A Just and Upright Man (The James Blakiston Series)

by Lynch, R J

  ‘Why, that the bill is withdrawn! There is to be no enclosure in Ryton. Or not now, at any rate.’

  ‘I had heard that the cottagers and squatters had petitioned the Parliament. They have won, then?’

  Blakiston laughed. ‘Nay, Tom, cottagers and squatters will win nothing from this Parliament. Its members go there to make themselves and their friends rich, and those without money to buy their favours will receive no consideration. When a Blackett makes his demands they are met, be they never so grubby. But give them a petition from the Ryton peasants and they will say it must lie on the table. Where it will rest till the second coming of Christ.’

  ‘So the Blacketts did not want the enclosure?’

  ‘Oh, they did, Tom, no-one more. But on such terms. I tell you, Tom, no-one could call his Lordship a friend of the English peasantry. Or the Lord Bishop of Durham. Or even our own rector. They are no friends of those who must work the land or starve, for they have no understanding of them. But even they could not stomach what the Blacketts wished to do. And the Bishop has his hands full swallowing Heworth Common, for the people there have put up a fierce resistance. I think it shocked them, you know, to realise that lands they thought of as common waste were the property of the Dean and Chapter, and that they had no rights in them. But we will say no more of this, or I shall stand accused of sedition and have to flee the country like...like a close relative of your wife’s.’

  Tom looked at him in alarm.

  ‘You have had some trouble with Isaac Henderson?’ Blakiston went on.

  Tom nodded, still numb with fear that the gentry should know of Joe’s plans to escape to the American colonies.

  ‘You will have no more,’ said Blakiston. ‘He is not a local man.’

  ‘He belongs Barton way, I think.’

  ‘So it would seem. His lordship had him before the petty sessions, to show how he could support himself. He could not do it.’

  ‘There will be work for him on the ditching and hedging, surely?’

  ‘We have no employment for such as Isaac Henderson. The court found him guilty of vagrancy. They gave him a removal order to his home parish. The good folk of Barton must find work for him now.’

  ‘But he has lived here for years.’

  ‘He never applied for settlement.’

  ‘But that’s…he had no need, Mister Blakiston. Live here a year and a day, without objection and without a certificate, and you are settled. That’s the law.’

  ‘The law, Tom? The law is what our rulers say it is. And the court understood his Lordship’s meaning well enough. No parish wishes to support another’s paupers. That is why we have a Poor Law. Henderson may appeal. If he can pay a lawyer.’

  ‘You know he cannot.’

  ‘Then he must go.’

  ‘What of his wife? The widow Robinson?’

  ‘The wife takes the husband’s settlement. She goes with him.’

  ‘It scarcely seems just, Mister Blakiston. The fault was not all on his side.’

  ‘He was unwise to tamper where his lordship has an interest. And we must leave questions of justice to the gentry and their courts. They are not for the likes of you and me.’ He turned to face Tom squarely. ‘I have spoken of your predicament to his lordship.’

  ‘My predicament?’

  ‘Your predicament. He is agreeable, once only, to waiving your rent. A year’s grace. You will make your first payment in 1764. And the rabbits are so many as to be growing troublesome. You may take ten a week, Tom Laws, and you may sell them. For three months only.’

  ‘Can he do that? The Game Laws…’

  ‘The Game Laws say only a landowner may sell game. Rabbits are not game. For three months you may sell his lordship’s rabbits. Then you must return to the old arrangement. Four a week, for consumption only by your family and your hired men. You understand me?’

  ‘I understand you, Mister Blakiston. Please thank his lordship for me.’

  ‘He is a good master, for those who deserve it. And he knows the value of the word of a Blackett tout. He would not make an enemy of the mother of his grandchild by letting her brother hang on no better warrant than that. But remember what I have said. When the brother is gone, interfere no more in matters of justice.’

  Blakiston looked at Tom to make sure his words had been understood. Then he nodded, clicked his tongue in signal to his horse and rode off.

  ‘How did they know?’ asked Lizzie.

  Tom dipped his bread into the broth of rabbit and greens Florrie had prepared for dinner. ‘I do not know how they knew. But they know.’

  ‘They are letting him go.’

  ‘They are turning a blind eye. And they are giving me the means to pay for him without letting his lordship’s grandchild go hungry. Does anyone know what happened to Matthew Higson?’

  Heads were shaken. Lizzie said, ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Something has been troubling me,’ said Tom. ‘But I do not rightly know what it is.’

  If breakfast had been bleak, supper was sombre. Miles and Joe were gone and no-one at Chopwell Garth expected ever to see them again. ‘We’ll not even know if they get safely to shore,’ said Florrie.

  ‘Aye, will we,’ said Tom. ‘I know the name of the ship. If it founders, we shall hear of it.’ He looked up as Lizzie, especially solicitous that night, placed a bowl of tea before him. For a brief moment she laid her hand gently on his.

  There was a sharp rap at the door. Florrie leapt up, her hand at her throat, for no-one called at this time of night and the visit of the dragoons was fresh in everyone’s mind. Tom motioned to her to sit. ‘I’ll go,’ he said.

  When he came back into the room he had by his side another man, huge for the neighbourhood at over six foot and with a breadth of build to match his height. One eyebrow ended half way through its arc; from the premature end to the corner of his mouth ran a thin blue scar. Flattened across his face, his nose gave notice that here was a man prepared to stand up for himself if necessary.

  ‘This is Andrew Robson,’ said Tom. ‘The man with no nephew called Tommy.’

  The man held his round hat in his hands and nodded to the women. ‘Is everything all right?’ whispered Florrie.

  ‘Aye, all’s well. They’re safely to Haltwhistle. They’ll be off in the morning. I should give a lot to watch Joe Greener driving sheep.’

  ‘Joe asked Andrew to come,’ said Tom.

  ‘He wanted you to know him and the boy were safe on their way. And to give you a message, Tom Laws.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That he owes you his life and liberty. That he will make good the money but he can never repay what he truly owes you. And that, if ever you need help, you may call on me. Which message I repeat on my own behalf.’

  ‘Will you stop for supper, Andrew Robson?’ asked Lizzie.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am, but I must get back. There is a curfew, you know.’

  ‘I had heard of it. I wonder Mister Crowley can make you stick to it.’

  ‘Nay, missus, Ambrose Crowley has been dead these many years. But the company is as good to us as ever he meant it to be, and we honour his wishes where we can. Except on a night like this, when there is a message to be run.’

  ‘Or when you wish to drink at the Royal Oak.’

  ‘Aye, there’s that. Blacksmithing is thirsty work.’

  ‘So my brother told us.’

  ‘You’ll remember now, Tom Laws? If you need help, no questions asked, send word that Tommy Robson wants his Uncle Andrew.’

  ‘I will, Andrew. And thank you.’

  When Tom went to the fields with Ned after church next morning he was happier than he had been for some time. He looked at the fields green with the early stages of growing crops in the warm May weather
and felt the natural contentment of the farmer who knows he is improving his land. Green buds on the hedges planted three weeks earlier showed that they were taking hold in the earth. Sunlight warmed his heart as well as his hands. Joe was safely on his way, no doubt driving the sheep westward at the start of his long journey into the unknown. Most of all, though, his spirits were buoyed by the subtle changes in his relationship with Lizzie.

  She had kissed him. Only once, and briefly, and not on the lips, but she had kissed him. She had laid her hand on his. Briefly, again, but with warmth. They might still lack the physical intimacy he craved, but he knew she was no longer so entirely indifferent towards him as she had been. He was not completely unaware of the hardness of the bargain she had driven when they agreed to wed, or how she had manipulated him to sending first Joe and then Miles across the sea. Perhaps he should have resented the way she behaved, but he could not. He felt himself to be a man blessed.

  And, with everything else, there was the knowledge that he was as secure as a man of his class could be in a precarious world. Men of whose number he had so recently counted himself one stared into an uncertain future, not knowing for sure how they would get their living, or for whom, or where they would live while they were getting it. And he, Tom Laws, was master of his own farm and his own hearth, subject only to his master and landlord, Lord Ravenshead, and to the goodwill of a farm overseer who clearly valued him as a workman.

  Ned, too, had a smile on his face. ‘What are you grinning at?’ asked Tom, who had expected the lad to be down at the departure of his brothers.

  ‘Did you not see what our Mam was getting ready for dinner?’

  ‘What was it?’

  ‘A piece of pork, man. Big as yon Andrew Robson’s two fists. There’ll be crackling, man. And fatty gravy with bits in it.’

  ‘It’s a good job there’s no old folk in the house,’ said Tom. ‘You need teeth for a dinner like that. No good for old Dick Jackson.’ He mimed the gumming of Dick, who had only four rickety black teeth left in his head, and Ned laughed so much he fell into the ditch and had to be heaved out, still laughing.

  When dinner was over and they had eaten their fill, Florrie put what was left of the pork in the pantry. ‘There’ll be a slice each to have with our bread and cheese at supper,’ she said. ‘And I’ll make broth with the bone and what’s left of the cabbage and potatoes. And there’ll be mead, Tom Laws.’

  Tom was impressed. ‘When did you start planning this?’

  ‘When I knew we’d be alone today.’

  There was a sudden stillness around the table.

  ‘Life goes on,’ Florrie said. ‘If I’ve learned anything, it’s that. Until the good Lord comes for you, life goes on. And listen,’ she said, eager to change the subject. ‘I went up to the Rectory today and had a dish of tea with Rosina. I remembered your question about Matthew Higson, and so I asked her. Rosina knows everything that happens in the village, but she does not know where Matthew could be. She said she’d see what others know, and tell me. Did you remember what it was that puzzled you?’

  ‘Aye, did I,’ said Tom. ‘Mister Blakiston told me it was said he had gone of a sudden to America. And I remember that he told me he’d try life there if he didn’t get this farm. But he said he’d take Catherine Robinson with him. And I cannot understand why he didn’t say goodbye before he went.’

  ‘Well, if Mister Blakiston says America, I suppose that must be where he is. But where would Matthew Higson get money for his passage? He had nothing.’

  ‘Mister Blakiston says he ran off after the murder of Reuben Cooper.’

  ‘No, man,’ said Lizzie, ‘I cannot believe that. He is a rough man, as rough as you, Tom Laws, but no murderer.’

  ‘Me? Rough? Am I rough with you?’

  Lizzie cast her eyes down. ‘No, Tom. You are not rough with me.’

  ‘I hope you are right about Matthew. But I do remember soon after Reuben Cooper died, Matthew told me whoever killed Reuben Cooper deserved a reward. I like Matthew. I would not want to believe he had done something so bad.’

  Chapter 32

  Blakiston had demanded the appearance of Samuel Cooper within three days, or he would see Samuel’s brother Nicholas charged with kidnapping and rape. In truth, he was far too busy to ride again so soon to Wall, but he knew the danger of a threat not carried out. Who would take him seriously again?

  So, when seventy-two hours had elapsed without sign of the missing Cooper brother, he told George Bright to release Nathanial Cooper and set out to cover the twenty-five miles to Wall once more.

  A diversion awaited him, for as he rode past the fringes of Derwent Wood he saw before him, from behind and walking in the same direction, a slight body whose familiarity caused his heart to sing. As he drew closer, he grew surer. That blue and white striped cotton gown and straw hat were—if she truly was who he thought she was—the equal in attraction of any fine lady’s silks. When he was almost on her shoulder and the sound of his horse’s hoofs on the beaten clay broke through her reverie, she turned to see who was approaching and all doubt disappeared. That sweet smile, that had first smitten him when he called on her sister and brother-in-law bringing news of enclosures and murder charges, shone up at him.

  ‘Mistress Katherine,’ he began. ‘Miss Greener. Kate.’

  She smiled even more broadly. ‘Kate, an’ it please your honour.’

  ‘What are you doing here alone? Do you not know the dangers for a young lady without male protection?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir, I do,’ said Kate, ‘for it was near here that my sister Lizzie was taken by the Earl of Wrekin.’

  ‘Taken? That is one word that might be used. I can think of stronger. So why, knowing that, are you here?’

  ‘Why, sir, no harm will come my way. When I smile, people are kind to me.’

  ‘When you smile, people are kind to you. You are either unbearably innocent, Kate Greener, or you are an insufferable coquette. To say nothing of being the greatest trollop between here and York.’

  She placed her hands on her hips, her face flushed in anger. ‘I am no trollop, sir.’

  Blakiston raised his hand, palm outwards. ‘Please. My dear young lady. I believe you. So where have you been and where do you go?’

  ‘I have been to deliver butter and cheese to the rectory. They eat amazing amounts of cheese at the rectory, sir. Rosina says the Rector must have his rarebit. And now I am on my way home. Oh, sir!’ she gasped, for Blakiston had reached suddenly down, taken her by the slim waist and hoisted her in one single flowing moment onto the horse before him.

  ‘I am passing that way. You shall travel in comfort.’

  ‘Oh, sir!’ she gasped again, but there was no element of protest in the words. ‘This is the second time I have been on this horse.’

  Blakiston placed his arms round her waist and held the reins in front of her. To protect her, he told himself. To keep her safe. Prevent her from falling. Inevitably, the slim body was close to his. He stared at the back of her neck. How he longed to place a kiss there. But that would be even more foolish than what he was already doing.

  He let his nose stray close to her hair. She was cleaner than he might have expected, and sweeter smelling. There was hot water in a farm house, and soap, but that did not mean it would be taken advantage of. In Kate Greener’s case, clearly it was. Either the girl was clean by nature, or Florrie kept her up to the mark. Blakiston chastised himself for thinking this way, but did not stop.

  ‘Are you coming to the Garth, sir?’ asked Kate.

  ‘I am on my way to Wall.’

  ‘Oh. Wall.’

  ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘No, sir. But I know why you are bound there.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Our Tom says Samuel Cooper will never give himself u
p, even to save his brother.’

  ‘Good God. Does the whole parish know every detail of this affair? Why does Samuel Cooper hide? Is he his father’s killer?’

  Kate’s head turned sideways and her cheek brushed for a second against Blakiston’s. His physical reaction in that moment was so strong that he had to raise himself surreptitiously in the saddle and tug at the front of his breeches for relief. Kate seemed to notice nothing; but was anything about this young maid what it seemed to be?

  ‘I don’t know that, sir,’ she said. ‘But our Tom says it is not fear of the gentry or the gallows that keeps Samuel Cooper away, but dread of Daniel Poulter’s vengeance.’

  ‘Daniel Poulter? Who the devil is Daniel Poulter when he is home?’

  Her face turned again, and now he would almost swear the touch of her cheek on his was intentional. Almost. But what did he know of the artifices of a young woman like Kate Greener?

  ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘there you hit on the very heart of the problem. For when Daniel Poulter is home, he is the husband of Martha Poulter and a very jealous husband indeed, from what our Tom has to say of it. But Daniel Poulter drives the London stage on its journey from Darlington to York, and then the Edinburgh stage from York to Morpeth, and then the London stage again from Morpeth to Darlington, and then the company allows him two days to breathe and rest and see his wife. So you see, Daniel Poulter is not home far more often than he is home, and when he is not home Samuel Cooper visits Martha Poulter.’

  ‘Good Lord.’

  ‘Yes, sir. But now Samuel Cooper believes that you want him to say where he was when Reuben Cooper his father was killed...’

  ‘...he is right...’

  ‘...and if he does that he fears that everyone will know and Daniel Poulter will find out. Which is silly because everyone knows already.’

  ‘Except Daniel Poulter.’

  ‘Our Tom says Daniel Poulter suspects, but suspecting is not knowing.’