Mother sighed. ‘Oh Ralph, I don’t care which one Jacob chooses, just so long as it’s one of them.’
‘You know that’s not true.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve enough to worry over with Martha and William.’ She gestured at the cradle where William was still sleeping despite our raised voices. ‘See what can be done, would you, Ralph dear. And Ralph …’ My heart dropped into my boots, she had the warning tone I remembered from being a small boy. ‘Talking of suitors … No taking liberties with the Fanshawes. Find yourself a nice, middling girl. None of us know how Cromwell will deal with it all, and meanwhile, the Fanshawes are our bread and butter. She might appear friendly enough, but don’t be getting too familiar with Lady Fanshawe. One wrong foot and she could have your head on the block quicker than —’
‘Enough, Mother!’ I thumped my fist on the table. ‘Must I hear nothing but do’s and don’ts? Father’s not yet cold in the earth and you must nag at me like a weaver wife.’ My harsh words brought out fresh tears. Mother pressed the sodden kerchief to her still-red eyes, and I felt terrible then, to have been so unkind.
I walked to the window to hide my discomfort. From there I could see the lonely figure of Cutch, still waiting disconsolately on the woodpile. A great lump of gristle seemed to have lodged in my throat.
I turned back to see Mother weeping into her folded arms. I went over to rub her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be so sharp. The soldiers pulled up everything edible and I don’t know if I can make enough from the land to support us. Not if the girls need dowries. I haven’t even enough coin to buy you a mourning gown.’
She blew her nose. ‘My church black will do.’
‘’Course it will. But I’d like you to have better. And you mustn’t worry. It’s for me to deal with, I’m the man of the house now. I’ve told Lady Katherine I’ll till Father’s land, and take on more acreage too if she’ll see fit to give me care of it.’
‘And will she?’
I looked at my knees, aware that Kate might hand it all over to Downall. ‘I’m sure she will.’
‘And you’ll be polite to Downall?’
A nod was the best I could manage.
‘Then I’ll to bed. Douse the lights for me, will you.’
*
Outside Mother’s cottage Cutch was still sitting on the log-pile in the growing dark, shoulders slumped. I wasn’t the only one who had received no welcome, I realised.
‘Come on, Cutch. Pay no mind to my mother; she’s just taken Father’s death hard. She’ll be glad to have us both to help out, she said.’
‘Really?’ Cutch looked doubtful.
‘Come back inside. You’ve a place near the fire, and welcome.’
‘Hope it’s not lit,’ he said his white teeth grinning in the gloom. ‘I’m sweltering.’
I rested my hand on his shoulder, and pushed him indoors. I could not wait to lie down, but though coming home had exhausted me, I could not sleep. There was so much to think about, and my heart still ached for Kate. Seeing her had only made my longing more intense. I marvelled that a woman could do this to a man, make him feel like his insides had been mysteriously rearranged.
Cutch and I slept on the flag floor of the cottage that night, neither of us easy. I had thought to come home and find Kate and Abi alone, as they had been when I left, and that I’d advise Kate on what was best for the Manor. Now Downall had squeezed his way into the Manor like a cuckoo in the nest, and I could not help resenting him. And terrible to admit, but I’d had hopes that Kate’s husband, Sir Thomas, would have been cut down in a skirmish or, better still, transported to Barbados. Or at the very least, that he’d been imprisoned somewhere a long way away.
Cutch too was restless. He was unused to sleeping indoors, having been on the march for so long. He would not leave his weapons aside, and slept with his head on his bag of powder and match. Poor fellow, I had brought him with me to show him some home comforts, yet my family had failed to give him any sort of welcome. And I still had Elizabeth to deal with.
*
The next morning I was up early to talk to Mother and help her prepare a hasty breakfast of bread and curd cheese. When she’d taken Martha out to feed the hens, I said to Cutch, ‘Better eat something before we do anything else. I’ve to go and see my other sister, and I’ll certainly need fortification before I do it.’
‘Is this the apothecary’s assistant?’ Cutch asked.
‘Elizabeth, yes. She’s got a right temper, and I don’t know how she’ll react when I tell her Father’s gone, and I’m the one who’s to somehow find her a dowry.’
‘Oh Lord.’ Cutch understood right away. ‘Thank God I’ve no sisters.’
Once we had eaten and drunk our way through a half-jug of small beer, we mounted up, and rode the eight miles to the apothecary’s in Wheathamstead.
Elizabeth was behind the counter, in front of the rows of bottles, grinding up a tincture in a mortar. When she heard us enter she turned, pursed her lips. ‘You’re back then.’
I nodded. ‘This is my friend Cuthbert,’ I said, ‘Folks call him Cutch.’
Elizabeth ran her eyes over him with an assessing look in her glittering brown eyes, then ignored the introduction. She brushed a few flakes of herb from the counter with her long slim fingers. ‘If you’ve come to tell me about Father, I already know,’ she said, tossing her dark curls. ‘Everyone in the village knows. One of Father’s pikemen made it home.’
‘Oh.’
‘Will there be a wake?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Has Mother said?’
‘No.’ I told her how I presumed he was buried on the battlefield with the rest. ‘So she says she doesn’t want a fuss, or the expense.’
Elizabeth twirled a finger in one of her side-curls as she took this in. ‘Parson says there’s to be words said for the fallen. In Church, Sunday. Folk will keep on telling me, like I should be there. Will you go?’
‘I expect so.’
She picked up the mortar again and began to bang the pestle down into it. ‘Well I’m not going. He was a useless Father; did nothing but drink our wealth away, what little there was left of it.’ She glowered in disapproval. ‘I’ll not sit there and pretend he was a saint. Besides, I’ve no decent black, and I don’t want to be the laughing stock of the village in these work-a-day skirts.’
What was it about women and their clothes? Elizabeth looked immaculate as usual; her lilac cotton gown showed no sign of wear and had been fashionably re-trimmed.
‘You look fine to me,’ I said. ‘What you’re wearing won’t matter. It’s about paying respect.’
‘Not just your father, but respect to the whole regiment,’ Cutch said.
Elizabeth looked at him with distaste and went back to pounding. ‘I haven’t time to stand chattering to you. Mr Carlisle’s left a long list, and he wants it ready for delivery at noon.’
I was determined to have words with her though, for Abigail’s sake. ‘I’ve been talking to Mother. What’s all this about Jacob Mallinson?’
She stopped pounding and came back to the counter. ‘What’s she been saying?’
‘Come out of the shop a minute, I need to talk to you.’
‘About Jacob?’
‘Are you coming or not?’
‘Not with him listening.’ She tossed her head in Cutch’s direction.
I turned to Cutch. ‘You’ll mind the shop a moment, won’t you?’ I asked. Cutch sighed and went to lean his wiry arms on the counter. I took hold of Elizabeth and dragged her out of the door.
‘Let go! You’re hurting.’
‘Now listen to me, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but Jacob’s set his sights on Abigail, and Abigail’s sweet on him —’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘You told Mother he would come courting. How can you do that to your own sister?’
‘Jacob likes me,’ she said, a sulky look appearing on her face. ‘It’s not my fault if he find
s me more comely than her.’
‘I know you, Elizabeth. How you wheedle a man. Abigail won’t have many chances, and you’re not to foul this up, do you hear?’
‘Oh yes, I hear right enough! Abigail’s always been everyone’s favourite, just because she’s deaf. She burnt our house down, or have you forgotten?’
‘Don’t be foolish. It was an accident. Nobody knows how it happened.’
Elizabeth’s face turned mutinous. ‘She ruined my life. She destroyed my chances of making a decent marriage.’
‘Is that what this is about? That you want to punish her?’
‘Father’s dead. I knew the stupid sot wouldn’t come back. What do you expect me to do? I’ve got to make my own way now, and if I can make a good match, I will. Abigail can look to herself.’
‘You cat!’ I said, grabbing her shoulders. ‘If I hear you have been trying to take Jacob from Abigail, I’ll pull you limb from limb. Do you understand?’
‘Don’t you threaten me. I’ll have Jacob Mallinson if I want, and no-one shall stop me.’
I was at a loss. I knew Elizabeth too well. If you told her not to do something, she’d sure enough be hell-bent on doing it. Getting angry with her would only fuel her determination.
Just at that moment an old gentleman carrying a wicker basket passed by us and pushed open the apothecary’s door. We both paused as we heard sharp tinkle of the bell. ‘I’ll see to it,’ she snapped. ‘Your thick-headed friend would not have the wit.’
A few moments later Cutch came out of the shop. ‘Sheesh,’ he said. ‘She’s something, isn’t she, your sister?’ His expression was full of admiration. ‘No wonder the men are after her.’
I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. ‘She’s a vixen.’
‘But a pretty one.’
I groaned. ‘No Cutch, don’t even think about it.’
7 - HARVEST HOME
After our visit to Elizabeth we set of for the Manor to look at Father’s strip of land, to see what could be done there. Two acres of ragged corn that needed cutting and then milling for bread, an acre of bald pasture for the pigs, our two horses and the cow, and one acre of weeds that should have been peas and vegetables. Cutch and I walked round it. The rain of the day before had already vanished into the heat haze.
‘Dust soup it is then,’ Cutch said, scratching his head at the hard-packed earth and scrub before us.
The vegetable patch was empty, marauding soldiers had scavenged anything green. The summer had been dry up until this week, and only the pigs seemed happy, rooting their snouts in the cracks of baked yellow mud.
‘We’d best plant anew,’ I said. ‘I’ll see if there’s some peas up at the manor. Will you give a hand?’
‘Suppose I can turn farmer. Unless another wagon wheel suddenly needs mending. I fixed that one, you know.’
‘Oh. Kate will be pleased. We’ll walk up there then, see my sister Abigail, and Kate.’
Cutch’s face broke into a smile. ‘Wondered how long it would be before you found an excuse …’
I cuffed him on the shoulder and grinned.
We had just reached the yard when we heard tramping feet, and turned to see a large body of men heading towards the house. Just the sight of them made my stomach lurch in dread. The last time Cutch and I had seen such a rabble was on the battlefield.
Instinctively I drew myself up straighter. But on closer inspection I saw that it wasn’t muskets and pikes they bore, but scythes and hoes. And Downall was at the head of them.
Kate came out of the house, drying her hands on her skirts, to see what was going on. I tried to smile at her, but she ignored me. So she hadn’t forgiven me for the fight with Downall. It was humiliating to be passed over by a woman.
Kate’s attention was focussed on the men gathering on the drive and in the yard before her. There were more men today, and I could see it was a little intimidating.
‘Morrow, Milady.’ Downall paused. ‘I’ve come to say sorry about yesterday. The heat, it made us all irritable. I was hasty. I’ve prayed and made my peace with the Almighty. It won’t happen again, and I hope there’s no hard feelings.’
The rabble behind him stared at Kate silently. Her cheeks blotched red, but she was able to keep her gaze steady. It was a few moments before she spoke. ‘You insulted me. It would need more than a few words before I’m prepared to have you work here again.’
I could have cheered. ‘I’m sorry, Milady, I —’
‘Enough. I don’t want bad feeling between the Fanshawes and the village. I’m anxious to set a good example, to forgive, and move on. I accept your apology, Mr Downall,’ she said. ‘But who are all these people?’
‘Constable Mallinson rounded up these good folks to finish your harvesting.’
Kate scanned the shifting group of surly faces. ‘I’m not sure —’
Downall turned his cap in his hands. ‘Can’t have good food going to waste, Constable Mallinson said.’
Kate looked to me, but I shrugged. I was still sore at her, and even more annoyed that she was still prepared to employ Downall. Her face reddened.
‘I’m afraid I cannot pay them,’ she said, ‘not until Sir Thomas returns.’
‘That’s easy remedied,’ Downall said. ‘The sale of the crops should be enough to pay the workers.’
‘Who will oversee the selling?’ I could not resist chipping in, my wariness showing.
‘I’ve offered, but it’s to be negotiated,’ he said, eyeing me with cold disdain. ‘A matter between Sir Thomas Fanshawe and Constable Mallinson.’
‘When was this idea agreed?’ I asked.
‘By letter. Mallinson wrote to Fanshawe to ask his permission for us to sell the crops, and he sent his signature.’
‘I want to see that letter,’ I said.
‘Ralph …’ Kate’s face entreated me to leave it. I sighed, turned away in disgust. In amongst the crowd I spotted John Soper and his son Ned, troublemakers who only a few months ago had tried to put Abigail and Kate in the stocks. The fact that the Sopers were there made me even more uneasy.
‘Begging pardon Mistress,’ Downall said, ‘but if it suits you, we’d best press on. Those clouds over there don’t look too friendly, despite the heat, and as anyone will tell you, your corn’s almost dried to husk.’
Neither Kate nor I had time to ponder this, as Downall made a signal and the troop followed him through the gate and into the meadow. They stared knowingly at us as they passed, as if they knew about us, about our feelings for each other. Their scornful looks stung like bees, and Kate’s face turned pinker and pinker.
Last to go by was John Soper, with his down-turned mouth and stubbled chin. He looked dirty, his shirt patched with sweat and his greasy-kneed breeches held up with twine.
Kate put out a hand to stop him. ‘How are you, Mr Soper?’
‘Can’t complain. And unlike you and your friend, your Ladyship, we’ve got no time to stand about.’
We watched from the gate as Downall gesticulated orders, and the villagers separated to go about their labour.
‘Suppose I’d better see to the horses again,’ Cutch said gloomily from behind me.
I’d forgotten all about him. ‘Right … yes, right.’ I was distracted by Kate’s nearness.
Cutch shook his head at me as he went, obviously disgruntled.
An awkward silence.
Kate turned to me. ‘You look like a prize-fighter.’ From her tone I knew it was not a compliment.
‘Not pretty, hey?’ I tried to laugh it off.
She hesitated a moment. ‘Ralph, I don’t want more trouble.’
I took her hand, squeezed it quickly before letting it go. ‘I know. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’
‘I thought you lived by Winstanley’s ideals,’ she said, ‘of living in harmony together?’
After Worcester, those ideals seemed hopelessly naïve. I rallied myself. ‘It’s just that we’d come straight from … from …’ I shut my mouth. I co
uldn’t tell her. Couldn’t even begin to explain what I’d seen. ‘Let’s not talk about it anymore,’ I mumbled.
Kate touched my arm. ‘And Ralph, I did think about what you said yesterday. You were right — my husband and his uncle would kill me if they knew I’d let the villagers loose like this on the Fanshawe estate.’
‘Then why did you?’ I asked softly.
‘Abigail. She said I should accept Downall’s help if he came back; that we need allies not enemies in the village. That now Cromwell’s victorious, it would do nothing for our cause if we set ourselves apart. Besides, she’s desperate not to upset Constable Mallinson because of how she feels about Jacob.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Inside, making potage. She was grieving this morning, so I let her be.’
‘I’ll go and speak to her.’
‘Ralph?’ She reached up to gently touch my swollen eye. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just … I can’t bear the thought of more brawling. My uncle used to beat people into his way of thinking with a horse whip. I determined then never to countenance it.’ She turned away, stared out across the land. ‘Violence never changes anyone’s mind, just drives their convictions deeper. And it’s such a waste, when all that power could be used to build something, not knock it down.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep civil with him. And I’ll speak to Jacob. Find out about this agreement between Constable Mallinson and your husband. Never fear, I’ll make sure Downall won’t get control of the sale of the harvest.’
She swivelled back, suddenly angry. ‘I don’t care about the harvest. It can rot for all I care! It’s people I care about, don’t you understand?’
When she hurried away from me, I had the uneasy feeling I’d failed her again. Women. They were hard to make out.
*
Abigail was making potage for the workers mid-day meal. Laid out on the table were some belly pork, chopped herbs, leeks and a batch of dried peas. It still surprised me to see her there in the kitchen of the big house, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Spirit of the Highway Page 5
