by Lynch, R J
‘Perhaps nothing, James, for what I have to tell you now is conjecture. Hearsay. Rumour. There may be nothing sound in it. But the people of Staithes believe it, and if it be true then Reuben Cooper was an even greater blackguard than I had in any case believed. Twenty years ago, when Cooper resided still near Staithes, a ship was blown by a monstrous gale onto the rocks on a desolate shore near no human habitation. Reuben Cooper arrived first at the tragic scene and appointed himself wreckmaster. As he was entitled by law, for it was said that no-one survived.’
‘Said?’
‘At the time. Bodies were washed up over the next two weeks and some of them showed injuries that might have been caused by human hand, but who can know for certain after so long in the water? A ruined ship in a boiling sea produces wreckage that can maim the strongest man. As wreckmaster, Cooper was permitted by law and custom to decide how many wreckers he had use for, and who they should be. All save Moses, who was already making his name at the Bar in London, those he appointed were his own brothers. No-one else. As is usual, they returned what cargo they salvaged to the vessel’s owner for half of its value. About one thousand guineas.’
‘A huge sum, even divided with the others.’
‘Indeed. It did not last, of course; there was riotous living for months and what the brewers and distillers did not take from them, loose women did. I am told they travelled by the cartload from as far away as York to part the Cooper brothers from their sudden wealth.’
‘A pitiful story.’
‘Word began to spread that the owner’s own daughter and her maid had been on board when the vessel foundered. She was thirteen years old and on her way from London to be betrothed to the son of another shipowner in Aberdeen. The consummation of a family business alliance.’
‘And her body was never found.’
‘James, you either have the second sight or you have heard this story before.’
‘Not I, Thomas. A simple knowledge of human nature is all I claim.’
‘The maid’s body was found, but not the daughter’s. Now, here is the conjecture and rumour. Reuben Cooper, remember, had boarded the wrecked vessel alone. It was said that he found the girl and her maid alive and weeping in their cabin, that he killed the maid and threw her overboard and that he carried the child away and hid her in his cottage. For what purpose, we may imagine.’
‘No-one searched his house?’
‘Why should they? This story began to circulate only later. In fact, if you will bear with me in patience, I shall tell you how it first came into public currency.’
Blakiston filled his glass once again. ‘Pray proceed, Thomas.’
‘I say again, James, this is rumour and hearsay. There is no evidence that would stand in a court of law. If there had been, rest assured the Blenkinsopps would have pursued the matter to the end. It is said that the woman who was Cooper’s wife at the time began to question the girl as to who she was and from what family she came.’
‘His wife? Did she feel nothing for the child? Did she not insist she be freed?’
‘Not she, for she was by all accounts as debased as Reuben Cooper himself. And local supposition is that, when Cooper was enjoying the girl, he was not troubling his wife for her favours, and that that pleased her. Be that as it may, she discovered that the girl came from money and she suggested to Cooper that, instead of holding the child’s head beneath the waves when the time came to be rid of her, he should hide her where she could not be found and then ransom her to her father. And that is what happened. Or so they believe in Staithes.’
‘Monstrous. They are the work of the devil, the pair of them.’
‘The wife is dead and I imagine that now she enjoys that fallen angel’s impositions as once the child did Reuben Cooper’s. As Cooper himself does now, for the matter of that.’
‘I should dearly like to believe that, Thomas. Was the child redeemed by her father?’
‘She was. But when Cooper returned her to her family in exchange for a lavish amount of money, the goods were desperate damaged. She was carrying his child. And the treatment meted out to her had caused her to become deranged in her mind.’
‘I am not surprised. An innocent maid raised in a loving family to be ravished at will by such a foul villain. But you say there is no evidence?’
‘It is circumstantial only. The girl bore her child, a son, but was soon committed to a hospice for the mentally infirm, where the sisters looked after her for the rest of her miserable life. Which was mercifully short, for she refused to eat and passed away. Her ship-owning father died of grief.’
‘A pity. I was beginning to suspect him of Reuben Cooper’s slaying.’
‘He had a son, eighteen years old and the kidnapped girl’s eldest brother. The son came to Staithes looking for justice. He was loud in his condemnation of the Coopers, and that is how people thereabouts came to know the story of the abused child.’
‘And his name?’
‘It will not help you, James. He became engaged in a brawl with one of Cooper’s brothers and killed him. He was sentenced to hang, but accepted instead transportation for life to the American colonies. While there, he contracted malaria in the Virginia swamps.’
‘I should like to know it, nevertheless.’
‘I cannot help you.’
‘You do not know the man’s name?’
‘James. He is gone to America where he died. Let it be.’
‘You do know his name. But you do not wish to share that knowledge with me. Why?’
Claverley sighed. ‘James, I feel for you as I feel for my own brother but, please. Do not pursue this matter.’
Blakiston stared long at the Rector. Then he nodded. ‘We shall not go to war over a man’s name. You are a good friend and an honest one. If you will not tell me, you have good reason.’
‘I have.’
Blakiston held out his hand. ‘Then let us consider the matter closed.’
Claverley took Blakiston’s hand in his own and clasped it. ‘Thank you, James. And your pursuit of Reuben Cooper’s murderer?’
‘Is at an end. You have diverted me immensely with your story, but unless I learn something new I can go no further. Cooper was a vile old man and whoever killed him had his reasons. I fear we may never know who it was or what they were. I did speak to Catherine Robinson, but she told me nothing worth hearing.’
‘That is unfortunate.’
Shortly afterwards, Blakiston left to walk the short distance to his home. He had not insisted that Claverley name the brother who had gone to Staithes seeking justice for his sister and left as a convicted felon and he knew that the Rector was relieved.
He also knew that, had Thomas been able to see the expression on his face, the relief would have evaporated like mist in the morning sun.
Chapter 36
On the twenty-sixth of June, the Rector threw his annual tithing party. Tables were covered in roast beef, boiled mutton and a huge cauldron of rabbit stew. There were mounds of potatoes and cabbage. Mumbles were provided for those for whom teeth were only a memory—rabbits and fowls boiled for a while, then taken off the bone and cooked in their juices until very soft at which point they were chopped fine and heaped onto slices of bread. The juices soaked into the bread, making it as soft as the meat, and so the toothless old enjoyed their meal. Afterwards there was plum pudding, bread and cheese. Large quantities of ale and punch helped along the festive atmosphere.
Blakiston appeared at Tom’s shoulder. ‘You seem ill at ease, Tom.’
Tom shrugged. ‘I have never felt comfortable in company.’
‘I have something to ask you. But it is a private matter, which you must speak of to no-one. Your promise, now.’
‘Of course, Mister Blakiston. You may depend on me.’
‘
I know that, Tom. And I do.’
‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘When you made the arrangements to send your brothers-in-law across the ocean to America, you did not leave the parish. I know that, for I saw you every day.’
‘You are right, Master. I did not.’
‘But someone went for you. I do not ask where, for I do not need to know and you will not wish to tell me. But you had a messenger, an emissary, who sought out a ship that would carry two men to the colonies. You must have had.’
Tom looked at Blakiston without speaking.
‘Come, Tom. You did or you did not. But you did. Am I not right? Why do you flush so red?’
‘Mister Blakiston. A man did me a service out of kinship. He risked a great deal. Would you have me place him now in harm’s way once more?’
‘Tom! I have said I rely on your discretion, and you may rely on mine. I do not seek to cause trouble for you or anyone connected with you.’
Tom studied the Agent’s face. ‘My cousin, Jemmy Rayne,’ he said at last. ‘He journeyed to Carlisle for me.’
‘Thank you, Tom. Your cousin is a man free to travel where he wills?’
‘At certain times of the year. He and his brother are sheep farmers. In early spring he is busy with lambing and able to go nowhere. Not even to bed at night. I am glad I do not raise sheep.’
‘But now he has time on his hands? He could make an errand for me?’
‘I paid him for his trouble, Mister Blakiston.’
Blakiston caught Tom’s arm in his impatience. ‘Of course he should be paid, Tom. I need him to travel to Staithes and make some inquiries for me there. Would he do that, do you think? There would be two guineas for him.’
‘Two guineas! Yes, Master. I am sure he would.’
‘No-one must know where he has been, or what he was about when he was there.’
‘I shall tell him so.’
‘Where does he live? How soon could you get word to him?’
‘I could get a message to him by tomorrow.’
‘Do so. Ask him to call on me on Wednesday at seven of the morning, when I shall instruct him as to his errand. Kate is looking at me oddly.’
‘She probably wonders why you are trying to remove my arm from my body, sir.’
‘My dear Tom,’ said Blakiston, letting go of the limb he had clutched so firmly and watching Kate walk towards them with a determined air. ‘Forgive me. This is a matter of such urgency to me...not a word, now. My dear Katherine. How do you do?’
Kate stared from one man to the other. ‘Why, sir, I am fearful for Tom. You looked as though you wished to hurt him.’
‘Put aside your fears. I value Tom as I value my own right arm. I should never harm him. You are enjoying the festivities?’
Ignoring the question, Kate turned to her brother-in law. ‘Tom, I believe Lizzie was asking for you.’
Tom turned a look of inquiry to Blakiston, who nodded. ‘Thank you for your help, Tom. We shall talk again.’
‘Of course I am enjoying the revelry, Mister Blakiston.’ No power on earth could have helped Blakiston to look away when Kate stared into his eyes. ‘As you know, I am in love with girlish things, and what could be so girlish as to be here and on holiday in my finery, with the young men of the parish all wanting to talk to me?’
‘You are radiant indeed,’ murmured Blakiston, his face now bright red.
‘You are my protection, Mister Blakiston, for none of our young men will interrupt when they see me with a man of position. I have sent Tom on a fool’s errand, and I am sorry for it, but I wished to speak to you in private.’
It took all of Blakiston’s self-possession not to tug at his stock and loosen the collar that suddenly felt unbearably tight. He found himself unable to reply.
‘I wished to thank you, sir.’
‘To thank me? But, my dear girl. Thank me for what?’
‘Why sir, for bringing together Tom and Lizzie and making me a farmer’s sister-in-law. For if we had stayed in our cottage I should by now have been sent from home to work as a skivvy for a pittance from before dawn till after sunset. Rosie Miller, who lived by us and was my friend, is gone to Matfen Hall, and to the Blackett men any pretty girl in their kitchens is there for any service they may require. But now, you see, Lizzie and my mother have begun to think of a farmer for me and I shall have skivvies of my own to order around.’
‘So these poor young men who follow you with their eyes are wasting their time?’
Kate’s eyes continued to bore into his. ‘They may be, sir, for I have set my sights higher than that. But it may be that the farmers, too, will have to accept disappointment.’
‘I hope life does not thwart you, Kate.’
The touch of her hand on his arm was so light he could almost have failed to notice it was there. ‘Oh, sir. So do I.’
When Blakiston went to bed that night, he found himself unable to sleep. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was confronted by the vision of the sweet young woman Kate Greener lying on her back as an overweight farmer rolled on top of her. He got up, dressed and went outside to sit on the wall in the dark. He was still there when dawn began to lighten the sky. He ached in every joint. But he had had an idea.
Kate faced the fall of night with rather more composure. She had done what she meant to do. For Kate had had enough. Blakiston longed for her and he would let it show; but then he would push her away. He was going to have to make up his mind. Would he be able to overcome his fears or would he not? She had let him know that there were other men—lots of other men—who also longed for her, and who were prepared to do something about it.
What she planned to do next was to choose one of those men to walk out with. And to make sure that Blakiston knew of it.
Chapter 37
Blakiston was so seized by his plan that, as soon as it was light enough, he made a hurried breakfast and spurred his horse towards Chopwell Garth. Tom, just pulling on his boots, was surprised to see him.
‘Mister Blakiston! What brings you here so early?’
‘Tom. There is something I need to discuss with you. The milk. The butter, the cheese, the beef. We do not know how much we are getting, and we need to.’
‘It is a lot, Master!’
‘Yes, Tom, but “a lot” is not scientific, is it?’
‘I am a farmer. I am not a scientist.’
‘Nevertheless, Tom. We need to know. When I read Viscount Townshend’s papers, he writes of numbers. He says, “We did this, and the milk increased by such and such a per centum. We did that, and the increase was only so and so per centum. So now we do only this, because that does not repay our trouble. Do you see, Tom? The scientific approach. We make an investment, in time or money or effort, and we need to know what return we make on it. We have to write the figures down, and study them.’
‘Mister Blakiston, you speak of Viscount Townshend and the papers he writes. I am sure they are very learned papers. But I cannot even write my name. Am I to learn my letters, on top of all else?’
‘You could not find the time, Tom. Of course. I was thinking of Kate.’
‘Kate has learned to read and write, Master. But she does not know anything with figures, and Mistress Wortley is gone to the other end of the country, so who is to teach her?’
‘I shall.’
Tom stared at Blakiston for so long that the overseer began to blush. But he was not found out; delay was merely Tom’s way of thinking something through. At last, he said, ‘Well, Mister Blakiston, if you think it is needed, we must do it. Of course. We will have to ask Kate, but. She has a mind of her own, that one.’
‘Let us put it to her now. Call her.’
When Kate joined them, Lizzie was with her. Blakiston would have preferred i
t otherwise, but it could not be helped. As Blakiston outlined his plan, he was aware of the unblinking gaze of both women. Kate’s smiling eyes said, “I know what you’re up to. But don’t worry; I approve.” The message from Lizzie was somewhat different.
When Blakiston arrived the next morning for Kate’s first lesson, he found Lizzie lingering at the end of the lane. She carried a basket and made a pretence of collecting mushrooms, but Blakiston was not fooled. He knew she was waiting for him.
‘Well, Mister Blakiston,’ said Lizzie as he brought his horse to a stop. ‘It seems you will be seeing a lot of Kate.’
‘That I must, if she is to learn to record the figures, Mistress Laws.’
Lizzie’s glance said, as clearly as if she had spoken the words, “Don’t take me for a fool, sir.” Aloud, she said, ‘Our Kate is precious to us. We would not see her come to harm.’
‘She will know none at my hands, I promise you.’
Lizzie stared into his eyes as though seeking something there. ‘I believe you mean that,’ she said. ‘But she is an ordinary girl, one of us, the common people, and you are gentry, and she is soft for you, as I do not doubt you know. Do you not see the danger you place her in if you toy with her?’
‘In my eyes, Mistress Laws, she is a lady, and as a lady I shall treat her.’
Lizzie sighed. ‘Well. I have said what I have to say. Good day to you, Mister Blakiston.’
The first lesson took place in the dairy, where a scales could be set up and where there was a table at which they both could sit on stools side by side. Kate’s cotton gown was freshly laundered and Blakiston breathed in her clean, soapy scent. She took instruction seriously and soon mastered the numerals nought to nine, though she drew them slowly and carefully, her tongue working against the inside of her cheek.
‘We have made good progress, Kate,’ Blakiston said. ‘Addition will take longer, but we will get where we want to be. I shall see you again tomorrow.’