by Leah Fleming
‘I beg you, seek out Miles Foxup at the office of Abel Catherwood by the Briggate. He will explain everything. He will inform the Justice Moorside who knows I am in Leeds. Then there is my kinsman, Roger Windebank of the same district. He will explain why I was sent to the Justice. This is all a terrible mistake,’ I cried as the gates shut behind me.
‘Funny, that’s what they all say,’ sniggered the constable.
How can I describe the next few days of misery, confined in a stone cell with a drunken doxy with torn clothes and vile mouth full of cursings and oath-swearings. We were herded like cattle in stalls, some chained to the wall at times. The straw was foetid with the stench of piss and stools for there was no office of necessity, no fresh air to breathe and only the biting fleas and rats for company. Even our food must be paid for. Bread was passed through the grille so hard it almost broke my teeth to bite on it. Never had I felt so alone, so afeared that I was friendless and forgotten. How could such an accusation have been placed over me? As the days and nights pulled out into a week, I begged the jailer for news of my release and when I would face my accusers.
Had Zeph spoken to Miles? Were the children missing me? Was Ellinor praying for me? What if it was Miles himself who had brought this case? My mind was in turmoil.
I lay huddled in a ball with my face turned to the wall. I thought many times of my father and mother in York prison. How I lay confined in such a place within her, protected by her fortitude. Such comfort was meat and drink to me and I drew strength from knowing I shared their fate now. Alas, not for the same noble defiance as theirs. No one could touch those tender imaginings or steal the inner warmth they gave me. I would stay strong for their sake. I would not break down but pray for deliverance and hope.
But for hope and Ellinor’s visit my heart would have broken and my faith been destroyed as I saw around me the filth and baseness of my fellow prisoners. I felt such pity for those who knew no better than to scrabble like animals, cursing each other over scraps of gristle. There must be a way out of this darkness and soon.
She brought me clean linen and a basket of cheese, pasties and boiled eggs. Just to see her calm smile and her eagerness to hug me when I must stink to high heaven with the stench of sweat and fear was a recipe for courage. She shoved a posy of herbs into my hand.
‘Wear this round your neck to ward off the foul air, put it to your nose for comfort.’
I shut my eyes at the scents of rosemary, lavender and fresh sage and smelt the garden of Windebank. ‘ ’Tis all a pack of lies,’ I cried. ‘But no one believes me.’
‘Your friends in Truth believe you. Zeph is doing what he can to secure your release but it will take time.’ It was hard to part with her hand when it was time for the visitors to leave.
‘Wait on the inward light, Joy. Sit within that light and no harm can crush thy spirit,’ she whispered. ‘Friends will visit. Thee’s not alone.’
We were allowed to hobble around a small cobbled yard when our gaoler had a mind to throw us out into the rain. To feel the fresh water on a face caked in grime, to taste it on the tongue and breathe in the autumnal air was better than the cell. As I reached out to catch the raindrops and lick my fingers I saw another familiar face staring at me.
For a moment our eyes met and she nodded.
‘So this is what it comes to, Joy Moorside,’ smiled Dora Cranke, her black hair matted, her bodice torn. ‘Now we both know how it is to be wrongly accused.’
‘Dora?’ I frowned, not taking her meaning. ‘What’s happened?’
‘As if you don’t know! Someone accuses me of stealing children, babes in arms, would you believe! Someone laid a charge that my kin are not my kin. We’ve been watched and snooped on. It’s all lies, lies and now my poor Titus has to prove that we are victims of some charlatan jealous of our remedies.’
I felt my cheeks flaming in the chill air. ‘I must admit I wondered when I saw those other boys in your cart. Where are Hal and Ness now?’ I faced her squarely but her eyes flashed at me and her tongue lashed me.
‘You’ve no understanding of our circumstances or you would not be so quick to accuse us of child theft. We have committed no crime. But two can play at that game,’ she sneered, giving me a strange, cunning look.
Dunce that I was, slow to catch on, only then did it strike me that perhaps it was Dora and Titus who were my accusers. ‘So you charged me with the theft of what is mine own?’ I cried out.
‘I don’t know what you are talking about. All I know is there is a law against false accusation. We have witnesses to prove our case before the Magistrates; all these vicious lies against us must be paid for. Don’t go accusing where you’ve no proof, Miss Holier-than-thou.’ She lurched forward to strike me but I was too quick and darted away. The warder grabbed her, pulling her back.
I leaned against the wall, shaken and confused. Miles had done his work. They were accosted and accused but only one of them had been arrested, and now it seemed she would be released and I was taking the blame for their fury. None of it was making sense.
It was natural they should guess that I was the one who’d been asking questions. So they had lost no time in attacking me in return. Had I accused them falsely as they had done me? Had I made a terrible mistake and caused them to lie and sin even more?
I paced the confines of my cell in terror that I had brought this on myself. I had set the constables on the wrong people and they had retaliated out of anger and frustration. How could I stand another night in this foul pit, drenched in sweat and filth and misery?
I lost count of the days after that until the door was opened and I was escorted before the Magistrates’ bench. My eyes were misty with hunger and exhaustion, my skin crawling with sores and bites. I searched the room to see if my accusers were present but the faces around me were strange and stern.
The man in the wig read out from his script, barely looking in my direction. There was something about receiving letters on my behalf.
I heard the words ‘Justice’, ‘Scarperton’ and ‘Rejoice’. My gloves were laid before the court but I dared not touch them.
‘It appears that this maid is the true owner of the gloves and the charge against her is dismissed forthwith, on condition that the defendant swear the oath that she is indeed Rejoice Moorside, residing at Riverbank, servant of one Zephaniah Webster and these gloves are hers as stated in the letter. That is all.’
It would have been so easy to walk to the bench and swear on the Bible, take the gloves and let that be an end of the matter. My body cried out for a tub scrub and warm food, fresh linen and the welcome of familiar faces. For a second I was tempted but my boots, such as they were, rooted themselves to the flagstones.
‘I cannot swear an oath though my word is true,’ I whispered, holding my hands to stop them shaking.
‘Why ever not? You have been falsely accused. Just swear and sign your name and be off with you!’ said the man in the wig, peering over his spectacles.
‘I cannot put my name to a sworn oath. It is against scripture . . .’
‘Oh no, not another of those trembling Trementes!’ he laughed. ‘Another Quaker earning her heavenly reward. Come on, ’tis a formality. I’ve other people to see to besides you.’
I shook my head, swallowing hard. No one in that room knew what this was costing me.
‘Then you are fined for not swearing,’ he ordered.
‘I will not pay the fine.’ I replied knowing now what was in store.
‘Oh, put her away again for three months!’ he said, exasperated, dismissing me without another glance. ‘Let her stew down there until she comes to her senses.’
I sobbed all the way down the steps, my courage gone. Why was I so stubborn? What on earth was I doing back here? When would I ever see the light of day?
There was no one to witness my stand before the court, no Friends present to defend me but my heart was warmed by the thought that there were other eyes, not of this world, who were watchin
g and praying that I would not let them down. My parents would know that I had been true to their memory. They would know what it had cost me. God had made this back for the burden.
I found myself in a quieter cell and to my joy there were Friends Norris from the Hunslet meeting, poor Seekers, a husband and wife who had chosen not to pay their tithes and dues and had no more beds or goods to be taken away.
In such company it was easier to bear the discomfort and filth. The old man coughed all through the night and kept us awake but it was no matter.
Then came a letter from Miles Foxup that brought no comfort.
I do not understand you. We have traced the Crankes, apprehended the woman but the man escaped. It was she who claimed you were a thief and unreliable witness. They have brought forth witnesses to swear that the children, Hedley and Rawden are kin; bribed liars, no doubt. There is no point in proceeding further if you will not swear on oath what you have seen in Scarperton. Unless the other boys are found, it is pointless going on. Dora Cranke will be set free. Webster is mightily impressed with your stand. I just think it a foolish, futile gesture. Miles Foxup
How dare he make such a judgement on this my testimony? It was galling that the Crankes would escape justice but perhaps that was for the best, since their story might be true after all. I was gladdened that Zeph had made contact with the young lawyer and he had approached the Justice yet again on my behalf. I must write and thank my grandfather. How sad it was that Miles would never understand that a Seeker must deal with every part of his life as if it were under a higher scrutiny than a mere court of law. There was such a gulf between us.
Ellinor would be proud that at last I had made a stand for the Truth against temptation. So why was there all this anger and frustration inside? Why did his words crush my spirit? I would never know if the Crankes were guilty or innocent. They would walk free and I would remain here, unwashed, cold, damp and hungry, a prey to prison fever.
How hard it was to stay dignified when you were forced to relieve yourself in full view of others in the corner. It was hard to watch Enoch Norris shivering and shaking, praising God as he struggled for every breath.
My spirit sank so low that I could scarce wake up to take exercise. There was no sign of the Cranke woman in the yard, much to my relief. At least one of us was free to go about our lives. Every day Ellinor brought food and comforts and news from the Webster.
Then one morning the grille was opened, the door flung wide and I was shoved out into the bright light, filthy, lousy and blinded by the sunshine. ‘My time is up!’ I cried with joy. I had been found a faithful witness.
‘Nay, lass’ said the warder. ‘Someone has paid the fine so off you go and don’t come back here in a hurry.’
This time I was given no choice as I was pushed to the door, confused by the news. Free at last but beholden. Had someone read my deepest darkest wish to be rescued from this hellhole? To make it easy for me, someone had taken my fate into their own hands. To be sure it would be no Seeker who had released me against my wish.
Oh no! There was only one person who could have done this for me in good faith and I was furious with him. Miles Foxup could go to hell!
15
My days at the Riverbank pulled out slowly, one after another like oxen at the plough. It was a relief to scrub away all the filth and stench of prison, rub my sores with elderflower liniment and wear fresh linen. The welcome home was warm and I sat at the back of the secret house meetings in silence, returned to the fold unharmed and secure that for once my place on the bench was earned. The issue of who had paid my fines was a mystery but the niggles of my own suspicions would not go away.
Sometimes the Friends took it upon themselves to shorten the sufferings of the elderly and sick for mercy’s sake. This was frowned upon. I was young and strong, able to stomach a few more weeks but there was always the risk of gaol fever and the spread of sickness into the community. Enoch Norris was dead. His wife was so tormented in spirit that she needed constant visiting. No one questioned my early release especially as I was needed at the Websters’ house.
Tabitha was crotchety and limping, her leg was swollen and she was with child again. Little Will was still not growing strong and could barely sit unaided. He sat by the hearth watching, rocking back and forth, his eyes flitting from one to another. Even John Holt was confined to his bed and Ellinor would let no one in the house to visit.
Ellinor’s strength was like a crutch for me to lean on. Her visits in prison had been my only comfort. I wished I could be a better friend to her but if I confided in her all my fears I knew she would be disappointed in my frail discipline and shilly-shallying over those feelings for Miles. I was cross her father was so sick and demanded all her time. How could she ever love such a selfish heart as mine?
The only joy was that it was harvest time and I took the children out with baskets to garner the fruits of the hedgerows: berries, nuts, seeds and wild fruits. Every moment we were out gathering in the fresh air. For the first time in my young life I realised how precious was the freedom to roam at will. There were elderberries and black spice to make juicy cordials, crab apples and rosehips, haws, mountain berries, beech masts and hazels and willow bark.
Nothing was wasted as we picked and squeezed, stripped and soaked, peeled and pounded into preserves and oils, drying herbs and flowers until the whole houseplace was scented with them. There was honey to collect, candles and rushlights to make, fresh matting to strew and bonfires of prunings where we could roast sweet chestnuts and root vegetables from the garden plot. With fresh cordial to drink, the children chased each other around the fire like wild things which got our mistress in a lather of vexation.
It was the season for harvest feasts and drinkings. There was a Bartle fair with stalls selling roasted honey apples, gingerbread men, pretty ribbons and dancing games that we must scuttle past and not watch for fear of being bad witnesses to our faith.
How my feet itched to tap to the fiddler’s tunes but the words of the songs were bawdy and unfit for children’s ears so I must herd them past and not show any enthusiasm. My eyes roamed across the pretty scene with longing as they searched to see if Miles was among the crowd.
It made me think of Yuletide and my grandfather’s house, the bonny blue brocade and the rustle of its skirt as it swished across the oak floor, the dancing and that first sighting of Miles Foxup. His smile flashed on my eyelids and I heard myself sigh. How far away now was that time, how cocooned in comfort and luxury was I then.
I had never even thanked any of them for saving me from the gallows. I must beg some paper from Zeph to write my thank you letters, show him the finished script for his approval and pay for it to be sent by the post boy back to Scarperton. Friends must be courteous in all things.
As for my gloves that were returned undamaged by the court, their fate was now to be laid before the women’s meeting as public property. Tabitha didn’t want them in the house.
‘They must be sold for the poor, Joy, and that’s an end of it,’ she snapped when I raised the matter yet again, hoping to put them quietly back in my box. ‘Lay not up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt or where thieves break through and steal. Don’t put temptation in another’s path, child. It burdens me that thou hankers after worldly treasure and wish to preserve such stuff.’
I bowed my head and said nothing, submitting to her nagging, knowing she was sick and queasy and much distracted but I slipped the gloves into my box when she wasn’t looking. There was a stubborn resistance to yield them up at her command, but the forenoon came when I was summoned to bring them before the bench once more.
I sat as each one of the worthy women had their say on the matter as if they were some terrible affliction to be destroyed before they caused more havoc.
Three times I rose to defend them and three times the words froze in my throat and would not come out. I sat down trembling with such agitation that I felt faint. If I did not speak
up then they would be whisked away, never to be seen again.
‘See how she trembles and fusses. It is the Spirit battling within,’ said Martha Houldsworth, who eyed me with suspicion. She had not forgotten that I had been seen in the company of a worldly young man. ‘We are a people separated from the lusting after mere trifles and trinkets, objects of show; fol-de-rols and fripperies. Thee should know by now that we must show our contempt for outwards things.’
Friend Martha loves the sound of her own voice, I thought but bowed to her words with a meek countenance.
‘Aye, aye, Friend.’ There were nods of approval around the room at her admonition. How could I ever withstand their wish? Why did it matter so much to me to keep my grandmother’s tokens? I sat back defeated, knowing I could not gainsay their united will but out of nowhere came a still small voice prompting me: ‘Speak thy words in peace and love. Speak out now and hold not back what is in your heart.’ I found myself on my feet in front of them.
‘Friends of Truth,’ I began as if the voice was coming from someone else in my head. ‘I hear this loving concern for my spiritual welfare. I am truly grateful for such care of my eternal soul and the needs of the poor we must support.’ I had no idea what was coming next or how I would deliver my argument; all I sensed was that I was about to make an utter fool of myself but still the words came clear.
‘My weakness please forgive but in this twelvemonth I have suffered many alterations to my living. Glad was the day when I was guided to the home of Friends Zephaniah and Tabitha Webster. Sad was the day when I was falsely accused and saw however mildly for myself how my own parents suffered in prison. As a daughter of Believers I am ever mindful of their precious sacrifices, but it comes to me now that I too must wait on the Lord’s promptings to tell me when is the right time to yield up this family possession to His will.
‘Are we not a people whose principles stand or fall by the Truth? Are we not guided by inner promptings of the Spirit? Do we not dwell together in love and harmony respecting that each one receives their guidance from the inner light?
