A Just and Upright Man (The James Blakiston Series)

by Lynch, R J

  And so she did the only thing open to a young girl in this situation.

  She fainted.

  And, as she lay on the floor with her eyes closed, pretending that her mind had fled the scene, she realised how badly she was behaving. She, who had always striven for honesty no matter what, was acting like a spoilt young maiden of the upper classes. She did not like herself behaving this way. She opened one eye. She looked up at Blakiston. ‘The gentry will not like it.’

  ‘I do not care what the gentry think. I do not wish to live the rest of my life without the most wonderful woman I have ever met. Will you marry me?’

  ‘Lizzie would be amazed. She says you are only interested in having your way with me.’

  ‘Does she indeed. And what do you tell her?’

  ‘That if that is all you will give me, I will take it.’

  ‘Kate! But I want far more than that. Will you marry me?’

  ‘I don’t really say that. And I would not do it. But I have thought it.’

  ‘Kate. Will you be my wife?’

  ‘But we have never even kissed. You know they say that some men are wet kissers. I would not like to be married to a man who kissed me wetly.’

  Blakiston sank to both knees so that his face was only inches from Kate’s. He leaned forward. Gently, he pressed his lips against hers. It was some little while before they separated. ‘Kate,’ he said. ‘Please. Release me from my fearful uncertainty. Will you marry me?’

  She raised a hand and gently stroked his face as it hung anxiously above her. ‘Yes, James,’ she said. ‘I think I must be mad but, yes. I will.’

  Historical Note

  This is a work of fiction. It happens in a real place, but I made up the events and most of the people. The Greener and Laws families have been in and around Ryton for a very long time, but none of them did what their namesakes do here. A lot of other names were common in Ryton – Bent, Cowan and Saunders, to name only three of the more prominent ones – but they never did me any harm and I have left them alone. There was never a Rector there called Thomas Claverley. There was a Blakiston, but he was not Lord Ravenshead’s farm agent. If it comes to that, there was never a Lord Ravenshead – I have changed the name from Ravensworth (though the real Baron never had a son called the Earl of Wrekin). The Blacketts, on the other hand, really were the Blacketts. They did live at Matfen Hall and Hoppyland was one of their estates.

  There really was a Sticky Bainbridge, and he really did get his nickname because he had a wooden leg, but I have moved him back in time 150 years and relocated him from South Moor to Ryton. The original provided the occasion for one of my Great Uncle Jot’s celebrated one-liners, repeated through three generations, which is how I first heard of him. Martin Wale was never Curate in Ryton. There really was a James Batey in Bolam and he really was a boot maker of repute as well as being my 4 greats grandfather; there was never a blacksmith in Hexham called James Meader.

  The story of the disputed tithe on turnips is true. Ambrose Crowley really was the philanthropist described in these pages, though he was a businessman first. The Ryton Church bells really were cast and fitted when I said they were, the total eclipse happened exactly when I say it did, the Piper of Wall really did marry Jean Middlemas when he was ninety and she was twenty-five and the extravagant claims for his physical performance really were made.

  I could go on. What it comes down to is: If it is part of the story of murder, mayhem and love, I made it up. If it isn’t – if it is external to all that – it’s true. Whatever true means in this context. History is a fertile ground for the followers of every creed, whether political, religious or sociological. They’re all right, and they’re all wrong. There is a widespread belief that primary sources will take us back to ground zero and show us what really happened. Sometimes that’s so. And sometimes it isn’t. For example, “everyone” knows – and it’s certainly in all the text books I’ve come across – that there were no workhouses in rural parishes in the north east of England till after 1835. But go back to the primary sources and read Ryton parish’s Account Book of Overseers, including Assessments of Poor Rate, Receipts and Memoranda (Durham Registry Office, EP/Ryt 7/1). Woodside Poor House is there, starting in 1759, and the poor were given the choice of entering it or going without assistance. As so often, what everyone knows to be true is, in fact, wrong.

  You can, though, read all the primary documents there are and still come up with differing versions of the truth. This book is mine. Please. Feel free to see things otherwise.