The house seemed delightfully empty when the last of six travelling coaches loaded with baggage departed and quieter still when Lucy and Julia went to stay with their maternal grandparents in Westbridge. A visit already planned for August was brought forward at the twins’ special request. There would be plenty of time for them to make friends when Sophie had settled into the household. For the moment, they seemed happy that she ignored them.
For Jane, it was a joy to be free of the responsibility of Kate’s care, and more so to have time with Tom and the children. For a few weeks at least, it was a chance to be a real family.
CHAPTER 7
“Where is Hillend, Papa?”
It was only when Joshua posed the question that Tom realised how long it was since he had travelled that way. To him, Hillend was a sad, neglected place, and yet, twenty years ago, it was a pretty village, full of hope and joy. There was sadness too, but with the optimism of youth, he expected it to pass. Given a fair chance, it would have. At the time, his father was the Squire at Linmore, and he the eldest son.
Tom had spent the last two weeks driving around the estate with Joshua and the Cobarne children, travelling through the villages to meet the local folk, and listening to the boys talking. Charlie immediately took charge, by telling Joshua what to do – and Joshua, delighted to have a friend, let him. The smile on his face was evidence enough to show there was no sign of the fear he felt in his brother’s presence.
Oblivious of the two boys, Sophie sat on the floor of the chaise, with her dark-eyed gaze firmly fixed ahead between the horses’ ears. Tom was so pleased with the way things turned out that he left the Westbridge post-road behind, and headed for Hillend. Immediately, the name conjured up memories he would rather forget. Times of sadness, deceit, and an estrangement, which was never resolved, even on his father’s deathbed.
“Hillend is a village that once belonged to the Littlemore estate, which Aunt Jane’s father owned.” That was the easiest way to describe it.
“How did it come to be ours, Papa?” said Joshua. “Did she give it to you when she came to live with us?”
“No,” said Tom. “Your Grandfather Norbery bought it, when her father died, and merged the land with Linmore.”
How simple it sounded, and how complicated it was. The monetary cost to Linmore was relatively small, a few thousand pounds, but it cost Tom everything he held dear.
It was in the summer of ’76, when Tom and his brother, Jack, returned from their Grand Tour of Italy, and found their father had purchased Hillend Estate, the property of his old friend and neighbour, James Littlemore, who died leaving his impoverished family dependent on the charity of others.
Having left the bereaved woman and her three daughters in possession of their home, his father, a widower, made regular visits to ensure the comfort of the widow – an attractive woman in her late thirties – taking his sons with him.
Tom remembered the idyllic summer when he fell in love with sixteen-year-old Jane, newly emerged from the schoolroom, and Mrs Littlemore’s acceptance of him as a potential suitor for her youngest daughter. It was a magical time, but the mother’s unexpected death, from typhoid, changed everything.
That was when his father ordered him, as the heir to Linmore, to marry one of the young ladies, and denied him the right to choose Jane.
“Think carefully before you refuse me, Thomas, in case you are the cause of all three young ladies being cast penniless on the district.” Edward Norbery’s harsh voice rang in his ears.
“How can they be penniless,” he argued, “when you bought their estate, and allowed them to keep their home at Hillend?”
He had never seen his father look so uncomfortable, or so angry.
“Because James Littlemore’s widow would not allow me to pay my old friend’s debts. She insisted on doing that herself, and there was little money to spare from the sale. Would that I had paid double the amount, for if the lady had lived longer, she and I might have found another solution to their problems.”
Squire Norbery did not say what that might be. Nor did he meet Tom’s eye, but the realisation his father had contemplated remarriage silenced him.
“Now, you must marry the older daughter, so her younger sisters will have a home at Linmore. I will dower them and ensure they find husbands. My hands are tied if you refuse, for I cannot offer shelter when they have no female relation to act as chaperone, and Stretton, of Norcott Abbey, insists it is not fitting that Miss Jane should be married before her older sisters.”
Tom had no wish to marry a bad-tempered woman, five years older than he, who in the eight months since her stepfather’s death scarcely afforded him the time of day. There was no future in it, but his father was adamant.
Within a week, he married Kate Stretton by special licence at Littlemore House, in a ceremony shrouded in secrecy and conducted by an officiating cleric who was a stranger to the district, brought in by Elias Stretton.
Afterwards, his father said, “She may not be your first choice, but all you have to do is get the woman with child, so we may have an heir to Linmore.”
Tom looked at his father and said, “You can force me to marry this woman, Father – but not to be her husband. If I die without issue, then Jack, my brother, is the heir.”
Less than six months later, when Kate delivered a black-haired son whom she named Matthew, after her father, Edward Norbery summoned his son to ask, “This child, Thomas, is he…?”
“Mine?” said Tom, in a hard voice. “No, sir, he may have our name, but he does not have one drop of Norbery blood in him. You are well served for your interference, but I fear it is an ill day for Linmore.”
His father blustered about annulment, but his words had a hollow ring. The scandal would have been too great. Nevertheless, Edward Norbery fulfilled his promise to the other girls, and before the end of her first season, Clarissa Littlemore married into the peerage.
A year later, Jane submitted to the same social process, but declined several offers of marriage, saying she preferred to stay at Linmore to support her older sister. With that, her benefactor had to be content.
It was never a marriage. While Tom treated her with courtesy, Kate repaid him with contempt. He did not know who fathered Caroline, born two years later, and yet he loved her as his own. To reject his wife for her blatant adultery would brand the child a bastard. He could not do it, which begged the question, how could he divorce a woman to whom he had never legally been married, yet who lived in his home as his wife?
Kate’s wanton behaviour was not in doubt, only the validity of the special licence and the charlatan who purportedly conducted the marriage.
Tom discovered the fraud in the months following his father’s death, when he visited the Doctors’ Commons, and learned there was no special licence issued in his name, and no record of the marriage having taken place. When confronted with evidence of her guardian’s perfidy, Kate laughed in his face and challenged him to tell the world.
Therein was Tom’s predicament. In the eyes of the neighbourhood, Kate was his wife and the mother of his children. Legally, she was not. Had his father been alive, he might have insisted on a remarriage. Instead, Tom accepted his moral obligation to provide a home for his dependants.
Thus, she remained at Linmore, and the psychosis, which followed another pregnancy that appeared from nowhere, set the seal on her violent moods. Since then, Martha, servant to the Littlemore family, had been her constant attendant.
Faced with an untenable position, Tom stood for parliament in the by-election of ’86, and won the seat for South Shropshire, which gave him a valid reason to stay away from Linmore. It was not a happy arrangement, but nowadays, Kate lived with Matthew in a separate wing of the Hall, and Jane looked after the rest of the family.
Setting his memories aside, Tom drove the chaise along the winding country lane and up the rising gradient, knowing that when he reached the crest he would see the village below. It was not a hill in the true s
ense, like Linmore, just an outcrop of higher land over which the road ran.
The view was much as he remembered, except the saplings had grown into trees, and bushes become thickets. He passed the village school on the slope with scarcely a glance, his attention already negotiating the approach to the corner, off which led the rectory drive.
It was fortunate the children sitting beside him were happy to talk amongst themselves. Lucky too the road was free of distractions, because he recalled the next bend was particularly sharp, and the high hedges prevented him from anticipating any oncoming traffic.
Having slowed the horses to a trot, his mind registered the overgrown trees in the rectory shrubbery. He supposed it should not surprise him, because the incumbent was the most cantankerous parson he had ever known.
It was no good blaming others when the fault lay with an absent landlord. Tom felt uncomfortable entering the village, knowing Joshua and Charlie would see evidence of his neglect. That was reason enough to instigate repairs, but it would not be easy. The last time his bailiff attempted to speak of restoration to the church, the rector rebuffed him.
For some obscure reason, Reverend Snitterfield approved of the leaking roof and an inch of draught under the main church door. Life was not supposed to be easy for churchgoers, and Tom was sure it was not.
Even in the height of summer, the atmosphere was depressing. He felt a stab of regret as he approached the church, and then forced his gaze beyond, looking towards the cottages beside the inn on the village green. He knew he should stop and speak with the innkeeper. It was what the villagers had a right to expect, but he did not feel disposed to tarry today.
Tom saw a sudden flurry of movement to the right side of his vision as a piercing sound shattered his reverie. “Squire Norbery, please stop…”
He hardly had time to react.
Hearing the shout, Joshua braced himself for the impact as a figure dashed through the churchyard gate into the path of the Linmore chaise. He hunched his shoulders and covered his eyes, not wanting to see the person trampled under the horses’ hooves. If they were not dead, his father was bound to be furious with the person for causing him to snatch at the reins and hurt the horses’ mouths.
By the time he opened his eyes, the chaise had stopped shaking and his father was down from his seat, calming the horses. Fear ebbed away, leaving him feeling foolish, but rather than admit it, he adopted a nonchalant attitude.
“Oh no,” he said, “not more of them. I’m afraid you will have to get used to this now you are living with us, Charlie.”
In truth, Joshua was proud of his father’s popularity. There was nothing new about people waving and wanting to speak to him – but they did not usually risk life and limb to get attention.
“Who is that man?” Charlie asked.
“I don’t know,” Joshua whispered, “but I expect Papa does. He knows everyone in the area.”
Charlie was awestruck. “Does Uncle Tom ever call them by the wrong name? I’m sure I would…”
“It’s worse now he is a Member of Parliament as well as being squire.”
“Be quiet, boys,” an irascible voice said.
Joshua lapsed into shocked silence as his father turned to the hapless cause of the incident, cowering at the roadside. It was the church verger.
“What the devil do you mean by dashing into the road, Drakestone? You could have caused me to overturn the chaise. It was a damn fool thing to do.”
The man was too mortified to speak, but the smartly dressed woman who swept through the lych-gate in his wake was not intimidated.
“I beg your pardon for stopping you, sir,” she said, “but there is something we think you ought to see.”
Squire Norbery immediately modified his tone. Joshua could not hear his father’s words, but whatever he said made the woman’s cheeks flush with pleasure, and she kept smiling. What a relief, he hated acrimony.
As he glanced towards Charlie, his attention fixed on the woman’s hat. It was an amazing creation, the like of which he had never seen. It was formed in a dark blue material to match her pelisse, and trimmed with an array of flowers in various shades of pink, red, white, yellow and little trailing bits of blue, which looked so realistic he suspected they were hand-picked from her garden. He could almost smell the scent. Clearly, she was a person of some importance.
With an effort, Joshua dragged his attention back to the conversation, just as his father said, “About what was it you wished to consult me, Mrs Grimble?”
That was the name of one of their tenant farmers.
“Well, sir,” said the woman. “I was just putting flowers on Grimble’s mother’s grave, and the verger called to me to come to the porch, because he had found a basket of rags.”
Joshua giggled and bit his lip when Charlie nudged him.
“Be silent, Joshua,” his father rebuked. “A basket of rags, Mrs Grimble, and is that all it contained?”
“Oh no, sir,” she said. “There was a baby in it. Ever such a tiny tot and it don’t look more than a few days old.”
“Is the child still in the church porch?”
“Yes, sir, but it shouldn’t be left there. We were wondering if you could tell us where we should take it.”
Joshua waited to hear his father’s decision.
“Where is Reverend Snitterfield?” Squire Norbery said. “I would have thought he was the proper person to deal with such matters.”
“Well, sir,” the verger cleared his throat. “He is… and he isn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“No, Drakestone,” said Squire Norbery. “I’m not sure I do understand. Perhaps you could enlighten me.”
Mrs Grimble interrupted. “It’s because the Reverend’s sister, Miss Petunia, doesn’t approve of bastards, sir. She would send it to the Westbridge poorhouse, without any thoughts about its feeding needs. Unchristian, that’s what she is – for all her prating hypocrisy about helping the poor.”
That was strong language indeed, which left them in no doubt of the woman’s opinion about the parson’s sister.
“Do you have any suggestions on where the child should go, Mrs Grimble?” Squire Norbery asked in a quiet voice.
Joshua did not expect that. People in his father’s position usually made decisions for other people. Luckily, the woman had an answer.
“Indeed I do, sir. The wife of one of Grimble’s labourers had a stillbirth about a week ago, and I was wondering if you thought it might be a good idea if she was to look after the babe, seeing as she has milk to feed it. I wouldn’t want to do that if you thought it was not the right thing to do. Of course, I doubt if she could afford to take it without some sort of recompense…”
“Is this woman a reliable person, who would care for the child?”
“Yes, sir, Peggy Walcote has worked for me on the farm for the last three years. She is a bit slow in the head, but is a kind soul, and hard working.”
“Show me the child, if you please, ma’am. Drakestone, be so good as to stay with the horses.”
“Papa, can we come with you?” Joshua could not wait to ask.
“Yes, Joshua, but you must behave yourselves.”
With that, Squire Norbery and the woman turned towards the church.
Eager to follow, Charlie called for Sophie to join them, but she shrugged her shoulders and affected not to hear. No sooner did they pass through the lych-gate than she clambered up onto the seat of the chaise.
“She’ll be all right sitting there with the horses, Josh, and the man’s holding the reins.”
The boys dawdled along the church path behind the grown-ups, kicking stones that came within their reach.
“Did you hear what they said?” Joshua asked.
“It sounds like they have found a baby, but nobody would leave a live one in a church on its own,” Charlie said.
“Have you seen one of… what she said before? I haven’t.” Joshua was loath to admit the deficiency in his knowledge.
�
�Not that type,” said Charlie, “but we did have several babies at home when I was young, but they didn’t stay very long before going to live with Jesus. Everyone thought Sophie would go the same way, but she didn’t, and look at her now – she’s a real beauty.”
Joshua would not have chosen those words to describe Charlie’s sister, but he did not want to offend him. After all, they had only lived at Linmore for a few weeks, and Charlie was a better friend than his brother had ever been.
On reaching the church porch, they saw a basket of plaited rushes on a low stone shelf near the inner door. Rather than interrupt the grown-ups’ conversation, the boys sidled around them and peered into the container.
All Joshua could see was a tiny face, surrounded by a ragged shawl. He assumed from the closed eyelids, the baby would remain sightless for several days like farm kittens.
“What a funny little thing,” he whispered. “It has only a few tufts of hair, the colour of the chestnut foal born last month.”
“They don’t have much to start with, silly; but it grows if they survive.” Charlie seemed to know about such things.
Joshua did not like to think the baby might not live. He had never encountered anything like it before. That was the trouble with being the squire’s youngest son. Everything happened before he was born.
He wondered what his father would decide. The baby was ever so small, quite helpless, and from what he could see, it would not know how to feed itself.
When he reached out to stroke the baby’s cheek, it brought a startling response. Two bright eyes opened, and a tiny hand grasped his finger.
“Hey, look,” said Charlie. “He likes you. Be careful though, it might bite.”
“Has it any teeth?” asked Joshua, touching the baby’s bottom lip. No, he could only see gums. The little mouth started to work around the tip of his finger. Its tongue tickled. “What’s the matter with it?”
“It’s probably hungry,” said Charlie. “Your finger won’t satisfy it for long. Babies drink milk.”
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