The Curse of Becton Manor

by Patricia Ayling

  ‘Whoa!’

  I grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Come back.’

  ‘No, Tom, I can do it. I can get down, and so can you. It’s a good ladder, but keep the torch on me.’

  As he spoke, his echoing words bounced off the crumbling walls which fired a jet of more gravel into the chasm.

  ‘It’s not safe, George.’

  ‘Shh…don’t speak anymore, the sound is too vibrating.’

  Then, with the agility of a chimpanzee, George descended the shaft with determination. His left leg secured a foothold before he lowered his right leg and his hands gripped the struts as his feet left them. It was so systematic; now it was my turn.

  I kept the torchlight on him while he had stuffed his own down his trousers and I watched him almost reach the bottom. I saw grit and dust flying within the beam of light, some landing on the top of George’s head.

  ‘Aargh!’ George suddenly cried out. He had stumbled and fallen I could just see the top of his head, but distinctly heard splashing along with three other echoed screeches, ‘Aargh…aargh….aargh…..’

  Then, the sound of trickling water and George disappeared. Oh God, there’s water down there. What if he’s drowned? I didn’t know if he could swim or not. What would happen to me? I might be accused of pushing him, enticing him to his death. I might end up in prison. For God’s sake shut up!

  ‘George!’ I yelled. ‘George!’ the echo responded. I shone my light anxiously from left to right.

  ‘Bloody shut up, Tom. I’m okay, just my ankle hurts a little.’

  He appeared from the left. ‘There’s a tunnel down here and some water. Looks a bit like a cave but it’s not deep. C’mon, I’ll shine my torch upwards for you. Near the bottom is a missing brick I think. That’s where I fell, so be careful.’

  Every word was echoed menacingly.

  ‘I should get help.’

  ‘No!’ he yelled and back screamed the echo, ‘NO….NO.’

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Then the bloody echo, ‘Don’t do that…don’t do that…’

  ‘Your dad will seal it all up… ‘seal it all up, seal it all up…’

  ‘You can do it, c’mon… ‘do it, c’mon, do it c’mon…’

  Going back will be easier… ‘easier, easier…’

  I normally thought echoes very funny, but not on that occasion.

  My God I was nauseous. I’ll fall, I know I’ll fall. No you won’t, just concentrate and make sure you get a good foothold. But you’ve got big feet. Those struts are for small feet and they’ve worn away over the years, they’re too dangerous. Are you really going to chicken out? You’ll never live this one down. The voices inside my head were having a good old argument. Right, idiot, make a move.

  The first strut was fine. I had a good hold. I lowered my hand and gripped hard onto a piece of rock that was jutting out. Don’t look down. Slowly I found different footholds until, just like George, I got the hang of it but slipped near the bottom, scraping my back.

  I landed in shallow water. It stank. We both had wet trousers and shoes that squelched.

  ‘Let’s just roll them up and see what’s ahead. We can’t give up now, just a bit further.’

  We shone our torches into a cave-like opening to the left, only about four feet high and three feet width. Tiny really. Constructed of rock, the sides were glistening with water deposits. An amazed George was actually stunned into silence…for a couple of seconds. ‘Wow, look at this.’

  It was eerie, smelling stronger of damp and mould. Trickling drops of water landed on us randomly as we paddled forward, our backs hunched.

  I heard something. ‘Listen!’

  George stopped.

  There was a slight tapping noise and a movement in the water ahead. Reflected in the torchlight was a speedy ripple across the surface of the water, then a scurrying creature with whiskers emerged and ran along a slim ledge.

  ‘Rats!’

  ‘They won’t hurt you, Tom. My cousin had white rats for pets. If you don’t corner them, they won’t hurt you. C’mon, keep going, it looks like quite a tunnel, but where does it go to?’

  The stench became unbearable as we started to paddle on. We were looking at the walls until, unexpectedly, our bodies were sucked under the water and became submerged.

  Chapter Ten

  Christmas 1597

  Village women, some poorly dressed in their simple kirtles of coarse cloth, trudged through snow-covered grass stiffened by silver frost, carrying as much kindling as they could.

  With sacks hauled over shoulders, their hunched bodies wearily trod; all had tightly fastened their coifs to keep their ears warm. They occasionally lifted their heads to check the direction, grimacing at the biting winds which were too eager to batter their withered faces and stifle their breathing. Gathering fuel was a necessity to stave off the fiercest of winter chills throughout the coming months. As soon as they could walk, children were given just enough wood to hold onto without stumbling.

  Onwards they would stagger: quiet, exhausted, and hungry.

  In the early hours of the breaking dawn or towards the darkness of the evenings, the men of the village trudged the same ground, to bring back the biggest Yule log that they could find for the Christmas celebrations.

  Becton Manor was elaborately decorated with as much ‘evergreen’ as possible. Lady Charlotte, Anne, Margaret and Frances, as well as the children all had their own jobs. The mistress was in good spirits and ensured all fireplaces contained a welcoming blaze.

  It would keep out the cold. For once, she disregarded her status and invited Kathleen Melton, the herb wife, to the manor, along with her children and Henry the stable boy. Henry had told Jack he may not go inside the ‘big house’, as he called it, because the few clothes he possessed were only suitable around horses and for the purpose of mucking out the stables.

  Jack had obviously discussed this with Oliver because, one evening before the school session, Oliver appeared in the stable and gave him some of his old but smart breeches, a doublet and a linen shirt. He reassured him that Lady Charlotte was in agreement that he should be dressed appropriately for the Christmas festivities; and anyway they were more or less the same size. There was much merriment and laughter, jokes and gossip.

  Edward Griffin was not invited. He had been more lenient since his talk with Lady Charlotte, she had heard that from Kathleen but. although Jack returned to lessons, he remained wary of his tutor. For now though, she noticed Jack’s unease ebb, as he took pleasure in the Christmas celebrations. He and Oliver were threading mistletoe around some hoops when Henry arrived. Frances let him in but hurriedly whispered in his ear, ‘Only speak, lad, if thy are spoken to, y’hear?’

  ‘Aye.’ He nodded, suddenly uneasy. Oliver and Jack ran towards him, greeted him and invited him to help them. As Charlotte watched them, she smiled. She had been so busy this year and she realised she never really took much notice of her son and Jack in each other’s company. Now she felt a sense of pride that her son was welcoming Henry and being kind to others, regardless of their status, triggering a tinge of shameful superiority in her own semblance. She smiled, her eyes glistening with tears of happy emotion at how Oliver and Jack were like brothers and how smart Henry looked today.

  She watched Ruth and Mary decorating the spindles with sprigs of holly, giggling all the while and smiling again with contentment, until Mary’s exclamation startled her. ‘Oh, I have pricked my finger on the holly.’

  ‘Who is so clumsy now, little sister?’ Oliver teased. ‘Take care not to touch your white face with the blood from your finger, but it will of course serve to paint your lips.’

  Lady Charlotte shook her head but listened to Mary as she looked up indignantly. ‘Master Griffin said my lips become like bright cherries when I lick them. It does work, they shine so much.’

  Ruth, as if to quickly clarify her companion’s comment said, ‘She has a habit now. She licks her lips all the time.’ She mimicked the action of Mary licking
her lips and making a cheeky pout.

  She then threw her head back and laughed. It prompted the others to join in. Ruth, encouraged by the laughter and attention, added, ‘The more she licks, the more the ceruse disappears, so her face is like snow and blood.’ She giggled, but had gone too far.

  Mary was glaring at her and Lady Charlotte was showing her disapproval of such a brazen outburst. Kathleen gave a little gasp of disbelief in her daughter’s vulgarity. Jack and Oliver grinned as they stared at Ruth’s face, red with embarrassment, but Henry was brazen. ‘She didn’t mean any harm.’ The other two stopped grinning. Frances gave a momentary glare in Henry’s direction and he briefly looked at the floor. He should not have spoken out to give his opinion. Ruth hung her head in shame, remembering her status, that of a low birth. Mary raised her eyebrows, then her chin in an expression of arrogance. There was an awkward silence before Frances faced Mary.

  ‘When did Master Griffin say such a thing to you?’

  ‘He frequently says it. I didn’t like him at first but he’s very kind to me now. He knows of secret hideaways in houses and told me of some very clever ones…and…he likes unusual things.’

  Ruth, daring to speak again, recalled the event. ‘That was the day he was discussing hidden treasures, not just hiding places. I thought you told him too much about how precious and valuable my mother’s herb box was, adorned with jewels.’

  ‘Ruth!’ warned Kathleen, shocked at this second discourteous outburst from her daughter.

  Mary retaliated. ‘Nonsense. Ruth, you should never speak against me, especially in the company of others. You must say you are sorry.’

  Ruth, her face a brighter red, looked in the direction of Lady Charlotte, then back at Mary. ‘I am sorry I was ungracious, Mary. I am sorry, your ladyship.’

  Stone-like, Lady Charlotte was in no mood to continue this distasteful conversation.

  ‘We have lost the spirit in which we were in a short time ago but before we leave the matter I am curious, Mary, and must ask you, did you discuss hiding places at any length with Master Griffin?’

  ‘Indeed, madam. He was so interested, but there was no detail. What ails you so?’

  ‘Hither Mary, let’s go nearer to the fire.’ Lady Charlotte took hold of her daughter’s arm and, as they strolled, she whispered, ‘I trust that you did not reveal our chapel?’

  ‘Of course not, madam.’

  Her mother did not want to hear any more, in case of a sudden attack of her melancholy on this, a happy occasion. But she was uneasy regarding the attention that Edward Griffin bestowed upon her daughter.

  ‘’Tis wearying me, daughter. Thou should’st continue to decorate the house. Look there is more holly. Perhaps you can both find other places?

  ‘Yes, madam.’ It was a polite dismissal. As the girls approached the large fireplace where a pile of holly lay, they soon started to argue again in low voices about the jewelled box.

  Lady Charlotte sighed and took hold of Frances’s arm to lead her to the great hall.

  ‘Ignore the girls, Frances. I have said to myself this morning that no incident today will serve to anger me. I do need to speak with you. The earl and I are leaving for London the day after tomorrow. I want you to keep an eye out for Master Griffin and his conversations with Mary.’

  ‘Of course, my Lady. Will you be going for long?’

  ‘Just a few weeks. I want to see my sister and her family.’

  Frances noted the look of concern on Lady Charlotte’s face. They both held suspicions that the new tutor was scheming. He had expressed his concern over the use of the ceruse, saying it could carry poisons and yet he encouraged Mary to lick the skin around her lips, knowing that the white lead mixture on her skin could easily be ingested. Had her mistress also detected Griffin’s dislike of Mary? So why was he now being charming? What was he up to?

  *

  Hearty, herby, sweet and spicy smells emanated from the scullery, wafting all over the house, intoxicating to the merrymakers who were now sitting either side of the long table in the dining room, busy making decorations for the table later and for the next day, Christmas Day. The earlier incident was forgotten and Ruth and Mary had settled down, to the relief of Kathleen.

  Frances and the Lady Charlotte were returning from the garden when Margaret came bustling in with a tray of mead and freshly baked quince pies.

  ‘Join us for one of your pies, Margaret.’ Lady Charlotte smiled. ‘It is Christmas and you should sample what you give us anyway.’

  The boys had become giddy and raucous, sticking bits of holly into one another. Oliver, feeling very mischievous, risked his mother’s wrath.

  ‘Madam, do you think Margaret may want to poison us? Are you going to watch her digest her pie before we partake?’

  Although he laughed he was keen to see that his comment did not upset his mother. Lady Charlotte merely scowled at him, remembering the promise to maintain an air of calmness if she could not muster frivolity.

  Margaret thanked her mistress and sat down at the end of the table nervously. She could not recall being asked to eat a pie with them on previous celebrations and this invitation triggered an odd sense of embarrassment. She spotted Henry and, as he was close by, she nodded and smiled at him. ‘You look like a proper gentleman, lad.’ He smiled back at her approval. She ate self-consciously but soon jumped up excitedly.

  ‘Oh the goose, I must go and baste him, before he gets too tough and chewy!’ Everyone chuckled and showed pleasure in the mead and pies. There was also a large jug of wine for anyone to help themselves.

  Lady Charlotte rose after eating and excused herself to go and check that the goose was not spoilt.

  Now that the mistress had left the table, Anne felt the urge to express her protest at what she saw as the snubbing of Edward Griffin. Bending her head towards Frances who sat next to her, she whispered, ‘Why has Kathleen been invited and not Master Griffin?’

  Frances whispered to Anne while directing her gaze to her lap. She was conscious of the fact that Ruth and Jack may hear the conversation. ‘I don’t think Lady Charlotte thinks it is the proper thing to do, with all the trouble about the thrashings and all. In any case, Master Griffin does not live here.’

  ‘And neither does Kathleen.’

  Frances glared at her and snapped in a low voice instead of a whisper. ‘Would you want to create a rumpus today of all days and in front of all the children?’ She rose from the table before Kathleen and her children looked over. ‘More wine, Anne?’

  Anne was forced into silence. Arguing with proud Frances over the festive period was unlikely to be successful; she was even more arrogant today.

  The woman disliked Master Griffin so much, Anne thought. She was simply jealous that she was unable to attract a man herself. Perhaps, deep down, she even liked Griffin and had hoped he would court her.

  *

  Griffin had secured lodgings in a three-storey house in the village, but he wanted to escape his interrogating landlady. She wanted to know too much about him and that could be dangerous. He would make merry in the inn, drinking ale, mead and spiced wine. He would celebrate his future.

  The wool industry was beginning to take hold in the area. He had sought to buy sheep and sell wool, and had made a good start drawing up larger enclosures for the sheep. The earl was too busy to check his accounts. Griffin was gratified that his plan meant that he would one day prosper. The land enclosures for the sheep and the resulting disappearance of the villagers’ livelihood had upset the yeomen however, who had been paid a paltry sum for their land. They now faced hardship, especially during the winter.

  The new tutor had said nothing about the disgruntled men to the earl. He felt the amount the earl was paying him was insufficient for his efforts. He would make sure the accounts balanced, but he would have his fair share. In his sights was land of his own: that which was denied to him by his father, then his mother. He was becoming an adept merchant, but a greedy one.

  N
ow as he entered the inn and looked around him, he was reminded of the differences in people’s statuses. The inn was a dark, unruly place, with a few candles set in metal wall sconces of little use in illuminating the room, which was heavy with smog and rank air; no fresh straw laid for weeks.

  There was a smell of sweet sickly ales, old cheeses, sweaty bodies, drunken men’s vomit, even dogs’ urination and excrement. A few unkempt dogs were scrapping for leftover food, before flopping to scratch vigorously at their fleas.

  The inn vibrated with a cacophony of raucous and high-pitched laughter, some obscene and lecherous, some vociferous and vile. Buxom women, some sitting on the laps of sweaty men with their legs akimbo, bared their bountiful breasts and dipped their nipples into the ale jugs before offering them for tantalising arousal. The inn was vibrant but vulgar. Griffin despised their conduct, but today they were all free to do as they pleased. There was no law or order. The harassed landlord had given up on restraint and, apart from throwing bones at the snarling dogs while swearing and cursing, he had enough to do keeping his customers happy by attending to drinks, pies and great platters of cheese.

  Griffin abandoned his feelings of distaste. He drank heavily, caught up in the atmosphere of merriment and Christmas. The feeling of disgust for these people dissipated as he joined them, singing carefree and bawdy. He started to swagger as he joked with other men and flirted with passing women.

  He came to a halt as he saw two well-dressed men at a corner table. They were playing hazard for money and drinking quietly. The landlord glanced over but he obviously turned a blind eye to the illegal gambling, Griffin thought as he watched their game. When one of the men in the corner looked up, Griffin recognised the face.