Poor Law (The James Blakiston Series Book 2)

by R J Lynch

  And then it was over, for Tom came through the door, Louise turned and reached out towards him and a flustered Tom plucked his daughter from Blakiston’s arms.

  Blakiston smiled because he must, but his mind was in turmoil. Kate no doubt believed that the children she hoped to give him would be the first he had. He wished that that were true. Before he had left Hampshire to come here, before his father had lost what should have been his inheritance, when he was but twenty years old, Blakiston had fathered a child on a young woman and failed to honour his obligation to make an honest woman of her. The rector knew this story because it had come out when Blakiston was investigating the murder of Reuben Cooper, but Kate did not. A voice inside his head said that it was long ago, that he had been a different person, that his love for Kate had transformed him and that he did not need to tell her. Another voice disputed this.

  The women in the room interpreted his sudden silence as embarrassment over the holding of a child. He was content for the moment to let them think that.

  ‘Mister Blakiston,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Elizabeth Laws, you promised to call me James in the privacy of this house.’

  Lizzie’s face turned bright red. ‘James. Will you eat breakfast with us?’

  ‘I breakfasted before I left home this morning. But I will take a dish of tea with pleasure.’

  Florrie and Kate had been moving back and forth between scullery, pantry and kitchen and now on the table stood fried black pudding, bacon, bread, butter and an egg dish that, had they but known it, closely resembled the amlet that Susannah Ward had served to the labourers at New Hope Farm. Blakiston drank his tea and watched the earnestness with which Tom and Ned after three hours in the fields attacked the food before them. He gave no sign of the torment in his head. A bastardy bond had made him responsible for the upkeep of his illegitimate son should he ever become a charge on his home parish. It was now three years since he had been asked for money. That meant that something had happened to relieve the parish of the need to support the boy – but what? Had he died? Had his mother found someone to marry and support her? For it was sure that she had no skill that would enable her to maintain herself and a child. Blakiston felt a deep shame. The voice that had said there was no reason for Kate to know was wrong. If he married her without telling her what he had done, he would be keeping from her something she needed to know.

  ‘Mister Blakiston,’ said Tom. ‘Is Joseph to be tried for murdering his wife?’

  Blakiston knew there was no point in asking Tom to call him James, as he had asked Lizzie, and it was probably as well given their master-servant roles. He also understood that it was natural that Tom should ask this question. But the fact was that he had little information to give. He said, ‘Your brother is guilty of something, Tom. Why else would he have attacked me and run off? If you want my opinion, he did not murder Margaret Laws. But he need not be charged or released until it is time for the next Assize and that is many months away.’

  ‘He is held in an awful place,’ said Tom.

  ‘Yes, he is and he would not be had he not attempted to brain me with an iron pot.’

  ‘Would it be all right if I were to visit him in prison?’

  ‘Of course it would. You may do so whenever you wish, though you had better take care – there are footpads between here and Durham. And when you get there, you will find the jailer a most unpleasant person.’

  ‘You could take Joseph a change of clothes,’ said Florrie.

  ‘And some food,’ said Kate.

  ‘Yes, you could, but make sure that you do not part with them until you have placed them in Joseph’s hands. That place is a den of thieves and I do not exclude the jailer.’

  When it was time for Blakiston to go, Kate walked with him to where Obsidian waited in the shade. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ she asked. Blakiston looked at her without speaking. ‘Something has been worrying you,’ she went on. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Am I so easily understood?’

  ‘Not by everyone, perhaps. But I have come to know you. There is something that you think I should know that you do not want to tell me. I think you must be afraid that I would not like it.’ She stopped speaking and stared into his eyes. The challenge was obvious and he accepted it. He told Kate the story he did not want to tell her – the story of which he was so ashamed.

  When he was done, there was silence between them. Blakiston did not speak because he could not think of a single thing to say and Kate’s face said that she was struggling with emotion. Blakiston feared that he was to regret his honesty.

  Then, quietly, Kate said, ‘Thank you for telling me. It cannot have been easy.’

  ‘You are not going to cast me off?’

  ‘Oh, James. What you have just shown is how right I was to accept you. You did something that was wrong. You know you did. The world is full of people who do things that are wrong and never accept that they did, even to themselves.’ She placed her hands flat on his chest. ‘You are a good man. And I am very lucky.’

  Blakiston rode away lighter in spirit than he had been a little earlier.

  Chapter 17

  He thought about what he was about to do, and the thoughts were not good. He had been driven to this and he had had no doubts about the rightness of what he was doing. He kept it to himself because, in the society he lived in, that was the sensible thing to do – but he was no believer. He had not believed since he was a small child in the things the Bible had to say. Nevertheless, it was all there. And thine eye shall not pity, but life should go for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot. And that had been his guiding principle. An eye for an eye and a life for a life. That’s what he had set out to do. It had seemed right. It seemed right no longer. There were other words that he could recall from long hours on hard pews. Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. But I say unto you, that ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. None of it meant anything to him, because he was long past the point where biblical words could relieve his hurt. And he owed it, did he not, to those of his who were dead? Had they received compassion? They had not.

  Had Walter Maughan known pain because of the death of his daughter? If he had, he kept it well hidden. But what about Ezra Hindmarsh? His hurt was palpable. Yes, Ezra Hindmarsh had been responsible for the deaths he mourned. Yes, it was right that Ezra Hindmarsh should pay the price. And yet…

  The misery enjoyed by Ezra Hindmarsh was hard to watch. He had expected to enjoy seeing others suffering from the pain that had once been inflicted on him. He had thought that this would be a catharsis – a working out of his own pain in the pain suffered by others.

  And it wasn’t true. Old Ezra Hindmarsh suffered – and so did he. He would have needed a heart of stone to see the old man’s pain and not to be moved by it. Which was odd, because he had thought that, in this at any rate, a heart of stone was what he had – and he had been wrong.

  Still, there was the question of justice. He went into the hedgerow, cut the reddest rose he could find, and saddled his horse. He had a good idea where his victim might be.

  After Blakiston had gone, and Kate had completed her chores, she set off to walk to the mean cottage in which Rosie Miller had grown up. Before she had moved with Tom and Lizzie to Chopwell Garth, it would have been a journey of less than five minutes; now it took longer, but Kate was every bit as light in spirits as Blakiston had been after their conversation and, in any case, she was used to walking. What was going to be more difficult was becoming accustomed to travelling on horseback or in a carriage, and she knew that those things were going to be required of her after her marriage, at least from time to time.

  Rosie’s mother received her with delight, harassed though she was by looking after Rosie’s boisterous younger sisters and brothers. Kate seized the youngest in her arms. ‘Be still. Sit with me, and I will tell you a story.’ The child stared
solemnly into her eyes, silenced by this unknown face, and the others gathered round. ‘Us too! Tell the story to all of us!’

  And so Kate told them the story of Noah and the flood. And then she told them the story of Adam and Eve. And then she told them the story of Joseph and his brothers. By the time she was finished the third story, Rosie’s mother was sitting exhausted on the settle but the spell of peace from the babble of children all demanding attention had allowed her to finish her housekeeping jobs much faster than she would normally have been able to do. She smiled at Kate – a smile full of weariness but a smile, too, that conveyed her pleasure in seeing Rosie’s old friend again. ‘Kate! I heard your wonderful news in church. Is all well?’

  ‘It is. The banns will be told for the third time on Sunday and the week after that we will be free to wed. I wondered… Does Rosie know that I am to marry?’

  ‘She does. And she is as pleased for you as I am.’

  ‘Mr Blakiston…’ Kate paused, embarrassed, looking for the words. ‘He insists… I have told him it is not necessary but he says it must be…’

  And now Rosie’s mother’s face was wreathed in smiles and she said, ‘He says you must have a maid. And you would like Rosie.’

  ‘Do you think she will be angry with me for even thinking about asking her?’

  ‘Oh, Kate. She will be as happy as I am. And I could not be happier. She will be safe. Safe from those dreadful Blackett men.’

  ‘You don’t think it might be…’

  ‘Awkward? Of course, it could be. But that would be up to the two of you. And you have known each other since you were children, and you have always been friends, so there is no need for any awkwardness at all, unless you choose to let it happen. You want me to get word to her – that is why you have come?’

  ‘It is. I don’t want – that is, Mr Blakiston does not want…’

  ‘To go anywhere near Matfen Hall. I understand. Everyone has heard about the offer the Blacketts made him.’

  ‘He will not be happy when I tell him that.’

  ‘Well, it is true. And it is to his credit. Though not so much to his credit as the fact that he asked you to be his wife, instead.’ She turned to the eldest of the children who still sat on the ground around Kate’s feet. ‘Tommy. I want you to run to Matfen Hall. Go to the kitchen door and ask for your sister. Don’t say anything about the conversation you have just overheard. Tell our Rosie that I need to speak to her as soon as she can get away. Have you got that?’

  Tommy nodded, and a girl of about ten years of age said, ‘Can I go with him, our mam?’

  ‘Yes, Martha, you can go with him. Make sure the pair of you go straight there and then come straight back. Wait.’ She went into the cott, and when she came back she was carrying bread and cheese. ‘Matfen Hall is the other side of the Tyne. You will be gone for hours. Take this with you, but don’t eat it until you have seen Rosie and given her the message.’

  Kate stood up. ‘Thank you. It would be wonderful if Rosie said yes, but I hope she won’t hate me for asking.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that, girl. She will be as glad as I am.’ She smiled. ‘I’d better not call you girl again, had I? Not with you moving into the gentry.’ And they both laughed.

  Chapter 18

  Wilkin Longstaff was at least fifty years old and farmed two hundred acres of land belonging to the Bishop of Durham with the help of two of his sons. When they came in for dinner that evening, Wilkin’s wife Sarah had a story to tell them. Their granddaughter Matilda believed that a man had been watching her. Watching her in a way that she did not like. ‘She said it frightened her,’ said Sarah.

  ‘She’s eight years old,’ said Longstaff. ‘It’s the sort of story that children of that age tell.’

  Sarah said, ‘She’s a very sensible girl. Her head is screwed on. She doesn’t go around making things up.’

  ‘Did she recognise him? I haven’t heard of any strangers in the area.’

  ‘She said he was wearing a big hat and cloak and his face was covered.’

  ‘Come on, woman. This is a child’s make-believe.’

  ‘She said he was carrying a rose. Would a child make up a story like that?’

  ‘Well,’ said Longstaff, ‘tell her to keep her eye out and, if she sees him again, to run here and tell me or her father.’ And he put it out of his mind. But the maid had heard the conversation and, two days later, she told a friend of hers who was a maid in another farmhouse. And two days after that, the friend told another friend who worked in yet a third farmhouse about the man of threatening appearance who had so frightened young Matilda.

  And then it was Sunday, and the banns were told for the third time, and no-one made any objection, and now any doubt that Kate may have entertained about what the future held disappeared. She and Blakiston were free to marry. Unless something happened to one or other of them, they would do so the following Sunday.

  Florrie had taken on the task of sewing the dress that Kate would wear. She hadn’t been asked – she had volunteered. It was something she wanted to do, and it gave her the opportunity to fuss around the bride to be, making sure that she would look the best she possibly could.

  This was a new departure for the Greener family. When they had married in the past, they had done so in their ordinary day-to-day clothes – their rags for the most part – because that was what they had, and there had been no money for fripperies. The reality was that, in the case of most of those marriages, the bride had already been pregnant at the time the marriage took place because that was the custom. A very necessary custom. When a working man grew too old to work, he knew that if he relied on the overseers of the poor, his life would be a poor and straitened thing. Women knew the same. If their final years were to be anything other than miserable, men and women knew that they must marry only someone who had shown a particular and very important ability.

  Men must show that they could father a child so that they could be looked after when they were too old to look after themselves. And women must show that they could conceive and bear such a child.

  It was not that way for Kate and Blakiston. Kate knew that, if it was her fate to be widowed, Blakiston would leave her with a sufficient competence to keep herself and any children she may have borne. And Blakiston knew that, should he suffer the fate of being widowed himself, he would be able to support himself and hire someone to cook, clean and look after their children.

  For all that, the dress Florrie was making had nothing of the frivolous about it. It was a dress in which Kate would look a fitting bride for her husband, but it was also a dress that she could wear in her daily life without feeling out of place or oddly arrayed.

  That evening, Blakiston dined at the rector’s house for the last time as a single man. Lady Isabella said to him over dinner, ‘Mister Blakiston. I have talked about this to Thomas and we are of one mind. What arrangements have you made for a meal to celebrate your marriage?’

  ‘It shames me to say, Lady Isabella, that I have as yet made none. I have been too busy. You know, the harvest is not yet completed. But I had thought to invite you and Thomas and my brother – and, of course, Kate’s family – to dine with me at the inn.’

  ‘That is what we thought. And what we also thought was that it would be an honour for us if you allowed us to make the arrangements for you. You know we have the barn where, not long from now, we will hold the harvest supper. We would like to invite you and Kate, her family, and everyone who is in the church when the wedding takes place, to join us there afterwards for a meal. We have spoken to Walter Wilson, the butcher, and he can not only provide us with an entire pig and some chickens but will also roast and carve them. Rosina will see to the puddings and the vegetables, and Thomas will I am sure be prevailed on to provide enough wine for the gathering, at least so long as I ensure a sufficiency of cheese.’

  Blakiston was almost overwhelmed by the kindness of the offer. ‘Lady Isabella, I hesitate to impose on you to such an extent
…’

  ‘Hesitate all you like, but accept. We are agreed.’ And she signalled that the serving of the evening’s meal should begin.

  While they were eating, Isabella said, ‘I have been thinking about the grave on which the Hindmarsh boy’s body was left. You know it was a pauper’s grave and I have wondered what that has to tell us.’

  ‘You think we should be looking for a pauper?’

  ‘I think we should be thinking about overseers. Overseers of the poor, that is, not overseers like you. For young Ezra Hindmarsh may have been left on a pauper’s grave, but he was no pauper. His grandfather, though, was an overseer. And Margaret, who was married to Joseph Laws – her father was an overseer.’

  ‘Surely, my dear,’ said her husband, the rector, ‘that is merely coincidence?’

  ‘Well, perhaps. But it is at least something that might bear thinking about.’

  Blakiston nodded. She might well be right – though where it took them, and how he might use the information, he could not imagine. And so the conversation passed to other things, and the meal was completed in leisurely fashion and with great pleasure for all three, after which Lady Isabella left the two men to their cheese and brandy, and the rector to his pipe of tobacco.

  Blakiston might well have done nothing with the thought passed on by the rector’s wife, had it not been for a piece of information that came his way two days later. He had called at Chopwell Garth, to ensure that the harvested corn was being well looked after but also because he hated a day to pass without contact with the woman he was soon to marry.

  Kate said, ‘I heard something this morning that may interest you concerning the deaths of Margaret Laws and Ezra Hindmarsh.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘There is a farmer called Wilkin Longstaff. You may not know him, for he farms the Bishop’s land. But he has a maid who passed on a story to a friend who is a maid to another farmer. And she passed it on to another friend…’

  ‘And another maid at another farm?’