Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part

by Margaret Brazear

“To hell with the Earl!” shouted Catherine. “I don’t know where you get the idea there could ever be anything between him and me. Dad’s a farm labourer, for God’s sake!”

  “Don’t you take the name of the Lord in vain,” said Mary. “You’ll go straight to hell, you will.”

  “Supposing there is no hell?”

  Jessica got to her feet, trying not to laugh. This visit had certainly cheered her up.

  “I had better go,” she said.

  “Probably best,” said Catherine. “Sorry for all this.” She hugged her friend, whispered in her ear. “Keep my secret,” she said. “Michael asked me to marry him. We’re engaged.”

  “Oh, Catherine,” said Jessica, squeezing her hands. “I am so pleased for you. Can I be bridesmaid?”

  “Of course you can. But please; nobody knows and nobody needs to know. My father would probably ship me off to Botany Bay if he knew.”

  “It’s not a crime to be in love,” said Jessica. “I wish I could find someone to love me.”

  “You will.”

  “Not if I have to spend my life waiting on those two. I swear, if I ever have children, I’ll not be expecting them to waste their lives on me.”

  Mary was standing still, trying her hardest to hear what was being whispered. Catherine said nothing, only hugged Jessica again. What was there to say, after all? Jessica’s parents weren’t ancient; they could both live for many more years yet. She felt suddenly guilty for sharing her secret, perhaps making her friend feel even worse.

  “I know,” she said suddenly. “Jessica, why don’t you apply for the Earl’s housekeeping job?”

  “Is cooking and scrubbing for him any different?”

  “Of course it is. You wouldn’t be doing any of the work yourself, only supervising servants. Besides you’d get paid for it.”

  “I don’t understand why he’s looking for servants at all,” said Jessica. “He’s never had live in servants at the Castle; that’s why people say he’s got something to hide.”

  “Perhaps he’s mellowed,” said Catherine. “It’s worth a try.”

  “But is it live in?” asked Jessica. “I can see what would happen. I’d spend all day up there, then come home and they’d still expect me to run round after them.”

  ***

  On Jessica’s return home, the familiar loud banging on the bedroom floor was the first thing she heard. And that pseudo feeble voice.

  “Jessica,” it cried. “Jessica, where are you? I need the chamber pot.”

  Well bloody well get it, then.

  Jessica climbed the stairs again. She had lost count of how many times she had climbed these stairs in that one day, but she decided there and then that it wouldn’t be for much longer.

  She didn’t call out that she was coming; she knew her mother could hear the creaking stairs, but still she persisted in shouting Jessica’s name. She wondered how much effort it would be to change that name; she used to like it, but it had been spoilt for her now.

  She opened the bedroom door just far enough to show herself.

  “Where have you been?” demanded her mother. “I’ve been needing you this past ten minutes.”

  “Can I not have half an hour to myself?” said Jessica.

  “You wash your mouth out, young lady. Don’t you speak to your mother like that. Honour thy father and they mother; that’s what the commandments say.”

  Moses didn’t know about you, did he?

  Jessica went to the bed and helped lift her mother to a sitting position, then sat her on the side while she pulled the pot out from under the bed. Her mouth formed a distasteful grimace; she had cleaned the thing only that morning, but it was so old and cracked it was impossible to rid it of the smell.

  Holding Amelia’s arm, she turned away then felt the movement as she toppled. Jessica turned to see her mother scrambling to her feet. That just proved what she had suspected all along; there was nothing at all wrong with the woman.

  “I’m getting that doctor back,” she said sharply.

  Her nose shrivelled as she saw the river of yellow running along the floorboards. There was only one person who would have to clear that up.

  “We can’t afford no doctor!” shouted Amelia. “We still haven’t paid him for his last useless visit.”

  So I was right then; there is nothing wrong with you.

  “Well, something needs doing, Mother,” said Jessica. “I can’t keep running up and down the stairs after you and look after the old man.”

  “Don’t refer to your father as ‘the old man’,” snapped Amelia. “That’s disrespectful.”

  “Respect needs to be earned.”

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve such an ungrateful child.”

  Once back in bed, Amelia turned over to face the wall and pulled the covers up over her shoulders, while her daughter stood and stared hatefully, first at the mess on the floor, then at her mother. Amelia reckoned she was ill, but Jessica could see nothing wrong with her; she didn’t even have a cough. She had recovered from her cold weeks ago and if Jessica let her, she’d never get up again.

  She waited to see if Amelia would turn back, want something else, then she looked at the wet stream making its way into the cracks in the floorboards. She turned away and left the room, got to the bottom stair before the voice was heard once more from upstairs.

  “Jessica! I need you.”

  Jessica knew that Amelia had deliberately waited until she was downstairs. There was a time when she would have felt it her duty to care for her mother, but no more. Now she only thought about getting away.

  The laudanum she’d put in her tea before she went out had only been a pinch; she’d make it a higher dose next time.

  She’d had no real sleep for weeks. Two or three times a night Amelia would be hammering on the bedroom wall with her stick, waking her up. Before Jack had moved himself downstairs at night, Jessica she had gone into her parents’ room to see her father snoring loudly and wondered why he couldn’t get up and do whatever it was she wanted. But Amelia wouldn’t ask him; he was the man. He worked and needed his rest. Well Jessica worked as well, worked like a slave with no thanks and no pay.

  And she’d had enough.

  That night she mixed a large dose of laudanum into Amelia’s cocoa. She had only wanted her to sleep through the night, but it turned out to be a more permanent solution.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The New Estate Manager

  The villagers had all been very supportive, had sent notes of condolence and even brought round meals ready cooked for Jessica to simply put in the oven and heat up.

  She was touched by the concern, but she was a cynical soul and truly believed they did these things because it made them feel better and because it was expected. Jessica had never in her life seen Amelia having any sort of conversation with the other villagers. She never said more than a swift good morning to any of them and Jessica thought it unlikely that a single one of them would miss her.

  Catherine was especially good. She had even come and helped her clean up her parents’ bedroom and take her clothes to the Salvation Army to be given to any poor soul who was worse off than them.

  They all came out for the funeral, except Mrs Langley, up at Church Cottage in Church Lane. Mrs Langley never left the house and nobody expected her to make an exception for Amelia Milligan. Her daughter, Susan, was there, though. She was the one who did all the shopping and errands for her mother so she was a familiar figure about the village.

  Michael was there as well, much to the disgust of Catherine’s parents. Mary Simmons still hoped her daughter might charm the Earl, but Catherine walked behind the others, her arm through Michael’s, while the Simmonses scowled at the pair of them. They were too concerned with appearances to challenge the couple at a funeral, but Catherine would be in for a lecture later on, that was for certain.

  Even the Earl had sent flowers, which Jessica thought very good of him. She supposed one of his tenants had told him a
bout it, but she never expected him to acknowledge it, much less pay his respects.

  Jessica was shocked to discover that she was expected to wear mourning black for months. She had hoped it would only be for the funeral, but when she appeared the following day wearing a flowered summer frock and no corset, her father was furious.

  “Get inside and change into black!” he screamed. She was sure all the neighbours had heard him. “Your mother has just gone and you’re running about in flowers and where’s your corset?”

  “It’s hot, Dad,” she said. “I can’t do all the washing and the spring cleaning wearing a corset or that awful black.”

  “Spring cleaning?” he said with a frown. “What are you talking about?”

  Jessica could only look astonished; it took a while to sink in. He would know nothing about spring cleaning, would he? A vivid image flashed into her mind, an image of her mother scrubbing and cleaning the entire cottage. She started as soon as Jack had left for the fields and she’d have it all done and spick and span before he got home. What she couldn’t find a memory of was any acknowledgement from her father of all that work.

  Amelia would be almost falling asleep at the table as they ate dinner, and he hadn’t even noticed.

  “During the winter,” she began patiently, “the smoke from the coal fires seeps into the walls and the carpets, the curtains and even in the cupboards. They all have to be scrubbed out. Mother used to do that in one day and you never even noticed, did you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, if she could do it, so can you.”

  Jessica gave a heavy sigh.

  “The only black dress I have is the one I wore for the funeral.”

  “Then dye the others; that’s what other women do.”

  With that, he shoved his arms into his jacket, picked up the lunch box that Jessica had prepared for him, and left for work.

  She looked around, wondering where to start. Clearing the table, she felt the tears brimming and blinked them away. Was this what she was put here for? To clear up after them, to never think about a life of her own?

  Her mother’s words came back to haunt her, about that other child who never made it into the world. At least, she hoped that was what happened. Amelia said she had got rid of it, she didn’t say how or when.

  Jessica shuddered, told herself firmly that her mother wouldn’t have murdered a living child; but she couldn’t quite believe it, not knowing how she had been treated these last weeks.

  Amelia obviously thought she’d had children solely to look after her and so did Jack. And Lincoln thought he’d put an end to slavery.

  Jessica had no intention of wearing herself out cleaning the cottage. She cast her eyes over the walls, the windows, curtains and decided they would keep until next year, or even forever.

  She filled a pan from the communal pump at the bottom of the road, then heated it up on the stove, ready to wash up the breakfast crockery. Having done all that and soaked the front of her dress, she went upstairs to change into something dry, something that wasn’t black.

  Jessica had not had time since the funeral to see how Catherine was doing, hear about the repercussions from walking arm in arm with Michael at the funeral, and this seemed like as good a time as any. As she approached the door of her friend’s home, she heard Mary Simmons’ voice, raised in anger.

  “I’ve told you before, young lady,” she yelled. “That boy is no good. He’s been in prison you know.”

  “That was years ago, Mother,” replied Catherine. “And it wasn’t prison. It was borstal, for boys, not grown men.”

  “Leopards don’t change their spots.”

  “Good thing I don’t want to marry a leopard then,” said Catherine.

  That was when Jessica heard a slap, followed by a scream. She peered through the tiny window to see Catherine holding her hand to her face. It seemed that her mother had slapped her; Jessica shivered. She’d never seen that before.

  Turning back to her own front door, she noticed a hansom cab going up the hill toward the castle. Sitting inside, she caught a glimpse of a good looking young man, with dark hair and wearing a smart top hat. Probably someone about the estate manager’s job, she thought. He was the first she’d seen come about the vacancy so he’d probably get the job; then he’d bring his family with him. He probably had a wife, good looking bloke like that, and kids as well. Something I’ll never have if the old man has his way!

  Back inside number one, she heated up the flat irons and began to tackle the ironing. It should really be done as soon as it came in off the line, but with the funeral and everything, she hadn’t had time. Now it would need damping down or she’d never get the creases out.

  God! I’m twenty two years old and my main concern is getting creases out of my father’s shirts!

  The ironing took most of the day and after a quick cup of tea, she checked the stew she had set on the stove earlier. It seemed done just right, just in time for her father to come in from work.

  He took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, then sat himself down in front of his plate and began poking at the meal with his fork.

  “What d’ya call this?” he demanded.

  “I call it stew,” she said. “Vegetable stew.”

  He shoved it away.

  “That’s no good. Where’s the meat?”

  “There’s no money for meat,” replied Jessica. “Not till you get paid.”

  “Well, it’s not good enough. You know how the shotgun works. You could have shot a rabbit at least.”

  Jessica wrinkled her nose in disgust. The very idea of her killing some innocent rabbit was bizarre but the suggestion made her wonder if her mother had ever done such a thing. Still, if she had killed her unborn child, a rabbit was likely no hardship.

  She wanted to tell her father to eat it or go without, but she didn’t quite dare.

  It was two months after her mother’s funeral that Jessica met that nice young man she had been dreaming about.

  ***

  The early morning September chill was in the air that morning. The village and the newer buildings beyond were mere outlines in the mist and Knight’s Castle showed as nothing more than a grey shadow.

  It would brighten up before noon, even turn quite warm, so Jessica put on a clean, lightweight dress. It was tight across her waist without a corset, but she looked at that particular undergarment when she changed after breakfast, and decided against it. She was a slim girl, almost skinny, and did not fancy being sticky and sweaty when the sun broke through.

  She had styled her dark auburn hair carefully, piled some of it in curls on top of her head, so that it didn’t fall in her eyes. The rest hung down to her waist and the green in the dress brought out the colour in her unusual green eyes.

  A crochet shawl in cream wrapped around her shoulders, she decided to go for a walk and made her way towards the Castle. The Earl never minded people walking in his grounds, even with their dogs as long as they cleared up after them. He was generous that way, not like a posh bloke at all. Always friendly as well, if he happened to see people walking about. He always had a smile and a nod for everyone, always remembered their names too.

  That’s when she saw him, coming out of the mist, that same man she had seen arriving in a hansom. He wore the same clothing, a top hat, a long jacket with the velvet collar.

  He lifted that hat when he saw Jessica and gave her an appealing smile.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “If that’s in order. I know nobody here and I really would like some help, getting to know the lay of the land.”

  That was cheeky! To come up to her and introduce himself like that. But what else could he have done? The Earl wasn’t going to take him round and present him to people.

  “Jessica Milligan,” she said.

  “Well, Miss Milligan,” said the man. “My name is Simon Swinburne and I am the new estate manager for the Earl of Harrisford. I only started the job this week and His Lordshi
p has been kind enough to give me a cottage on the estate.” He turned back to the Castle, more visible now the mist was clearing. “It’s the big one beside the main gate. Why is that called a castle, by the way? I mean I can see where it’s been designed to resemble a castle, but I went inside for my interview and it’s just like an old mansion.”

  Jessica laughed. She had no idea why, but she wasn’t used to people who made her laugh. Catherine did, sometimes, but mostly she was battling her own parental pressure. And Jessica was secretly quite flattered that he had asked her the question, assumed she would have the knowledge.

  “There was a castle there originally,” she replied. “It was built by Charles de Longueville, the first owner, in the twelfth century, but over the years it fell into disrepair. Someone came along and built the house instead, but there are still some of the original castle ruins if you look. And the tower.” She pointed. “That’s still there.”

  “I see. And is he the magnificent fellow on his great warhorse outside the front door?”

  He was referring to the statue of Sir Charles that he’d had made to show the villagers how important he was.

  “He was,” said Jessica. “And I think the statue is all that’s left of the original building. Well, that and the one tower.”

  “And what of the present Earl?” said Simon. “Is he not married? He seems to live in that massive building all by himself. Even the servants don’t live in.”

  “No, they don’t. Most live in the new houses on the other side of the Castle. He only has them in occasionally, anyway, except one girl who cleans a couple of times a week.” She laughed self consciously. “I sometimes wonder if he’s had his heart broken.”

  “Perhaps he has.”

  “They do say the house is haunted,” said Jessica. “People say they’ve seen a woman, fair haired and dressed in the style of the Royalists of the civil war.”

  “Well, I’ll certainly keep an eye out for her,” said Simon. “Thank you for talking to me. I’ll not take up any more of your time. Perhaps we can talk again.”