Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  But Annabel was to find out a great deal the following day.

  Thirteen

  Sunday morning dawned bright and clear. Jane woke her mistress with a cup of black tea and a piece of dry bread.

  ‘There’s just no food in the place, miss. Nothing. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s not even anything growing in the gardens. At least, nothing that’s not been picked already.’

  ‘I know. I went to look yesterday. You know, we’ve been lucky,’ Annabel said soberly. ‘I’ve been brought up in a wealthy household and you, living on a farm even before you came to us, have never gone short of something to eat.’

  ‘My mam always kept a good table, even though we did go through some hard times. But this . . .’ Jane shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. ‘It’s not what I expected in a place like this. I thought lords and ladies were rolling in it.’

  ‘Obviously not,’ Annabel said dryly as she got out of bed and began to wash and dress in readiness for going to church.

  At ten-thirty, she and Jane were waiting in the hall with the butler when Dorothea and her mother joined them.

  ‘Your maid will walk to church with the rest of the staff,’ Dorothea said shortly, without even a greeting. ‘There’s barely room in the trap for the three of us as well as Jackson.’

  Pointedly, Annabel said, ‘Good morning, Dorothea – Lady Fairfield. Of course, that’s no problem.’

  Taking the hint, Jane dipped a curtsy and disappeared back to the kitchen as they heard the sound of a trap pulling up. John Searby opened the door and assisted the three women into the trap, which was driven by a stocky man, with fair hair, blue eyes and sideburns. He was dressed in a check jacket and trousers and Annabel judged him to be in his thirties. No introductions were made, but she assumed this must be Ben Jackson, the estate bailiff. He tipped his cap to them, murmuring a deferential greeting, and, when they were comfortable, he flicked the reins and the pony began to walk down the hill.

  There was no one in the church when they arrived, so they settled themselves into the front pew to wait. A tall, pale man, with thinning fair hair and dressed in a surplice, appeared from the vestry and came down the steps towards them. After a courteous greeting to Lady Fairfield and Dorothea he turned to Annabel, his light blue eyes gazing into hers. ‘And you must be Lord Fairfield’s bride.’ He held out his hand. ‘I can’t tell you what this will mean to all of us. Your coming will save—’

  ‘That will do, Mr Webster,’ Dorothea snapped and the poor man looked startled and flustered. ‘I’m sorry, I thought—’

  ‘Then you’d do best not to think too much, Mr Webster.’

  He gave a little bow and turned away just as the organist began to play softly. The door at the back of the church opened and the villagers began to file in. Annabel was surprised to see so many people; where on earth had they all been hiding? Why had she seen no one before today? After some time, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the servants from Fairfield Hall take their places in the pew directly behind where she was sitting. The service lasted about an hour and at the end, Lady Fairfield, Dorothea and Annabel rose and made their way down the aisle. As she passed the villagers, Annabel smiled to right and left. But there were no answering smiles, no little bows from the men or curtsies from the women. They stared back at her in stony silence, their faces glum and resentful.

  The vicar was waiting at the door to shake hands with each of them. He bowed courteously once more and held Annabel’s hand a little longer than was necessary. ‘My lady,’ he whispered, ‘might I have a word with you?’

  ‘Of course.’ She turned to see Ben Jackson helping Lady Fairfield and Dorothea into the trap. Then he climbed up and, at Dorothea’s instruction, flicked the reins. He glanced back towards her, apologetically, she thought, but then the trap moved away.

  ‘Oh miss, they’re going without you,’ Jane cried and made as if to run after the trap to stop it, but Annabel put her hand on Jane’s arm. ‘No matter,’ she murmured. ‘I can walk.’

  The villagers were filing out now, but no one spoke to her. They walked down the path and dispersed to their homes, walking slowly, their heads bent. A small, thin man emerged. He was hunched, yet she didn’t think he was any older than about fifty. He was dressed in what were obviously his Sunday best clothes and yet they were ill fitting and shabby. He paused and glared at Annabel. Then quite deliberately he spat, the globule of spit landing on the hem of her dress. Annabel stared back at him in horror, but she said nothing.

  ‘Oh my lady, I’m so sorry. Mr Fletcher,’ the vicar turned to the man, ‘how could you? It’s the new Lady Fairfield who will be the salvation of us all.’

  The man’s eyes were filled with hatred. ‘Aye, an’ I’ll believe that when I see it, an’ all. She’ll be just like them selfish buggers up the hill. Living in luxury whilst we all starve in the village. God – how I wish the old man were back. At least, he cared about his tenants.’

  ‘Mr Fletcher – please . . .’ Richard Webster said, but the man turned away and hobbled down the path. Lastly, the servants from Fairfield Hall appeared, Nelly Parrish leaning heavily on John Searby’s arm. Behind them, Annie walked alongside Luke, her arm through his. Annabel was concerned to see that the cook looked white and ill. She moved towards her. ‘Why don’t you wait here and Luke can ask Mr Jackson to bring the trap back for you?’

  ‘Oh no, m’lady. That would never do. I’ll manage – with Mr Searby’s help.’

  Annabel frowned. The poor woman looked as if she could scarcely take another step, never mind climb the slope back to the house. The cook glanced around her and, seeing the trap disappearing along the street, added, ‘Have they gone without you, m’lady?’

  ‘Yes, they have,’ Jane said indignantly before Annabel could answer.

  Annabel touched her maid’s arm. ‘You go with the others, Jane. I want to speak to the vicar.’

  ‘I’d rather stay with you, miss. I’ll keep out the way if you and the vicar want to talk private, like. But please let me stay with you.’ The girl glanced over her shoulders at the other servants making their way along the street and shuddered.

  ‘Very well.’ Annabel turned back to the vicar. ‘Now, Mr Webster, will you please tell me what is going on here? There’s something very wrong in this village and I want to know what it is.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘I’ll likely lose my living here if I do.’

  She eyed him quizzically. ‘From what I can see, that would be no bad thing.’

  He shook his head and his glance followed the last few villagers walking slowly to their homes. ‘I wouldn’t leave all these folk. They need me. There’s not much we can do, but my wife and I have been doing what we can. But even our resources,’ the vicar went on sadly, ‘are running out now. The villagers have been scouring the fields and hedgerows for anything edible, but I have been so afraid that someone – particularly a child – would eat something poisonous by mistake or in ignorance.’ He shrugged and added, helplessly, ‘And I’m sure there’s been poaching going on, but what could I do to stop it? I can hardly blame them.’ He was silent for a few moments, then he shook himself and said, ‘Would you come to the vicarage, m’lady? You can meet my wife.’ Mrs Webster, who had played the organ for the service, was a small, wiry woman, her dark hair streaked with grey. Her hazel eyes were filled with an unfathomable sadness. She’d paused only to glance at Annabel as she’d passed her when hurrying away as soon as the service had ended. ‘We can at least make you a cup of tea this cold morning, but we’ve no milk.’

  Annabel was shocked; the day was warm and bright, not cold to her at all. She nodded, accepting the vicar’s invitation. She was anxious to learn more. They walked towards the vicarage, Annabel obliged to match her step to his slow pace. They’d only gone a short distance down the path before Mr Webster began to wheeze, his breathing laboured.

  ‘Here, take my arm,’ Annabel offered.

  ‘Oh m’lady, that wouldn’t be right.�
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  She looked up at him, her mouth a firm line. ‘I seem to be getting told “that wouldn’t do” or “that wouldn’t be right” far too frequently. I don’t care a jot about propriety or etiquette. You need an arm and I’m young and strong. Please – let me help you.’

  Though the vicar was no longer young, he was not old either and Annabel was troubled by what she was seeing; the villagers – all of them – looked thin and ill and the sight of the few children, who had been at the church service looking pasty-faced and so solemn, had tugged at her heartstrings. None of the youngsters had raced out of church to play in the street. It was unnatural. As they passed out of the gate to walk the short distance to the vicarage – Jane hovering beside them – a man ran out from one of the cottages opposite.

  ‘Vicar, Vicar, please –’

  He crossed the street and reached them, panting, his eyes wide with terror. ‘Please come. Babby’s dying.’

  Annabel’s eyes widened and she gasped in shock, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

  Mr Webster turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry, m’lady, but I must go with Adam. They need me. His wife gave birth to a baby boy only three weeks ago, but the poor woman has no milk to feed him. Perhaps – if we could talk another time . . .?’

  Annabel shook her head firmly. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  The four of them crossed the road and entered the cottage. It was dark and dismal inside and it took Annabel a few moments for her eyesight to adjust to the gloom. Then she saw a woman sitting by a fireless range, rocking a tiny baby in her arms and weeping. Behind her stood two older children – a boy of about nine or ten and a small girl of about three, Annabel guessed – but her attention was drawn back to the baby. Its breathing was rasping, its colour like alabaster.

  ‘He’s dying,’ the child’s mother burst out. ‘He’s starving to death because I’ve no milk.’

  ‘What does she mean?’ Annabel whispered to the vicar, for the poor woman didn’t even seem to notice who had come into her home. Her whole attention was on her sick infant.

  ‘They’ve no proper food. None of us have. We haven’t had any for weeks and poor Betsy can no longer produce milk naturally to feed her child.’

  Annabel stared down at the baby lying limply in his mother’s arms for a moment, her mind working swiftly. ‘I’ll get them some food.’

  ‘But you can’t feed the whole village, m’lady,’ Richard Webster said. ‘We thought when you married his lordship, all would be well. We thought your dowry—’

  Annabel turned to look at him. ‘My what?’

  ‘Oh dear, didn’t you know?’

  Annabel shook her head. She longed to ask him more, but this family needed her help this instant. ‘We’ll talk later, but for now I’m going to get help.’ She turned to Jane. ‘Run and get Mr Jackson to hitch up the trap again and ask him to come with us.’

  The girl turned and ran out of the cottage.

  ‘What do you need?’ Annabel addressed the weeping woman, but it was her husband who answered. ‘Milk for the baby. We’re all starving, m’lady, but if baby Eddie doesn’t get some sustenance very soon, we’ll lose him.’ He nodded towards the other two children, who were staring up at Annabel, pleading in their eyes. ‘The rest of us are all right for the minute, but Emmot here –’ he put his hand on the little girl’s shoulders – ‘she’ll likely be the next – she’s so weak now –’ He gulped and stopped.

  Annabel bent down and took the little girl’s hands in hers. ‘I’ll get you something to eat, darling. I promise.’

  ‘But, Lady Annabel, the whole village is starving,’ the vicar whispered. ‘If we single out one or two folks, it’ll likely cause terrible resentment. You can’t feed everyone.’

  Annabel stood up and turned slowly to face him. Quietly she said, ‘Just watch me, Mr Webster. Just watch me.’

  At that moment, they heard the rattle of pony and trap outside and Annabel hurried out.

  ‘Mr Jackson was on his way back to fetch us, m’lady, so we can go straight away,’ Jane called out. ‘Wherever that is.’

  The bailiff was sitting in the front of the trap holding the reins. He looked mystified as Annabel smiled at him briefly. ‘I’ll explain as we drive. We’re going to town first and then on to my grandfather’s farm. Meadow View Farm. Do you know it?’

  ‘Aye, I do, m’lady. I know Mester Armstrong well.’

  Mr Webster, who had followed Annabel out of the cottage, helped her into the back of the trap. For a brief moment he held her hands and looked up into her eyes. His voice was husky as he said, ‘God bless you, my lady, and God speed.’

  Fourteen

  ‘Mr Jackson, thank you for coming with us. We’re going to need your help.’

  ‘Just “Jackson”, m’lady.’

  Even in the seriousness of the moment, Annabel chuckled. ‘That’s what Mr Searby said, but I’m very much afraid you’re going to find that I’m no lady, even if I do bear the title now.’

  He glanced at her briefly and smiled, the laughter lines around his blue eyes crinkling. It was the first real smile anyone in the village had given her, she realized, as her mind focussed on the immediate problem. As they passed the vicarage, the church and then the school, Annabel saw a little cottage standing on its own at the edge of the village and set apart from the rest of the dwellings. In the garden she saw a young boy of about four playing with a ball. He glanced at the trap as it passed, but he did not smile or wave as she would have expected a child to do.

  It was not until very much later that Annabel realized what had been strange about the child playing on his own in the garden. But now, she turned her attention back to Ben Jackson. ‘Do you know where the doctor lives in Thorpe St Michael?’ Annabel asked.

  ‘I do, m’lady. But it’s Sunday. He’ll not be available.’

  Grimly, Annabel declared, ‘Oh yes, he will. There’s a baby dying back there and he’s coming out to see that little boy if I have to drag him there myself.’

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Ben Jackson chuckle softly as he flicked the reins and urged the pony to go faster. They were lucky; the townsfolk were just leaving their own morning service at the church in the centre of the small market town.

  ‘That’s Dr Maybury. The young man over there with the pretty young woman on his arm. He’s not been here long. I don’t expect he even knows where Fairfield village is.’

  ‘He very soon will,’ Annabel said, as she jumped nimbly down from the trap and hurried towards the tall young man whom Ben had pointed out.

  ‘Dr Maybury?’ Annabel stood in front of him, panting slightly.

  The young man removed his hat courteously, the sun glinting on his fair, curly hair. He was a handsome man with even features, a strong jawline and smiling blue eyes. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘I am Annabel Lyndon, Lady Fairfield.’ The doctor raised his eyebrows and one or two people nearby paused to eavesdrop. But Annabel hardly noticed. ‘I know it’s Sunday, Doctor, but there is a very sick baby in Fairfield village and I want you to come out now to see him. I – I think he’s close to death.’

  The young doctor’s eyes darkened and beside him, his wife said, ‘Oh Stephen, you must go.’ The young couple exchanged a loving glance, but there was something more behind the look and as the woman turned back, she was smiling gently though her eyes were full of sympathy. ‘We’re expecting our first baby in the spring,’ was all she needed to say for Annabel to understand her compassion.

  Annabel turned to look at the doctor who said, ‘Of course, I’ll come at once. I would have done anyway. That’s what I’m here for – the Sabbath or not. Let me harness my own pony and trap and get my medical bag.’

  ‘We’re going on to my grandfather’s farm to fetch food. There’s something very wrong in Fairfield, Doctor. I shall want you to see each and every one of the inhabitants over the next few days. I don’t know what’s been happening, how it’s come to this, but I intend to find out and try to put ma
tters right. The cottage you need is the first on the left-hand side as you drive into the village. I don’t know the family’s name yet –’ She glanced at Ben Jackson, who had followed her more slowly across the road.

  ‘It’s Cartwright, Doctor,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll find them. Don’t worry.’

  As the young doctor hurried away, Ben helped Annabel to climb back into the trap. He pulled himself up, though it was an effort for him. But he took up the reins once more and they were on their way to Meadow View Farm, which lay only a couple of miles beyond the town. Edward was near the back door of the farmhouse when the trap pulled into the yard. Annabel almost tumbled out of the back in her haste to reach him.

  ‘Oh my lovely, whatever’s the matter?’ He held his arms wide and she flew into them.

  ‘The villagers are starving – there’s a baby dying. Oh Gramps – please help us.’

  Edward held her close and patted her back. Then he looked beyond her to see Jane coming towards them and Ben Jackson tethering the pony. ‘Come along in, all of you. Hello, Jane, love. And Ben,’ he held out his hand to the man, ‘it’s good to see you.’

  A smile flitted briefly across Ben Jackson’s face. ‘I’m not sure you’ll think so in a minute or two, Mr Armstrong.’

  ‘Edward, please. We’ve known each other long enough. Mind you, I haven’t seen you at the market for months now. I was beginning to wonder if there was owt wrong. I asked around, but no one seemed to know. Anyway, come along in. The missis will get you all a hot drink and dinner is underway. You’ll stay and—’

  ‘We can’t, Gramps. We must get back. But if you could let us have as much milk and bread as you can spare . . .’

  Edward looked puzzled. ‘Of course, you can have whatever we’ve got and you’re welcome to it, but why? What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Edward,’ Ben said as the farmer ushered them into the warm farm kitchen and Martha hurried forward to greet them. ‘Come in, come in, you’re all very welcome. Sit down, sit down. I’ve freshly baked scones.’