White Water

by Pamela Oldfield

  There was cider and fresh brewed ale for everyone. The pitchers were set along the tables and replaced as soon as they were empty. Trays of veal pies and mutton pasties arrived — Maggie had excelled herself — and two pigs, cooked the previous day, had been carved ready and piled high on the trays, beside hunks of chicken and thick slices of spiced sausage — Melissa’s speciality. Ellie ran to and fro, with bread, cheese and beetroot pickles, her face glowing, her hair tied back with a red ribbon and a few ears of barley.

  On the top table sat all the Kendals with the exception of Martin and Maria. Melissa was there with Nina who, in a bright red dress and coloured beads, looked more gipsy than ever with her swarthy skin and dark flashing eyes and black hair. Thomas had remained at home with the little ones and Nina and Melissa, with Jacob, would ride home as soon as the meal was over. Nina had not long recovered from the birth of her second child and was still feeding him herself.

  The Crocker brothers played with great enthusiasm and the lively music echoed among the rafters of the old barn. As drink loosened the tongues, they wagged more freely, and between mouthfuls of food people sang snatches of the well loved songs, punctuated by bursts of laughter as jokes were exchanged and riddles explained to the growing satisfaction of everyone. Hans Bucher sat between Allan and Melissa in an outfit of pale green brocade. It made his face look paler than usual and he looked ill-at-ease. He drank sparingly of the cider, for he had tried to bolster his courage earlier by a glass or two of madeira and now the two liquids mingled unhappily in his delicate stomach. He was by nature a timid man and large noisy gatherings exhausted him.

  ‘More pork, Master Bucher?’ asked Melissa. ‘You eat so little — it would not keep a flea alive! Will you try a veal pie? They are Maggie’s speciality — or mayhap a slice of sausage? No? Are you unwell, Master Bucher?’

  She looked at him with concern but he merely shook his head and smiled feebly. From the other end of the table there were giggles from Lorna and a burst of excited chatter from Piers who sat beside her. Ellie, Maggie and Minnie were rushed off their feet, removing empty dishes and bringing in new ones. There were custards and junkets to be served, and tarts to be cut up. Maggie carried a large bowl of fruit which she ladled out generously and there were seven large fruit cakes waiting to round off the meal. Maria had decided that the meal should be filling rather than fancy. It might be the only good food many of them would have.

  At the end of one of the tables Hugo saw Barlowe, the mine manager, and raised a hand in greeting. Once they had been enemies — they had even fought. Now Barlowe was loyal to him and Hugo trusted him. He was a hard man but he did his job well and the tinners respected his authority. Halfway down the table Hugo recognized Tiddons and Boord with Annie Boord beside him, and at the next table Rita Carp sat with John Jenkins and his family. There were other faces — Green and Lennard and a man whose name he could not recall. He saw that they ate well and said little and was surprised that they had accepted the invitation to attend.

  Matt, Jacob and Jon were kept busy replenishing the pitchers and Ben ran to and fro between the barn and the kitchen, where a great pile of dishes and bowls were waiting to be washed up. They would start on that job as soon as the feasting was through and hopefully would eat their own supper, prudently reserved, and get back into the barn in time to join in the merrymaking which would last until midnight. As the evening progressed into a harmonious blend of laughter, music and the occasional belch, at last it was deemed time for Eloise’s speech. She stood up while Hugo banged on the table with the hilt of his knife and Matt bellowed a demand for silence.

  ‘The mistress wants to speak,’ he shouted and Eloise’s heart warmed to him. As she looked round at the rows of flushed faces, the fiddlers finished their tune and rested their instruments, and the chatter died away until a small boy hiccupping was the only sound in the room. All eyes turned to Eloise, and no one could deny her beauty. The excitement had touched her cheeks with a warm glow and her eyes sparkled. The torchlight on the walls behind her gave her face a flattering softness, and her neck and shoulders shone creamy-white in the light from the candles set at intervals along the table.

  ‘Good friends,’ she began and there was a delighted murmur of approval from her listeners. ‘Hugo has asked me to speak to you in Maria’s absence and I am pleased to do so. Maria has to attend a funeral and we are all sorry she cannot be with us tonight, but on her behalf and on behalf of all at Heron and Ladyford we welcome you to this harvest supper.’ Her initial nervousness vanished and her clear voice carried easily to the far end of the barn. ‘There are many here tonight for the first time and to those we give a special welcome. Our thanks to all those who prepared tonight’s feast — ’ There was a clamour of approval and a burst of applause, ‘And our thanks to God also for a bountiful harvest. You have all worked long and hard and tonight is your due reward. We want you to enjoy yourselves. When the food is finished we shall clear away the tables and the fiddlers will play until the stroke of twelve. So, from all of us to all of you, our blessings and God go with you.’

  She sat down to tumultuous applause and stamping of feet and even a few ragged cheers. Allan gave her a kiss and Hugo leaned forward.

  ‘That was splendidly done, Eloise. Maria will be very pleased.’

  An hour later the room was cleared and the dancing was in progress. The Crockers had managed to keep the music going without a break. One would fall out to eat and drink while the other two played on. Now they were all replete and could give their whole attention to their music, with only the briefest pauses to wipe the sweat from their faces or gulp large mouthfuls of ale. Among all this jollity, Hans Bucher was not at all happy. His stomach heaved and his head ached and the room swam before him. Melissa, Nina and Jacob had already returned to Ladyford and Eloise was dancing with Allan, so it was left to Maggie to realize what a sad state he was in.

  ‘Would you care to go to bed, Master Bucher?’ she asked him kindly. ‘You look so tired and the best part of the evening is over. We could find you a bed in Heron or someone will go with you if you wish to sleep in your own bed.’

  He turned in his seat and regarded her blearily. ‘My own bed?’ he repeated. ‘Go home to bed?’ He shook his head. ‘Who says I must go to bed, eh?’

  ‘’Tis I, Maggie, from Ladyford,’ she told him. ‘I don’t say you must go only that I think you are very tired — ’

  ‘I am indeed tired. Aye, I am tired … Aye, ’tis true good lady, I am very tired.’

  ‘And will you sleep the night at Heron? You will be most welcome to do so.’

  ‘No! Not at Heron … No, no. I must sleep in my own bed.’

  ‘Then I’ll send Jon with you to see you safely to your door.’

  ‘To my door? Oh aye, my door … ’

  Maggie spoke quickly to Hugo who looked at his guest with some amusement. ‘Aye, send him home,’ he told Maggie. ‘Our English hospitality has proved too much for him, poor man.’

  Jon cursed inwardly at being forced to relinquish even half an hour’s entertainment, but he helped Bucher outside as discreetly as possible and set him on his horse. He rode alongside him as they moved at a walking pace and, when necessary, put out a hand to steady his companion when he swayed. When they reached the cottage he helped the little man down from his horse, saw him safely inside and lit his candle for him.

  ‘Will you manage the stairs?’ he asked. ‘Shall I help you?’

  ‘No … ’ Bucher waved his hand in a shaky gesture of dismissal. ‘Go … leave me.’

  ‘I’ll tether your horse behind the cottage,’ Jon told him.

  Bucher had slipped down and was sitting on the bottom stair with the candle on the floor beside him. Jon hesitated then, with a shrug, left him. He tied the horse to a tree at the rear of the cottage and then remounted his own. As he rode back towards Heron he passed two men walking towards him. They kept their faces averted and muttered no greeting in answer to his own, ‘A safe night!’ Jon th
ought them ill mannered, but wasted no more time on them. Spurring his horse, he cantered back to the harvest supper where Minnie was waiting impatiently to dance with him.

  *

  Hans lay propped against the stairwell, his head lolling forward on his chest, his eyes closed. Outside, the wind had risen and gusted the first autumn leaves against the shutters. The house timbers creaked a little, but otherwise there was no sound save his own heavy breathing and an occasional groan whenever he moved his throbbing head. His bladder was full and he would have to relieve himself, but he doubted if he could crawl to the door. Slowly, he let himself topple forward until he was on all fours, but as he reached for the candle he fell sideways on to it and extinguished it. He cursed weakly, then continued his erratic progress to the door. He managed to open it and somehow found himself outside and on his feet. A handy shrub served his purpose and he staggered back to the door. As he did so, he thought he heard a whispered voice very near him in the darkness.

  ‘Hold! Who … Who’s there?’

  Swaying, he clung to the door for support and stared into the darkness. Another sound, like a muffled laugh, caught his ear and he turned towards it. At any other time he would have been afraid, Now he just felt too ill to care. After a moment’s further hesitation, he stumbled back inside and, closing the door, leaned back upon it. Somehow he had to get upstairs and into bed, but it was a daunting prospect and one that worried him. A wave of nausea swept through him and tears of self-pity welled up in his eyes. He was ill and he was alone. With a supreme effort he propelled himself forward and up the first two steps, then his legs gave way under him and he was forced to make his way up the rest of the stairs on his hands and knees. At last he reached the small neat bed chamber and suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps below his window. A prickle of fear touched his spine then blurred into a vague disquiet.

  The nausea had eased temporarily and he stumbled to the window and opened the shutters so that he could look down into the garden. Dark shapes of trees and shrubs swam together.

  ‘Who goes there?’ he asked and was suddenly aware that his voice was slurred. The knowledge shamed him and he lost interest in the footsteps and withdrew his head. He went to the bed and fell carefully on to it, face downwards. A wonderful feeling of relief seized him. He had reached his own bed. He was safe.

  The number of men lurking outside the house grew steadily as, one by one, the men concerned slipped away from the harvest supper and made their way through the darkness to meet their fellows. Some carried unlit torches, others a bundle of rags soaked in tar — anything that would conceivably burn. They spoke in whispers, crouched in the shadows, their voices blown by the wind, their faces harsh and strained. When eleven men had assembled there, they were ready.

  ‘He’ll be sleeping,’ Boord told them, ‘for he’s had a bellyful tonight. Cup shotten is our mincing man, so we’ll get no trouble. He’ll wake up burned to a cinder and never know what happened!’

  There was a rumble of muted laughter.

  ‘Let’s be done with it then,’ said Alf Gillis. ‘We’re wasting time.’

  ‘Aye, let’s get it over.’ That was John Greer.

  Boord scowled. ‘You’re an impatient bastard, Alf Gillis. We’ll do it when I say so and not afore. Now we all know the plan — we set it alight then scatter fast. Don’t linger to enjoy the blaze or we’ll have the constables after us. If they catch one of us then likely we’ll all hang. There’s to be no one here when help comes. No one!’ There was an impatient nodding of heads. ‘And remember, we were all at the dancing and none’s to know otherwise. Stick to the story, every man jack of you, or by God’s teeth we’re done for.’

  ‘Cut the talking and start the doing!’ growled Jake Gillis. ‘We all know the plan. Light the torches.’

  From the first torch they lit all the others, and soon the little cottage was ringed by a circle of flames as the men crept up on it from all sides. At a whispered signal they hurled the flaming brands — a few landed on the new thatch, others were thrust against the wooden doors and in at the open shutters. The thatch took a moment or two to catch alight, for the reeds were densely packed and slightly damp, but they smouldered in several places and then, simultaneously, the fires burst out with a fierce crackling sound. The doors were scorched and thick smoke drifted from the wood, but they did not flare immediately. Inside the room, the burning rags set fire to the rushes that covered the floor, and in no time at all the flames had spread across to the bottom of the stairs and were licking hungrily at the wooden risers. Smoke filled the room, swirled by the gusts of wind blowing in at the window, but upstairs Hans Bucher lay in a drunken stupor oblivious to the danger.

  *

  Hugo and Maggie finished their dance and returned, breathless and laughing, to their seats. There they found Barlowe waiting.

  ‘May I speak with you?’ he asked Hugo, who obligingly walked a few paces with him until they were out of earshot of the rest of the family.

  ‘It may be my suspicious mind but there’s a few faces missing,’ said Barlowe. ‘Suddenly the Gillises are gone, Boord, Jenkins — a lot of mean men — ’

  ‘Gone?’ said Hugo. He had drunk a little too well and his mind was slow to grasp what Barlowe was suggesting.

  ‘Aye, sir. One minute they was all here, now there’s a good number missing. And Master Bucher’s home alone.’

  ‘Bucher? Dear God! Do you think they mean him some harm? No! I won’t believe it.’

  ‘I wish you would,’ said Barlowe grimly, ‘because time’s passing and I wouldn’t trust any of them. They’re up to some mischief together I’ll be — ’

  ‘I hope you’re wrong,’ cried Hugo, ‘but we’d best go and see. Jon! Fetch the horses man, quick! It might be life or death. Matt! Allan! Come quickly.’

  As they came running, a few curious faces turned towards the commotion, but there was no time to spare feelings or consider the party atmosphere.

  ‘We fear for Bucher’s life. Fetch weapons. Jon is saddling the horses. Every minute counts!’

  Faced with a possible emergency, Hugo’s head had cleared and within minutes the small group of men were mounted and galloping towards Bucher’s cottage. As soon as they rounded a bend in the highway they could see the glow in the sky that told them Barlowe’s guess had been correct.

  ‘My God, I’ll hang them all with my own hands if they’ve harmed him!’ muttered Hugo.

  The cottage was ablaze by the time they reached it, but the smoke had finally entered Bucher’s lungs and made him cough. Dimly, he had become aware of the fact that his home was on fire and he had the presence of mind to stagger to the top of the stairs, only to find them burning fiercely and offering no escape. His peril was very real and fear sobered him.

  He lapsed into his native tongue, and began to pray. As he prayed, he ran to the window and looked down. It seemed a long way to the ground and there was nothing to break his fall. Looking up, he saw the blazing roof and was seized by another fit of coughing as the wind blew the thick white smoke towards him.

  ‘Help me!’ he screamed. Terror gave added power to his thin voice, which was heard by the approaching group of horsemen. Behind Bucher the flames had reached the door and flickered under it and around the edges. From below him came the dull roar and the room was uncomfortably hot. Wisps of smoke found their way through the planking of the floor and he stared at them hypnotized, like a rabbit before a snake. Despairingly he fell on his knees beside the bed and resumed his prayers, his eyes closed against the smoke, his hands covering his ears, blotting out the awesome crackle of the fire. With a crash, the stairs collapsed and the sound jerked him into a fresh paroxsym of fear and a heightened sense of his helplessness. He knew he was going to die as surely as though he read the words. With a moan, he ran to the window to take a last look at the sky and from there to rail at his cruel God, who thus abandoned the innocent.

  To his astonishment he saw a group of men ride up to his gate. They were shout
ing to him urgently, but he could not make out what they said. He leaned out, a wild hope forming in his breast that God, in his infinite mercy, had relented.

  ‘Jump!’ shouted Hugo. ‘As soon as the horses are in position. D’you hear me? Jump on to the horses. They will break your fall.’

  ‘I can’t!’ cried Bucher. ‘I know I can’t! God help me but I can’t.’

  ‘You must!’ shouted Hugo, and already the men had dismounted and were pushing the horses together. There were five animals and their backs made a broad if insecure platform.

  ‘Jump, you fool, before ’tis too late!’ urged Jon. The extreme heat was affecting the horses nearest to the house. They whinnied shrilly in alarm and fidgetted sideways.

  ‘Jump, damn you!’ shouted Hugo. ‘If not, then you’ll burn. We can do no more for you so jump!’

  Awkwardly, Bucher climbed out on to the window ledge and closed his eyes. The ceiling behind him collapsed in a fierce tangle of burning reeds and a whirling mass of sparks. He actually fell out of the window, and his scream of fear was abruptly ended as he landed heavily among the backs of the horses and all the breath was knocked from him. The horses reared as he slipped down between them, and a hoof caught him across the back of the head. With a final agonized shudder he slipped into unconsciousness and was carried back to Heron in the same state.

  *

  No words from Hugo could reassure him or persuade him to reconsider his decision to go home. He was not a brave man nor a foolhardy one and he was convinced that, having failed the first attempt, his adversaries would try again. The prospect terrified him and his one aim was to put as many miles as possible between himself and Heron. He was breaking his contract by going, but remained unimpressed by all the arguments put forward to keep him in England. The shock of his ordeal had seriously undermined his health both physically and mentally. His hands shook visibly and his eyes had a haunted look which revealed his inner turmoil. He had lost weight and could not eat without nausea. A sleeping draught was recommended by the physician but he refused to take it, afraid that another attempt would be made on his life while he slept.