by Mary Nichols
‘I did not send for an attorney.’
‘No, but I am interested in cases like yours.’
‘What do you know about my case?’
His smile never wavered. He had a rather pleasant smile. ‘I read the Warburton Record regularly and I saw the item about the hunt trampling the widow’s garden and guessed you might be in trouble. It was borne out when the case for libel came into our office for prosecution.’
‘And I suppose, like everyone else, you have come to ask me to retract what I said.’
‘Not at all. I have come to help you defend it. Always supposing you wish to do that.’
‘I am told it is indefensible.’
‘Shall we see?’
‘It will avail you nothing. I cannot pay a lawyer. And if you have been asked to prosecute, how can you act for the defence?’
‘It is my colleague, Mr Sobers, who is prosecuting, not I.’
‘It makes no odds, I still cannot afford a lawyer.’
‘I do not require payment from you.’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Lawyers never do things from the goodness of their hearts.’
He smiled. ‘No, you are right. But funds have been made available for cases such as yours by those who value the freedom of the press and do not wish to see it eroded.’
‘Who are these people?’
‘They would remain anonymous.’ He chuckled. ‘They would hardly risk landing in the dock themselves for aiding and abetting, would they?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘May we sit down somewhere privately and discuss the matter?’
There was nowhere private on the ground floor, so she took him up to her sitting room. It was a large room, being the twin of the shop below it. It was comfortably furnished with good solid pieces, which had been there when they arrived from London, and her father had not seen fit to replace them. There were a couple of sofas, a table with some high-backed chairs around it, a bookshelf on one side of the fireplace and shelves containing china ornaments on the other. There was nothing elegant about it, except for the escritoire and the ornaments that had been her mother’s.
She ushered him in, but left the door open so that Betty was within calling distance. It was done as a sop to convention, not because she believed herself in any kind of danger. She bade him be seated. ‘May I offer you refreshments?’ she said. ‘Tea or coffee or something stronger?’
‘Tea, if you please.’ He flung up his tails and sat in a chair at the table where he could spread out his papers.
She called to Betty to make tea and sat opposite him. ‘I do not see what you can do,’ she said. ‘I know enough of the law to know that ignorance is no defence. Besides, I knew what I was doing.’
‘What were you doing, Miss Wayland?’ he asked mildly. ‘What was your intention?’
‘To make a certain person take notice and make amends.’
‘To succeed in a complaint of defamation,’ he said, ‘it is necessary to show that the words used have exposed the plaintiff to hatred, contempt or ridicule. Did you intend to ridicule that person?’
She hesitated, considering her answer. Ridicule had not been in her mind—she had been too incensed to poke fun. ‘No.’
‘What about bringing that person into disrepute, making him the object of hatred or scorn?’
‘Scorn? No, not scorn. And I do not need to tell anyone about his reputation—it is well known.’
He laughed at her evasiveness, perfectly understanding. ‘But you did mean what you said?’
‘I meant every word. The hunt should not be allowed to trample down poor people’s gardens with impunity.’
‘And that is the only point you were making?’
She hesitated, knowing, in her heart, that there was more to it than that, but he would not understand. ‘Yes.’
‘We might get you off on that.’
It sounded like hope he was offering, but she could not quite believe it. ‘I doubt it will help because the article about the hunt is not all I have written against the Earl.’ She reached for the latest edition of the newspaper containing the report of the fracas on the common and handed it to him to read.
‘Dear me,’ he said after perusing it. ‘It could be claimed this is seditious, a far more serious matter.’
‘And no doubt it has made you change your mind about helping me.’ She could not disguise the hopelessness in her voice.
‘I shall have to consult the people instructing me. It may be that I can continue to advise you, but he— they—might think it too serious.’ He stood up to leave.
As he reached the door, he turned back. ‘Miss Wayland, why do you do this?’
She was still sitting at the table, her head in her hands. At the sound of his voice, she looked up. ‘Because it needs to be said and the press needs to be free to say it.’
‘Quite,’ he said, placing his hat upon his dark head. ‘Good day to you, Miss Wayland. I will see you again.’
She heard him go down the stairs, bid good day to Edgar and leave the shop. Betty came in with the tea tray. ‘Oh, has he gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not going to help you, then?’
‘Were you listening at the door?’
‘No, miss, you left it open.’
There was no denying that. ‘Then you know he has to consult whoever is paying him.’
‘Who might that be?’
‘I have no idea. Someone with grand ideas about the freedom of the press, but not the stomach to do anything about it themselves.’
* * *
James found Miles where they had arranged to meet at the old barn on the piece of land that Miles was going to donate to the men. He was inspecting the woodwork for soundness and considering how it could be divided up into living quarters for families. He had come straight here from his last confrontation with Miss Wayland. What he had done to deserve having a book thrown at him, he could not imagine, but whatever it was, it was something that had thrown her into a temper. My, she was magnificent in a temper, her hazel eyes flashing, her cheeks bright pink and her curls bouncing.
He turned as James approached on foot, having left his curricle in the lane. ‘What do you think of this?’ he said, indicating the building. ‘We could put in a floor to make a second storey and walls to divide it into six little houses, three on each side, back to back.’
‘If you say so. Have you costed it?’
‘No, but I will do so.’
‘You know, the way you are throwing your money at the project, it will never be profitable enough for the men to repay you.’
‘Never mind that. It is enough that they have work and their self-respect. Did you see Miss Wayland?’
‘I did.’
‘And did she throw anything at you?’
‘No, why should she?’
‘I don’t know.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘She threw a book at me.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘I have no idea. She was in a compliant mood last night, but then she had had a bad fright, but this morning she rediscovered her courage and let me have it.’
‘So, do you want to withdraw your support?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I ask because this morning she was served with a writ.’
‘Oh, that explains it!’ He laughed. ‘She cannot throw books at my father, so she throws them at me instead. Poor girl. If I had known…’ He paused. ‘Just what has she let herself in for?’
‘The summons is for defamation of character, but she showed me another article in which she condemns the militia for the way they put down a seditious meeting.’
‘I know. I was there.’
‘Will your father, the Earl, do anything about that?’
‘I do not know. I hope he will consider the charge of defamation punishment enough.’
‘So do you still want me to try to defend her?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Very well, but Miss Wayland wou
ld do better to plead guilty and throw herself on the mercy of the court. Given that she is a rather lovely young woman…’
‘You think she is lovely, too, do you?’
‘Well, she is or why would you be wanting to help her?’
Miles laughed. ‘Why, indeed?’
‘She could try weeping and promising not to do it again. I have known people do that and get off with a shilling fine and a recognisance to be on good behaviour.’
Miles burst into laughter at this picture of Helen Wayland. ‘Oh, you try suggesting that. I’ll wager she will throw a book at you if one comes to hand. It might even be an inkstand. That could be rather messy.’
James sighed. ‘If you were not my friend, I would not touch the case.’
‘But you are my friend, are you not?’
‘For my sins, yes. I had better go and do some probing. When are you going to start on this?’ He indicated his surroundings with a movement of his hand.
‘As soon as I have gathered the men together and discovered what they want.’
James went back to his curricle and Miles continued to look over the old barn, pacing out its dimensions and making notes. He was standing with his back to the lane, staring up at the roof, wondering if it would have to be rethatched when he became aware of a rustling in the long grass behind him and turned to see Miss Wayland picking her way towards him, holding her grey skirt out of the wet grass. He waited, wondering what sort of mood she was in before addressing her.
She stopped six feet from him, bent her head slightly, as politeness dictated. ‘My lord, good afternoon.’
So far so good. He smiled. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Wayland. You are somewhat far from home.’
‘I came with the men who are come to look over the land.’ She nodded her head backwards where a line of men walked round the field. ‘We borrowed a farm cart from Mr Thomson.’
‘You are welcome to attend the meeting, as long as you remain silent.’
‘I will not say a word.’
‘And do not throw things.’ It was said with a broad grin.
‘My lord, I am sorry for that. You caught me at a very bad moment…’
‘Evidently.’
‘I did not mean to hurt you.’
‘I am glad of that. I dread to think what damage you could do if you really meant it.’
‘Don’t tease. I am trying to apologise. I am sorry, truly I am.’
‘Then your apology is accepted and we will not mention it again.’
‘Thank you. I also owe you for canvas and timber and nails and goodness knows what else. I discovered Jack Byers was staying at the Three Cups to watch the shop at your behest. You did not need to do that, my lord.’
‘Oh, but I did. Canvas and planks would not keep out a determined intruder. I could not stay with you…’
‘I should think not!’
‘Much as I would have liked to,’ he went on, as if she had not spoken. ‘I do so enjoy our little heart-to-heart talks.’
‘Heart-to-heart,’ she repeated. ‘I would hardly call them that.’ Even as she spoke she remembered being held in his arms and feeling his heart beating close to hers. She felt the colour flare in her face. ‘We have nothing at all in common.’
‘I don’t agree,’ he said calmly. ‘We have much in common. For instance, we are both concerned about the plight of the out-of-work labourers and want to do something to help, even if we go about it in different ways.’
‘Of course we do. I cannot afford to hand over land and barns and goodness knows what else. Besides, that only helps a few. What they need is help from the government so all may benefit. To get that they need publicity, a general outcry…’
‘Such as provided by Blakestone and his friend Hardacre. I think not. That is anarchy.’
‘I meant newspaper publicity.’
‘But does that work?’
‘It would if I were left to do it, but, no, I have to be hounded like a criminal.’
‘A criminal, Helen?’ His voice was gentle. ‘Surely not?’
‘Yes, thanks to your father. Today I was served a writ to appear at the quarter sessions to answer a charge of defamation of character.’
‘Ah, that was the reason for pelting me with books, was it?’
‘It was only one book and you said you would not mention it again.’
‘So I did. Now it is my turn to be sorry.’
He did not sound a bit sorry, but was smiling at her. ‘It is easy for you to smile,’ she said. ‘You do not have a summons hanging over you. The Earl would have me ruined.’
‘Would it ruin you?’
‘Imprisonment or even a heavy fine certainly will. I cannot pay my workers if the business is not a going concern; without me, I do not see how it can be. Tom and Edgar cannot run it on their own.’
‘But that did not stop you writing what you did. You must have known that it would bring trouble down on your head.’
‘Is that a good enough reason for not doing what you believe to be right, my lord? Or mayhap you think it is? I imagine you would buckle under for a peaceful life.’
‘No, or I would never have gone to war.’
‘I was not speaking of war; that is a different thing altogether. I was speaking of justice. Do you think I will get justice?’
‘I should like to think you will.’ He searched her face, the bleak worried eyes, the pallor, the slightly parted lips that made him want to kiss the breath out of her. The fire had gone out of her and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her he would make it all right again, but he could not make it right. The law would take its course. ‘What do you propose to do about it?’
‘I am not going to grovel, you can be sure of that.’ Briefly the fire flared up again. ‘And I have been offered help.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you know a gentleman called James Mottram? He says he is an attorney.’
He hesitated before answering. ‘Did he say he knew me?’
‘No, I just wondered. He told me he is representing a group of people anxious to maintain the freedom of the press and is prepared to defend me, at least against the defamation, though he was not so sure about anything else.’
‘I am sure he will do that, too, if you allow it.’
‘How do you know?’ she asked sharply.
‘As it happens, I am acquainted with Mr Mottram. He is the gentleman who owns this land and barn.’
‘He is?’ she queried in surprise. ‘But I thought…’
‘You thought it was me?’
‘Yes, I suppose I did.’
‘I am sorry to disappoint you. I am not the philanthropist you thought I was.’
‘I should have known better. A Cavenham a philanthropist!’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Hell will freeze over before that happens.’
He had really cooked his goose now, he decided. They were back to where they were when he had pulled up in Mrs Watson’s garden. She was just as furious as she had been then, and he just as misunderstood. It was all very well to do good by stealth, but when it alienated the person he most wanted to please, he began to wonder if it was worth it. He was in a cleft stick. His philanthropy would infuriate his father; though he did not trouble himself too much about that, he knew it would upset his mother and bring on one of her bad turns, so he would not risk making it public. On the other hand, he hated being at odds with Helen. They did have much in common: their compassion for those in need and their love of justice and fairness. He admired her courage, the passion she showed for the causes she adopted, her loveliness and her vulnerability. He had held her in his arms and he could not forget that. He wished he could do it again now and soothe her prickliness away. She would be outraged if he did and who could blame her?
‘Are you going to let the gentleman help you?’ he asked.
‘I might as well. No one else will.’ And with that she turned from him to the men who were making their way towards them.
* * *
She watched Mil
es usher the men into the barn out of the wind and followed them, standing a little apart, listening to what they had to say. It would take the rest of the summer to make the land good, they told him. The scrub would have to be rooted out, the larger stones removed and the soil turned over and fertilised before anything could be made to grow in it. It would be spring before they could sow seed.
‘Yes, my friend realises that,’ Miles told them. ‘He has authorised me to say you will be given a subsistence while you are doing that, but he expects you to rear some pigs and chickens to help out and keep careful accounts. And this…’ he indicated the barn around them ‘…needs converting into living quarters. It will make six homes for those of you with families. Is there anyone with building skills among you?’
‘We can turn our hand to most things,’ Jack said. ‘Leave it to us.’
‘Good.’
‘I i’n’t sure about the accounts, though,’ someone said. ‘None on us hev had to do nuff’n like that afore.’
Miles looked across at Helen. ‘Perhaps Miss Wayland can be persuaded to do them for you?’
Helen had stopped listening some time before. She was hurting inside, hurting badly, and all because he had turned out not to be the knight in shining armour she had imagined him to be. How could she have been such a fool? She became aware that they had all turned to look at her and Miles was smiling, waiting for an answer to something he had said. She shook herself. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’
‘The men were asking if you can do the accounts for them, Miss Wayland. They must keep records of what they spend and any income they receive.’
‘Oh.’
‘Go on, miss, say you will,’ Jack said. ‘We’ll all be too busy to struggle with figures.’
‘Very well.’
They all clapped. ‘You be one of us,’ one of the men said. He was an ex-soldier, tall and upright, but far too thin. ‘An’ it be good to hev you on our side.’
‘This is not a war,’ Miles reproved him.
‘It feel like it to me,’ another said. ‘Us ag’in the toffs, beggin’ your pardon, my lord.’
Miles laughed. ‘What do you propose to call this army of yours? It needs a name.’
Dozens of suggestions were put forward and they finally settled on the Ravensbrook Market Co-operative, then they decided how the land was to be divided, some saying it should be done equally, others that those with families ought to have a larger strip, but Miles pointed out their resources were to be pooled and if a man was married and had a family it did not mean he could work more land than the others, so he was in favour of everyone being given an equal piece of ground, then there could be no arguments and the rent for each strip would be a penny for the first year. With their agreement on this, the meeting was brought to an end and they returned to the horse and cart which had brought them. Helen turned to go with them, but Miles called her back.
