by Anna Jacobs
‘Get down off that horse at once and apologise to my wife!’
‘How dare you, fellow! Take your hands off my reins this minute!’
Will planted his feet firmly. ‘You’re going no further until you’ve apologised, and if you ever do such a thing as that again, you’ll feel a taste of my whip about your shoulders!’
Edward, as lacking in courage as he was in inches, took fright at the expression on Will’s face and slashed at him with his riding crop. Will tore it out of his hand and sent it whistling across the village green. ‘Let’s see how brave you are without a whip and a horse to use it from!’ he roared.
Faces began to appear at the windows and peer round corners. Sarah, watching aghast, saw Will seize the blustering young man by his embroidered coat sleeve and drag him down from his horse.
‘Apologise!’
Even greater than his present fear of Will Pursley was Edward’s fear of what his father would do to him if he publicly apologised to a Bedham.
‘No!’ It was a squeak of despair, rather than a defiance.
The next moment Edward Sewell found himself being frog-marched across the village green, yelping and flailing ineffectually at his captor. His yelps grew shriller as he realised that their destination was the big stone trough of water outside the smithy, then they cut off abruptly as he was thrust into the greenish liquid that filled it and pushed right down.
Will didn’t wait for Edward to surface, spluttering and yelping, but marched back across the village green to slap the horse on its fat rump and send it galloping home to its stables.
Those villagers who were fortunate enough to witness the incident laughed about it for years, and took great glee in telling and retelling the tale of this exquisitely humorous occurrence to those who had missed it. All were agreed that ‘It served’n right’ and that ’twere best not to get on the wrong side of that Will Bedham.’
‘Proper Squire he’s turnin’ into,’ they added with a grin. ‘Us’ll hev to watch what us do, eh, or us might end up in that old horse trough too.’ And they’d roar with laughter again.
Matthew Sewell went off into a near apoplexy when his shivering, dripping son squelched up the drive and spilled out his tale of woe. His face turned such a dark red that his wife froze in her seat. She had seen her own father die of a seizure and wouldn’t be unhappy if her husband followed suit. But she didn’t dare hope for this. Men like Matthew always seemed to escape scot-free from the consequences of their wrongdoing.
She worried constantly about whether she, too, would roast in hell, for Matthew had forced her to use her artistic skill to forge signatures on false debts on several occasions, and guilt for that lay heavy on her conscience. As the tirade continued, she clasped her hands together tightly to prevent them trembling.
‘You palsied maw-worm!’ Sewell roared at his son. ‘Can you do no better than splash the fellow with mud? And have you no more wit than to do it in front of witnesses? Next time, take a carriage and drive them down - but do it somewhere quiet, where there is no one to see!’
‘But Father, I . .. Pursley put me in the horse trough. Absolutely ruined my new coat! Aren’t you going to do anything about it?’
‘What can I do, you snivelling turd? You started it - you finish it! I’m not going to enter into litigation I haven’t a chance of winning. Think Tarnly would judge in favour of us, if we took Pursley to court for this? Eh? Do you?’
Several pokes with a bony forefinger emphasised this point and left livid bruises on Edward’s thin chest.
‘Well, I’ll tell you the answer to that, since you haven’t the wit you were born with,’ Sewell sneered. ‘Tarnly wouldn’t. So leave the men’s work to me and stay with your mother. She can wipe you wet arse for you! I have better things to do.’
Edward shuddered and looked across at her. She had her head bent over her embroidery as usual when his father was ranting on.
‘And stay out of the village for a week or two!’
Hugh, who had just come in, eyed his master’s son curiously.
Sewell ground his teeth, but they would find out one way or another. ‘Pursley tossed him in the horse trough.’
Hugh, a man of few words and only one loyalty, threw his master a puzzled look.
‘Don’t worry! We’ll make Pursley pay for that later. If we did anything now, they’d connect it to us, thanks to Master Piss-Breeches, here. So pay off those men you hired and tell them to come back in a week or two.’
‘Yes, Squire.’
‘And you, you jelly-brained fool, get out of my sight! How I sired a half-wit like you, I’ll never know! Or a gawking lump like your sister who can’t attract a decent husband! There must be bad blood on your mother’s side.’ The sight of his cowering son so angered him that he picked up an ornament and threw it at Edward, narrowly missing his head.
Edward ran out of the room like a startled rabbit and took refuge in his bedroom.
His mother stayed where she was, head bent, praying her husband wouldn’t turn on her now. And this time, at least, her prayers were answered.
* * * *
Lord Tarnly laughed so much at the tale of Edward Sewell’s ducking that he burst a button off his waistcoat.
Passing Mr Sewell senior in the street in Sawbury one day, he chuckled quite audibly and the words, ‘horse-trough, egad!’ floated back to further stoke that gentleman’s ire.
His lordship took great pleasure in repeating the tale on several further occasions during the next week or two to divers gentlemen friends over a glass of port. ‘Dumped him in the horse trough, damme! They say he was as covered in green weed as a water meadow. And since Bedham had sent Sewell’s horse galloping back to its stables, the fellow had to squelch all the way home! Damme, but I wish I’d been there to see it!’
So pleased was he with Will’s hasty act that Lord Tarnly insisted his wife invite the young couple over to dine with them. ‘Better show people we approve of the fellow. Not a gentleman, but a man after my own heart, damme, right after my own heart. And besides, her mother was my god-daughter. You won’t forget to invite them, will you, my dear?’
‘No, Henry, I won’t forget.’
He suddenly guffawed. ‘Perhaps we should buy another water trough for Sawbury. It might deter the Sewells from comin’ into town, eh?’ He nearly choked at the brilliance of this witticism, but his wife was growing rather tired of references to water troughs and did not so much as blink at it, so he eventually subsided.
* * * *
When the summons came to dine at Tarnly Hall, Will was fetched in from the fields and a conference hastily held.
‘We’ll have to go,’ said Sarah. ‘We can’t refuse.’
‘Dine with Lord and Lady Tarnly! Me!’ Will was horror-struck. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say or do with grand folk like that!’
‘You managed well enough when they came to our wedding.’
‘But - ’
‘We’ll have to go! It’s an honour to be invited. We have no choice in the matter.’
Will advanced a great many arguments as to why he could not go. He had no clothes fine enough for such a visit and they’d no money to buy new ones. He wouldn’t know what to talk about and would surely make a fool of himself, and that’d do no one any good, would it? He couldn’t leave the stock. It was her they wanted to see, anyway. Why couldn’t she go on her own?
Sarah was adamant, though she had hard work persuading him firstly that he’d have to go, and secondly, that he would definitely need to buy himself a good suit of gentleman’s clothes for the occasion. In the end, after consulting parson, he agreed to submit himself to this dual ordeal, and they drove into Sawbury together. But he had his sticking point and nothing she or the tailor said could persuade him either to purchase a wig or to cover his hair in flour! Some things a man could stomach, declared Will, folding his arms, and others he couldn’t. To walk around with flour all over your head was just plain silly, and he’d never do it. It was nearly
as bad as shaving off your own hair and borrowing some from a horse!
In the event, the visit to Tarnly Hall went off better than anyone had expected. Her ladyship had very wisely invited only a few guests, and those carefully picked for their interest in agriculture. Will, primed by Mr Rogers not to try to appear anything he wasn’t, let the others do most of the talking and listened attentively, which offended no one. However, he did contribute one or two shrewd remarks about stock-breeding, which won him the accolade of being a sensible man and a forward-thinking farmer.
He also displayed perfect table manners, thanks to Sarah’s tuition, far better than those of his host, and since he was a rather good-looking fellow when properly dressed, if a trifle serious, that was enough to win the ladies’ approval too. Moreover, he didn’t drink to excess, a thing Lady Tarnly deplored in everyone but her husband.
‘Fellow shows a deal of sense,’ said his lordship afterwards. (Will had agreed with everything his host said about the political scene, being too unsure of the finer points to have any opinions of his own.) ‘We’ll invite ’em over from time to time from now on, eh?’
‘Certainly, my dear. The experience will do Mr Bedham good. He lacks somewhat in style and polish, but he cannot do better than to model himself upon you.’
‘And maybe I will buy that horse trough. What?’ He choked with laughter again.
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and discovered pressing business elsewhere.
* * * *
After a week of seclusion, during which his mother’s tender care narrowly averted a cold settling upon his chest, Edward Sewell left the district, ostensibly to deal with some business affairs in Bristol for his father.
Gone off to hide till the gossip died down, said the uncharitable.
A week after that, Sam Poulter passed on the information to Will that Izzy had got drunk the previous night in The Golden Fleece and let slip the information that his master had had a few bits of bad luck, businesswise, and would have to spend more time away from home himself in the near future, tending to the concerns which had gained him his fortune in the first place.
Good riddance, said Will, and the sentiment was echoed by most of the people in the village, who found life a lot easier without Sewell popping up to shout abuse at them if they so much as looked up from their work for a minute or two.
Smiling at his own cunning, Sewell made sure as many people as possible saw him driving off in his fine new carriage, but left his wife at home. She had dared refuse to forge a new bill of debt for him, and none of his threatening had persuaded her. She was even talking of confessing her sins to that doddering old fool of a Parson. Well, he’d soon put paid to that. She’d not dare tell the tale to her own shadow now, or it’s be the last tale she ever told.
And he’d meant that. Better no wife at all than one who betrayed you.
* * * *
The peace in Broadhurst didn’t last beyond the autumn.
Every alternate Saturday saw Jessie setting off for Sawbury market in the cart, sometimes accompanied by her son, sometimes by one of the Haplin boys. One week, however, they were fired upon by an unknown assailant on their way back and the shot narrowly missed Will, who was driving.
Since he didn’t wish Sarah to worry, he made light of the incident. It was probably someone out shooting in the woods, someone who hadn’t taken care where he was aiming and who was afraid to admit his fault.
‘Who would that be?’ demanded Jessie. ‘We know everyone round here. None of them’d be out shooting at people.’
‘Well, perhaps it was a highwayman, then.’
‘A likely tale! A highwayman would find such poor pickings round here, he’d starve to death, and well you know it, our Will. No, there’s only one person in Broadhurst as hates you.’
‘It couldn’t be him. Sewell’s been in Bristol for the last few weeks, and his two bullies with him. Now, don’t you go worrying Sarah with this, mother. I’ll keep a better watch out in future, I promise you.’
But Jessie couldn’t help mentioning the incident and Sarah didn’t take the matter lightly, either. ‘Highwaymen don’t haunt the roads round Sawbury,’ she said, gazing in terror at Will. What would she do if anything happened to him? She didn’t want to raise a child who didn’t know its father. She’d hardly known her own and had felt the lack of that many a time, and not just because of their shortage of money.
‘Then perhaps my first guess was right and it was an accident,’ Will said.
‘Accident! You don’t believe that any more than I do. Sewell might be away from home, but he could have hired someone else to do it for him, couldn’t he? In fact, he’s more likely to have hired someone else, because he never does the worst things himself.’ She clutched his arm with one hand, the other resting on her swelling belly. ‘He hates us, Will. He’d stop at nothing to get our land. Please take care.’
But another week or two passed and nothing happened, so Sarah had to admit that perhaps her fears were groundless
* * * *
Robin Cox was a happy man again. He and his family were put into the home farm when the Pursleys moved out, though its management remained in Will’s hands. Bessie Cox wept with joy the day they moved in and Robin wasn’t far from tears either. Since being turned out of his cottage at Hay Nook Farm when his master was dispossessed, Robin had had to eke out a living in a series of casual day-labouring jobs. The other farm workers had got positions out of the district and moved away, but Robin had a stubborn streak and refused point-blank to leave Broadhurst. It was his village! He’d been born there and by dang, he’d die there, too!
He, his wife and his six children had gone to live in a one-room, tumble-down cottage belonging to the Old Squire, which was the only place available in the village. There, two of the children had died from one thing or another, and his Bessie had grown so thin and listless he’d thought to lose her too. All he’d clung to was the determination that Sewell wasn’t going to drive him away from Broadhurst, not if he had to watch all his family die, no, and not even if he followed them into the churchyard and had to come back to haunt their tormentor.
Now, Robin had a regular job again and a house that was a palace, even compared to their old cottage. Mistress Pursley had left them a lot of fine furniture to help fill all those rooms and no king could have been happier than they were. Moreover, there was occasional work for Bessie in the dairy, like in the old days, or helping with the rough work in the big house, and there was regular employment for his eldest boy, Johnny, a sturdy lad of ten, quite big enough now to bring in a shilling or two.
‘I’m grateful to you for all you’ve done for us, Squire,” he said gruffly one day, determined to voice his gratitude.
‘What did you call me?’ demanded Will, stiffening.
‘Squire,’ repeated Robin, a man of few words.
‘I’m not the Squire!’
‘That you are!’ retorted Robin, who could be just as stubborn as Will. ‘Bedhams hev allus been Squires in this village. You be a Bedham now, only male there is, an’ you live at the Manor. So it stands to reason you be the Squire. Everyone says so. Well, them as dares.’
‘Don’t be stupid, man!’
‘I ent stupid!’ And nothing would stop Robin from addressing Will as Squire and talking about him in the same way. Because of this, he twice he got into fights with Sewell’s employees, who also drank at The Golden Fleece, for lack of anywhere else, but kept their distance from Bedham employees.
Robin remained quite unrepentant about it, even to the point of boasting to his wife about the good thump he had given that Eb Mendle. Why, that blow alone was well worth a torn shirt and a black eye, and he wasn’t going to change his ways for her or for anyone. He’d tell the truth and shame the devil.
‘But Mr Sewell will find a way to get back at you, because Eb’s one of his men,’ she pleaded. ‘Couldn’t you just - be a bit quieter about it all, Robin lovie?’
‘No, I couldn’t.’ Just let Sew
ell try anything, he thought. There were a few men ready to side openly with the Bedhams now, even if the womenfolk were a bit nervous about it all. In fact, it was a great pity Sewell had stayed in Bristol so long, it was that. Time he got his come-uppance. More than time.
Chapter 14
By November, the days had closed in and frost was beginning to glisten on the leaves of the evergreens, crackling underfoot on the edges of puddles in the mornings. Sarah had stopped feeling sickly, but this had been replaced by a tendency to drowsiness, of which she was secretly ashamed.
The other women in the house, who had all been through this, smiled sympathetically and reminisced about the vagaries of their own pregnancies. Even Mary learned to tiptoe into rooms instead of clattering in on a trail of words, for you never knew when you’d find the mistress taking a nap somewhere.
Although Sewell returned to take up residence again at the Hall, less was seen of him around the village than usual, and even his two bully-boys seemed quieter and less aggressive. The rumour spread, though no one quite knew whence it came, that Sewell had suffered financial reverses of considerable magnitude and needed to live quietly for a while.
‘That’n could no more live quietly than a blackbird can stop calling in the spring,’ Thad said to Will one day. ‘Nor he won’t have forgotten his quarrel with you.’
‘I agree. Let me know if you hear of anything going on.’
‘I will, Squire.’
‘Not you too!’
Thad shrugged and grinned. ‘Well, I ent callin’ that’n Squire. An’ you be a Bedham now.’
Will didn’t waste his breath arguing, but changed the subject. ‘I came here to discuss that seed drill you’re making for me. I think . . . ’ And the two were lost for over an hour in their favourite pastime.
Then several disasters hit the village in quick succession, which quite took the heart out of the Christmas festivities. Sarah, wrapped in her drowsy cocoon of personal happiness, noticed them less than anyone else, but even she was beginning to realise that something was wrong, and badly wrong, in Broadhurst.
