Betrayal (The Fenland Series Book 2)

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘James Blakiston, it seems, is the name of the Dillingworths’ lawyer,’ I said to Anthony. ‘At any rate, my sister writes that they have employed such a man at Lincoln’s Inn on one occasion, and they are unlikely to have used the services of more than one, surely?’

  ‘Unlikely. Very well, let us seek out this James Blakiston tomorrow, if you think you can walk as far as Lincoln’s Inn.’

  ‘Aye, I am growing accustomed to this prop,’ I said. ‘I shall manage well enough.’

  Privately, I knew it would be difficult and exhausting to walk so far, to the end of Gray’s Inn Lane and then down Chancery Lane, but I was restless and impatient, having to leave all the work of the search to Anthony. If we could speak to James Blakiston, the whole matter could progress at once. If he had made a thorough search and failed to find the charter, it might mean that the copy kept in the Rolls House had somehow been lost or gone missing. There might be other places we could search. Indeed, the other copy, the one once held by the Dillingworths, might still exist. Like all old manors, their house would have chests of ancient documents, probably in disorder and chewed by mice, but had Sir John ever taken the trouble to search for it himself?

  On the other hand, if James Blakiston had found the charter, I should demand to know why it had not been handed over to the commoners. At least we should have been informed, so that we could brief him to prepare for a case at law. I was glad Anthony would be with me. Already qualified as an utter barrister and a strong man in the prime of life, he would carry more weight, both professionally and physically, with a Lincoln’s Inn barrister than I would, a crippled unqualified law student from the country.

  The following morning we set off early, immediately after breaking our fast. It was Goodwife Gorley’s day to clean, but the clerk Edwin Latimer was not due to be working for Anthony as Henry Grantham had a difficult case in hand. Anthony had agreed he should have Edwin’s services that day, in exchange for an extra day when he too was over burdened with work.

  Once again it was a beautiful spring morning. Had I still my old health and strength, I would have enjoyed the walk, but I hobbled along as best I could. I found the wooden leg a little easier to manage each day, and the muscles of my left thigh were certainly growing stronger, but I knew I made a sorry sight. Anthony considerately slowed his own pace to match mine.

  ‘We are fortunate with such weather,’ he said. ‘I was speaking to one of the Benchers yesterday, who has just returned from visiting a client in Northamptonshire, and he said the weather was terrible there – very cold, like November, with both thunder and hail storms.’

  ‘Mercy has been late with the spring planting,’ I said. ‘Perhaps they have suffered as well, in the Fens. Indeed,’ I squinted at the sky, ‘it is almost a little too bright here today. There is a brassy tint to the sunshine. And although the sky is clear here, is that not a faint trace of cloud building up in the east?’

  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘Ah well, this is England. We cannot expect the sunshine to last. I hope we may be back at Gray’s before those clouds reach us here.’

  We arrived at Lincoln’s Inn at last, and I confess my stump was throbbing with pain. I had not attempted to walk so far before.

  ‘Is that the Rolls House?’ I asked, gesturing at a cluster of buildings on the other side of the road. It appeared to be an ancient hall house on to which various wings and excrescences had been tacked over the centuries.

  ‘It is. A very labyrinth of a place. You could be lost and crying for help, and no one would find you.’

  We turned instead to the gatehouse of Lincoln’s Inn. Anthony had worn his lawyer’s gown and I my student gown, for we wanted to impress on Blakiston that we were professional colleagues and not mere idle outsiders. It had been agreed that Anthony would take the lead, as the more senior man. I would take the role of his assistant. As both of us were familiar with the Fens and with the nature of the case of the common lands, I was content for Anthony to wield his greater authority.

  The gatekeeper made no difficulty about admitting us, and pointed out the chambers belonging to James Blakiston in the first courtyard. My heart sank when I realised that I should need to climb a flight of stairs. I had been practising going up and down a few of the steps leading to the floor above Anthony’s chambers, but never more than four at a time. I could barely manage, in a dot and carry fashion. I looked at Anthony in dismay as we made our way across the court.

  ‘Do not let it worry you,’ he said softly. ‘We will go very slowly. I can steady you with a hand on your back.’

  ‘And can you pick me up, when I tumble all the way down again?’ I gave a nervous laugh, which did not deceive him.

  ‘You are not going to fall,’ he said firmly.

  I did not fall, although I came close, about halfway up, when I misjudged the height of the step and lurched precariously sideways, but Anthony braced his hand against the small of my back and I was able to regain my balance.

  Anthony’s rap on the stout oak door was answered by ‘Come in’ and we stepped through into a very fine set of chambers. James Blakiston employed three men. Their positions were not clear, but I took one to be his junior, for he wore a lawyer’s gown. The other two were probably clerks, though well dressed and experienced looking.

  Anthony introduced us both, explaining that we had come from Gray’s Inn and would like to consult him on a legal matter with which he might be familiar.

  Blakiston was a man of middle age, just beginning to go slightly to seed, with the pasty look of a man who spends little time in the open air. His head was long and narrow, the eyes set too close together and his mouth narrow lipped. Perhaps I was prejudiced, for he noticed my wooden leg at once and gave me the sort of contemptuous look one might give a spavined horse or an old blind hunting dog overdue for having its throat cut.

  However, he ushered Anthony into his inner office courteously enough and offered him a chair. I was left to stand behind it. After the long walk and the treacherous climb up the stairs, both of my legs were trembling and I ached to sit down, but I was thankful that my gown would conceal my weakness from Blakiston.

  Once they were seated, the older man behind an impressive desk, Anthony explained that we were searching for the charter granting the common lands in perpetuity to the people of the five parishes, which Sir John Dillingworth had requested him to search for the previous year.

  ‘As nothing has yet been heard as to the success or otherwise of your search,’ Anthony concluded, ‘and as I am acting for the remaining commoners in this case, I felt it right to consult you and consider whether we might work together on this matter.’

  He was very impressive, I thought, giving every impression of being a senior barrister properly briefed in the case. James Blakiston should respect that. Surely he would be prepared to tell us what he knew.

  Blakiston leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands under his chin.

  ‘Ah, indeed. I recall Sir John’s interest in the matter. It seems that the local copy, formerly held by the Dillingworths, is no longer to be found. Naturally, in such a case, one would expect that a copy of the charter would be lodged at the Rolls House. You have searched there?’

  ‘I have,’ Anthony said. ‘Myself.’

  I realised that Blakiston would not have dirtied his own hands amongst the dust of the old scrolls. He would have sent his junior, or one of the clerks, to search. His glance flicked over me and said, as clearly as words, that I was incapable of carrying out such a search.’

  ‘It yielded no success, I assume?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Anthony said.

  ‘The charter was believed to date from Henry II’s time.’

  ‘As I understand it.’

  ‘Very unfortunate. There is such an abundance of documents from that reign.’ Blakiston gave an odd little smirk.

  I could not understand his attitude. Why should he admit that Sir John had approached him about the charter, and yet appear to be privately amuse
d that Anthony’s searches in the Rolls House had proved unprofitable? I felt myself flushing with annoyance, but I contrived to keep my expression bland, while gazing over Blakiston’s left shoulder. Clearly Anthony was also somewhat taken aback by the other lawyer’s odd manner.

  ‘As you say, there is a great abundance of documents from Henry II’s reign. There was a possibility that it might date from the time of his grandson, but it seems unlikely.’

  ‘Unlikely, I am sure. What is it that you wish to consult me about?’

  I noticed that Anthony’s back had stiffened. He too was becoming annoyed, but he kept his voice level.

  ‘As Sir John Dillingworth requested you, a year ago, to locate the charter, so that the commoners could take a case to court against the drainers, I assumed that you must have located the charter, or else had other advice to offer. I had hoped that we might work together.’

  Blakiston leaned forward and rested the palms of his hands flat on the desk. He was smiling openly now.

  ‘There is, however, a difficulty, Master . . . Thirkettle, did you say? I am currently retained as lawyer for a company of adventurers who are investing in land improvement in that wilderness of fenland. Young and inexperienced as you clearly are, you will understand that any collaboration on my part with you or your . . . clients, would represent a conflict of interests.’ He stood up. ‘I must therefore wish you good day.’

  Anthony surged to his feet, his gown swirling about him. The back of his neck had grown very red.

  ‘I wish you good day, sir. I am sorry to have troubled you.’

  The words came out as though through clenched teeth. Anthony stood back to allow me to go out through the door first, for which I was grateful. It blocked Blakiston’s view of my stumbling progress. As we crossed the other office, the three men gave us curious looks, but the junior lawyer was courteous enough to open the outer door for us. Blakiston had remained in his inner room.

  Negotiating the stairs, half blind with fury, I would have fallen had Anthony not grabbed me by the elbow and held me steady. When we reached the ground, we stopped and stared at each other. We were both breathing heavily.

  ‘He has the charter,’ I said.

  ‘Aye.’ Anthony nodded. ‘I believe you are right. He has it, or he knows where it is. A very pretty case of treachery and betrayal.’

  Chapter Seven

  Mercy

  Gideon’s return to Turbary Holm turned into a celebration. When he hugged Kitty and said he was so glad to find her recovering, she began to cry, for she was still weak from the fever, at which point he teased her until she laughed through her tears. Nehemiah shook Gideon’s hand until I thought he would never stop, then took off his woollen cap and scratched his head, a sure sign that he was deeply moved. Gideon spoke gently to my mother, who seemed at first to recognise him, calling him ‘Reverend’, but then that confused look came over her face again and she became very quiet.

  After he had washed the dust of the journey from his face and hands, he demanded to know what work he should do.

  ‘For I know it has been hard for you all, while I have been away, with the lambing and Kitty so ill. Had it been less important, I would not have stayed away so long.’

  ‘If you are able for it,’ I said, ‘you might help Nehemiah fetch the cows in for milking. The milking can be done in half the time with two. That will mean I can salt and turn the cheeses, before I prepare our supper.’

  ‘I am willing to try,’ Gideon said, with laughter in his eyes, ‘though I fear my skill at milking will hardly halve the time.’

  ‘May I fetch the eggs, Mistress Mercy?’ Kitty said eagerly. ‘I can easily do that. I am much stronger now.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘But do nothing else. Come straight back. I do not want to look out in a few minutes and see you sweeping the yard.’

  I went into the dairy with my heart singing. It had been a dull, overcast day, with a chilly wind blowing down from the north, but now that Gideon was back, the air seemed somehow brighter, despite the gathering clouds that foretold rain.

  After we had eaten our supper, my mother taking hers as usual in her chamber, I sent Kitty to her bed, for she was looking tired after the excitement of Gideon’s return.

  ‘I am off to the village,’ Nehemiah said, pulling on his cloak of thick grey frieze. ‘I said earlier that I’d meet with Joseph and his nephews in the yel-hus this evening.’

  With that he was off. Gideon smiled at me. ‘Has he not been on the farm all day? When did he make this arrangement?’

  ‘When his kind heart told him that we might wish to be alone together,’ I said, reaching out to take his hand.

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  ‘It is somewhat cold for a spring evening, but will you go along the lane a little way with me? Wear your thick cloak.’

  For a while we walked in silence, my arm tucked in his, till we reached the point where we could look across to the field where the settlers had built their houses.

  ‘Not a trace left,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Nay. We found a few of their household goods, washed up against the hedges, sometimes several fields away. A few cooking pots, a wash tub. There was even some bed linen, but it was of little use.’

  I was remembering how Tom and I, together with our friends, had crept to the edge of the settlement in the dark, carrying our scythes and axes and pitchforks. How we had torn down part of the incomers’ houses as children screamed and the men chased us away. And how Tom had tripped over my scythe and injured his leg again. The memories were painful and shaming. Yet they had built on our land, destroying part of our badly needed crops. And their countrymen, van Slyke and his workers, had beaten Hannah and Nehemiah, burnt down their homes, and shot Tom. The blame for all this violence lay neither with us nor with the Dutchmen, but with the arrogant and greedy company of adventurers whose sole aim was to steal our land and turn it to their own profit. It would all start again, once van Slyke returned. Tom must find the ancient charter, so that we could take our battle to the courts. Until he did, we might need to take to violent actions again.

  ‘I thought there would be something left,’ Gideon said. ‘Timbers, ditches where they laid the foundations.’

  ‘All the timbers that remained were salvaged to be used in the new cottages, then before the field was ploughed, the men filled in the ditches.’

  ‘What is planted here now?’

  ‘Wheat. But it has barely sprouted. It was been so cold and wet.’ I shivered, partly from the cold, partly from fear for the crops. Gideon put an arm around me and drew me close. We began to walk slowly back to the farm.

  ‘As I explained,’ Gideon said, ‘Amyas plans to come on the last day of the month, so that he can hold the ceremony on the first day of May, but I thought we might hold a hand-fasting before that. What do you say, dear heart?’

  I felt my colour rising. A hand-fasting is as good as a marriage and some never have a church ceremony at all. A hand-fasting held before witnesses would make us man and wife in the eyes of our neighbours and the law.

  ‘There is little time to prepare, but, aye, let us have a simple hand-fasting. We can hold a feast after the church wedding, for I know that everyone will want to celebrate. Times have been so hard, we need a chance to make merry.’

  ‘And it will compensate for no May Day revels,’ he said, ‘for I think we should not risk them this year.’

  ‘Nay, we should not. When shall we hold the hand-fasting, and where?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Gideon!’ I said, ‘We must give some warning.’

  ‘The following day, then. And at the church door, as the most fitting place. If we save the celebrations for the wedding, there is nothing to arrange. Our waiting has been long enough. Do you not long to put an end to it?’

  ‘Aye,’ I whispered. My heart was beating fast. Many couples are bedded after a hand-fasting, not waiting for a church ceremony, but Gideon, as a clergyman, wou
ld surely wait. After his long absence, it seemed everything was now happening very suddenly.

  The next morning Gideon helped again with the milking, and Nehemiah declared that, with perhaps another ten years’ practice, he might make a cowman. At that, Gideon laughed and said it would take more like twenty, but he managed to herd the cows back to the medland by himself, with only Jacob to help. He took my advice to lead Blackthorn, and the others would follow. When he returned, he came to me where I was kneaded loaves in the bread trough.

  ‘I am going to the village, to let our friends know that we will hold our hand-fasting tomorrow. May I take Blaze?’

  ‘You do not need to ask my permission, Gideon.’

  ‘I was not sure whether he might be needed.’

  ‘Nay, he is not needed. And be warned, it will not be our closest friends only. The whole village will come.’

  ‘Are you having a hand-fasting?’ Kitty looked up from the spinning wheel, her face glowing. ‘Oh, I have never seen one!’

  ‘You have seen Alice’s wedding,’ I said. ‘A hand-fasting is like a simple wedding.’

  ‘Then you will be married?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ I found myself blushing again, to my embarrassment. ‘It is a pledge of marriage, but we will still have a church ceremony.’

  Gideon smiled at Kitty. ‘And that is when we shall have feasting and bride cake.’

  When he returned from the village, he came in, shaking his head and laughing. ‘You were right, my love. Already the women were for rushing off to start preparing a feast. I said we would wait for that until the first of May, but the only answer I got was that the first of May was only a week away, so they must make a start at once.’