by Lynch, R J
She began to cry. Blakiston allowed her to sit in silence for a while. Then he said, ‘I am sorry for your loss. It can not have been easy for you. But I still do not understand what this has to do with Reuben Cooper.’
‘Sir. Three days after Matthew was to talk to Mister Wale, we were to go to church and ask for our banns to be read. I should have been Mistress Higson by now. But Matthew did not come for me, and the banns were not read. And so I stopped Mister Wale when I saw him in the road and asked him what had passed between Matthew and him. He called me an impudent hussy for speaking to him. He said Matthew had not been to see him, and that I do not believe. The curate lied to me, sir. And he told me everyone knew that Matthew had killed Reuben Cooper for his money, and that you were looking into the death and that you would soon have arrested Matthew and so Matthew had taken ship for America. He said if I went on asking about Matthew, you would suspect me of having taken part in Reuben Cooper’s murder and arrest me, too, and so I should be silent. He said Matthew was gone and would never come back and that I should find someone else to marry.’
‘He said that, did he? Would he had said it to me.’
She raised tear-stained eyes to Blakiston. ‘It is not true, sir. My Matthew would not hurt a fly. He could never have killed the old man. And I don’t want someone else. I want my Matthew back with me. Please, sir, can you find him?’
‘I should like nothing better, my dear child. And not for your sake alone. You do understand that there are gaps in this story?’
‘What gaps, sir?’
‘Abortion is not against the law. So long as the child has not quickened, the Church says the mother may rid herself of it. The Law says the same. So why should Matthew Higson believe the curate would be interested?’
‘Matthew believes a bairn is a gift from God, sir. That is why he has never touched me in that way, though in truth I would have allowed it with a glad heart. As he knew. He believed we should wait till the Church had sanctified our marriage. And Mister Wale had oft said the same, sir. He would not have approved of Eliza Swain seeking to end an unborn life. He would have sought to prevent it.’
‘It is certainly true that Mister Wale likes to interfere in the affairs of others.’ Blakiston handed his now empty ale pot to the maid and rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for what you have told me, Catherine. I shall certainly think on it.’
She clutched his sleeve, then quickly withdrew her hand. ‘Forgive me, sir. My Matthew...will you return him to me?’
‘If that lies in my power to do.’ He took hold of the reins of his horse and lifted himself into the saddle. ‘But tell me. Lizzie Greener...Mistress Laws, as she now is. Why do you call her a trollop?’
Catherine gave him a scornful look. ‘She did not wait for the Church, did she, sir? She lay with Tom Laws and bore his child. Though there are those who say it is really Rector Claverley’s child, and that he arranged for her and Tom Laws to have the farm that had been my father’s, and should have been mine and Matthew’s.’
‘Do you believe that?’
‘I believe she is no better than that hussy of a sister of hers, who led poor Edward Rutter on to believe that she would give herself to him and then scorned him.’
Blakiston had stiffened in the saddle. ‘Her sister? Do you mean Kate Greener?’
‘She thinks herself better than the people she grew up amongst, that one. If you want the truth, sir, I think she only tempted Edward Rutter because he was walking out with Isabel Chance, who is a far nicer girl but plain. Kate Greener wanted to show she could get him if she chose. The Greeners are a family no better than they should be.’
Blakiston slapped the reins across his horse’s back and set it to walk off. Coldly, he said, ‘I shall bid you good day, Catherine Robinson. And I shall advise you, if you wish to be worthy of your pious fiancé, to be careful what you say of other people.’
It was in this mood of annoyance that Blakiston rode down the winding hill that led towards Leadgate. His temper improved when he disturbed a pheasant and sent it scuttling and squawking across the road. Blakiston enjoyed a pot-roasted pheasant. He must see if there was some to be had.
Sarah Dodd was a short woman who made up for her lack of height with a formidable girth. Her wrinkled, toothless face was capped by a woollen cap that Blakiston thought might be as old as he was. She stepped close in order to peer at him out of almost sightless eyes.
Blakiston saw no reason not to come straight to the point. ‘You had a brother,’ he said. ‘He went to the wars with Dick Jackson, and never came back.’
‘Aye,’ said the woman. Blakiston stared at her, waiting for more; she stared at him in a likewise manner.
‘His name?’ Blakiston said when he could wait no longer.
There was a long pause as the old woman cogitated, moving her soft jaws against each other. ‘Daniel,’ she said at last. ‘We called him Dan, Mister, but his given name was Daniel.’
‘Why did he not come back?’
The woman looked amazed at the simplicity of such a question. ‘He died, Mister.’
‘Yes, yes. But how did he die? And what did Dick Jackson have to do with it?’
Another pause followed. Watching her closely, Blakiston was sure she was merely trying to recall the past and not inventing answers. ‘It was a war, Mister. Men died. Poor Dan was one of them.’
‘And Dick Jackson?’
Her head moved from side to side. ‘No,’ she said after a while. ‘Dick came back, Mister.’
Blakiston sighed. ‘How old were you when this happened?’
The same silence as before. Then, ‘I would have been thirty, Mister. Thereabouts. Maybe a bit older, mebbes a bit younger, but thereabouts. They used to say I was simple, Mister.’
‘Did they really? Good Heavens.’
‘But I’m not. I married, Mister, and I had children. All gone now. I shall be glad when I goes to join ’em.’
‘I see. And your parents never talked to you about Dan? They never mentioned Dick Jackson?’
‘Dan died, Mister. And Dick came back.’
Blakiston untied his purse, pulled out a sixpence and put it in the old woman’s hand. She stared down at in astonishment.
‘Thank you, Sarah Dodd,’ said Blakiston. ‘I shall trouble you no longer.’
‘It was Dick brought back Dan’s leather jerkin,’ she said. ‘And some money he said was Dan’s.’
Blakiston waited for her to go on, but there was no more. After a pause, he turned his horse’s head towards the hill that would take him back to Ryton. ‘Good day, Mistress Dodd,’ he said. And then he turned back again. ‘Reuben Cooper. Do you know that name?’
‘Oh, yes, Mister.’
‘What? What does it mean to you?’
Again the long process of cogitation before the pronouncement. ‘He came out of nowhere, Mister. There was talk of shipwrecks, and pirates, and stolen money. They said he was rich.’
Blakiston was becoming familiar with this process, where he thought more would come but nothing did. Then she amazed him. ‘My neighbour’s daughter went there and asked him for a job. He said he couldn’t afford a maid and wouldn’t have one if he could. People said that proved he had money in the house. But I think he was just a bad-tempered horrible old man. You see a lot of them. Bad-tempered horrible old men.’
‘Mistress Dodd, thank you again.’
‘Goodbye, Mister.’
Chapter 35
Martin Wale arrived to find Rosina sitting at the open door, enjoying the sun. He approached through the scullery, shooing away the scullery maid who was mopping the floor. ‘Your mistress and I have matters to discuss.’
Rosina turned in her chair. ‘Mister Wale. Would you like some tea?’
Martin shook his head. ‘You have been asking about M
atthew Higson.’
Rosina smiled. ‘I have,’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you know what has become of him?’
‘He is gone to America. But why do you ask? What is Higson to you?’
‘Nothing, Mister Wale. But he was here and then he was gone, none knew where, and we wondered…’
‘We?’
‘I. I wondered.’
‘You said we.’
‘Sir, I meant me. I wondered.’
‘But why?’
‘Oh, Mister Wale. Because I am a woman, and curious about others.’
‘Curiosity is a bad thing, Rosina. It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, but the glory of kings is to search out a matter. Let cooks leave curiosity to kings.’
‘But, Mister Wale, where could Matthew Higson have found the money to go to America?’
‘I saw him the day after Reuben Cooper died. He was hiding, and covered in blood.’
‘Matthew Higson? But, Mister Wale…’
At that moment, John hurried into the kitchen, tugging at his dark brown jacket with the pink facings he hated so much, for he said they made him look like a girl. ‘Look sharp, Rosina,’ he said. ‘The Rector is back from Staithes with Lady Isabella and the bairn. Get to the door with me, woman. They will expect a proper welcome.’
Rosina shot to her feet and bustled through the house with her fellow-servant. Martin, hearing that his superior was returned, hastened through the scullery door and disappeared across the fields.
Within ten minutes, John had brought Blakiston an invitation to join the Rector for dinner. When he arrived, it was clear that Lady Isabella had enjoyed the visit to Staithes as much as her husband, for she was in bubbling form. And the dinner was excellent.
First came a soup of chopped vegetables and a beef stock, followed by salmon and then a pudding.
‘The muslin cloth has completely altered Rosina’s pleasure in the cooking of puddings,’ said Isabella. ‘Nobody could enjoy stuffing a doughy case of meat and vegetables into the lining of a pig’s stomach and they were always breaking up in the cooking. Now she wraps the whole thing in muslin. Much easier, and the puddings are tastier.’ In this one Rosina had combined pork and venison with carrots, chopped leeks, mushrooms from the fields and a rich gravy. ‘It’s one of Thomas’s favourites,’ said Isabella.
‘Delicious,’ agreed Blakiston..
After the pudding came crystallised oranges, sweet cakes and the rector’s blessed cheese.
Lady Isabella restricted herself to a single glass of claret; nevertheless, a total of three bottles was consumed by the same number of diners.
‘That was wonderful,’ said Blakiston when the meal was over.
‘We had a very nice holiday in Staithes,’ said Isabella, ‘but it is always good to be home again. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I shall speak to Rosina about tomorrow.’ When she had left, the two men settled over the port.
‘And now, James,’ said Claverley, ‘you would like to hear about my visit to Staithes.’
Blakiston smiled. ‘We have talked of nothing else all evening. I know as much now about Amos Upchurch and his charming family as if I had known them all my life.’
‘That is true. But of what you want to know, we have said nothing.’
‘You did not wish to speak of it before Isabella?’
‘I did not.’
‘What you have to tell me must be startling.’
The rector stared at his hands. “Staithes is a strange place. I know there will be people in London who would say that Ryton is a backward parish, but I confess that to me we are of our time. But Staithes...To be in Staithes, James, was like being back in my grandfather’s day. The currents of modern opinion have made no impact there. They have their educated families, to be sure, and Amos’s family is of course one of them, but the bulk of the people are brutish and closed. They know what their forebears knew two hundred years ago and they will brook no word of change. Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton might never have lived. Aristotle said the heavens were unchanging and his fellow Greeks said the earth was at their centre and, though they believe Greece to be somewhere near London and Aristotle a man of their great grandfather’s time, they would laugh any other view to scorn.’
‘My dear Thomas, a labouring man has no need of philosophy.’
‘I do not speak only of the labouring poor, James. I should not permit my child to be educated by the teacher in their travesty of a school. But to the point. The story you were given of the good Blenkinsopps and the evil Coopers was at best a partial one. Whether anyone set out to mislead you, I cannot say, but the Blenkinsopps are not the innocents you were told they were and the Coopers are perhaps no worse than they. Blenkinsopp and Cooper hate one another like the followers of Montague and Capulet, though once they were friends. In truth, I scarce needed to go to Staithes to learn the story. Remember that we have never mentioned Fanny Blenkinsopp and her adventures in front of my wife.’
‘It is hardly a tale fit for the ears of a lady.’
‘Nevertheless, the moment she heard Blenkinsopp and Staithes in the same breath she told me the whole history. She had it from her father. He was a sea captain, you know, and he hailed from the Yorkshire coast. Though not from Staithes, thanks be to God. Richard Blenkinsopp was a notorious pirate a hundred years ago who made a fortune in the Caribbean and lost it when he beat a cabin boy to death for resisting his abominable advances and his crew turned against him. It seems the boy was a favourite, for they used him like a girl and he made no objection. Except against his captain. Blenkinsopp returned a poor man to Yorkshire and became rich again by watching for ships straying onto the rocks.’
‘A wrecker. I have heard of such people. Is it true that they used false lights to lure ships to disaster?’
‘No, no. That is a popular story, James, but there is no truth in it. You have only to think. If a sea captain sees a light at night, will he steer towards it? Of course not. He will head as fast as he can in the opposite direction, for a light means land and land means shipwreck. No, Blenkinsopp and his like would simply wait until storms and the tides drove a ship to its doom, and then they would slaughter and strip the crew and loot the cargo. If there were passengers, and a comely woman among them, they might carry her ashore for their amusement and drown her when they tired of her charms.’
‘Barbarous. This is all in the past, surely?’
‘Perhaps. It is certainly no less possible now. A law passed in King Stephen’s time has it that the owners have no claim on a vessel unless at least one man or animal survives the wreck.’
‘Stephen lived seven hundred years ago, Thomas.’
‘The law still stands. No government has thought to repeal it. And so, you see, the wild men and women who inhabit our coasts have no incentive beyond Christian charity and fear of their Maker to see a sailor survive the wreck. And Christian charity is in short supply among a people we might reasonably describe as heathen. In any event, Richard Blenkinsopp’s partner in crime was one Ezra Cooper. Reuben Cooper’s great grandfather.’
‘Good God!’
‘Good God indeed. The sons of Richard Blenkinsopp and Ezra Cooper continued in their bloody trade, but by the time their sons were growing into manhood the excisemen were stronger and the risks greater. The lighthouse at Flamborough Head has reduced the number of lost vessels. And, in any case, you know, when men have made their fortune through the oppression and murder of others, they oft turn to lawful pursuits and buy respectability. It was true of the robber barons of six hundred years ago and it is true now. Look at the rogues in our present parliament.’
Blakiston refilled his glass and passed the bottle to the rector. ‘So there was money in the Cooper family.’
‘There was, James, but it will not help you in your search for the killer of Reuben Cooper, for
the money did not descend to him. Reuben was the youngest of six children, all boys. The eldest was...is...Sir Moses Cooper.’ He took the bottle, filled his glass and looked at Blakiston from under raised eyebrows.
‘Sir Moses Cooper? The Member of Parliament?’
‘Member of Parliament, lawyer, lord of a pretty estate in Hampshire and infamous oppressor of the tenants in Ireland he acquired on his marriage to a Lord Chancellor’s daughter. It is an irony I have often noticed, James, that so many of the judges who hang our people today are descended from men who once should themselves have swung from the gibbet. Moses seized his father’s half of the wreckers’ ill-gotten gains and made off with it to the gentle south. His brothers got nothing.’
‘And the Blenkinsopps? What happened to their share of the loot?’
‘The Blenkinsopps were more equitable in their distribution. All sons received something and all daughters were provided with enough to make a respectable marriage. There are no lords or knights in the family and you and I would call none of them “Mister” but they are farmers, shopkeepers, inn-keepers, brewers. They have turned their backs on their family’s iniquitous past and they brook no reference to it. Hence their detestation of all things connected with the Coopers. It is the Blenkinsopps who have ensured that certificates are available to any Cooper wishing to leave the parish of Staithes. They would be rid of every one of them.’
Blakiston raised his hands. ‘Thomas, this is a most fascinating story and I thank you. But, as you say, if Reuben Cooper did not inherit money from his piratical forebears, we are no further forward in answering the central question: Was their money in Cooper’s house, was he killed for it and, if so, who knew it was there?’
‘There is one more thing.’
Blakiston smiled. ‘Yes? Have you kept the best till last like Christ at the wedding feast? What else is there to know?’