by R J Lynch
Rosie Miller said, ‘Should you not be calling on the other well-born ladies of the neighbourhood?’ Seeing the look of scorn on Kate’s face, she giggled and went on, ‘Perhaps you could start with Susannah Bent?’
‘Don’t. I really believe that woman hates me.’
‘I really believe you’re right. But you can’t sit around doing nothing all day long. You have to be brought up to that, and you have not been. No-one ever taught you to paint, or to embroider, or to play the harpsichord.’
‘I believe that harpsichords are no longer the thing in fashionable households. There is now something called the square piano. But, in any case, we have no such article.’
‘And how do you know about the square piano? Because you can read, Kate. And that is something I cannot do. Have you no books? If not, you must get some.’
‘You are right. I must.’
‘And, in the meantime, perhaps you could call at Chopwell Garth. I believe you will find the people there to your liking?’
Kate laughed. ‘Yes. And if I go there, they will let me do the things I’m used to doing. Keeping the place clean. Preparing meals. Looking after little Lulu. All the things that you would prevent me from doing here.’
‘Apart from Lulu,’ said Rosie, ‘because there is no babe here. Though I imagine that you and the Master have plans to alter that.’
Kate laughed again. She had, however, something to concern herself with after all, for one of Walter Maughan’s men brought a message for James. Kate went to the door of the house. Two or three children of message carrying age were visible and Kate knew the people of Ryton well enough to choose the most reliable boy. She pressed a penny into his hand. ‘You must find my husband. Mister Blakiston – you know him.’
The boy nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘I don’t know where he is, so you must ask until you find someone who has seen him. When you find him, tell him that Mister Maughan has prepared the list he asked for. If you get that message to him before midday, come back here and tell me so and there will be another penny for you. And doubt not that my husband will also reward you.’ She smiled. ‘You will be rich!’
‘Thank you, ma’am. I shall give it to my mother.’
As the boy hurried away, Kate nodded to herself. He would give her penny, and any other pennies he earned, to his mother. Of course he would. It would be so good if he could keep something for himself – but the poor here learned early in their lives the importance of money. Two or three pennies earned by a child could be the difference between going to bed fed and going there hungry.
The boy was back before midday. ‘Ma’am, Mister Blakiston says thank you, but he cannot visit Mister Maughan until tomorrow. I am to go to Mister Maughan now, and tell him.’ He gazed at her expectantly.
‘Of course. And you have come back before midday to tell me, and so you must have the penny I promised you.’ She gave it to him. ‘Did my husband also give you a penny?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’
‘That is good. And I make no doubt that Mister Maughan will do the same and so you will have four pence to give to your mother. She will be very pleased.’
And the boy hurried off. It would take him some time to reach Walter Maughan’s farm. He would have earned those four pennies hard. She was glad to note that he had been barefoot, for it would not be to anyone’s advantage to earn money while wearing out the soles of his shoes. And then she caught herself. How could she possibly be thinking that it was good that the boy had no shoes? It was already the end of September. Winter was not far away. He would need more than his bare feet then to see him through the cold.
And now she was back with the same problem that she had already discussed with Rosie: filling her time. And then she realised that she had a man to look after. There must be a meal waiting for him tonight and, as yet, she had nothing in the house to feed him on. She had told the girl from the inn that she would look after future breakfasts. With what?
She took a basket and set off for Chopwell Garth. She could call later on Walter Wilson, the butcher, and Adam Manners, the greengrocer – but first she would find out what Florrie and Lizzie could sell her in the way of eggs, bacon, cheese, black pudding, milk and whatever else they might have for sale.
Blakiston had his midday meal at an inn on the far side of the village. When he got home, he was tired and ready to eat but the first thing he wanted was simply to hold his new wife close to him. Then she took his hat and coat from him and encouraged him to sit close to the fire. She hung up the coat and hat, making a mental note to brush them before he put them on again and then she knelt before him and pulled off his boots. She looked up. ‘Tell me about your day.’
And so he did – and as he described all the humdrum and tedious details of the past ten hours, he was as astonished by her interest as she was by ownership of it. They both knew that this was an interest that would diminish with time, but for now everything about their lives together was new and fascinating.
And then they had dinner, and Kate had to accept that it didn’t matter that you had known the maid since you were both toddling babes: the maid had her own space and did not share yours. Kate would talk to Rosie the next day and suggest that, when she wasn’t actually working, her mother might welcome her company and she might welcome her mother’s. This business of hiring your oldest friend was not as simple as it might have seemed.
Chapter 25
After dinner, when Rosie had cleared away the dishes and was washing them in the scullery, Kate said, ‘James. Today is Monday and I believe Joseph Laws was to be released from jail.’
‘That is so, my love.’
‘You are satisfied that he did not kill his wife?’
‘I am certain that he did not kill Ezra Hindmarsh, because he could not have done so. He was in jail when the boy died. And whoever killed Ezra Hindmarsh also killed Margaret Laws.’
‘Very well. It was not Joseph. But it was someone – so, if not Joseph, who?’
‘That, my dear, is something I do not yet know.’
‘And also why? In fact, is that not the most important question?’
‘Do you say so?’
‘Well, someone killed Margaret Laws and they had a reason for doing it. Is that not so? No-one kills another person for no reason, surely?’
The thought that had been concerning Blakiston to the point where it frightened him was precisely that – that there might be, loose in Ryton, someone who killed for no reason other than the pleasure of killing. But he did not want to say that to the woman he loved most in all the world – a woman, after all, all of whose family lived in Ryton. He therefore simply nodded.
‘Well,’ said Kate, ‘how many reasons can there be? Why does one person kill another?’
‘It seems to me that the number of reasons must be as large as the number of people in the world.’
‘But, James. Is that really so? I can think of three men who have been killed in Ryton while I have been old enough to know about it. I mean, apart from Matthew Higson, whose killer you found and so the reason for whose murder we know. All three were killed by drink.’
‘They drank themselves to death?’
‘They might as well have done. They drank so much they lost their senses and so did someone drinking with them, and that someone picked up a stool or a jug or at least something and dashed their brains out. Why? They could never say. Something the dead person had said while drunk. Some insult the person who killed suddenly remembered from days long past. Something that had never happened, for the person who killed was so drunk he had imagined it. And the killer’s name was known immediately because he sat there in his stupor until the constable arrived to take him to the lock-up. When Richard Brown killed his daughter by throwing her down a well, he was so drunk he did not even know he had done it. He was so repentant. But still they hanged him on Newcastle Town Moor.’
‘I think we can be sure that whoever killed Margaret Laws and Ezra Hindmarsh did no
t do so because of drink.’
‘Mary Stone killed Reuben Cooper because she wanted the money he was reputed to have. And then she killed Matthew Higson because she was afraid he knew what she had done and would tell people. Margaret Laws had no money, but it might be interesting to find out whether she knew a secret that someone would kill to protect.’
‘You are right, my love, and if it were not for Ezra Hindmarsh then that would be a good thing to enquire into.’
‘Because he was just a boy? A boy of Ezra’s age can know someone else’s secret as well as a woman of Margaret’s.’
Blakiston poured himself another glass of wine. Kate was right, of course. But there was the matter he had under suspicion. The matter that involved the list prepared by Walter Maughan. Should he voice his suspicions? He knew that he should, because Kate’s intelligence and ability to see through to the essence of a matter had helped him bring the killers of Reuben Cooper and Matthew Higson to justice. But it was not quite that simple, because there was a maid in the house and anything she heard might be passed on and become public knowledge. He did not want that, because he did not want to put the murderer on notice. He lowered his voice. Kate, understanding why he did so, leaned forward to hear what he had to say.
‘This list that Walter Maughan has prepared for me.’
‘Yes? I assumed that that was a matter of his Lordship’s business.’
‘It is not. What Maughan has produced is a list of every pauper whose case was ever discussed by him, the older Ezra Hindmarsh, and Wilkin Longstaff acting together.’
Kate stared at him. ‘Maughan. Hindmarsh. Longstaff. They have all been overseers of the poor?’
‘They have.’
‘Maughan’s daughter was murdered. Hindmarsh’s grandson, too. And Wilkin Longstaff’s grand daughter believes that she was watched by someone who intended her ill.’
‘Just so.’
‘Revenge is a motive for murder that we did not discuss.’
‘It is.’
‘And you suspect that revenge is at work here.’
‘I do.’
‘You suspect, in fact, that the killer knew paupers who died, and holds the overseers responsible.’
‘I think it possible.’
‘When will you see this list of Walter Maughan’s?’
‘Not today, for today is almost over. And not tomorrow, because I have received a message that Lord Ravenshead wishes to see me, and that must take priority over all.’
‘On Wednesday, then?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Then we must wait.’ She picked up one of Blakiston’s hands in both of hers. How large it seemed in comparison with her own. ‘But not everything requires that we wait.’
Blakiston smiled. ‘Did you have something particular in mind?’
‘I did.’ She let go of his hand, picked up the bottle and filled his glass. ‘I should like you, my love, to drink this glass of wine. Not quickly, but not slowly, either.’
Blakiston’s smile grew wider. ‘And while I am drinking it? What will you be doing?’
‘I shall be upstairs, readying myself for bed.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. ‘And when you have finished your wine, I should like you to join me there.’
With that, she rose from her chair and walked towards the stairs. Blakiston watched, suffused by a feeling of absolute contentment.
Chapter 26
Tuesday was 25 September and the cold wind left no-one in any doubt that summer had departed, autumn was following it and winter would soon be here. When Thomas Claverley went into Holy Cross Church, he was wrapped against the cold on the instructions of Lady Isabella, his wife. ‘You could freeze in that place, Thomas. It is cold and it will be colder.’
Thomas already knew that the church had a visitor, because he had observed the horse outside. It was something of a surprise to see that the visitor was Job King for, although King had visited once before outside the hours of services and although he was scrupulous in being there at the set time each Sunday, Thomas thought that King’s faith was probably only slightly less absent than Blakiston’s. He was about to learn that he was wrong. The estate King was renting had of course its own pew and King was sitting there. Thomas sat beside him but said nothing.
After a few minutes, King said, ‘Rector. I have been waiting for you.’
‘Yes?’
‘I thought at one point that I would be waiting for you for a different purpose. But that is something I now find I lack the heart to put into practice and, in any case, you were not the man.’ Claverley said nothing. Clearly, King had something to say to him and he would get there or he would not. Some more minutes passed and then King said, ‘I would like you to hear my confession. But first there is a question I must ask you.’
The rector said, ‘Confession is not something often practised in this church. We regard it – I regard it – as having something of the papist about it. Nevertheless, if you must tell it to me, I must hear it. What is your question?’
‘My understanding is that you can never tell anyone what I confess to you. However wicked or sinful it may be. Is that correct?’
‘Confession is a sacrament, as holy as the Eucharist or any other sacrament. Whatever you tell me must remain between us. I could not break your confidence even to prevent a crime.’
‘Or to punish one?’
‘Or for that.’
‘And does this apply in all cases? Even if someone confesses to you that they have committed the ultimate crime and sin of murder, you are bound never to tell a living soul?’
‘Even then. But, King, I can see that you are in extreme agony. Let us begin. Make the sign of the cross. Come, come, the days of the puritans are gone. You will not be cast into hell for the simple matter of moving your fingers in the shape of a cross. Rather the reverse, in fact. There, you see? Now, say these words: Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’
When King had spoken those words, the rector said, ‘Now. You do not need to tell me what you have done, for there have only been two murders since you arrived in this parish. What I should like you to do is not to tell me what, for it is clear that it was you who killed Margaret Laws and Ezra Hindmarsh. I should like you, King, to tell me why.’
‘You were not here in this parish when I was a boy. And so you will not remember. But I had two brothers and two sisters. My father was a hard-working man. A labourer, who worked his own strips on the common and worked on farms belonging to the Bishop or his Lordship when that work was available. My mother was a good woman, who took in washing for the gentry of the parish and cleaned their houses when they asked. She kept chickens and my father kept a pig. We were poor by the standards of such as you, Rector, but we never went hungry, we were always tidily dressed and we knew our gospel stories.
‘And then came the influenza. My father died on Friday; my mother followed him on Sunday; and we five fell into the charge of the overseers of the poor. I do not know what happened to the chickens, Rector. I do not know what happened to the pig. We were told that the money they brought would be placed to our account but the fact is that from that moment on we were never anything but hungry, and our clothes turned to rags and were never replaced. The one thing that did not change from when my mother and father were alive was that we still found ourselves in church every Sunday. This time, we were chased there by your predecessor and told to spend the time thanking God for his mercies. And one by one my brothers and sisters starved to death.’
The rector had remained silent throughout this confession. Now he said, ‘And for this you blame…?’
‘Walter Maughan was one of the overseers at that time. Walter Maughan is always one of the overseers. Ezra Hindmarsh – that is, the older Ezra Hindmarsh – was another. The others do not matter now, because when I began I believed that taking one each from the four who had taken four from me would bring me relief.’
‘It did not?’
‘It brought me pain beyond any imagini
ng. I have committed a sin that can never be forgiven. I am damned for all eternity. I know that.’ He raised his eyes for the first time to look at Claverley. ‘And you, Rector, have listened to me with patience. You have not for one moment looked as though you judged me. And yet now your face says that I have angered you.’
‘It is not for you, King, to say that you are eternally damned, and nor is it for me. Every one of us – every man, every woman and every child on this earth – is damned, thanks to the sin of Adam and Eve. But God is merciful. I do not know and you do not know whether his mercy will be extended to you, but I do know that you took the second step towards obtaining it when you came here to open your heart – to me, but also to God.’
‘Second step? What was the first?’
‘The first step was the mercy you showed to Ann Forman. Without you, she and her child would be subject to the same fate as you have described for your brothers and sisters. You saved her from it.’
‘He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise.’
‘Thanks be to God. The gospel according to Luke. I believe that Luke was closer to the spirit of Christ than any of the other Gospels. But you do not speak those words as one who learned them by rote in this church when you were a child.’
‘When I left these shores, Rector, I had abandoned all ideas of faith. Living among the colonists has restored much of what I once had from my mother and father.’
‘I had heard that faith in God is stronger now in the colonies than at home.’
‘You have heard right.’
‘Before you made your confession, you were determined to know that I could tell no-one about it. I take it, then, that it is not your intention to throw yourself on the mercy of the Law.’
‘It is not.’
‘I am bound to ask whether you do not see that that may be what God wants you to do.’
‘I have disappointed God many times, Rector. I am content to do it once more. It will be bad enough to stand before Him on the day of my death. I do not intend to compound that by swinging at the end of a rope for a law that is made only by man and for the benefit of those much richer than I when that same law was snuffing out the lives of my brothers and sisters like fluttering candles.’
