Three Round Towers
Beverley Elphick
Copyright © 2014 Beverley Elphick
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For Martin, Elle and Alex
Contents
Cover
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Part Two
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Afterword
Bibliography
Part One
Chapter One
Take a quantity of rushes during the season, and strip off the skin from two sides thereof, leaving the pith bare. These, being quite dry, dip them in melted grease repeatedly, and a good light for all purposes of a family may therefore be obtained.
MacKenzie’s Five Thousand Receipts in All the Useful and Domestic Arts
When Becca arrived at Coad Farm my life changed for the better. I was a Coad by name but that brought me no advantage. The missus had taken me in when I was left destitute after the great sickness took my mother, father and younger brother. I was that grateful to be given a room and board in exchange for some light housework, I thought I was the luckiest of survivors. My lipsy leg prevented me from doing the heavy work but Missus Coad made sure she benefited from her charity. I cleaned, scoured and scalded all the pans and kept the fires burning from dawn to bedtime. When I wasn’t seen to be doing those things she got me mending. The cleaning was hard and painful on my leg and feet but I was paid a small wage and not dependent on the parish poor fund.
Becca brought sunshine into the house. I swear the rain would fly before her; she radiated good nature and warmth. We shared a cot up in the attic and were far enough away from the missus and her three sly boys to be able to giggle, swap stories and do our hair together. Becca had beautiful hair, a bright corn colour and long – right down to her bottom. She always kept it plaited and sometimes looped the plaits into a big bun on her neck; when it was twisted up it looked much darker in colour. I learnt how to do it for her and she helped me make mine less unruly. My hair was wiry but with her quick fingers and a few pins she managed to make it look quite pretty. She had a comb, she said she stole it from her father’s new wife. How we laughed when she described the way she had outwitted her stepmother – a come-to-God convert who swore against all adornment but hid her fancy comb away from disapproving eyes. When the comb disappeared, she’d been unable to openly blame Becca, but she knew who had it and it wasn’t long before Becca was pushed out of the family home into a position as the missus’ scullery maid. We didn’t care, Becca had the comb and we had each other. I had never had a friend before.
Coad Farm was a darkly damp place set between two branches of the river Ouse in the tiny village of Hamsey. The nearby church was fortunate enough to have been built on higher ground. The Reverend Skillen serviced our small community with tales of hellfire – we thought that he arrived with a bear on his shoulders. He would threaten us all with dire happenings if we did not obey the Church’s teachings; we had to attend services twice on Sundays and we quaked in our boots if he looked our way. Missus Coad liked to think that she was the principal person in our village and it soured her day when the Reverend rebuffed all her offers of hospitality; every Sunday we prepared a feast and by the time he declined she would be in a foul mood.
Becca usually managed to get a few bites of meat from the family’s leftovers and hid them in her pockets. She nearly got caught when the master brought his dogs in one bitter night, they made straight for Becca and were sniffing all around her. Fortunately, the missus decided she couldn’t abide his stinking dogs in her newly swept kitchen and she threw them out into the night. They at least had warm hay to burrow into; the ill-fitting window in our attic room was frequently frosted hard on the inside. Yet, in the summer, the heat could be suffocating.
Becca thought herself to be thirteen years old, her mother having died of the bloody flux two years before. Her father had set about improving his lot almost immediately and soon began courting and married the widow Skarrow of Lewes, a town to the south of Hamsey.
The widow had two small daughters and complained that Becca was too big a lump to be hanging about at home when she could be set to work in service and put some much needed wages into the family po
t.
I, Esther Coad, was much older than Becca at twenty-one and likely to be a spinster for the rest of my life, I had no illusions about myself, pockmarked, lame and plain, that was me. My family had some education and I was happy to read to Becca from my few books. I pretended to the missus that I was as uneducated as her sons; it wouldn’t do for her to think I was putting on airs and graces. The Coads had been related to my father through several distant cousins but, as I said before, I dared not be seen to claim any advantage. She told me when I first arrived that I was to be a maid of all work and help her look after the three boys and their father, the master.
Becca arrived at the farm in the spring – the land was wet and in flood more often than not but the lush grass provided good grazing for the beasts. During the flood they were moved up to the churchyard, which was on higher ground. The Reverend was happy with this arrangement as he didn’t have to pay to have the grass scythed. In church he called all the animals dumb beasts and I didn’t know whether he meant that they weren’t able to speak or that they were stupid. I thought they were more sensible than we humans, finding their way to the higher ground before ever the rain began to fall.
Missus had three boys – Jacob, Josiah and Job and before Becca arrived they treated me sly. Jacob, the eldest, was mean as a bull and would deliberately trip me up just to laugh at my clumsy attempts to get back up. Joseph and Job laughed fit to burst when my efforts were knocked back again and again with the bull stick. Becca, for all her slight frame, soon sorted them out and I know the boys grew to be wary of her, she was a clever girl and saucy with it. The master laughed when she made fun of the boys; they didn’t like it.
The year marched on and it was the happiest of my recent life. The farm was settled and the missus didn’t hound us, she even smiled occasionally. On Midsummer’s day she gave us both a half day’s holiday so that we could go to the fair at Lewes. We asked the stockman if we could go down river in the master’s small boat with him and, he agreed as long as we returned within four hours before the tide got out of sorts. We were not to be late or he would leave without us and we agreed with much giggling and excitement as we helped each other onto the tiny craft. The Ouse was a big sullen stretch of water with a fearsome reputation; at times it looked so quiet and placid but it had a great pull under the surface. There was only one bridge nearby and that was at Lewes, the river eventually made its way down to the sea and often the sea made its way up the river to add to the floods. For all its deep grey waters it was bountiful, with fish and fowl aplenty and many a family looked to it as a source of food. Its banks could be treacherous but fishermen were a canny lot and knew the river’s ways; we wouldn’t want to get stuck in Lewes and have to negotiate the walk home.
On Midsummer’s day there is a hiring fair and tents to buy potions for every ill – the evil eye, love spells and drops to blight a rival in love. There were even pots of lotion to make skin heal from the pox scars. I persuaded Becca that this lotion was going to help me get a beautiful skin. We paid a half penny for this foul smelling ointment and I couldn’t wait to get home to try it. We wandered round the fairground and Becca saw her father with his new wife and girls – she handed over her wages obediently when her stepmother demanded. I knew she had kept a bit back so I didn’t dare look above everybody’s feet in case I betrayed her. I expect they thought I was witless.
As soon as we could we escaped to the tent where you could find tinkers’ finery. Becca bought a beautiful length of material, which she draped over her shoulders. It suited her bright shining hair, which she had carefully washed in nettle water for this special day. It was the first time she had worn her hair loose in all the time I had known her and it was a sight to see it ripple down her back. She told me it had never ever been cut, I looked at her in awe: she was young, pretty and happy as we linked arms and paraded round the fairground and stalls. I couldn’t help but notice that people turned and watched us as we passed and one gentleman doffed his cap, Becca giggled and we hurried on.
The master and his sons were in the beer tent whilst the missus made her purchases. We went in to get a cordial and as I paid I saw the whole family staring at us or, as I later realised, at Becca. When the missus saw us she was cross and made her tie her hair up. We had a wonderful afternoon and met some friendly people that Becca knew; they all joined in the races and games put on for young people. I couldn’t join in but they made me welcome and I didn’t mind.
Things were never to be the same after that fateful Midsummer’s day. The missus took to watching us and found fault with Becca at every opportunity and the boys, particularly Jacob, followed her every move with their mean little eyes. I warned her to stay out of their way but she just laughed and said, ‘I can handle them.’
On the night of Becca’s fourteenth birthday we served supper to the family. It was a light meal of meat pasty served with vegetables followed by some milk pudding. As I stepped forward to clear the table the master pushed his chair out and spoke. He rarely spoke and I stopped in my tracks. He was looking at Becca.
‘Get your basket girl,’ he said. ‘You can come and help me with the chickens.’
I dropped my fork in astonishment as Becca followed him out into the night.
The missus jumped up from the table and slapped it violently with the flat of her hand but master had gone and the door slammed. The boys were muttering to each other whilst casting sidelong looks at their mother; she silenced them with a look. They all sat there until their father came back – he was gone for some time.
Eventually, I was dismissed and I flew up the stairs to our little attic room. Becca was crumpled on the floor and sobbing piteously. He had taken her hair out of its knot and played with it she said before forcing himself on her in the hay.
How the tables had turned, now it was my turn to comfort the poor child and I held her shivering body in my arms through the whole of the night. I tried to soothe her bruises with the cream I had bought at the fair, I even begged the missus for some of her lavender water. She hissed at me, ‘You want me to treat his whore? She’s a slut and I won’t help him in his wenching.’
Month after month he took her out to the barn to help him with the chickens, telling her to wear her pretty wrap and loosen her hair; each time she cringed away, each time he raped her.
One night when Becca was back in our room I crept down the backstairs to get her some chicken broth. The boys were huddled together whispering – they didn’t see me but I heard Jacob’s reedy voice telling his brothers that his father shouldn’t be having all the fun and threatening to tup the slut at the first opportunity. Horrified, I kept myself hidden until I heard them leaving. I took a ladle of broth and made my way as quietly as I could up the stairs. I tried not to spill a drop as my uneven steps made me extra clumsy and my hands were shaking like giant leaves. I told Becca what I had heard and her eyes dulled with pain; she gripped my hand and whispered that she knew their intentions from the way they looked at her.
No one had ever told me precisely what men did to women but I lived on a farm and guessed the way of it. When Becca began to fill out I guessed she was with child, and, by combining our knowledge, when, roughly it was due. As her belly filled she picked up her spirits and I thought things would be all right; the missus was bound to take the child as her own and no one would dare say otherwise; an extra pair of hands round the farm would benefit them, especially as they wouldn’t need paying.
Becca stopped going to the church because she felt everyone looking at her and the Reverend’s sermons were spat from the pulpit directly at us, or so it seemed. Missus no longer invited him to sup, nor anyone else for that matter. The atmosphere at the farm was frightening and we crept around not daring to look above anyone’s feet.
One of our many tasks around the house was to make rush lights and thus save on the cost of candles. It was a simple task involving picking the rushes from the riverside and dipping them in tallow; Becca seemed to like this job so I left h
er to it. It was easy, soothing work and I got on with the heavier scullery pans. One day I was surprised to find a pile of the dipped rushes up in our room, they were hidden – pushed behind the bed. As her time progressed she began to fashion the waxed strips into a little basket. I watched dubiously, I couldn’t see a baby being put in a waxed box for a cradle. I held my tongue, as she seemed quite content.
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