by Anna Jacobs
He came in one day to find her toiling in the library, which she had been longing to restore. He knew she’d already spent a hard morning in the kitchen, helping Hannah to preserve fruit for the winter, and could see that she was tired.
‘You’ve done enough physical labour for today, my lass.’
‘I want to finish this room.’
He removed the damp cloth from her reddened hands, and retained one in his own, examining it. ‘There’s no need for you to get your hands in such a state. Leave the rough jobs to the servants.’
‘I like doing things myself. I want to take my share of the work.’
‘Well, I don’t like you over-tiring yourself, and what’s more, I’m not having it!’
‘I shall do as I like! You work all the hours of daylight - and more. Shall I sit at my ease and leave everything to others?’
‘Aye. When it comes to toiling like a scrubbing maid, at least!’
She tried to tug her hand away and failed. ‘I’ll decide for myself what I shall and shall not do, thank you very much!’
‘Not if you don’t show more sense!’
‘Who do you think you are?’
‘Your husband.’ He threw the wet cloth into a corner and pulled her from the library.
She tried to resist, but he was too strong, and she could only drag along behind him, still protesting. He threw open the door of her parlour and pushed her in. Then, as she stumbled, he grabbed her, to stop her falling.
‘You’re a plaguey headstrong wench! Why will you not look after yourself?’ Finding her closeness exciting, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a hearty kiss.
She felt suddenly weak and clung to him. ‘I don’t like to leave everything to you, Will.’
‘You don’t leave everything to me! You work beyond your strength. Who can do more? Now, will you sit down and rest, or must I tie you to a chair?’
She coloured. ‘Well, I am a little tired . . ‘ She lifted a hand to stroke his cheek and her smile was a promise of pleasures to come.
Another time, when she proved recalcitrant, he simply picked her up and carried her into the parlour, where he dumped her none too gently into a chair and threatened to stand over her to make sure she rested. When she answered back sharply, he lost his temper and threw her bucket and cleaning implements out of the front door.
‘If I have any more of this foolishness, I’ll carry you up to the bedroom and lock you in!’
‘If you touch me . .. ‘
‘You’ll what?’ He grinned at her, enjoying the way he could bring colour to her cheeks, or make her suddenly gasp and falter in her arguments, by kissing her.
Gradually the sound reason behind his arguments, not to mention his forceful way of making his point, won him his way.
‘Why don’t you use your needle instead, mistress?’ Hannah asked one day, more tactful than Will about preventing Sarah from working too hard. ‘You’re a skilled needlewoman and there’s so much mending and refurbishing needs doing. Master won’t be able to complain about you doing that.’
Sarah stared at her, then nodded. ‘I suppose so.’
And there was another reason for her to take things more easily, a reason which made her smile and lay one hand on her still flat belly. She was beginning to suspect that their love-making had already had results. She didn’t dare say anything yet, and Will seemed not to have noticed, but it seemed likely that she was with child.
Oh, the joy of that thought!
Chapter 13
Matthew Sewell continued to brood on what his enemies were doing - for by marrying Will Pursley, Sarah had become an outright foe in his eyes.
When Izzy came to report one day a pile of broken mantraps dumped on the boundaries of Sewell land, Matthew nearly choked on his rage.
‘Shall we make another try to burn the place down?’ Izzy offered.
‘And fail again? And prove to everyone that I’m behind this? No, you shall not! You two are known as my men, so we must find others to undertake what is needed - but first we must lull them into a belief that we’ve given up.’ His lips bared in a snarl which showed yellowing teeth, certain gaps in their ranks testimonies to the hard fights he had had in his youth to win his way into the ranks of money and success, other gaps due to increasing age, something which also angered him.
‘So what shall I do with the traps, master?’
‘Leave them be.’
He sent Hugh over to Poole the following week, ostensibly on business, but in reality to recruit men from the docks, always a fruitful source in these cases. The men were to stand ready to come when summoned to take action.
In the meantime, he continued his efforts to find another husband for his daughter, since she’d annoyed the first man he’d chosen. He was determined to make an alliance for her that would have him accepted into the ranks of the gentry.
‘’Tis a father’s right to find his daughter a husband,’ he mother said whenever she complained.
‘A father who cared about his daughter’s happiness would look for a man who would be kind to her, though, not one who can scarce dodder from bedchamber to table!’
‘Shh! You know we can do nothing against his wishes, only hope and pray for your happiness.’
Which made her daughter even more sulky and chancy-tempered.
* * * *
When he returned to London, Mr Jamieson didn’t forget the Bedhams. Always a devotee of the bookshops, he now sought out volumes he thought might be of interest to his young friends in the country and sent them down to Broadhurst as surprise presents.
Sarah’s first gift was called ‘The Complete City and Country Cook’ and was accompanied by a finely-bound volume of blank paper upon which she might inscribe her own household hints and receipts.
She gazed at them both in delight. Here, in clear black and white, was a treasure-trove of useful information, not only of receipts for delicious new dishes, but also of hints on how best to preserve food, details of the brewing of small ale, and the concocting of simples and medicines - and even instructions for making such luxuries as lotions to keep the skin soft and the hands white. This, together with her grandmother’s receipt book, would help her run her home more efficiently. She shared its riches with Hannah, who had hitherto read only the Bible and was at first reluctant to waste her hard-earned reading skills on anything else.
Mistress Pursley also spelled laboriously through the pages of the two books. ‘To think on it!’ she declared several times. ‘To think of them writing all those things down to make a book! I never thought much of books afore, thought they was just wasters of time, but I was wrong and I’m not ashamed to admit it.’
Will’s first present from Mr Jamieson was a treatise on agriculture by a Mr Jethro Tull. He was as delighted with that as Sarah was with her book, for the ideas expounded in it fell on fertile ground. He studied the book until he knew it by heart, poring over the woodcuts of new implements and mulling over Tull’s ideas about ploughing and planting.
These ideas were not all new to him, for there were always men who would experiment, and Will had listened carefully to what other farmers said after market in Sawbridge. Some of Mr Tull’s new ideas seemed to make good sense to him for the conditions round Broadhurst, others offered less promise. Next year he would, he decided, try dibbling the seed in, instead of broadcasting it.
One evening he asked, ‘What do you say to trying out some of the new crops on the home farm, Sarah? It wouldn’t be possible on the strips we share in the village fields - those dolts won’t change anything unless forced - but on the home farm we can do as we please.’
She smiled her acquiescence, feeling tireder than usual, and fell asleep in her chair, so that he had to wake her up and send her up to bed.
He stayed downstairs for a while longer, still making plans. During the slack winter months, with the help of Thad, who loved the idea of devising new tools, he would see if he could make himself a dibbler.
* * * *
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br /> Other things were changing, too, in the district. It was at first a nine-day wonder to the villagers that Will Pursley, not content with marrying into the gentry, should also want to change his name to Bedham. But they gradually grew used to it, and Mistress Sarah was a Bedham born, after all.
Mr Sewell made no such effort. The politest terms he had for Will were ‘that Pursley upstart’ or ‘that clod lording it at the Manor’.
When some of the villagers took what seemed to them the logical next step and began to address Will as Squire, Sewell became quite incoherent with rage. Those employed by him took care to refer to Will still as Pursley in their employer’s presence, but they got themselves into tangles at other times, trying to use the correct name to suit their company.
It was all very confusing, said the village elders, and they didn’t know what the world was coming to with two Squires in one village; all they knew was that it wouldn’t have happened in their grandfathers’ day.
Throughout that summer and autumn, Sewell and his henchmen continued a small war of attrition along the boundaries of Broadhurst, but he was still biding his time, waiting for the right moment to do more serious damage. The two bullies trespassed several times in the Manor woods, on the pretext of chasing poachers. While there, they did as much damage as they could, breaking fences, trampling down the saplings and shooting at the birds.
One day, Will caught Izzy on his property and gave him a sound thrashing, but this had only a temporary effect on the depredations. Formal complaints to Mr Sewell were ignored and Will was not yet confident enough in his new position to take the matter before Lord Tarnly.
After due consideration, however, he worked out a plan that would prevent a lot of the damage. He talked it over with Sarah first, then he went over to confer with Ted Haplin.
‘I’m getting tired of Sewell’s men trespassing on my land, Ted.’
‘Ah. Rascals, they be. Hard to stop ’em, though. You can’t be everywhere at once, can you?’
‘No, but it’d help if I had some keepers.’
Ted’s eyes grew wary. ‘Oh? Keepers, is it now?’
‘Yes. I thought of you for one. And your brother Joe for another.’
Ted gaped. ‘Me?’ His mouth opened and shut, and he swallowed hard. ‘Me, a keeper?’ he managed at last.
‘Yes. Why not? You know these woods as well as anyone.’
A slow grin crept over Ted’s sharp features and he ran a hand through his greying hair, ruffling it still further. ‘Adone-do! Who’d ever ha’ thought of such a thing? Me, a gamekeeper? I usually been on the other side o’ the fence!’
‘Then it’s about time you reformed your ways, for I’ll not have you or anyone else poaching in my woods! Well, give me an answer! I can’t stand here all day. Will you do it or not?’
Ted rubbed his head again. Such a rapid decision was difficult, but he was always one to seize an advantage. ‘Could be. You goin’ to build me a keeper’s cottage, an’ all?’
Will scowled. ‘You know how we’re fixed at the Manor, Ted. I’ve little money to spare after fixing the roof.’
‘Can’t be a keeper without a cottage,’ insisted Ted and walked away laughing.
Will came back to him two days later. ‘I’ve been looking over the old gatekeeper’s lodge. The walls are still sound and there’s plenty of good timber left in the roof. Wouldn’t take us more than a few days to set it to rights and then we could get the thatcher and glazier in. You could whitewash the walls yourself and after that, you’d have your cottage. Mind, I can’t pay you any money wages till times are better, but there are four rooms in that cottage and a big garden. Why, it’s more than twice the size of what you’ve got here. I’d let you shoot enough rabbits for the pot - and a few extra to sell. Later, when things settle down, we’ll talk about money wages.’
‘Hev to think about that,’ said Ted, hiding his exultation at the prospect of such lavish accommodation.
Will ground his teeth in exasperation. He was afire to set things to rights and the slightest delay made him angry. ‘Just tell me whether you’ll do it or not.’
‘What about our Joe?’
‘I was coming to that. There are some ruined cottages on the other side of the woods. You could get enough stuff from the others to make at least one of them good. And I’d let Joe take up a bit of land round it and shoot for the pot same as you.’
Ted nodded and spat on the ground to emphasise his approval. ‘Aye, Squire, I’ll do it! My Poll will be fair set up about that, she will. Been goin’ on at me lately, she has, about our cottage here bein’ too small and . . . ‘
‘What did you call me?’
‘Squire.’
‘I’m no Squire!’
‘You’re a Bedham now,’ Ted pointed out, not without a certain malicious satisfaction. ‘And Bedhams is allus Squires round here.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, man!’ And Will left hurriedly, before Ted could say that word again, stopping a few yards away to toss over his shoulder, ‘You and Poll can meet me at the cottage at noon!’
Ted stood and watched him leave, chuckling to himself at the effect his words had had. ‘You ain’t got no choice about it, Will, my lad,’ he said aloud, ‘No choice at all! You’re the Squire now, whether you like it or not.’
Then his wife called out to ask him with heavy sarcasm how much longer he intended to stand out there talking to himself like an idiot at a fair, and her with no firewood in the house, so he hurried off to acquaint her with their coming rise in the world. Poll was always a mite touchy when she was near her time, and stronger men than Ted Haplin had quailed before her anger, but this news turned her sweet as a young dove in spring.
* * * *
When Sarah told Will that she thought she was with child, she saw tears rise in his eyes. ‘Are you - pleased?’ she asked.
For answer, he hugged her close and buried his face in her soft hair. ‘Nothing could please me more, nothing!’ he said when he’d recovered from his unmanly weakness. ‘You’ve given me everything a man could desire.’
She had completely stopped trying to flout Will’s orders that she was to do no heavy work, because she was afraid of doing anything to harm the child. She felt well enough, apart from a slight queasiness in the mornings, which usually wore off by ten o’clock and which Jessie said was only to be expected, but she had to admit to herself that she was somewhat anxious about what lay before her. Twenty-nine was old to be having one’s first child, very old indeed to be facing such a dangerous experience. She knew as well as anyone the risks women ran every time they gave birth.
So when Will suggested casually one day that it might be as well to consult Dr Shadderby, because they didn’t want to take any chances, she agreed without the protests he had expected. Will was no fool. ‘Worried?’ he asked.
‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘At my age . . . ’ She shrugged and left the sentence unfinished, but he took her meaning at once.
‘If you were a cow, I should have no worries.’
She gaped at him. ‘Sh-shouldn’t you?’
‘No, none at all. You’re built nice and broad. It’s the narrow ones who usually have the trouble. I’d never buy a cow that’s narrow-built. I shouldn’t think women are all that different when it comes to calv - er - giving birth.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Then ’tis a pity I’m not a cow!’ But his words gave her comfort nonetheless. And the doctor also made her feel more confident, for he gave her an examination, then said the same thing, though he couched it in much more delicate terms.
Since Sarah had never had anything to do with babies and pregnancy, it was to Mistress Pursley that she turned for information and advice. Together the two women calculated the probable arrival date of the baby. Unasked, Jessie brought out the remains of Will’s baby clothes, which would serve as patterns for new ones, if nothing else. She also explained, with a countrywoman’s frankness, exactly what to expect, and advised Sarah to go and watch some of the far
m animals giving birth if she wanted to see what it was all about.
The best midwife in the village was Mistress Bell and Jessie advised Sarah not to waste more good money on a doctor, but to trust herself to one who knew first-hand what it was like to give birth.
‘Men don’t know about birthing!’ she scoffed. ‘How can they?’
But Will disagreed with this and commanded every member of the household, on pain of instant dismissal, to send for him the instant anything started. He would then ride over to fetch the doctor himself. Yes, he could see that they thought it funny that he was worrying about that now, when it was all months away, but he wanted it made plain from the start and let them just remember his commands when the time came.
‘Yes, Squire,’ said Mary, winking at Hannah. They all knew how embarrassed he was by this title.
He made an inarticulate noise and stamped out, leaving even serious-minded Hannah chuckling.
* * * *
The villagers might be starting to accept Will’s new status, but Edward Sewell naturally shared his father’s hostility to the Bedhams. He was a weasel-faced young man of twenty-five or so, with narrow shoulders and scrawny legs. In spite of his father’s mockery, he tried hard to figure as a gentleman of taste and refinement, but unfortunately, his tendency to overdress only emphasised his personal defects, and he could never understand why he did not get the respect he felt he deserved. In truth, he fitted neither into his father’s business life, nor into the life of a country gentleman, and so spent most of his time with his mother, who doted on him, or his tailor, who loved his open-handedness and offered him unlimited flattery in exchange.
One day, Edward encountered Sarah and Will on foot as he was riding through the village and, on an impulse which he was later to regret, deliberately rode through a muddy puddle near the pump and splashed them from head to foot.
In the old days, Will would have dared do nothing to avenge this deliberate insult, but this treatment of his wife made him see red. He wasn’t going to let a puke-stockings like Edward Sewell treat Sarah like that, especially in her condition! He ran forward and seized the horse’s reins.
