by Lynch, R J
‘Sir, she is the daughter of Andrew Hart, over at St Lawrence Farm. She was in such a panic, for her father has fallen off his horse and broken his arm, and you know there are no sons there. I told her she must look for you. I was sure you would want to know, sir.’
Indecision joined anger in Blakiston’s heart. He must get on the road in pursuit of the woman he loved. One more day and she would be too far south, already on her way to London and from there to Hampshire, and out of his life. But here was the call of duty. And he knew, even as he stood there and cursed inwardly, that for a man like him there could be only one outcome.
Lizzie waited until they were eating dinner before she told Tom, Florrie and Ned about Blakiston’s visit, and what she had said to him.
‘But, Lizzie,’ said Tom. ‘Andrew Hart will have wanted me to help him. That will be why he sent Nelly here. He would not have wanted you to trouble Mister Blakiston.’
‘Mister Blakiston is the Farm Overseer. He is there to be troubled. Being troubled by such things is what Farm Overseers are for.’
‘But that is not why you told him,’ said Florrie.
‘No. I told him so that he would leave my sister alone.’
Florrie placed a hand on Lizzie’s wrist. ‘Is that what she would have wanted?’
‘It is what I want for her. I have watched her long for this man and I have seen her sadness when he would not make up his mind. Mebbes he imagines he is too grand for us to know what is in his mind, but he is not. He certainly thinks he is too important for Kate, and there he is wrong. When Nelly Hart came just after dinner and told me what had happened, I thanked God. That horse was on Kate’s side.’
Chapter 50
Blakiston may have arrested Martin Wale and Mary Stone in February but justice could not be done for a while yet. Durham Assizes took place in the first week of August, and so it would be almost six months before their trial could take place.
That gave him plenty of time to grieve for the loss of Kate.
At first he blamed the whole world. But that did not last. Blakiston was a fair-minded man and he knew who was at fault. What he did next was to close down that part of his mind. What he could mend, he would mend. What he could not, he would excise from memory. He had loved Jane and Jane was gone and he would think of her no more. He had loved Kate and Kate was gone and he would think of her no more, either.
And nor would he ever again entertain the idea of love.
The humour of the world seemed to see things his way. April began on a Sunday and a total eclipse of the sun that day meant that no church services could take place till noon. The deep blackness thrown over the world convinced the people that some terrible event was coming; for Blakiston, it simply mirrored the blackness that had descended into his own heart.
But nothing lasts for ever, and four months later there began the events that would change Blakiston’s life.
The trial of Martin Wale and Mary Stone was only a week away when Ned’s growing waywardness came to a head.
Lizzie watched little Louise as she lay in her father’s lap. When he was in the house the child was rarely anywhere else. She might be holding her daughter, even feeding her, but the moment Tom came through the door the child’s face was wreathed in smiles and her plump arms reached out to be held. At first Lizzie had resented what seemed to be the usurpation of her position. Lulu was hers. Tom was not the child’s father, whatever he might think. But, really, what did it matter? How could she deprive this darling babe of what she so obviously wanted?
‘I should like to join Joe in America,’ Ned announced as Florrie placed supper on the table.
‘We need you here,’ said Lizzie.
‘Bring Miles back. He’s younger than I am.’
‘But probably not as childish. Do you have the fare to take you to America? For I swear I shan’t let Tom pay for you.’
‘Oh, no. You let him pay for Miles, though. Didn’t you? In fact, you made him.’
‘No-one made me do anything, Ned,’ said Tom.
‘No? Our Lizzie has played you for a fool, Tom Laws.’
‘Ned…’
‘Don’t try to shut me up. My sister has you wrapped round her finger. You take her and her bastard. On top of that she dumps you with me and Kate and our Mam. And then she gets you to pay to send two of her brothers to live like kings in America. What did you get out of all this? Eh?’
‘Joe will repay every penny I laid out on him and Miles, Ned. He has already begun.’
‘Then you will have the money to send me, and I’ll pay you back every penny, too. I asked what you got in return.’
‘I became a farmer. And I got a wife I love, and a daughter I idolise.’
‘You’ll never have any more, though. Will you? Not by Lizzie. You love her but she feels nothing for you. If you had a son he could grow up and take my place and I could go to America. Everything you’ve done for her and she won’t do that for you.’
Lizzie slapped his face, hard. He leapt to his feet. ‘You’re soft, Tom Laws. I promise you this. When I get married, my wife won’t tell me I have to sleep in another bed. I’d black her eye.’
Tom stared at the table in silence. Ned scooped up a handful of the money they had taken in cash for butter and cheese sold at the door. ‘I’ll be back when I’m back,’ he shouted, flinging open the door.
A few moments later the sound of hooves told all in the kitchen that the horse was leaving the yard.
By sun-up next morning, Ned had not returned. At ten his horse appeared, led by a large florid man mounted on a roan mare. Florrie ran out to the fields to fetch Tom.
‘Our Ned is pressed for a sailor, our Tom!’ she screamed.
Tom hurried to the house. The stranger explained that he kept an inn in Whickham. ‘Your brother came last night. It was very quiet, for our young men know when the press gang is out and they stay indoors. He wanted ale and a place to sleep the night for him and his horse. He showed me money. He drank too much for one not used to it, but I thought nothing of that. Young men will do what young men do. This morning he was at breakfast when the ruffians burst in and took him. There were four of them and he and I were alone. I could do nothing.’
‘How did you know to come here?’
‘He shouted to me as they dragged him away. I have brought his horse.’
The innkeeper refused Tom’s offer of money for returning the horse. ‘You have lost enough,’ he said. ‘It is a sad business. Three years at sea before you see him again, as like as not, and him beaten to a pulp for the slightest thing in the meantime. A sad business.’
‘Do you know where the tender is?’
‘Off the staithes at Stella, last I heard. How long it will stay there I do not know.’
Tom checked the saddle on the horse and stepped up into it.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Lizzie, her hand to her mouth.
‘To ask his lordship’s help. The law is the law. They are only to press seamen. Ned is a farmer. They will have to release him.’
‘And if they will not?’
‘They must.’
‘Tom. Men are pressed out of the fields all the time.’
‘Only in emergency. If we are at war I have not heard of it. The navy has been setting men off. Shields and Sunderland will be crawling with discharged sailors. They have taken Ned for no reason except that he was there and they could. They must release him.’
‘Oh, Tom. Take care.’
‘I will.’
Lizzie pressed close to his foot in the stirrup. ‘Tom.’
‘Lizzie.’
‘Those things Ned said last night. About me caring nothing for you and treating you like a fool. Is that what you think?’
‘We made a bargain, Lizzie. You told me what to
expect and you have kept your word. If I am a fool it is one of my making, not yours.’
‘And the things you said. Well, I know you are soft about Lulu, so that much is true. But that you love me. Is that true, too?’
‘You know it is.’
‘Are you sorry you ever met me, Tom?’
Her face was so plaintive as she looked up at him that Tom could not withhold a smile, worried as he was. ‘Our little Louise has filled my life with sunshine, Lizzie. How could I regret that? I must be gone. We’ll never get him off once he’s out of the tender and into a man o’ war.’
Blakiston was helpless. ‘I am sorry, Tom. His lordship is from home till the end of next week. His son the earl is off on his horse with his uncle and might be back in the next ten minutes but could be gone all day and all night. There is no knowing. If he arrives, I will tell him of your call.’
Tom hung his head in anguish. By the time help came, Ned was likely to be at sea. He set his horse’s head towards home. Then a thought came to him and he turned to cross the fields in another direction.
‘Tom? Where are you going? Chopwell Garth is not that way.’
‘No, Mister Blakiston. But Winlaton is.’
Andrew Robson listened in silence to what Tom had to say. ‘Wait here,’ he said. Then he went back into the ironworks.
In almost no time he returned with six of the most ruffianly looking men Tom had ever seen. ‘Ignore their appearance, Tom Laws,’ he said, ‘For their hearts are stout and their intentions honest. These men are ready to lose a day’s work and pay another day’s fine to get back one of our own from the navy. Come on, now, for there is not a moment to lose. If the tender leaves Stella we shall never catch up with it on foot.’
All the men were armed with stout wooden clubs. ‘The pressmen will have guns,’ said Tom as they hurried forward, he on horseback and they on foot.
‘Never mind that,’ said Robson. ‘We’ve done this before and we’ll do it again. Just let’s get to quarters and we’ll show these navy boys what a bunch of blacksmiths can do.’
‘Aye,’ said one of the men as the little posse broke into a run. ‘Remember Moffat.’
‘Who was Moffat?’ asked Tom.
‘Billy Moffat,’ puffed the man. ‘Eight years ago it would be, now. The man was a barber. What would the bastard navy want with a barber? They took him, though. And they killed another man. Billy Moffat escaped. One or two of these lads had a hand in that. The bastard navy offered twenty pound reward and a bastard informer called John Javins turned him in. They brought him up at Durham Assizes and he got off. The jury wouldn’t convict him. Even judges hate the bastard press gangs. And what are they for? Do the Dutch need press gangs? No. They have enough volunteers. Do the French need press gangs? Or the Spanish, may the papist bastards rot in hell? No. Only we do. Why? Because the bastard navy doesn’t pay the men enough and it treats them like shit.’
They had been moving fast downhill as they talked and Stella was now in sight. Tom felt a surge of relief as he saw the tender still at anchor. The men began to move more carefully. ‘Only the one sentry posted,’ said the man who had been talking about Billy Moffat. ‘That’s good.’
‘Where will Ned be?’ asked Tom.
‘Locked in the hold with any other poor bastards they’ve taken. We’ll soon have him out.’
At that moment, Tom heard hoof beats approaching rapidly from behind. He looked back to see two fine horses ridden hard by two expensively dressed men. The riders reined in as they came up with the group.
‘Tom Laws!’ shouted the younger of the two. ‘We are in time, I see.’
Some of Crowley’s men had raised their clubs and Tom saw the two men’s hands go to the swords at their waists. ‘Stay your hands,’ he said. ‘This is the Earl of Wrekin. Son of my landlord.’
‘And this,’ said Wrekin, ‘Is my uncle and your landlord’s brother. A military man. We’re on your side, lads. Blakiston told me what was afoot. We stayed only to arm ourselves.’
‘Can you talk my brother in law out of their clutches?’
‘Shame on you, Tom Laws. Talk? When action’s afoot? You men. Is talk what you want?’
‘Nay,’ said the man who had talked about Billy Moffat. ‘What we want is to free every man on that bastard tender and give these jack tars a lesson that’ll keep them away from Winlaton.’
‘Well said,’ said Wrekin’s uncle. ‘Shall we go first or will you?’
‘Let us have first crack, your lordship. And if we can’t do it, mebbes you’ll lay on in our support.’
‘That we will. Go to it. We’ll be there in a trice if we’re needed. And there’s a drink for all of you when the fun is done.’
Tom would have much preferred to send the nobility in alone to command Ned’s release as he was sure they could. Clearly those were not the rules they, or the blacksmiths, played by. A violent game was to be had, and they meant to have it.
The small group went stealthily down the road, but not stealthily enough. Before they had reached the gangway, the sentry had yelled for reinforcements. In a moment the deck was swarming with men in the ragtag and highly assorted outfits that passed for sailors’ uniforms.
‘Stay on your horse and keep back,’ shouted Andrew to Tom. ‘This is no business for a farmer.’
The gangway was too narrow for more than one man to rush it at a time. Andrew charged forward, swinging his club and screaming wild oaths. The others were close behind him. Tom was sure they would be beaten off, for the sailors faced their clubs with cutlasses, but the sheer force of the attack drove the defenders slowly back. Tom saw one of the smiths drop his club and clutch his arm as a sword slashed across it. Then Andrew’s club caught the sailor hard across the midriff, flinging the man into the Tyne.
One by one the sailors were leaping to safety in the river. Tom could hardly believe what he was seeing. A bunch of Winlaton blacksmiths was seeing off battle-hardened British seamen, just as they had done in 1759. He looked to his right, alerted by a cry of anger. The lieutenant in command of the tender, outraged by the drubbing his men were taking and the impending loss of his prizes, had drawn his gun and levelled it at Andrew.
Tom did not hesitate. Without time for thought he jammed his heels into his horse’s sides and galloped at full speed, ignoring the gangway and leaping the space between tender and river bank, screaming bloodthirsty threats he had not believed himself capable of. He barely heard the furious galloping of two more horses right behind him. The lieutenant, seeing him coming, turned the gun from Andrew and aimed it straight at Tom. He saw a flash of light from the barrel. He felt nothing.
Chapter 51
Florrie and Lizzie watched white-faced as the sad group came up the hill. Ned, on foot, his face lividly bruised, led the horse with Tom slumped sideways across it like a rolled carpet. His shirt was stained bright red, but in his face was no colour at all. His eyes were closed. Beside the horse walked two of Crowley’s men. Andrew on the right gently held Tom’s shoulders.
‘Is he…is he dead?’ whispered Lizzie.
‘Nay, lass,’ said Andrew. ‘Not yet. But he is sorely wounded. Help is on its way. Pray God it gets here in time. Let us get him onto a table.’
The two blacksmiths lifted Tom from the horse and carried him gently into the kitchen where they laid him on the large table.
‘He isn’t moving,’ sobbed Lizzie.
‘He’s lost a lot of blood,’ said Ned.
Lizzie rounded on him. ‘Aye,’ she shouted. ‘For you.’
‘Now, missus,’ said Andrew. ‘The boy knows what he’s done. If he could undo it, he would.’
They heard the urgent galloping of riders in desperate hurry. ‘Who’s this?’ asked Lizzie.
‘I said help was on its way,’ said Andrew.
Lizzie w
ent to the door. There, dismounting, were the Earl of Wrekin and an older man carrying a worn leather bag with the faint outlines of a royal crest still visible.
Lizzie stared in fury at her despoiler. ‘You!’ she spat. ‘How dare you come here?’
‘Later,’ said the young man. ‘When we have attended to your man.’
‘We want nothing from you.’
‘If the quacks get at Tom Laws, he will die. He has lost enough blood for two already and their best hope will be leeches to drain more.’ Wrekin waved a hand towards the other man. ‘This is Major Doherty. A military doctor in service with my uncle. He has treated more gunshot wounds than any man you ever heard of. If anyone can save your husband, he can. Thank God he was staying at the Castle.’
‘Why should you care?’ screamed Lizzie. The doctor had already walked past her and into the house.
Wrekin said, ‘Your husband is a brave man. He took this wound to save another. And I am well aware that if I had not done what I did to you, he would not be in this plight today.’ He took off his hat and held it in his hands. ‘My work that day has troubled me many times since. I am sincerely sorry for it. I do not expect you to forgive me. I do not forgive myself.’ He pointed towards the kitchen door. ‘May I?’
Lizzie stood mute. Wrekin walked past her and entered the farmhouse.
When Lizzie could bring herself to join the others, she found her husband in a pitiable state. His shirt had been cut off and Florrie had bathed him, under the doctor’s direction, with hot water from the stove. She was heating more. The rags flung under the table were soaked in blood.
Doherty picked up a large squashed ball of black metal and showed it to Lizzie. ‘This was in your husband’s chest. An inch in any direction and the damage would be even worse.’
‘Will he live?’
‘That is for God to say, not me. But he has a chance.’ He began to bind up the wound. ‘Surgeons like to pretend we know more than we do, Mistress Laws. It is my opinion that we kill more people than bullets do. I have found by observation in the field that more people survive whose wounds are cleaned and kept that way than where they are not. And hot water is better than cold. I do not know why this should be. The learned professors tell me I am wrong. I know I am right.’