. A labourer’s daughter should be grey and lumpen, with no light of intelligence in her eye. Though he knew labourers were treated in a way unfit for any human being, he had been raised to believe that those of the peasant class were not really fully human, so that the unfairness was at least mitigated.
Coming to Ryton had dealt some blows to the entrenched beliefs of his upbringing, for it was not possible to work as closely as he did with the poor without seeing them for what they were. Nor could one watch the raising of Tom Laws from labourer to master of men without realising that many may be capable of such things, if only the opportunity presented itself. Nonetheless, beauty such as Kate Greener’s would one day be should not exist in such a setting.
Kate had said nothing during his conversation with Tom Laws and his wife. She had sat quietly on her bench at the table, taking all in. Her eyes had never left his face, and his had been drawn uncomfortably often to hers. When he had been about to take his leave, his glance had sought her out one final time and at last she had smiled shyly at him.
Without that smile, the lustful man that was never far from the surface in Blakiston might have begun to plot her seduction and ruin. He had done it before. But her smile was of such trusting sweetness that Blakiston knew he could never use her in that way. He was younger than Tom Laws and but eight years older than Tom’s sister-in-law. The gap was not impossible. Girls of fourteen could wed, and they did. But Blakiston still had hopes that his previous life was not gone for ever. A war could make his naval officer brother rich with prize money and able to restore the family position. His sister, the governess, might make a marriage of such fortune that patronage would find him a place and a wife suitable to his pedigree. This last was unlikely, but not impossible. Marriage to such as Kate Greener would end all such expectations, and he knew that he would never rob such a sweet girl of her chastity outside of matrimony.
But that did not prevent the demons of lust from seething within him.
Less than a mile from the farm, Blakiston encountered a woman in a blue neck cloth over a printed cotton gown that had once been white and was hooked up in front over a quilted red petticoat. What stood out most clearly was that she wore nothing on her head, not even a cap or a cloth. Her red hair hung in natural curls to her shoulders. Two small children hunched against her. All three pairs of eyes stared into his. He touched the brim of his hat and smiled. The faces of the watchers did not change. Blakiston reined his horse to a halt. ‘Did you wish to speak to me?’
The woman went on staring. Embarrassed, although he could not have said why, Blakiston untied his purse and extracted a florin which he held out to the woman. She did not raise her hand to take it. Still her eyes did not leave his. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘Mary Stone, your honour.’
Bile rose in Blakiston’s throat. ‘You have business with me, Mary Stone?’
‘Eliza Swain sa
id you wished to see me, your honour.’
Blakiston stared at the woman. Part of him was pondering where they could go, and what they would do with the children while he took his pleasure and rid himself of this physical ache that threatened to overwhelm him. Part of him was remembering another Mary, and how uncontrollably she had sobbed when he, with all the callousness of youth and his class, had paid her off with a sovereign and left her large with his child. And part of him could think of nothing but innocent young Kate Greener, with her sweet smile.
Gruffly, he said, ‘Eliza Swain was wrong. We have no business together, you and I.’ If he had expected a reaction, he was disappointed. He held out the florin. ‘But take this for your trouble.’ He smiled. ‘And for the bairns.’
She glanced at the coin, then at him. ‘I don’t need your money.’
‘Impudent hussy.’ Blakiston spurred his horse into a trot. The desire to look back was intense, but he resisted it. How dare any woman treat him like that? To say nothing of the parish strumpet? Was she crazed? She had offered herself, had she not? He could surely not have imagined that? For what, if not for money? Did she have so many men that she had no times of want? Truly, he would never understand women.
And so his thoughts fell again upon the other Mary. She who had imagined herself his true love. And here was such an irony. The woman he had wanted with all his heart and all his soul, the woman after whose loss he felt he could never let himself love again, that woman was called Jane and she had let him go without, it seemed, even a sigh of regret. And the woman called Mary, who had wanted him with the same urgency he felt for Jane, and given herself to him and trusted him, that woman he had used and discarded. Truly, this business of love was a mystery never to be fathomed.
He had been taken before the Quarter Sessions and a bastardy bond made against him to support the child poor Mary carried, but he had felt only pride and no contrition. Until now.
She had begged him to be true to his word and marry her, save her honour, meet his obligations to one who had believed in him, but he had felt no pity for the naive young girl of whom he had taken advantage. Until now.
He had never thought of her again, had not once wondered how she fared, what had become of her and the child that was his. Until now.
Blakiston had found no comfort in the church since reaching the age of reason, but it was towards there that he now turned his horse. He had other calls to make, but they would have to wait. It was not physical release with a woman that he now craved, but an easing of his conscience.
Chapter 24
When the Rector came into the church some time later and found Blakiston kneeling in prayer, he did not hide his amazement. He took the Overseer by the arm and raised him to his feet. ‘James! My dear friend. Are you ill?’
Despite himself, Blakiston could not hold back a smile. ‘You find a parishioner talking to God in His house and you think he must be ill? What manner of priest are you?’
‘Well, well. So the prodigal son has returned to his father’s house? No. I look into your eyes and what I see there is grief, not the hope of Christ’s resurrection and the life to come. Come, man. Let us go into the rectory and drink a glass of wine, and you may tell me what troubles you or not, as it please you.’
They had reached the door of the rectory itself before Claverley let go of Blakiston’s arm.
‘There are three hundred papists in Ryton,’ Claverley began, ‘but they find no comfort in my church. We do not hear confessions. Nevertheless, I shall hear yours if you wish me to. I cannot promise absolution, but you may depend on a sympathetic ear and my absolute discretion.’
‘Eliza Swain came to see me.’
‘You poor man. I will not allow that woman in my church, Blakiston, until she bathes. God knows we do not expect much in the way of cleanliness from our flock here, but when Eliza Swain was last within its walls the church was not rid of her stink for three days. You know, many of our common people change and wash their undergarments every week, and none will go more than three weeks without change, but I do not believe Eliza Swain washes herself or her shift and petticoat inside a twelvemonth.’
‘She reeks like a midden, it is true, but she told me much that was useful about Reuben Cooper and his family.’
‘Yes?’
‘And she offered to procure Mary Stone for me.’
It might have been a smile that flickered for a moment across Thomas’s face. It might have been a question. It might have been something else altogether. Whatever it had been, it was gone. ‘Mary Stone. A godless woman with whom God will one day deal sternly, but comely enough for the worldly needs of a man without a wife. Or, indeed, for...well, let us not waste time discussing that. You agreed?’
‘No. No, Rector, I did not accept Eliza Swain’s kind offer.’
‘But you were tempted? And this is why you were in church? To seek forgiveness for the sin of concupiscence?’
‘I...yes, Thomas. I am sure that must be so.’
‘And I, too, James, for as you know I am a simpleton with no understanding of my fellow man. Out with it, in the name of God. Something has brought you low. What is it?’
Blakiston sipped his Madeira. He found he could not raise his eyes to meet the Rector’s. ‘Before I came here, there was a young woman I got with child.’
‘Yes?’
‘I abandoned her to her fate.’
‘Yes?’
‘That is all. Except that Mary Stone was waiting for me today, after I had called at Chopwell Garth on a matter of business.’
‘She offered herself to you?’
‘She did. And when I offered her money instead she declined to take it.’
‘Did she, by God? I never heard of such a thing. I wonder she can afford such scruples. But you say “instead.” You refused her offer?’
‘I did.’
‘Out of remorse concerning the earlier girl?’
Blakiston nodded. ‘I believe so.’
‘And?’
Now Blakiston did look at Claverley. ‘There is nothing more.’
‘I mean, dear fellow, out of remorse concerning the other girl and affection for...for whom?’
‘I do not understand you.’
‘The trouble with being a man of God is that everyone assumes we know nothing of people. The truth is that no-one understands them better. Look at the facts of the case. A young man in good health and the prime of life has certain bodily needs. You were no exception to this rule and you gave in to what your body asked of you. Now, you do not. Contrition for an earlier fall is not a sufficient reason. What is required is contrition and the arrival of the softening element of love in the young man’s heart. May I know the name of your beloved?’
Blakiston gasped. ‘I assure you, Thomas, you are mistaken.’
‘Yes? Well, so be it. I trust you have not set your heart on a Blackett, James, for they will brook no connection that does not come with money.’
‘I scarcely know the family.’
‘This enclosure business will make you know them better, I fear. And now let us talk of that, for I see my probing of your private affairs has made you anxious.’
‘How does my Lord Bishop’s bill fare?’
‘I would it were not his, James, for everyone will believe the whole Church seeks it and it will bring nothing but ill to this parish and its people. And the grief I had over turnips left me no appetite for more.’
‘You would not stand against progress?’
‘I would not stand against anything my superior wants, and he wants this enclosure. But I know what has happened elsewhere and that is that people who could support themselves are now paupers. Unhappiness and misery have invaded villages that knew them not.’
‘We must produce more food.’
‘I do not question that, James. But enclosures can be made with humanity. To be fair to the Bishop, and perhaps fairer than he deserves, let us say that he is allowing himself to be guided by Sir Edward Blackett. Human kindness is a stranger to that family. Sir Edward is a Member of Parliament, you must remember, and he it is who introduced the bill, and spoke for it, and will be the sole member of the committee. He wants men to serve on his farms and in his coal mines without the distraction of their little plots. He wants all of their waking hours, and not to share them with the raising of cabbages and a pig.’
‘But the law is changed. Every man must have his allotment. Parliament has said so.’
‘Ah, James. The law can be got round, and you may trust Sir Edward to know how that is done. But what is that infernal noise?’
At that moment, a flustered maid knocked hard on the door and burst in without waiting for an answer. The sound of shouting could be heard close by. ‘Rector,’ she gasped. ‘There is a man here, a son of Reuben Cooper that died, and he says he will speak with you.’
‘His name?’
‘Nathanial, sir. Nathanial Cooper.’
‘A son of Reuben Cooper. Blakiston? Do you know this man?’
‘Eliza Swain mentioned his name. He is one of those I should like to speak to concerning his father’s death.’
The rector looked towards the door, where a short but very angry man in grey breeches, white shirt and brown waistcoat was trying to push his way past the maid. ‘Then you shall have your way sooner than you expected. Come in, man. And let us have no more of that appalling din.’