Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part

by Margaret Brazear

  KNIGHT’S ACRE

  Book One

  Till Death Do Us Part

  By

  Margaret Brazear © March 2021

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or not is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work is to be copied or published without the prior written consent of the author, Margaret Brazear

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  https://www.margaret-brazear.com/newsletter-landing-page

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Jessica’s Hopes

  The New Estate Manager

  The Engagement

  Simon’s Confession

  The Farewell Letter

  Magpie House

  The Truth is Revealed

  The Banns Are Read

  Embarrassments Abound

  The Trip to London

  The Twin

  Karma

  KNIGHT’S ACRE

  Knight’s Acre was a village in the English county of Suffolk, not far from the famous racing town of Newmarket. Built on the land given to Sir Charles de Longueville in the twelfth century by King Richard I, also known as the Lionheart for his bravery and military genius.

  Sir Charles returned from the third crusade, having looted as much as he could from the Infidel, but he needed somewhere to build his castle. For his services, the King had given him the hill along with the acre of land below it. This was an ideal place for Sir Charles to build his castle; he could look down over the peasants below and feel his eminence.

  It was not a very big castle, but it suited Sir Charles and made him feel of great consequence.

  On his acre, Sir Charles had built a village, a street of small houses to accommodate the staff who worked in the castle. Over the years, Sir Charles had managed to buy adjoining lands and he had built more homes for his tenants. He had also commissioned a statue of himself on horseback, to stand outside his castle and remind people of how much he had achieved.

  Over many centuries, the village had grown and now sat on a crossroads, with the High Street and its original, medieval cottages leading up Castle Hill and the Castle itself. Crossing those streets was Church Lane, where the thirteenth century church still stood. At the other end of Church Lane were a few shops, selling groceries and meat.

  The town still kept the name of Knight’s Acre. The original houses had been renovated and rebuilt several times and all that remained of the original castle were a few foundation stones, one tower and the statue of Sir Charles de Longueville, proudly declaring that knight’s consequence.

  In the fifteenth century, the first Tudor King, Henry VII, had given the then de Longueville an earldom. Every successor since had been known as the Earl of Harrisford and now, beside the remaining castle tower, was a mansion of many rooms. Outside, the Earl who built the mansion had kept the façade of a castle.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jessica’s Hopes

  It was early spring 1898, and at number one, High Street, lived Jessica Milligan with her parents, Amelia and Jack Milligan. Jack was one of the tenant farmers and his cottage was tied to the position. The arrangement suited him well and he assumed it suited his wife as well, although he had never bothered to ask. He went out to work each day, brought home the money, and Amelia tended to the house, the laundry, the cooking and, when Jessica was little, the child.

  He just assumed everyone was happy, but Jessica was so tired. It would be her birthday tomorrow and she would reach the age of twenty-two without having even been kissed. All her life, she had dreamed of a nice young man, not wealthy or anything, just nice and loyal. He would come and sweep her off her feet, ask her to marry him and they would live happily ever after.

  But with every birthday the possibility grew more remote. Cecily Eames, at number four was going to university, to the women’s college in Cambridge and after that, she was going to apply to the London School of Medicine for Women. She was going to be a doctor! A real doctor!

  That had given Jessica the idea that she might also find something else to do besides helping her mother around the house.

  Not that she wanted to join Cecily at Girton; that seemed far too much brain work to Jessica, but she had thought about being a governess perhaps. She wanted to do something where she could earn her own money and not have to ask her father for every little thing she needed. It seemed all wrong at her age and it wasn’t as though she didn’t work for it. She wanted to be somewhere where she might meet new people, might even come across that man who would sweep her off her feet.

  After Christmas she had talked to her mother about it. Amelia hadn’t said much in reply, had seemed to think Jessica had no skills with which to earn a living, but she had listened carefully before saying she thought Jessica would be better off staying put.

  Then Amelia fell ill and took to her bed; Jessica found herself not only nursing her, but taking over all the household tasks as well. She was cooking, cleaning, washing and ironing. If she had known Amelia was never going to get out of bed again, she might have escaped then and she would certainly have voiced her suspicion that her mother had done it on purpose, to keep Jessica at home with her and her father. But she had no proof of that and she dared tell no one without that proof.

  She got on well enough with both her parents, but she couldn’t have said she loved them and Jack was very much in charge of his own household. He had a tendency to violence if crossed and Jessica trod carefully when dealing with him.

  Amelia had fallen ill with a bad cold just after the new year and although the cold seemed to have gone, she made no move to get up and dress. Jessica had no time to herself at all now. That morning, as soon as the front door closed after Jack, the familiar banging on the bedroom floor made her sigh heavily.

  She poured the tea, amid more hammering on the upstairs floor, so hard as to make the plaster flake off from the kitchen ceiling and land in Jessica’s hair.

  She climbed the stairs wearily. She’d had little sleep the night before; twice her mother had banged on the wall that separated her room from Jessica’s, twice she had demanded help to get to the chamber pot.

  Jack had taken to sleeping downstairs, stretched out on an old mattress on the floor. He couldn’t have his sleep disturbed. He had a day’s work to do. What he thought Jessica did all day, she couldn’t guess. He always left the mattress and bedding there when he left for work, left it there for Jessica to pick up and put away.

  It seemed she had only just got back to sleep when Amelia was calling for her again and now, as she carried the cup of tea upstairs, her hand began to shake and the cup rattled. Steadying it with her other hand, she had no way to steady herself and almost tripped on her long skirt.

  She was exhausted and angry. It was too much of a coincidence that Amelia had become so ill just when Jessica was talking about leaving home and finding useful employment. And yesterday in the newspaper she had borrowed from Cecily, she had read about a suffrage movement, an organisation trying to get women the vote.

  Cecily had shown it to her. She was all excited about it, so Jessica took the time to read it. She would be the first to admit that Cecily was far more intellectual and intelligent that Jessica, but she never looked down on her peers because of it.

  “Why do we want to vote?” said Jessica, feeling stupid for asking. “I mean, why is it important?”

  “Jess,” said Cecily. “I am going to be a doctor. I am going to treat people who are ill, prescribe them drugs, save their lives and I might even go in for surgery. I can do all that, but men think I’m not intelligent enough to decide who I want to run the country? Does that seem right to you?”

  Jessica smiled at the memory. Cecil
y got so worked up about these things, about women’s rights, she infected Jessica and now she was angry that she had ever mentioned to her mother that she wanted to get outside employment.

  By the time she reached her mother’s bedroom, the resentment had grown and she put the cup and saucer down on the bedside table with less than gentleness.

  “I can’t keep coming up and down the stairs, Mother,” she said. “I’ve got the copper to heat up and all the bedclothes to wash today and I need to get them out before it rains.”

  Amelia moved her eyes to glance at the window.

  “Don’t look like rain to me,” she said. “Anyway, you can always hang them round the fire.”

  Jessica was already perspiring from the morning’s chores; it was always warm in the little cottage and this was a warm day, typical of early spring. It might rain though; it often did, just when it seemed like it was going to be clear.

  “Too hot for a fire,” said Jessica. “Anyway, there’s never enough room.”

  Amelia grunted as she struggled to a sitting position and fluttered her fingers toward the cup as a signal for Jessica to hand it to her.

  She had put on weight. Amelia had never been a slim woman, always carried more pounds than she ought, but since she hadn’t moved out of the bed for two months, yet still kept shovelling in the food, the fat had piled on. That was why she was having so much trouble sitting up, not because she was weak from illness.

  “Why don’t you try getting up today, Mother?” suggested Jessica. “You’ll feel better if get washed and dressed.”

  “Can’t you see how ill I am?” shouted Amelia.

  No, actually, thought Jessica. No, I can’t see that at all.

  “Well, you’ll have to give me a chance to get the washing done. I can’t be up here again till dinner time.”

  Amelia grunted.

  “Ungrateful, that’s what you are, my girl,” she said. “I wish I hadn’t got rid of that other one now; I might have had one who would look after me properly.”

  Jessica could only stare. What on earth is she talking about?

  She stood for a moment, hoping for some sort of explanation, but her hopes went unfulfilled.

  “What do you mean by that?” she demanded at last. “What other one?”

  Amelia’s mouth turned down.

  “Never mind,” she mumbled.

  “No,” said Jessica. “You meant something by that. What other one? And what did you do?”

  Amelia drained her cup, then raised her eyes and met those of her daughter.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “You’re imagining things now, girl. You’ve got no right to be moaning; you should think yourself lucky you’ve got parents to care for. Lots of children don’t have that, you know.”

  Jessica took the cup and turned away. She knew her mother, knew she would get no answer out of her. She had made a mistake, had voiced her thoughts and now she wanted to wriggle out of it. But Jessica could not stop thinking about her mother’s words and she knew she would have to talk to someone about them.

  When she took up her mother’s midday meal, she slipped some laudanum into her cup of tea and went off to visit Catherine, her best friend next door at number two.

  Catherine came to the door as soon as she heard the knock. It had been a month since she’d seen Jessica out and about.

  “Come in,” she said. “Have some tea. How is your mother?”

  “Just the same,” said Jessica.

  She sank into an armchair without being asked and looked up when Catherine’s mother appeared at the kitchen door, a cup and saucer in her hand. Mary Simmons was a bit of a snob in the village, always thought she should be doing better for herself than the wife of a tenant farmer. But she was nice enough to Catherine’s friend.

  “Poor old soul,” Mary said. “She’s been bedridden for what, two months? It must be serious.”

  Jessica hoped she would go back to the kitchen, but she took the tea cup gratefully enough.

  “The doctor thinks she might have a lump,” said Jessica. “But she won’t let him examine her properly.”

  “Why not?” said Catherine.

  “She says it’s too familiar.”

  “But he’s a doctor,” said Mary Simmons. “He might have a cure.”

  “I think that’s what she’s afraid of,” mumbled Jessica under breath.

  Catherine heard her, but her mother was too far away, thankfully. The exchange was followed by an awkward silence which lasted a few minutes before Mary spoke up.

  “I’ll let you two girls natter, then,” she said and she made her way back to the kitchen. Catherine got up and closed the door.

  “You look dreadful,” she said.

  “Thanks. I know where to come for compliments.”

  “But you do,” said Catherine. “You need some help. You can’t do it all by yourself.”

  “What help is there?” said Jessica. She gave a deep sigh. “Do you know what I found out?” she went on. Catherine shook her head. “I found out that she was pregnant after me.”

  “Your mother?” Catherine asked. Jessica nodded. “What happened to the baby? Did she lose it?”

  “She got rid of it,” said Jessica.

  Catherine was puzzled. She didn’t know much about pregnancy or about married matters; she wasn’t supposed to, not till she was wed herself. But she couldn’t fathom how one would go about stopping a baby once it had got started.

  “I don’t understand,” said Catherine.

  “And you shouldn’t understand, either,” came the angry voice of Mary Simmons. The two girls turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her mouth turned down, her hands on her hips, and a look of sheer fury in her dark eyes. “This is not the sort of talk unmarried girls should be having.”

  “Cecily Eames is going to be a doctor,” said Catherine. “She’ll not be getting married first.”

  “Don’t be so saucy, you,” said Mary. “The very idea of a woman being a doctor! I can’t bear to think of the things she’ll be seeing that no unmarried girl should even know about. She should be thinking about a husband and family, and so should you. You know the Earl is looking for a housekeeper. I told you to apply.”

  “The Earl! The Earl!” said Catherine. “That’s all I hear about.” She lifted her head and sniffed. “Can I smell burning?”

  Mary turned and hurried back to the kitchen, while Catherine grinned mischievously at her friend.

  “Well,” she said. “What about this baby?”

  “I don’t know what she did to get rid of it, but do you know what she said? When I complained about having to climb the stairs for the umpteenth time, she said she wished she hadn’t got rid of that other one now. She might have had one who was good at looking after her.”

  Catherine caught her breath.

  “That’s awful. What a thing to say. Did she say anything else?”

  “Not really. I asked her what she meant, what other one, and she denied she’d ever said anything, said I was imagining things.”

  “She didn’t say how she’d got rid of it?” Catherine’s voice had dropped to a whisper, while Jessica shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “But I think she suddenly realised who she was talking to.”

  Catherine could only stare at her in disbelief, but after a few minutes she thought she ought to say something.

  “After everything you’ve done for her, as well.”

  “Oh yes, that’s another thing. Apparently, it’s a privilege to give up my life for my parents; that’s what I’m here for.”

  “She must be really ill,” said Catherine. “Surely, she’s getting senile to talk like that.”

  Jessica made no reply. She’d heard the creaking of the floorboard just outside the kitchen door and thought it best to keep quiet around Mrs Simmons. She was a nice enough woman but didn’t know how to keep anything to herself.

  A change of subject was what was needed.

&nbs
p; “The Earl’s advertising for a new estate manager,” she said. “I saw an out of date copy of the Country Life magazine in the pub when I was getting Father’s beer.”

  “Oh, the Earl again,” said Catherine irritably. “That’s all my mother goes on about.”

  Mary was listening again and now the kitchen door opened wider.

  “He’d make you a fine husband,” she said. “He’s up there, all alone.”

  “And what makes you think he’d be interested in the daughter of one of his tenants?” demanded Catherine. “He’ll marry some fine lady, someone who’ll know how to run that great house of his.”

  “Well where is she then?” said Mary. “He’s not getting any younger, is he? If you took more of an interest, he’d likely fall for you.”

  “And go against convention?”

  “Why not? I’m sure it’s been done before. In fact, I know it has. His great grandfather married the housekeeper. If you applied for the job, like I told you to, you’d get your foot in the door.”

  “Perhaps it has been done before,” said Catherine. “But I love Michael. You know that.”

  Mary put her fists firmly on her hips.

  “Him!” she scoffed. “Your father’ll never let you marry that scoundrel and you know it. He’s a bad lot, always has been, always will be.”

  “I care nothing for what he was. I love him and I am going to marry him. I’ll wait till I’m twenty-one, then I can marry whoever I want, whether you like it or not.”

  Jessica kept quiet. She was always astounded and somewhat enlightened by the way Catherine spoke to her parents. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and Jessica just couldn’t see her allowing them to tell her how to live.

  “The Earl …” Mary began.