Spirit of the Highway

by Deborah Swift

  ‘Come to help?’ she asked. ‘Thought you’d got lost. Is Mother alright?’ She did not look at my reply, as if she did not want to hear it.

  ‘Sit a moment,’ I said, placing a hand on her arm.

  She looked up at me. ‘Did you actually see it happen? Father, I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did we win? Is the young King …?’

  ‘No. He’s alive. Fled into hiding. But Cromwell’s victorious. Father’s life, well perhaps it was not lost in vain. He died fighting for his cause.’

  She stood up again, went to the table. Chop, chop, chop. Her hand flashed up and down with the knife, shredding the leeks into tiny slivers. My heart contracted for her. She would not let herself cry. I went to the cellar and squeezed a few drops of wine from the almost empty cask, put the cup on the table before her.

  ‘I don’t need it,’ she said, screwing up her nose. ‘It’s you should be drinking it, not me. You’ve been to war, seen it happen. I’ve done nothing, just wait.’ She smiled a wan smile. ‘Though that was hard enough. But I can’t believe he’s gone. Can’t make sense of it, what it means. And I’ve got to get this potage finished.’ Her words sounded sharp like the chopping.

  I sat a while, watching her, until a sob made her shoulders heave. Hurriedly she untied her apron. ‘Done,’ she announced in a shaky voice. ‘I’ll just get some air.’ She blundered outside, eyes full of tears.

  I watched her from the window, hurrying, stumbling across the field, her skirts snagging on the stubble, not knowing where to run to ease the pain, and I sighed, my heart aching for her.

  *

  Afterwards I went to fetch Cutch from the stables and we made a start on planting my father’s plot. We made good headway, and whilst we dug and tore up weeds I saw it would not take much hard labour to turn around the whole estate, make it productive.

  ‘If we rotated the peas with the turnip crop, and took the bottom meadow for the herd, instead of for hay, that would double our yield in one year. The place needs properly managing, with men who have a real stake in the harvest.’

  Cutch wiped his damp forehead with his sleeve, lifted his hat and wafted air over his face. ‘Isn’t that what Downall’s doing? Come on Ralph, leave well alone.’

  ‘He wants control over the price of the corn. It makes me uneasy.’

  ‘Let him get on with it, I say. Haven’t we enough to do with all this?’ he groaned, waving his hand at the hard ground in front of us.

  ‘The estate’s had too many men with no proper plan. Grice was worse than useless, and Downall’s just after turning a quick profit. It needs a younger man, with new ideas. Now’s our chance, Cutch, to change the old order. I could turn it around, work it on the Diggers’ principles.’

  He sighed, leant on his hoe. ‘You want my advice? Keep to your own business, Ralph, and leave Downall to his. No good will come of interfering.’

  ‘I’m sure Kate would let me try. Divide the land so all who work on it get a share.’

  But Cutch had walked away and was scraping at a patch of bramble with his hoe. I eyed his back with frustration. Why wouldn’t he listen?

  I carried on without talking until the mid-day sun got too warm for us and we went to seek some respite in the shade of the yard. Abigail still had not returned, and I presumed she had gone to see Mother, but Kate was bent over the pan of potage. She poured us some small beer from the jug and we emptied it down our dusty throats in one long draught.

  A few moments later, Downall stuck his head round the door. He did not knock. ‘Have you a large trestle? It would be better for us to eat outside in the air.’

  Kate replied there was one in the buttery and I heard the scrape as they brought it out.

  When I followed her out as she carried the big pot wrapped in a sack-cloth to keep her hands from burning, it was to see the workers all sitting ready, with their own bowls, spoons and knives laid out before them. One glance was enough to see they were using pews dragged from the Manor Chapel without Kate’s permission. Outraged, I opened my mouth to protest, but I clamped it shut. I did not want more trouble, for Kate’s sake. Instead I aimed at a mild, ‘I’ll help to take the benches back to the Chapel afterwards.’

  Downall and his men ignored Cutch and I, and simply watched as the pot was put on the table.

  ‘Is there no bread?’ John Soper asked.

  ‘No. Not unless you bake it yourself,’ I growled, unable to conceal my irritation.

  ‘A meal’s not a meal with no bread,’ he sulked.

  Downall gave Soper a warning look. ‘There’ll be bread once we’ve got the corn in, isn’t that right, Mistress?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Kate said. ‘We’ll have to see what happens when my husband returns.’

  ‘If he returns.’ Downall raised his eyebrows, guffawed. The rest of the workers all joined in his laughter but it was not a pleasant sound.

  Kate stalked away with her head held high, but her face burning. I hurried after her, knowing the previous overseer, Grice, had sapped her confidence. The Kate I used to know would have given them their marching orders. This Kate was cowed by them. It made me ache, beneath the ribs. I’d seen there had been no place left for her at the table, and nobody had moved aside to give her room.

  ‘Don’t go back outside,’ Kate said, once we were back in the kitchen. ‘Stay here, Ralph. We can eat in here, away from their eyes.’

  ‘They insult you. I can’t let them do that.’

  ‘No, please, don’t make more trouble. My position here is uncertain, and they know it. Their work will be done soon enough. Let’s keep the peace a few more days, for Abigail’s sake.’

  I looked about the kitchen, but there was no food left. Lady Katherine Fanshawe would be eating oatcakes again, despite the fact it was she who had laboured hard over the pot.

  The murmur of low conspiratorial voices snaked through the open door, but when Cutch went out to fetch the leftovers, the noise ceased abruptly, and the silence was thick as a grave slab. There was a bristle in the air that made me uneasy.

  Back in the kitchen I lifted the lid of the pot to see it was scraped clean.

  *

  The next day Downall and his men were back as if they were lords and masters, not mere farmhands. When I went up to the house at mid-day to refill our flagons, I caught Abigail scouring the whey pans in the buttery. She looked even paler than usual in her old black mourning dress that was too small for her. I wore no black. It was a matter of principle, I told myself. Though a tinge of guilt remained.

  I helped Abigail lift the heavy pans back onto the stone table. ‘I’m worried about Downall,’ I said.

  Abigail raised her eyebrows, ‘Why? He’s getting the harvest in. I passed the stables, and he’s fed Pepper and Titan and the yard’s been swept.’

  ‘No, Cutch did that. He’s good with horses. Something doesn’t feel right with Downall.’

  You’re just nervous because of … because of what happened before when the Roundhead army came. And father’s death, well I suppose it brings it all back.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that. He laughed at Kate, they pay her no respect —’

  ‘The old order’s crumbling.’ She looked up at me, her face grave, her eyes dark. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted? You can’t set her above us one minute and then expect her to be the same as us the next. I hate to admit it, but Grice was right last year when he said Kate will lose her lands. And perhaps Downall knows it.’

  ‘It might not come to that.’

  ‘Well what would you suggest? Mr Know-all? We leave good grain to rot?’

  ‘Downall and his rabble are sitting on the land like vultures,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘But it’s good news, for you surely? Kate’s husband and uncle will stay in exile. Just be patient a while longer, Ralph.’

  I knew she was right, but having Downall on the estate was a thorn in my side.

  ‘I’ve arranged to meet up with the Digger community,’ I said casua
lly.

  She dropped her scrubbing brush with a clatter. ‘Oh Ralph, not again! I’m not sure —’

  ‘I thought it would be good to put our heads together again, figure out ways to go ahead, now things have changed. It’s time for our ideas to take root.’

  ‘It’s too soon. Things will need to settle, and well, we’re still in mourning.’

  ‘The meeting’s Thursday. In the old barn where we used to meet. I’ve thought it all out — where the circle of dwellings could go, in the place nearest the river. We could have a real community here — be an example to other landowners of how things could be. As Winstanley said, the land is our common treasury, and we could start right here at Markyate Manor.’

  ‘And what does Kate say to these plans?’

  ‘She’s the most convinced of us all, you know that. You’ll come, won’t you?’

  Abigail pursed her lips and picked up her brush, scrubbed at the pan as if it was personally insulting her.

  A few moments later she turned, ‘If you spent half as much time doing things as dreaming about them, then we wouldn’t need to employ men like Downall.’

  I said nothing, but her remark stung. I shot out of there and grabbed hold of my spade. I’d show her. For the next half hour I attacked the ground until I’d dug a quarter of an acre over, and my shirt clung clammily to my back.

  ‘What’s with you?’ Cutch asked when I finally stopped.

  ‘Nothing. And that wheel you fixed on the wagon? It’s useless. It’s broken again.’

  Cutch’s face dropped. ‘I guess I’m not as good at fixing things as I used to be,’ he said. ‘Guess I’m out of practice.’

  I stomped off up the drive. I’d go and talk to Kate, tell her about the meeting I’d set up, so we could forward our plans for building a Digger community. The war had only increased my determination not to go back to the old ways, and I knew Kate would feel the same. It was just a shame Abigail did not share our vision for the future.

  I found Kate in the front drawing room, arranging a bunch of wild meadowsweet and dog-roses in a vase. She turned when she saw me and her face lit up with a welcoming smile. By heaven, she was beautiful. I crossed the room in a few strides, my errand forgotten, and let her fold into my arms. I inhaled the musky scent of warm skin, turned her face to mine, stroked her cheek.

  ‘It is so good to have you home,’ she said, green eyes scanning my face. ‘I can’t quite believe it. The waiting was so hard. I have to keep looking out of the window to make sure you are really there.’

  Home. It felt nice to hear her say the word. Though it would feel more like home, once Downall had gone, and had stopped lording himself about the yard.

  ‘Now I’m back, we can reinstate our Diggers meetings,’ I said.

  She pulled away, rearranged one of the blooms. ‘Mother used to always have roses here, near the window. Shame we only have this old table now, and this jug. But putting them here reminds me of her … of how grand it used to be.’

  ‘Kate, I was thinking, it’s not too late to try again with the Diggers community. We could use the land — transform this place. Own everything in common, like we said we would. Your husband’s in exile, perhaps for many years. He won’t see what we do.’

  She tugged a rose into position in the vase. ‘It’s complicated. Nothing we do here can be secret; there are eyes and ears everywhere. Word is sure to get back to him, and there are just too many questions. Like, what will happen to the tenants of Markyate Manor?’

  I hadn’t thought of that. It was a moment before I replied. ‘They can join with us in our community.’

  ‘Some may not wish to. Your mother for instance. I can’t see her joining the Diggers, can you?’

  Kate went to lean on the windowsill, looking out into the garden. She was right about my mother, but I wouldn’t admit it.

  ‘I’ll persuade her,’ I said. ‘She’ll see it’s the way forward, she just needs it explaining.’ I put my arms around Kate’s waist, rested my chin on her head, twined my hand in hers.

  She stiffened. ‘You know it’s not that easy.’

  I turned her to look at me, but her eyes evaded mine.

  It was as if a sliver of ice had suddenly lodged itself in my heart. ‘What are you saying, Kate? How can we go on, unless we build a life together?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice was small, and lines of anguish furrowed her forehead. ‘I keep seeing my mother’s face, how determined she was to keep the Manor. It was her inheritance, in her family for generations, and I saw the pain she went through to keep he estate intact for me. I can’t just throw it away.’

  ‘But a few months ago you were prepared to give it all up and lead a Digger’s life.’

  ‘That was then. But we have to face it; the Diggers have failed,’ she said. ‘Their communities have been razed everywhere they go. Their ideals can’t be sustained. Whilst you were away I talked it over with Jacob.’

  ‘With Jacob?’ I was stunned.

  She pressed on. ‘About what sort of England we want, now the royals are routed and we have a chance to change things. We agreed, it’s pure folly to think a whole society can live without money, with only barter. And Jacob says Winstanley’s views on women’s equality — well, Lord knows we need it — but it’s too much, too soon. Even Winstanley has had to let it go.’

  I could hardly bear to look at her. ‘But I thought you were … you said you believed in it as I did. Are you telling me it was all a lie?’

  ‘Of course not. I thought I believed it, of course I did, it’s just —’

  ‘You said you’d stand by the Diggers creed. That you’d stand beside me on this, as long as we could be together.’

  ‘And I would! But where could we go? Your father was my tenant. You’ve nothing to inherit, no land —’

  ‘But you have. Look at it! There’s no reason why the Diggers ideals should not work here.’

  ‘No. It’s too dangerous. My husband and stepfather would kill you if they knew you were even talking to me this way. Think! Think of your family, Ralph.’ She grasped both my hands, looked up at me with earnest entreaty. ‘If I’m careful, don’t do anything rash, I can stay here; you can still farm your father’s land, and that way I can protect your family. Yours and many others. Your mother relies on me for her cottage, you rely on my for your employment, Abigail is my maidservant, she gets her livelihood from me. It is what common people never understand — that land-owning people like us have responsibilities.’

  It was as if she’d slapped me. Common people? Heat flared to my face, but I ignored it. I could barely get the words out. ‘I’m not good enough for you. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘No, of course not, I’m … Ralph! Wait!’

  But it was too late I was out of the door so fast I hardly heard her. I snatched up my sword and burst out into the yard. I was in time to see Downall loading up a cart with stooks of hay, but I ignored him. I was too angry to be able to speak.

  *

  That night I could not sleep. I tossed and turned until Cutch growled at me to keep quiet and let him get some rest. I’d been so sure Kate would agree. What would I tell Whistler and Barton and the others I’d called to the meeting? I’d look a fool. It was all Jacob’s fault, he’d talked her out of the idea. I’d have to go and see him; see where all this had come from. He’d betrayed me. He was my best friend, and he’d betrayed me.

  Cutch rolled over, and his mouth opened in a snore. I prodded him with my boot, and obligingly he stopped. Suddenly I saw him through Mother’s eyes, a rough, unkempt mercenary. Everything she did not want me to be. And the worst of it was, I felt more useless than he was. If I couldn’t offer Kate a dream, then what could I offer her? Not land or money or skill or status. A view opened up in my mind’s eye. I was sowing my father’s strip of land, supervised by a smirking Downall. And from the stone terrace of the house, Sir Thomas and Lady Katherine Fanshawe watched me, arm in arm, as I toiled. />
  No! I leapt up, unable to stand the imaginings of my own mind. I hurried out into the dark, looked up at the pinpricks of stars, paced up and down the lane. I looked over to where the Manor House must be, but could see nothing, the world was a black hole.

  I would not give up. I would marshal my arguments until they were so convincing, Kate would not able to resist them. And I’d talk to Jacob. People were frightened of change, that was all. But I had been at Worcester, and knew that whatever the old way was, if it had led to that, then it was not worth saving. I started to plan my rhetoric, rehearsing my arguments over and over.

  8 - A DIGGER’S DREAMS

  Within a few days Cutch had made himself into the official ostler, dealing with horses, wagons and the sorting out of harnesses, so as to keep out of Downall’s way. Cutch and Abigail seemed to get along well, and I often saw him help her lift the heavy milk churns or carry her wash tub outside, with much gesturing of their hands, and smiling faces. So I left Cutch trying to mend Abigail’s broken yoke whilst I took my horse, Titan, to ride over to confront Jacob.

  When I got to Jacob’s small cottage I saw a fork stuck up in the earth where he’d been labouring over his vegetable patch, but he was inside, poring over some papers on the scrubbed oak table.

  ‘Ralph!’ He was obviously pleased to see me, and scraped the papers into a pile.

  ‘Busy?’ I asked, but my tone was terse.

  He lowered his eyebrows. ‘Just a few papers for my father. There’s so much more post coming now – instructions about what is and isn’t allowed, new laws, new regulations. You know how it is. And Father’s not as sharp as he was, needs things explaining sometimes.’

  I sat down and leant my elbows on the table. ‘Yes, I’ve come to talk to you about that.’

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Remember when we tried to build our Diggers community on the common?’

  He laughed. ‘Do I! And we had to run for our lives from Soper and all those men set on giving us a pasting!’

  ‘We weren’t for giving up, though, were we?’