The so-called cupboard was narrow, about five feet high by two feet wide. There was no room to turn round. On the right hand side was a ledge which, without the footstool, was pretty impossible to climb onto. Once on the ledge, which was about eighteen inches in width, one could only crawl. The height was about two foot again. I scrambled up inside but it was tiny. I felt almost trapped, but I could see it was long enough to go somewhere.
The next bit was craggy, narrow, smelly and dark. I could crawl along it but, having no torch, I had to rely on touch. Small avalanches of gravel fell from my weight on the ledge. Some of that gravel fell a long way down before I heard it softly hitting a hard structure, a rock maybe. I crawled slowly, the gravel sharp on my knees, but as I jerked a knee to one side, stones, bricks and mortar suddenly gave way, cascading into the dark chasm. A few seconds later the debris splintered and shattered against the rock, but this time, it was followed by a distant splashing sound. Water. Maybe there was a well shaft somewhere close by.
The bricks on which I was precariously balanced wobbled beneath my weight. I wished I had tried to find a torch. What an idiot. It wasn’t easy crawling backwards and avoiding the gaps I had made in the ledge. ‘Oh God.’ I couldn’t shout because I was afraid that would cause another precarious bit of stone to disintegrate. I also knew that no one could hear me. I had been foolish not to say anything. My body was teetering on the very edge of a steep fragile precipice, each small manoeuvre causing further fragments to fall. Then my feet dropped into a hole behind me. My left leg slipped and dangled over the side. The fingers on my right hand grasped a jagged rocky protrusion on the closed side of the passage.
I decided the best way back was to lie flat and very gently shuffle my body along. Feeling the unbroken ledge with my outstretched right foot, I pulled my left leg back up, checking the foothold carefully before each shuffle backwards.
In a panic, I cried out, ‘Help!’. ‘Help’ my voice echoed back.
When my feet dropped again, it was into the cupboard and I steadied them on the footstool. Relieved, but suddenly wanting to rush, I slid back with speed, grazing my belly.
Smothered in grit and dust; my left knee bleeding, I wept with sheer relief just to be alive.
I remembered what Dad had said to Mum once, after she’d tripped on the kerb and fallen into the street: ‘You’re in shock, love, and you just need to take it easy and breathe deeply.’
Whether it was fear, shock, or just sheer relief, I fell onto my bed and cried buckets. I could tell no one. No one. Was all this happening to me because I kept calling this house a monstrosity? I’d set myself a challenge but what would I do now, alone, to try and solve this ‘mystery’?
When the crying stopped, I realized the ledge and the sheer drop were all part of that huge stone wall on the exterior, which ended in the majestic chimney and, wiping my eyes, I resolved to explore further.
Chapter Seven
November 1597
And so the ambitious Edward Griffin became the new tutor for Oliver and Jack. A clever man, he had studied literature, astronomy, mathematics, and chemistry at Oxford University. He was passionate about learning, particularly in the sense that to excel in all studies ventured was paramount, not only for the good of the soul, but to meet the demands of the world. He had wanted to carry on to study medicine and was fiercely ambitious, but his father, a reasonably wealthy yeoman, had died suddenly, leaving debts incurred by heavy illegal gambling.
As a result, Edward Griffin had been forced to leave university, farm his land and provide for his mother and two younger brothers. He was deeply resentful of this and grew increasingly bitter, believing his divine rights to wealth and academic excellence had been denied to him.
He wanted more than just to inherit the farm and its land. He had been cruel to his brothers and impatient with his mother and, when his younger brother obtained a place at university, he was overcome with anger and resentment. He had constantly felt the need to vent this onto others; anyone who crossed his path.
*
His brothers had wanted to study and so there had been bitterness when Griffin stated they had to take their turn at managing the land, because he was leaving.
His mother disowned him and his brothers refused to speak to him. There had been harshness from his mother who cut him from the will, and no joy in his life for years.
Smiling or laughing became alien gestures and his thin, tight lips betrayed a miserable demeanour, yet also an air of superiority. When others showed pleasure, he saw this as shallow.
The worst scorn he felt was directed to those of lesser status; it satisfied his need for empowerment. He had been with the earl for only a few short weeks when Anne—Mary and Ruth’s governess—caught his eye. He was captivated by her fair hair, flawless skin and deep blue eyes. Anne appeared to be a woman of intelligence and, despite his mistrust of women, he discovered a liking for her presence: a desire, such that he had not felt before.
He had asked her about the boys and her own methods of teaching. They discussed the different ways of learning as they strolled down to the river one quiet and peaceful early evening. He agreed with her ideas of teaching but said she must remember to discipline her charges. Otherwise, he said, children simply do as they wish and run amok. She smiled at this. It was true: Mary and Ruth both liked to run.
She gave his words some consideration.
‘Ah but sir, you must remember… Learning is life and as such, it is to be embraced, not something to escape from or fear.’ He smiled and agreed; at that point their eyes made contact and lingered.
Standing by the window, the formidable Frances, the housekeeper who noticed most goings on in the house, watched them walking together. She frowned. Considering herself a staunch woman of character, able to judge sincerity in people, Master Griffin’s charm did nothing to impress her.
*
Early in the morning, just after dawn, Margaret and Frances heard Griffin pacing up and down the schoolroom, which was just above the scullery.
‘Why does he pace so?’ Frances asked, head looking towards the ceiling, not really wanting an answer, but Margaret, also looking up, tutted.
‘The man isn’t of sound mind, Frances. I can tell folk who are troubled and the devil has dealings with him.’
They heard him shouting, but it was muffled. Frances opened the kitchen door and beckoned Margaret, wiping her hands in her apron, to listen at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Oliver, you have barely answered one question today. You sir, are not listening to me or have become a mute! Come here, Jack! Hold out your hand.’
Margaret shook her head. Her face crumpled with disapproval.
*
In the schoolroom, Oliver began to uncomfortably shuffle in his seat, his mouth opening but nothing coming out. Jack did as he was asked and Oliver, startled and frightened, watched as ten strokes of the coarse birch rained down on Jack’s open palm.
He saw Jack’s bottom lip tremble and tears without cries trickled down his scarlet cheeks. Griffin was unmoved as he commanded him to sit down. Trickles of blood from Jack’s quivering hands quickly soaked in and stained the wooden floor.
At the end of lessons, Master Griffin tightened his grip on Jack’s hand during the customary handshake at the end of the day. Jack’s mouth opened ready to yell but, although he suppressed it, he couldn’t stop the low moan as his bottom lip quivered. Griffin’s grip was unyielding, the tutor’s thin lips widening into a pleasurable grin. That gesture triggered the fiercest expression on Jack’s face as he faced Griffin. A glare that could only signify an intense hatred.
*
Mary came out of the lower schoolroom, with Ruth close behind. Oliver and Jack were descending the stairs.
‘What ails you?’ she asked the boys, looking from one to the other. Oliver began to explain to her, when Jack stopped him by shaking his head and interrupting. He had seen the watchful gazes of Frances and Margaret at the doorway to the scullery. They
would tell his mother and he didn’t want her to know.
‘Nothing,’ muttered Jack, and he quickly left the house.
Ruth started to run after him.
‘Stop,’ commanded Mary, as she grabbed Ruth’s arms tightly. ‘We’re finding Father Peters’ treasure, remember?’
‘I beg your pardon, my lady, I must go with my brother.’
Mary’s attention was turned to the tall figure at the top of the stairs. Edward Griffin was smiling at her, but not a smile that denoted sincerity. She did not trust that man. With no words spoken, he turned back to his classroom. Something had happened to upset her brother and Jack. She would discuss this with her father.
*
Frances was a housekeeper who never missed very much in the household; after all, it was her business. She’d heard the striking of the birch before, she told Margaret. Margaret confided in the housekeeper that the noise made her wince every time.
‘The boys’ schoolroom is a room of hatred,’ she complained to the housekeeper. ‘No longer do I hear laughter, just the master shouting and the birch thrashing; too many strokes, I swear. Jack is being whipped beyond all measure. The man wants perfection. I do so pity Jack; it can’t possibly continue. How can Anne be smitten with this beast of a man?’
Frances shook her head. ‘I told you, the devil owns that body, but Jack saw us watching him. He is a proud young fellow. I doubt that he will want Kathleen to know any of this. Did you see his eyes? They were red with tears from pain, but Lord Oliver has the paleness of death, Margaret. He too suffers. Master Griffin’s shouting and anger is whipping his soul into a quivering wreck. I wish Father Peters were here.’
*
All the way home, Jack’s pace was speedy and he refused to say anything to his sister, until she threatened to tell their mother everything.
‘No!’ He stopped abruptly and faced her. ‘Don’t you see? I will just get thrashed harder. It’s expected of me. That’s why Lord Becton has me there. The Lady Charlotte will just let us both go and you know mother wants us to be educated. That will not be possible if we have to leave.’
Ruth was quiet. She said nothing to their mother but, ten days or so later, Kathleen noticed the agony on her son’s face as he sat at the table. She had seen him many times wincing and recently observed him hiding his hands from her.
‘Jack, show me your hands, and your back.’
‘Please mother, there is nothing wrong.’
‘Show me your hands then, now!’ Kathleen swiftly uncoiled his fingers and gasped. ‘Take off your shirt.’ She was stunned at the sight of his palms and the deep weals on his back.
Jack stared at the shock on his mother’s face. The skin on his back, now open to the air, was burning. His bravery could not be sustained as he absorbed his mother’s misery and he started to cry; tears, at first pooling then escaping down his cheeks. He drew in deep breaths of air to stifle the sobs that wanted to come.
His father, now well passed, had wanted him to be the strong man of the house. He had promised him on his deathbed. He would not let him down.
‘I cannot be taught by Master Griffin, Mother. He is vicious and makes Lord Oliver very nervous, such that he cannot answer anything, so I get birched. It used to be a few on my hands but now if Oliver cannot answer correctly, the master turns to me.’
There was a little sob. ‘Oliver is so afraid of him, his thinking becomes blocked. He knows the answers to his questions, but he cannot utter them for fear of the Master. I understand why I am there, but he is so different to Father Peters. We cannot learn from him, only how to be harsh and evil.’
Kathleen’s bottom lip quivered. She knew her son wanted to learn, to do well.
‘I understand your silence, son. I wanted you and Ruth to learn about the world, to do better than your father, but not like this. I am so sorry Jack. Sorry that we are so poor and sorry I have to earn our bread by steeping my herbs and grinding the lead for the ceruse… We have to depend on their money but we are worthless souls in their eyes, just worthless, and Lord Becton has been good to us.’
Sinews in her neck protruded and her face was blotchy and red. The anger and tension had mounted so much that her body stiffened, her shoulders were raised and fists held tight, showing ivory white knuckles. Jack feared that she would suddenly collapse as her breathing was laboured with the effort to contain her strong emotions.
She hastily gathered up Jack’s shirt, seeing dried bloodstains She hated Master Griffin, she hated the earl for dismissing Father Peters, and she hated with a vengeance all titled people, born with immediate privileges.
‘Lean over, Jack. I will bathe these wounds.’ The pair of them were now quiet but thoughts of revenge were raging through Kathleen’s head. At that moment, she could kill.
‘Don’t say anything mother, not to his lordship. Griffin will just thrash me harder.’
‘You want this to carry on, son?’
Jack merely shook his head.
The next day Kathleen went to the kitchen door of Becton Manor with Jack and Ruth.
Margaret opened the door and greeted them. Kathleen was struck by how red and sweaty she was, hair strands stuck to her skin like dead worms dangling from under her coif, the end of her nose glistening with globules of something horrible ready to drop.
‘My… Kathleen, you look spurned by the Holy Spirit Himself. Jack should go with haste to Master Griffin; he is late for his lessons. He will be full of scorn if you don’t hurry, lad.’ Margaret always liked to keep the peace.
Kathleen sighed, ‘Ruth, you can go to Mistress Anne. Jack is staying with me.’ She showed Margaret the wounds on his back.
‘Oh mercy, I was afraid of this.’
‘You knew of this?’
‘It’s not my place to speak out against the new Master. Jack’s place is to receive the birch. That is why the earl agreed to him coming… but then he knows nothing of this, being at court all the time.’
Kathleen looked from side to side, to check for listening ears. ‘That new Master is pure evil, Margaret. If you were a mother, would you expect the payment for learning to be this, even for a commoner boy?’
Just at that moment, Master Griffin entered the room. Both women jumped as he had approached so quietly. ‘Jack. Why are you late? You must get yourself into the study room at once!’
Kathleen turned to face him, took a deep breath, and lifted her chin.
‘He will not attend your lessons, sir, if you insist on regular thrashings.’
‘Madam!’ Griffin’s eyes widened as he glared at her, ‘That is why your son has the privilege of being taught alongside Lord Oliver. You are disadvantaging him. Further, you are defying Lord Becton. You must see that your son will grow robust, resilient and educated. How can you deny him this?’
‘My son learns when he feels comfortable with his master and that, sir, is not you! You are an evil man. I do not know what kind of revenge you seek, but you cannot punish my son for your own past shortcomings or resentments. Only weak men beat young boys because they are unable to defeat their demons. You must have an abundance of demons, sir! You are not a fit man to teach!’
Master Griffin’s slit-like eyes were only just visible through his dark lashes as he took a sharp inward breath, astonished by this outburst from a mere herb woman.
Her caustic words had reminded him of his past, his weaknesses. His brothers had been given easier paths and yes, he resented it. He was entitled to better. This forthright wench could cause him a lot of grief if he lost this position. How dare she confront him?
‘You are insolent, madam. How dare you insult me? You are an ignorant creature, a witch, by my understanding, and one who is poisoning a child with the face powder intended for older women. Queen Elizabeth may paint her face but she does not lick the poison. Have you been too stupid to notice? I have studied medicine, madam, and know you are meddling with poisons. You will see what will become of the young Lady Mary.’ He bent closer to her face. ‘You will
see the harm you cause. One day, you will receive your just fruits, witch!’
Kathleen stepped back, horrified at the gall of this man. Margaret’s face became more crumpled than ever, with shock and concern.
Master Griffin hastily left the room, shouting as he went. ‘You will see who is right when the earl returns, madam!’
Kathleen did not let him have the last say, ‘If I am a witch, sir, I curse you so nothing but ill fortune comes your way!’
‘Strong words madam, which you may one day regret. You are witness to this curse, cook, are you not?’ Griffin yelled over his shoulder, not waiting for a reply.
Margaret, her mouth wide open, remained aghast and speechless. Kathleen left hastily with Jack, her body shaking with a fury she had never before experienced.
*
The atmosphere at Becton Manor was subdued. Frances had told Lady Charlotte of the incident with Master Griffin, but she seemed unconcerned, as long as Lord Oliver continued to receive a strong education. She tended to share the opinion of Master Griffin—that Jack was very fortunate to be receiving an education at all—and told Frances to refrain from any more talk of his evil nature.
Frances sighed heavily. She knew that if Lady Charlotte was pleased with how things were, the earl would not make a fuss. This new tutor was a snake in the grass who had already snared Anne. The blushing of the governess whenever she saw him was sickening.
Frances briefly recalled the time she was jilted by a similar man. She felt a hatred for Griffin at that moment, but also a pang of jealousy.
She thought this may be detected by Anne. When she had tried to warn her of his nature, her words were met with a strong rebuff.
‘Master Griffin simply has strong principles, which I admire. Perhaps you would do better to keep your attention on the servants. I saw young Henry from the stables steal a cake, but you are too busy being inquisitive about other people’s business to notice. Or could it be that you find him attractive and perhaps covet the attention he gives me?’
The Curse of Becton Manor Page 5
