A Just and Upright Man (The James Blakiston Series)

by Lynch, R J

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘So you see, Mister Blakiston, you may keep Nathanial Cooper in the cells and surrender Nicholas Cooper for a rapist, but Samuel Cooper cares more for his own skin than for theirs. That is a covert you will never flush. Or so our Tom says, at any rate.’

  ‘And if I did?’

  ‘Our Tom says you would find that Samuel Cooper was with Martha Poulter the night Reuben Cooper died, and so could not have killed his father.’

  ‘I wish Tom Laws would speak to me as plainly as he does to you.’

  ‘Our Tom is in awe of you, sir. He cannot speak freely to you as he can to Lizzie and me.’ She turned and gazed straight into his eyes. ‘For Lizzie is his wife, and I am but a silly girl who understands nothing at all, but you are Lord Ravenshead’s Overseer.’

  ‘You are a silly girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  ‘And you understand nothing?’

  ‘Nothing of importance, sir. Girlish things only.’ Still her eyes held his, and he was quite unable to drag his away.

  ‘Tell me the girlish things you understand.’

  Quietly, she said, ‘Sir, I understand that you would like to kiss me and are afraid to do so. Sir, you are trembling. Are you cold?’

  It took everything Blakiston could do to keep his voice calm. ‘Here is the lane that leads to Chopwell Garth.’ He put his arm round Kate’s waist and lowered her to the ground. ‘I must be on my way to Wall, Kate. Please pay my respects for me to Tom Laws and his wife. And, of course, to your mother.’

  ‘I will sir. Sir, you are an educated man. Here we are at Chopwell Garth, which is nowhere near Chopwell. Can you please tell me why that should be?’

  ‘Kate, I have not the slightest idea.’

  ‘Oh. A pity. And may I tell you one more girlish thing, sir?’

  Blakiston waited in silence.

  ‘I am glad, sir, that I am not gentry. I am glad that, when I have a wish, and when I know that doing what I wish would harm no-one, and bring pleasure to me, I may do it without worrying what people may think.’

  She turned and walked up the lane without looking back. Blakiston watched her go. A tear detached itself from his eye and rolled slowly down his cheek. Others followed. Had he ever felt like this? Even with Jane, in the time that now seemed so long ago when he was still deemed a worthy suitor? Had even she moved him quite as Kate Greener did? The answer should be yes, of course, but he was not sure that it was.

  Later, Blakiston could not have said how he came to the Cromwell Ford that crosses the Tyne at Stella. The time had passed and the miles been covered; but what he had seen, what thoughts had passed through his mind, whether he had met anyone on the road, he had no idea. He had been at Chopwell Garth, and now he was at the river, and that was all he knew.

  Before fording the river, he let his horse linger at the water’s edge so that it could drink.

  Chopwell Garth, too, was not without its emotional tensions, for Lizzie had seen Kate riding once more on Blakiston’s horse. She pressed the girl against the wall with such force that Kate’s hat flew off.

  ‘You stupid girl! What do you think that man is after?’

  With that aloof detachment that could so madden her sister, Kate removed herself from Lizzie’s grasp. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘I hope he wants the same thing I do.’

  ‘He is gentry, man,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’ll never marry you. His family would not allow it. And don’t raise your eyebrows at me. Anybody would think you were a lady yourself. Mister...Blakiston...will...not...marry...the...likes...of...you.’

  Kate sighed. ‘I know, Lizzie.’

  ‘Do you want to be left with a bastard to take care of?’

  ‘Oh, Lizzie. Mister Blakiston will never do that to me. He wants me as much as I want him, although he cannot bring himself to say so, but he knows his friends would never allow it. But he is always a gentleman. Edward Rutter came upon me alone in April, and never was a man better named. If I had not kicked him hard between the legs, he would have mounted me as a bull mounts a cow. And then you and our Mam would have had our banns read and I’d have been Mistress Rutter. Edward Rutter still wears leather breeches like our grandfather would have worn, and when he speaks he spits. Do you think I would be yoked for life to that fat oaf? But Mister Blakiston treats me as though I were a lady. A lady he cannot have. And I teased him with it. I told him he wanted to kiss me and was afraid to. I should never have said such a thing. But, oh, I wish he would.’ And she began to cry.

  Lizzie hugged her as close as five months growth would allow. ‘Oh, Kate. My poor, lovely Kate.’

  Later, Lizzie talked to Florrie about her concerns.

  ‘Maybe it is time we had Kate married,’ said Florrie.

  ‘Hah! She is set about by young men who would like nothing more than to get her into church. But they are not good enough, and she will not give herself to them.’

  ‘Perhaps she should take up Mistress Wortley’s offer.’

  ‘I don’t want her to go. She’s my sister. I love her.’

  ‘Then we must do the only thing we can. Leave it to time to take care of.’

  In Hexham High Street, the choice presented itself: left to the Fox, or right to the smithy? If he entered the inn in his present state of mind, he might struggle to leave it again, and so he turned right.

  James Meader came out of the smithy as Blakiston tied his horse to the rail. Blakiston nodded. ‘Good day, Meader.’

  ‘Good day to you, sir. I thought I might see you today.’

  ‘I need your help in telling me where to find the constable. Or, better, perhaps you would send your apprentice to fetch him while I quench my thirst with water?’

  ‘I can send the boy with pleasure, but you may wait a long while for the constable to be here.’

  ‘He is far away?’

  ‘No further than Wall, Master, but what took him there may keep him some while.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Why, the very thing that brings you here, sir, I should think, unless you are to be a guest at Robert Scott’s nuptials. What else but the murder of Nicholas Cooper?’ Blakiston was aware of being closely studied. ‘You did not know,’ said the smith.

  ‘Nicholas Cooper is dead? Murdered?’

  ‘Dead for certain, Mister Blakiston. And murdered I believe, unless there be some new plague that ties a man by the wrists and ankles, cuts off the pizzle that was the talk of the women of three counties, places it deep in the man’s throat and drops him head foremost into a well to drown. I confess I never heard of such a pestilence.’

  ‘Good God. Who did this thing?’

  ‘They say men were seen from Staithes. But why would they not say so? In truth, no-one knows.’

  ‘Who says this?’

  Meader shrugged.

  ‘If it is true, then I killed Nicholas Cooper. For it was I who gave away his whereabouts.’

  Meader shrugged again. ‘Sir, if you wish to believe that...’

  ‘I must believe it. But I am not so good a Christian that I shall allow it to trouble me. Meader, I shall bid you good day.’

  ‘You will ride to Wall?’

  ‘I wish to talk to the constable.’

  ‘You must have that drink of water first, sir. And if I may suggest...’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I mentioned the marriage of Robert Scott. Wall is home to strange people and stranger occurrences, but I think you will find this afternoon’s doings odd enough for any taste. So, while you are there, it would be a pity to miss them.’

  Chapter 33

  Blakiston had been loath to say much to Tom about what the Blacketts had wished to achieve with the enclosure of Ryton. He had no such reluctance when it came to the rector. Ap
art from their Sunday dinners. the two men had developed the custom of meeting regularly in Claverley’s study to take a glass or two of wine or brandy while the rector enjoyed a pipe of tobacco, confident that his wife would raise no objection in the presence of a guest she liked so much. Thomas relished the company and Blakiston enjoyed a domesticity that a bachelor’s life lacked. Then Rosina would serve a rarebit or some other savoury delicacy before Blakiston walked home.

  ‘You would think,’ said Blakiston, ‘that self-preservation alone would act as a brake on their ravening greed.’

  ‘How so, Blakiston?’

  ‘How so? This is not a people that never takes revenge. They killed their own king little more than a hundred years ago.’

  ‘It was not the people who condemned Charles to death, Blakiston. It was the Parliament. The same body that now threatens the penniless.’

  ‘Men went from here on the Pilgrimage of Grace.’

  ‘Good God, man. Do you throw that papist enterprise in my face? Besides, that was even longer ago than Cromwell. They had leaders then. They have none now. For a hundred and fifty years, any labourer of gumption has left these shores for the Americas. If there is to be a revolt of English grit against English rulers it will happen there, in the colonies. Not here. No, Blakiston, landowners like the Blacketts will continue to extract the last ounce of value from their lands, and ruin the people on them as it suits their will, and no-one will stand in their way. But enough. How goes your search for the killer of Reuben Cooper?’

  ‘With difficulty. I am sure Nicholas Cooper did not do it, for he could not have got there and back. The information I have says that Samuel Cooper was in bed with another man’s wife, and therefore could not have done it either.’

  ‘You have no one else in mind??’

  ‘Matthew Higson disappeared immediately after the killing.’

  ‘Higson. You are right—I have not seen him about for some time.’

  ‘It is rumoured that he is gone to America with your men of gumption. I do not know what evidence there is for that, but I believe it is little more than gossip. Nevertheless, if we ask ourselves how he found the fare, and why he flew immediately after a murder, and a murder in which money may have been stolen—you take my point?’

  ‘Surely Catherine Robinson will know. What did she say when you questioned her?’

  ‘Ah, Thomas. It seemed such a fruitless thing, and I had so much else to do. And, you see, it had not yet dawned on me that his disappearance was suspicious. I confess I always thought Higson too ineffectual to carry off such a thing as a murder.’

  ‘You did not question her? After you promised George Bright you would do so, so that she would stop pestering him about her disappearing intended?’

  ‘You are right. I should have talked to her, if only for the Constable’s sake. I must do so now. Where is she to be found?’

  ‘According to Bright, she is in service at Blackhall Mill Forge.’

  ‘I must go there without delay. Tomorrow. I shall visit Catherine Robinson tomorrow morning.’

  ‘You will not say you suspect her intended of a bloody murder?’

  ‘I shall not. I do not know why it has not been more obvious to me that his disappearance raised these questions. Well...other than that...Dick Jackson fought with Cooper, and burned the bucket that was found in Cooper’s house, and that might have hanged him. But Lady Isabella saw who put it in his garden and that is that. Jackson is hiding something from me and Jeffrey Drabble knows what it is but I think it has to do with a long ago war. I do not believe either of them is implicated in the death of Reuben Cooper, however much it may have pleased them.’ He raised his head. ‘There is another thing I have not got round to, though, and that is to travel to Leadgate and ask Sarah Dobson what happened to her brother, and what Jackson had to do with it. And I would dearly love to know more about what money Reuben Cooper had, and where he found it.’

  ‘Then you must journey to Staithes. Whatever is to be known about Cooper’s history will be known there.’

  ‘There is no chance of that. Not for many a month. That journey would take a week at the very least. Perhaps more, by the time I have sought out and questioned everyone I should wish to speak to. His lordship will not countenance my absence for such a period at least until winter is upon us. I should have been busy enough had the enclosure gone through. It did not, and now my burden is even greater. Your eyes glisten, Thomas. Something is in your mind. Out with it, man, like a Christian.’

  ‘The rector at Staithes is known to me.’

  ‘I suppose you will say you were at the university together.’

  ‘Not quite, for he is a Cambridge man as his father had been before him. No; his father was the rector in the place where my own father held the lordship of the manor. We grew up together almost as brothers. It was always clear that I must enter either the Church or the Army, and I was never a warlike child. Amos was a studious and God-fearing boy who knew from the start that he would follow the same calling, but through conviction and not from convenience. He has the living at Staithes.’

  ‘You will write to him?’

  ‘I am not sure that writing meets my mood, James. Do you know, I have not thought of Amos Upchurch since I cannot remember. This conversation has revived my memories of happiness past. No, I shall not write to him. Or, rather, I shall write to him, but only to pave the way for my visit.’

  ‘Bravo!’ cried Blakiston. ‘Come, Thomas, pour me a little more of that fine brandy and I shall toast the glory of friendship.’

  Chapter 34

  When Blakiston approached the owner of Blackhall Mill Forge for permission to speak to his scullery maid, his request was granted, though with some surprise.

  ‘Catherine Robinson? Of course you may talk to her. But where? You’ll understand if I don’t want a conversation with a pot-scrubber to take place in the parlour? And I can hardly ask a gentleman of your quality to stand in the kitchen.’

  ‘She is a human being like any other. She expected once to be a farmer’s wife. I am sure she would not disgrace your parlour if she stood in it. But it is a fine June day. I shall wait on the bench under that chestnut tree, if you would be good enough to send her out?’

  ‘Will you take a glass of ale, if I ask her to bring it to you?’

  ‘I will with pleasure. And thank you.’

  It took some minutes for ale or scullery maid to appear, and Blakiston understood that she had been washing smuts from her face and tidying her linen as best she could.

  ‘Catherine Robinson,’ said Blakiston. ‘George Bright says you have something to tell me about the death of Reuben Cooper.’

  The girl sniffed. ‘Does anyone care? It is months since I spoke to George. So long that he is no longer Constable, for there was a new election and someone else has the job.’

  ‘You are right and I am sorry. I should have come when I was asked. I am here now.’

  The maid glowered at him. ‘I was engaged to be married to Matthew Higson.’

  ‘I know that. He wanted your father’s farm.’

  ‘No! He wanted me. He loves me.’

  ‘Clearly, he told you so. But how can you believe it? When the farm was gone, so was he.’

  The girl’s foot stamped hard in the dust. ‘That is not true! Even after the farm went to that trollop Lizzie Greener and her man, it made no difference. We were still to marry.’

  ‘And then he disappeared.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘So?’

  Exasperation was written on her face. ‘Sir! It was not like that! If he vanished, it was not by his choice. I know that, and you may depend on it.’

  ‘Convince me. George Bright says you believe Higson knew something about Reuben Cooper’s death. Tell me what it was.’

  ‘
I cannot, sir, for I do not know.’

  ‘So I have been summoned here on a fool’s errand?’

  ‘Sir, if you will only allow me to tell you what I know.’

  ‘Please, my dear. Do so. But let it be what you know, and not what you surmise. I have had too many false trails.’

  ‘Sir. Not long before the death of the old man...’

  ‘Reuben Cooper?’

  ‘Him, sir. Not long before his death, Matthew saw Eliza Swain gathering herbs in the fields.’

  ‘Herbs? Cooper was not killed with herbs.’

  ‘Rue, sir. Wild carrot. Vervain. Pennyroyal. Tansy.’

  ‘Have these names any significance?’

  ‘Wise women use them, sir, to bring off a woman who is with child and would not be. They take ergot from the miller and yeast from the brewer and mix the herbs together and the woman’s difficulty is taken care of.’

  ‘And what has this to do with Reuben Cooper?’

  ‘I do not know, sir.’

  ‘You try my patience, Catherine Robinson.’

  ‘Sir. My Matthew is a pious soul. He does not think much of Mister Claverley.’

  ‘The Rector?’

  ‘I know it is not for the likes of us to have ideas about the likes of him, but that does not mean we do not do so. Matthew believes Mister Claverley takes the word of the Lord too lightly. He prefers Mister Wale, the curate.’

  ‘Does he, indeed.’

  ‘When Matthew saw Eliza Swain gathering the herbs required for abortion, he believed Mister Wale should know.’

  ‘And so he told him?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You know this? You were there?’

  ‘No, sir. But Matthew told me he was going to tell him, and Matthew always did what he said he would do. And he told me when he would do it, and that day came, and I never saw my Matthew again.’