tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7243281735608841542024-02-01T21:34:59.538-08:00True Friends to Animals"The human spirit is not dead. It lives on in secret . . . It has come to believe that compassion, in which all ethics must take root, can only attain its full breadth and depth if it embraces all living creatures and does not limit itself to mankind."
(Albert Schweitzer)
Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714569232976515363noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-724328173560884154.post-74038347653790429442012-12-24T03:39:00.000-08:002012-12-24T03:39:41.553-08:00The Fields Laid Waste - Chapter 4<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Chapter 4</span></div>
<br />
<div style="mso-element-anchor-horizontal: column; mso-element-anchor-vertical: paragraph; mso-element-linespan: 1; mso-element-wrap: around; mso-element: dropcap-dropped; mso-height-rule: exactly;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> When the clock chimed two, Caroline, sitting
in the window seat, looked up from the book, “Shall I read on?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Jane didn’t reply. Her eyes were closed and
her skin was so ashen and transparent that her face appeared little more than a
skull on the pillow. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Jane?”
Caroline whispered but there was no answer. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
closed the book and turned to the window, half-hoping he’d be there, half-hoping
he wouldn’t. Outside, a faded sun hung lazily in the white sky where fine
streaks of silver streaked through the few bloated clouds. Children laughed
across the green, diving and falling, rolling together like young animals, while
scrawny dogs yapped playfully around their knees and ankles. And there, on the
bench sat Mr. Harding, winding his pocket watch and turning now and then to the
Hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
stepped back from the window and glanced at her sister. She wished she had told
her of his invitation; Jane would know what to do. She’d been meaning to tell
her all afternoon but somehow, each time she had tried to begin, the words
eluded her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
tiptoed to the bed and looked down at Jane’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so still and so pallid that had it
not been for the rattle of breath through congested lungs, Caroline might have
thought her dead. Death seemed so close that its aspect was already printed on
her features. Caroline reached for her hand and stroked the warm skin, longing
for her to wake but, as she murmured in sleep, it seemed too cruel to deny her
these moments’ respite from pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Softly
wiping her sister’s hair from her forehead, Caroline stooped to kiss her brow,
“I shall come back soon,” she whispered and crept from the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Unseen,
she hurried down the stairs and, wrapping her cloak around her, slipped out of
the Hall.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
moment he saw her, Mr. Harding stood up, “Miss Brandwith, I’m honoured that you
decided to come.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">It
sounded rehearsed and contrived and, afraid of appearing too eager, she stopped
some distance from him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I had
to come,” she said, “it’s my duty to learn something of my father’s
tenants.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Your
duty,” he nodded seriously. “Then we had better make sure we take no pleasure in
our walk.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
seemed to be trying not to smile and his flippancy unnerved her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Are
you mocking me, Mr. Harding?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Heaven
forbid!” He laughed and offered her his arm, “May I?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,
sir. You may not. I am quite capable of walking unaided.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
laughed all the more, “Very well. Where would you like to begin?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Already
doubting the wisdom of having come, she shook her head, “Wherever you think
fit.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
mused for some seconds, turning in each direction then nodded decisively,
“You’ll be familiar with the glebe I suppose, so if we walk back around the Hall
and along the north field we’ll reach the common and the river.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Suddenly he was serious and this time when he looked at her, there was
something more pensive in his smile. “It’s quite a trek but it would give me
time to describe village life.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">They
followed the avenue of trees that bordered the perimeter of the Hall, and he
talked of the changing seasons and the festivals that marked the high points of
the year. She was fascinated by the harvest feast and tried to imagine the
villagers dancing and singing. He spoke of the Lowkirk characters: the fiddler,
the drummer and the brewer. His descriptions were laced with anecdotes and
stories of the former squire, and by the time they had passed beyond the demesne
her fear had given way to amusement.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
wooded groves led to a stretch of barren scrub land bordered with yellow weeds
and spiky purple thistles beyond which a winding track was marked with a hand
painted sign: ‘NORTH FIELD’.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Deep
ruts ran along either side of the track, huge waterlogged furrows left by hooves
and ploughs. The field stretched before them onto the horizon, the brown earth
speckled and banked with balks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“When I
bring the water to the Hall,” he said, pointing along the track, “I’m hoping to
lay a series of clay pipes along this stretch to drain the strips. You see how
muddy the earth is? Even in summer the water collects here. We’ve tried laying
stones and ditches but they didn’t really help so the land is useless for
crops.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline stepped onto a ridge of drier ground and stared across the
field. Everything was silent and still; no movement, no life just the still
brown earth and the white open sky as far as the eye could see.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Of
course,” he said, squelching through the muddy gullies, “if the enclosure goes
ahead, I could be wasting my time.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She had
wondered how long it would be before he mentioned the enclosure and, as the hint
of criticism in his voice disturbed her, she dared not look at him. <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“How
did the villagers react to the notice?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“How do
you think?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
clenched her hands together inside her cloak, “It may not affect them too badly.
If they have documents to prove they own their land there’s nothing for them to
worry about.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Documents! Most of them can’t read, Miss Brandwith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All they know are their crops and their
animals. If they ever had any documents, they’ll probably have used them to
light their fires or block a draughty doorway! One or two of the freeholders may
have kept them but even then, they won’t be much use.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh
no,” she turned to him quickly, “it’s very important. You must tell them that if
they can prove the land is theirs no one can take it from them.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Is
that right?” he said cynically.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Yes.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
leaped onto the ridge beside her and stood so close she could feel the warmth of
his skin. “Look along here. All of these strips belong to a freeholder, Tom
Fuller. He may or may not have documents to prove it, but take my word for it,
these are his. You see all the pools and the puddles? Without drainage these
strips are more or less useless, but Tom does alright because he owns other
strips way over there where the field rises. The soil is fertile and the sun
shines so he gets a good return. It’s the way it works, good land, bad land,
it’s shared out more or less evenly. A fair system wouldn’t you say?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Now,
supposing that when your father brings in his commissioners he discovers that he
owns the land in between, a bit here, a bit there. What good would that be to
him if he wanted to enclose a farm? He’s not going to settle for patches all
over the place, is he? He’ll want all his share in one place so he can build
fences and mark it as his. Then what will happen to Tom?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
suppose they would come to an agreement.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
shook his head, “I’ll tell you what will happen - it happened in Beckford, it
happened in Rowthorpe, it’s happened in every other village in the country. Your
father’s lawyers will discuss it with the commissioners to ensure a good deal.
They’ll measure how much land he actually owns and give him that many acres in
the place where he wants it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He won’t
choose this part, will he? He’ll choose the good land over there and poor Tom
and others like him will end up with some muddy plot that’s no use for crops or
grazing.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
waited expectantly as she struggled to respond, “The freeholders have their
rights too. The commissioners will listen to all sides.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And
what chance do you think an uneducated man like Tom would have arguing against a
trained lawyer?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Then
he must find a lawyer to speak for him.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
laughed, “Have you any idea of the cost of a lawyer? Thirty pounds in legal fees
for enclosure! Where would Tom find thirty pounds? And even if he did, and was
granted reasonable land, what would happen to his animals? Now they can graze
where they like, but if the enclosure were enforced, he couldn’t let them wander
onto someone else’s land. He’d have to build fences - more expense. He won’t be
allowed to pasture them on the common anymore because someone else will have
claimed that for his own. No more fishing, nowhere to gather fire wood or
berries; the whole village, the whole way of life will just vanish overnight.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
stared across the field, biting his lip and so lost in his own thoughts he
scarcely seemed aware of her presence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It
means nothing to men like your father,” he said at last. “He has his mill and
investments. This is just another venture for him. But for the villagers,” he
waved his arms dramatically over the field, “this is all they have, the only
life they know. It’s not only the land that they stand to lose, it’s everything:
their livelihood, their friends, their dignity!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline stepped down from the balk, wishing she could find some way to
appease him. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s
all very well your brother-in-law spouting from his pulpit and threatening
eternal damnation! When it comes to judgement, he’d do better looking closer to
home to see where the real sin lies.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
attack was too sudden and Caroline, unprepared and lost for an answer, felt a
rising indignation. She had no doubt he had cause to be bitter but his charge
seemed calculated and cruel. She had accepted his invitation in good faith and
now sensed that she had been duped; he hadn’t wanted her company but to use her
to vent the anger he dared not direct at her father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
turned back to the path, “You’ve made your point, Mr. Harding. I can find my own
way home.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,
please wait,” he leaped from the bank, “there’s so much more to see.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’ve
seen enough to know why you brought me here. You’ve made that very plain.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Please,” he opened his hands, “forgive me. I didn’t mean to offend
you.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’m
not offended,” she said with determined composure, “but I am surprised. I had
taken you for a gentleman and now I see I was mistaken.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Would
you have thought me more of a gentleman if I hadn’t spoken my mind?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“A
gentleman would have had the courage to say these things to my father not to me,
and I doubt that a gentleman would have agreed to work for a man he believes so
wicked.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I made
that agreement with your father before I knew of his plans. I signed a contract
with him then and it’s too late to break it. I have not seen him since the
notice appeared on the church door. Nor, come to that, had I seen it when I
offered to show you the village. That wasn’t the reason I asked you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Her
irritation eased a little, “Had you known would it have made a
difference?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
mean, would I still have offered to show you round?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
nodded. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
blinked and his eyes moved thoughtfully over her face, “Yes,” he said, “it would
have given me an even greater incentive to speak with you. I’m sorry if I’ve
spoken harshly. I didn’t intend this at all but these are my people. I care
about them. You must understand that?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">His
face was so open and so artless; she couldn’t doubt his word. “Yes,” she said,
“I do understand. But you must also understand, Mr. Harding, that my father’s
business is not my affair. I have no say in what he does.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“In
that case,” he raised his eyebrows hopefully, “please don’t go. Walk a little
further, at least as far as the common?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
paused indecisively, aware all the while that his eyes were fixed on her,
drawing her with the same magnetism that had drawn her to his face in
church.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“If you
go now I shall be angry with myself for having driven you away. It will be on my
mind all evening and...” again the half-repressed smile flickered on his lips,
“I’m afraid I’ll manage no work at all. It will delay my plans for your water
supply and...” he shook his head and his smile escaped, disarming her
completely.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“To the
common, then,” she yielded.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And
the river. You must see the river.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
track followed the edge of the field for some distance before veering away to a
makeshift bridge over a swollen beck. The bridge led to a steady incline across
the common, dotted with a few shabby huts and grazing sheep. From the highest
point, clear of trees and shrubs, he pointed out landmarks of the neighbouring
hamlets: the tower of Rowthorpe church, the ruins of Hernewood Abbey and the
crenellated turrets of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beckford House
shaded in clouds in the distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But of
course,” he said, “you’d know that. Isn’t Lady Beckford your sister?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Antonia,” she nodded, “the eldest.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“How
many more of you are there?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Five
altogether. You know Susanna, who married Parson Williams. Then there’s me and
Jane, whom you won’t have seen as she’s often unwell. And the youngest,
Ursula.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No
brothers?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Much
to my father’s disappointment.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
smiled, “Five beautiful daughters can’t be such a disappointment.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
blushed at his compliment and turned away, searching for a change of subject.
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Do you
know Dr. Whitstone?” she asked.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Everyone knows Dr. Whitstone. That’s his house, the tall gabled
building. You can just about make it out through the trees.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Not
far from here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“A good
two miles, I’d say, through the woods and over the old bridge.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I must
call on him some time.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He’s a
friend of yours?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He’s
been very good to us, attended us all our lives.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Ah
ha,” he laughed, “his wealthy patients in town!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’m
sorry?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He
looks after all the villagers and hardly takes a penny. If you ask how he
manages to live he taps his nose and says ‘wealthy patients in
town.’”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“So
some good comes of our ills?” she smiled and he held her gaze for some moments
until she turned and walked on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">All
along the route he pointed out cottages and reeled out the villagers’ names like
a litany.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Do you
know everyone in Lowkirk?” she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
should do. I’ve lived her most of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was born here. My father built the forge further up stream to make
plough shares and tools for the labourers.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“So all
your family are here?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I have
no family now. I was an only child. My mother died when I was born.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’m
sorry.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
shrugged carelessly, “My father didn’t hold it against me. He said it was all
the more reason to do some good with my life. If someone dies bringing you into
the world the least you can do is make their death worthwhile. I suppose that’s
why he went out of his way to ensure I had an education. He could see the way
things were going and he thought I would do better in town, so I was packed off
for higher things!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
laughed and Caroline smiled as, with slower steps, they sauntered down the slope
towards a thickly wooded copse rustling with falling leaves and the echo of a
river beyond.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
stayed away for nine years,” he said, “travelling around the country and even to
France and Holland.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What
made you come back?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“My
father was ill. When he died he left me the forge, the workshop and a lot of
unfinished projects. That was two years ago and I’ve been here ever since.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“With
no plans to travel again?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
stopped in his tracks and looked thoughtfully up at the sky, “I don’t know.
Sometimes I wish I’d never been away. When I came home I thought I would just
slip back in as though I’d never left, but something has changed - maybe I
changed. It’s as though I lost something somewhere along the way.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
kicked at the ground, scraping his boot over the earth like a tethered horse
itching for freedom. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It
isn’t that I don’t love the village, because I do. There’s nowhere else I’d
rather be. This is home, I belong here and yet...”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
glanced at her and she prompted him with a smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“There’s a gap now,” he said, “something missing. I don’t know why. Maybe
it was always there but I never noticed it before I went away.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Perhaps you still miss your father,”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,”
he frowned and raised one shoulder awkwardly, “it’s not that. It’s just this...
emptiness.” He raised his hand to his heart, frowning, as though in physical
pain. “A hollow inside me. I’ve tried to fill it with work, spending longer and
longer on every design, thinking if I fill my head with something else it might
go away, but it doesn’t. It would be the same if I travelled again; I know it
would come with me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
stared, still frowning, beyond her and Caroline, disconcerted by his frankness,
wondered if he realised she was listening. He seemed to be speaking his thoughts
aloud unaware that anyone might hear, and she, feeling like an eavesdropper,
turned towards the river.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Above
the rustling of falling leaves and the gurgle of the water, came the sound of
voices, young voices, laughing in the distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’m
sorry,” he said suddenly, “I didn’t mean to bore you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,”
she shook her head, “no you didn’t.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Most
people are too busy trying to survive to allow themselves the luxury of
self-pity.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It isn’t self-pity,” she said tentatively,
turning to face him, “and it isn’t that most people are too busy, but rather
that they are too frightened.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
troubled expression lightened a little and he looked at her
quizzically.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It
isn’t easy to admit to loneliness.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Loneliness? Is that what it is? Am I lonely?” He repeated the word
several times and each time he said it the lines on his forehead faded until the
frown had vanished.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
said, “I think it’s something most people would feel if they dared to feel
anything at all.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You,
Miss Brandwith, do you feel it too?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span>She tucked her hands deeper into her cloak and gripped her wrists,
“Whatever you may think of him,” she said, “my father didn’t set out to be cruel
but he has suffered a great deal in his life. Many men would have been broken by
what he has endured but he has forced himself to go on by refusing to allow
himself to feel. If he appears hard or unkind, it’s only because he knows no
other way of surviving that loneliness.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Is
that what we have to do? Make ourselves hard until we feel no pain?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
shrugged, “I didn’t say it was the best way. I said it was his way.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But
not yours?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">When
she didn’t answer, his smile returned and he nodded along the path indicating
the way they should go. The woods opened to a bank where the river cut through
the grassland.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“One
thing that changed when I came back,” he said brightly, “was my name! When I
left I was just ‘Will’ but now it’s all ‘Mr. Harding.’ I grew up with these
people and we were all equal then, but now because I’ve been educated and lost
some of my accent, they insist on giving me a title. Is it any wonder I feel
lonely when no one ever calls me by my name?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline smiled and he coughed, “I wonder, Miss Brandwith, would
you....”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
couldn’t, for then you should be obliged to call me Caroline.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And
that would never do?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Not in
polite society.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,”
he nodded with feigned propriety, “but perhaps here, outdoors with only the
trees and river to hear?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
laughed and tried to think of an answer when a shriek of excitement distracted
him. His eyes darted to the river where five or six boys splashed knee deep
through the water. They leaped like young salmon, plunging their arms into the
waves until fish sprang into the air and with open hands they struggled to catch
them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Will
jumped down the bank to a rocky bay and, balancing on a stone, called, “Keep
tight hold, Joel! Don’t let him get away.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A fish
wriggled and writhed in the boy’s fingers but he didn’t let go and soon he had
the creature gripped by its tail, “It’s a big ’un, Mr. Harding! That’s six
now!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">From
higher upstream came a howl of pleasure as a taller youth came hurtling through
the water. Drenched and bouncing up and down like an infant, Abe Throppe cried
with glee, “Joel got the fish! Joel got the fish. Look, Mr. Harding, Joel got
the fish!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Will laughed and the others laughed
too as they waded to the bank and stood barefoot among their haul of five fat
trout spread out on a jerkin on the stones. Caroline looked down at the boys:
dark-haired, sandy-haired, blonde and brown. Two were small with narrow pinched
faces, the others rounder with apple-red cheeks and wide smiles. They were so
engrossed in their catch and displaying their success to Will that not one of
them noticed her slowly moving closer to the edge. She studied them in turn and
the sharp pang of fear shot through her chest. She wanted to turn and run away
and would have done if Abe’s sudden gasp hadn’t startled her. She looked at him
and he, still in the water, gazed at her, his eyes and mouth wide open.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What’s
up, Abe?” Joel said and followed his brother’s eyes. All the boys looked up and
their smiles instantly vanished. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Will
looked up too, “Come down,” he called.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Their
chatter had stopped and there was silence; a hostile, unwelcoming
silence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Come,”
Will reached out, “let me help you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
took his hand. His skin was warm and his grip strong, taking her weight on the
uneven stones.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“This
is Joel, my apprentice, and Gilbert and Thomas, and you have met Abe already,
and here’s....” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
names ran together in her head; she saw only their faces one after another and
in each she searched for the resemblance...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Lads,”
Will said, “this is Miss Brandwith. She’d like to meet you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Joel’s
nose wrinkled. “Why?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Well
she’d like to get to know you since she’s part of the village now.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’ve
got to go,” one boy said and another quickly nodded. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Here,”
Joel said, “take a fish.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“They’re yours. You caught them.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Joel
shrugged, “There’s enough for one each. There you go.” He crouched to the jerkin
and handed round his catch like an apostle feeding the five thousand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The two
smaller boys, clutching their prize and calling goodbyes, hurried away and the
rest soon followed until only Joel and his brother remained. Abe, still ankle
deep in the river, stood as still as a statue with his eyes wide open and fixed
on Caroline. Bewildered by his stare, she smiled but when his cheeks flushed and
his eye began to twitch, she turned to Joel, “You’ve done well. Were they
difficult to catch?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
stared at the fish, “They’re in the river; you get them out. That’s all there is
to it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She tried again, “Mr. Harding tells
me you’re his apprentice?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Yes.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Is it
interesting?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
nodded and began slipping his feet into a pair of worn boots. His toes were blue
and his legs blotched with red patches from the icy water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It
must be cold in the river at this time of year?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’ve
got to go, Mr. Harding. I’ll see you in the morning. Come on, Abe.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Still
the straw-haired youth stood twitching in the water.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Abe,
come on!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
scrambled to the bank where, jerking uncontrollably, he pulled on his
boots.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Goodbye,” Caroline said but neither of them answered. Joel led the way
towards the copse with Abe scurrying behind. Then suddenly he took hold of
Joel’s jerkin and pulled out a fish. Joel struggled and complained but Abe was
stronger and within a second he returned to the bank. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He held
the trout in front of Caroline’s face. A blank beady eye stared at her and water
dripped around her feet. He held it closer, shaking it desperately.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s a
present,” Will said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“A
present?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Abe
wants you to have it. Isn’t that right, Abe?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
nodded, twitching more frantically than ever. She glanced at Will and he smiled
and still the fish swung in front of her face. There was nothing else for it;
she couldn’t refuse. She opened her hands and the slimy scales slapped on her
palms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Thank
you,” she tried not to grimace.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">For a
second Abe stopped twitching then he seemed to shudder from head to foot before
darting away to the copse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
dead fish, fat and shining, lay on her hands, its silvery scales shimmering like
jewels. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You’re
honoured,” Will laughed, “Abe wouldn’t have given it to just anyone.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
wanted to smile but she couldn’t - the hostility of the younger boys weighed too
heavily. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“They
hate me, don’t they?” she said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,
they don’t hate you. They’re frightened that’s all.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Fear’s
worse than hatred it makes people do terrible things.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
moved closer, “Then alleviate their fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Speak to your father. Tell him...”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
can’t!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You’ve
seen them,” he shook his head desperately, “there in the water, rosy and healthy
and happy. Do you know what they’ll look like this time next year when they’ve
lost their land and been forced to look for work in the town? You must have seen
the children coming out of the factories: skinny and pale, coughing and
exhausted. Think of their families! Think of their mothers! How do you think
they’ll feel seeing their children virtually sold into slavery? Could you bear
it if it were your child?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Her
eyes flooded with unexpected tears and she frowned to prevent them from
falling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
want to help them, I know that you do, and I know you care what will happen to
them. Please, Caroline, speak to your father.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
don’t know me at all, Mr. Harding,” she gasped. “Don’t presume to say you know
what I want.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
stepped back, clearly shocked and wounded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’m
sorry,” she said, “I have to go.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Caroline, I...I didn’t mean...I’ll
walk back with you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“ I
can find my own way.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
hurried to the shelter of the copse and there, hidden from his view let the
tears fall.<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714569232976515363noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-724328173560884154.post-88221851533007831602012-12-10T08:09:00.001-08:002012-12-10T08:09:11.247-08:00The Fields Laid Waste - Chapter 3<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><strong>Chapter<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>3</strong></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">W</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">hen the doctors in Leeds said the country air would
restore Jane’s health, no one truly believed them nor held any hope that she
might survive another winter. Each week they came with their potions and leeches
and liniments, collected their fees and muttered the same unconvincing
assurances, ‘a slight improvement today,’ or, ‘a couple of weeks and she’ll be
back on her feet.’</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Only Dr. Whitstone spoke the truth: “A
few more months, perhaps, if you take her away from the town, but I can’t say
more than that.”</span><br />
<div align="justify" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
father refused to believe it: “What does he know? He poisoned your mother with
his potions.” The fees, he said, would have been better put aside for the future
when she recovered. But he must have known as surely as Caroline did, that there
was no cure for the disease that was eating away at Jane’s bones and lungs. They
both recognised the symptoms: the same pallid complexion and bitter cough that
had killed her mother twelve years before. For Jane’s sake, Caroline maintained
the pretence and tried to put Dr. Whitstone’s prognosis from her mind as she
stood on Sunday morning outside her sister’s bedroom, rehearsing her smile
before pushing open the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
look better today,” she said breezily, “did you sleep well?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Much
better,” Jane joined the deceit, “I think the doctors were right about the
country air.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline set the breakfast tray down on the bed and draped a woollen
blanket from Brandwith’s Mill over her sister’s shoulders. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Susanna will be in church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
expect she’ll call later to see how you are.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
doubt it,” Jane smiled, “you know how busy she is with all the parish
work.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Matthew can spare her for an hour and she’ll be longing to see
you.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Jane
raised her eyebrows. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s
true,” Caroline insisted, “when I spoke to her last week she said she was hoping
to call.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
don’t have to pretend. She’s never been good with illness. She could hardly bear
to look at mother when she was dying.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dying</i>: Caroline hated that word and,
turning away quickly, she pulled back the curtains but little light shone into
the room. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Between
the grey clouds that sagged from a blank autumn sky, a hazy sun glimmered in a
faint yellow mist, its brightness diluted by the raindrops meandering down the
pane. Caroline pressed her forehead to the glass and looked out at the ragged
band of villagers trekking across the green towards the church: mothers
clutching babies to their bosoms, bare-limbed children skipping ahead, and the
men some yards behind; a straggling band of pilgrims gathering for the
service.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What’s the matter?” Jane said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline turned back to the room, “They’re putting up the first notice of
enclosure today.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
mean Father’s going ahead with it?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He had
a meeting with Matthew last night. They have the agreement of all the major
landowners and they’re ready to present their petition to
Parliament.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But
why?” Jane shook her head in disbelief. “Father has no interest in farming. Why
should he want the land?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“According to his surveys the whole village is built on a coal seam. If
he owns the fields, he owns the coal beneath them.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Do you
think the tenants will be willing to move?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“They’ll have no choice if Parliament accepts the petition, and I can’t
see it being turned down, not with father’s contacts in high places.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Jane’s
face fell into the habitual frown formed by years of pain, “He will offer them a
fair price, won’t he?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“If he can prove he owns the land he won’t
offer them anything at all. He’ll just tell them to go.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He
wouldn’t do that. Even father wouldn’t do that.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline sat down on the edge of the bed, “Wouldn’t he?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Jane
pushed the tray to one side and reached for her hand. “Persuade him, ask him to
be fair.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Me?
You think he’ll listen to me? He can hardly bear to look at me now since I told
him...” she broke off, blushing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh
Caroline,” Jane sighed, “why on earth did you tell him? All these years and he’s
never suspected. You should have left it that way.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“How
could I when we were coming to Lowkirk?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d have spent every day terrified that he’d hear it from somebody
else.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Who
else could have told him? Since Aunt Julia died no one knows except Dr.
Whitstone and he wouldn’t have said anything.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline shook her head, “I had to tell him for my conscience’s sake. I
couldn’t spend the rest of my life hiding from the truth.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But
you know what he’s like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll never
forgive you now, nor let you forget it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He’ll
treat me no worse than I deserve.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
deserve more than this! Tied to him like one of his mill hands. You deserve to
be happy and I pray every day that, before I die, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>someone will come; a good husband to make you
really happy.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline threw back her head and stared up at the ceiling, “How can you
say that, Jane, knowing the truth?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“The
truth is that no matter what Father says, you still have a right to be
happy.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Save
your prayers, Jane, I don’t deserve them. Pray instead for the villagers,
they’re the ones who need them now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">In
spite of the morning’s damp chill, the church door was held open by an iron
boot-scraper and fastened securely with a latch. As they entered the porch,
Caroline glanced at her father and saw the faintest conspiratorial smile as he
nodded to Parson Matthew Williams.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Everything arranged?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Matthew
tapped the door with his knuckles, “They won’t see it until you’re gone.”
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Good
man,” Mr. Brandwith nodded and directed his daughters down the aisle.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">As one,
the villagers turned their heads with unconcealed curiosity, gaping at the
feathers and ribbons that fluttered from Ursula’s new bonnet as she entered the
family pew and greeted her sister with a kiss. Susanna rose in reply and,
lifting the veil from her face, puckered her lips to Caroline’s cheek. Their
father stood majestically in the aisle tugging at his lapels and clearly
enjoying the attention.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Matthew’s done what you asked,” Susanna whispered, proffering her cheek,
“and I think you’ll be pleased with his sermon.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
won’t forget this, Susanna.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Of
course you won’t, Father. I won’t let you!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Replacing her veil, she spread out her skirts and sat down beside
Caroline, “How’s Jane?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Much
the same; still very weak. She was hoping you might call to see her this
morning?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Not
today, I’m afraid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have several other
engagements.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Please, Susanna. You know how lonely she is. Couldn’t you spare her an
hour?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Susanna
stared at the altar, “It’s all very well for you, but being a clergyman’s wife
brings many commitments. My first duty is to Matthew. I can’t just drop
everything and saunter off whenever a whim takes me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“One
hour! Is that too much to ask?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Susanna
flattened the creases in her skirts, “There’s little point in my coming anyway.
I can never think of anything to say to her.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“She
likes to see you. She has so little company.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“She
has you. Isn’t that enough?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline stared at her but Susanna wouldn’t flinch, “You’re
different, you can deal with this sort of thing. I can’t cope with illness. It
upsets me.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Do you
think it doesn’t upset me, seeing her so....”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Susanna
raised a finger to her lips and nodded towards the altar as her husband ascended
the pulpit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The villagers rose and,
through guttural coughs and clearing of throats, croaked their way through a
hymn. The church was cold and they huddled close: old people, young people,
children, many children, and as Caroline’s eyes moved over their faces she
couldn’t help wondering...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Across
the aisle she caught sight of Mr. Harding, singing with such gusto that his
voice echoed above those of his more ragged neighbours packed beside him into
the pew. He seemed unperturbed by their proximity though they scratched and
coughed, and the stench of their clothes seeped across the nave to the family
pew where Ursula held a lace handkerchief to her nose in undisguised
revulsion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
coughing continued through the readings from Scripture and only diminished when
Matthew, raising himself to full height in the pulpit, cast a critical glance
over his motley congregation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Caroline’s
eyes moved again across the aisle and caught Mr. Harding’s profile illuminated
by the flickering candles. It was a kind face: his lips turned up slightly as
though set in a permanent smile. Though his skin had the weather-beaten hue of
the villagers, there was something noble about his features, something honest
and unfeigned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
turned to her father whose eyes were fixed on the preacher with an air of
self-satisfaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was pride and
authority in both faces as though both men were born to be leaders, yet whereas
her father’s was unapproachable and intimidating, there was something about Mr.
Harding’s that might draw people to him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
looked at him again. His was a face that showed an innate determination and
sense of his own worth. Her father’s iron confidence had been wrought through
years of struggle, and his face showed the scars of the battles he had fought
with his conscience. Mr. Harding, on the other hand, exuded a natural
confidence, and his countenance was unmarked by the bitterness of envy or
fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was pleasing to look upon;
aesthetic like a statue or a sculptured work of art and the longer Caroline
looked at him, the more pleasing his aspect became as every line, every angle
seemed carved to perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Suddenly, perhaps aware of her gaze, he glanced across the aisle and, in
a flush of embarrassment, she turned away and looked up at Matthew, high in the
pulpit, his voice growing ever louder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Does
not the apostle say, ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Obey your
masters</i>!’ and did you not but a minute since, hear from sacred Scripture of
the punishment that God shall inflict on the rebels who rise up against those
whom he has chosen as their masters? Everlasting fire! ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Depart from me, ye cursed ones</i>!’
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Imagine it, imagine that fire singeing the skin, corroding the flesh and
biting into the bone. You think the furnace is hot? You think the forge can
burn? How much fiercer is the fire that God has prepared for those who resist
his order!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Matthew’s lips curled dramatically and, closing his eyes, he clenched his
hands in full view of his cowering congregation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Imagine it, imagine that fire, that agony, that torture. Imagine a pain
far greater than the worst pain on earth. Your limbs roasting, your body ablaze
until the flesh peels away from the bone like the wax of a melting candle.
Blisters and boils bubble on your skin, your tongue swells until it chokes all
the breath from your lungs and still you suffer and will go on suffering,
burning, blazing in the flames that will never be extinguished!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
coughing had stopped. The church was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>silent. Even the tiniest children dared not shuffle in their pews. All
eyes were fixed on the pulpit where the parson grimaced and writhed in his
well-rehearsed drama. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And
for whom has God reserved this punishment? For those who rebel against his
order. There may be those who tell you to pay no attention to your masters.
There may even be those who, with false promises, urge you to rise up against
them! False prophets with false promises of a better world. Pay them no heed!
They are blind men leading the blind to the pit of damnation. For the sake of
your souls, close your ears to their arguments.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline looked at the children, crouching in the benches, so small and
helpless, trembling at the thought of her brother-in-law’s terrible
deity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Do you
presume you can escape God’s anger by strong words and reason? Would you set
yourself higher than the Creator who made you and placed you in your lowly state
of life?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is your mind quicker than his?
Your judgement more sound?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go on then,
stand against him, let your rebellious hearts disobey those whom God has
appointed to rule you, if...” he leaned forward and, extending his finger
pointed at parishioners at random, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if</i> you are prepared to suffer those
unquenchable flames for all eternity.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">By the
time he had finished his sermon, only one head in the congregation remained
unbowed. Content in the certainty that the message had struck home, Mr.
Brandwith gave a nod of approval as the parson descended the steps. In humility
or fear the villagers lowered their foreheads onto their joined hands and with
at least the outward aspect of submission, beseeched their pastor’s vindictive
God to deliver them from eternal damnation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“An
excellent homily, Matthew. Excellent!” Mr. Brandwith said as he passed through
the porch at the end of the service.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Susanna,” Caroline pleaded, “will you at least think over what I said
about Jane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She does so want to see
you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Susanna, searching for any distraction, pretended not to have heard and,
raising her veil from her face with the most affected of smiles, called
brightly, “Ah, good morning, Mr. Harding! Allow me to introduce my
sister.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline’s heart thudded so unexpectedly she wondered if she were
blushing and would have stepped quickly away had his face not appeared before
her.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Mrs.
Williams, Miss Brandwith, how lovely to see you again.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
have already met?” Susanna said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
nodded, “I was at the Hall yesterday.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
see,” Susanna said, glancing carelessly beyond him, “Oh look, there’s Mr.
Hubert. I shall speak to you later Caroline.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
stepped quickly across the churchyard and Caroline would have walked on but Mr.
Harding stood motionless on the path, “You see, our friend is fully recovered
from yesterday’s ordeal?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline frowned uncomprehending until he signalled to Abe Throppe
hovering and twitching by a headstone.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh,
good, good,” she nodded.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
stepped to one side to continue on her way but he seemed reluctant to let her
go, “I’m sorry it’s such dull weather for your first Sunday in Lowkirk. I’m
afraid you won’t have a true impression of how lovely the village can be on a
fine autumn day.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I was
here yesterday when the weather was beautiful,” Caroline smiled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Ah,
yes, but Sundays are different. The villagers don’t work on Sundays. It would be
an ideal time to meet your new neighbours.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline glanced at the church door, “I doubt they will want to meet me.”
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh
that’s not true! They’re far more friendly for knowing and though they may not
take kindly to strangers at first, the sooner they make your acquaintance the
sooner you will not be a stranger.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
looked up and saw the transparent sincerity of his smile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Perhaps, if the rain stops,” he said with a tentative confidence, “you
might permit me to show you around this afternoon?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Caroline swallowed, unsettled by the brightness of his face, “It’s very
kind of you Mr. Harding but....”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“With
your sister of course,” he nodded across the pathway to where Ursula stood,
impatiently fingering the ribbons of her bonnet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Unfortunately Ursula has little interest in the village. She prefers the
excitement of the town.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Swift
and heavy strides along the pathway distracted them. “Good day, Mr. Harding!
Have you started work on my water supply?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I’ve
begun the preliminary designs.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Good!
The sooner the better. Come, girls, hurry now.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Her
father seized Caroline’s elbow ushering her quickly towards the gate. She looked
back over her shoulder as Matthew unlatched the church door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Miss
Brandwith,” Mr. Harding hurried to her side, and striding to keep pace with her
father’s swift steps, whispered almost inaudibly, “I shall be taking a stroll
through the village this afternoon. If you would care to join me I shall be on
the green at two.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Both
shocked and flattered by his persistence she didn’t answer but her eyes were
drawn against her will to his face. He smiled and, raising his hand in salute,
said loudly, “Good day, Mr. Brandwith, ladies.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What
did he say?” Ursula frowned as he turned and walked back towards the
church.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Nothing. He was merely commenting on the weather.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But
Caroline, you’re blushing. I do believe you’re blushing!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">She
drew her hand over her cheek, “No, I’m not.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Ursula,
smiling smugly looked back along the road, “Blushing,” she laughed, “for Mr.
Harding.”</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="justify" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
leaned against the lichgate as they shrank into the distance. Abe was right; she
was beautiful, but her beauty was not of a kind he had ever seen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though her face was pleasant, it wasn’t that
her features were striking so much as her expression. He recalled the genuine
concern in her eyes when she had asked about Abe, and there was something sad
about her mouth, an intriguing kind of sadness, like loneliness. The gentleness
of her voice was so unlike the flirtatious tones of the village girls who stood
at his door, giggling and teasing, yet when she had smiled so spontaneously it
had seemed that somewhere beneath her demure exterior, there was a spirit, a
fire she was desperately trying to conceal. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Voices
invaded his thoughts as three girls drew closer on their way from the
church.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Where
did you get to last night, Becky? We searched everywhere. Even your father was
asking after you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Becky
paused in front of Will and wrapping a ringlet around her finger gaped at him,
“Good morning, Mr. Harding.” she said in a tone full of suggestion. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Good
morning, Becky.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">They
walked on, “You didn’t!” Sarah nudged Becky whose finger shot to her
lips.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Kate
turned and stared at Will who, confused, smiled innocently.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You...with him?” he heard her say.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Becky
laughed loudly and skipped along the road, the others hurrying behind with
shrieks and giggles. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A
sudden thud as the church door closed, brought louder voices echoing across the
church-yard.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What
is it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What
does it mean?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Here,
Mr. Harding, what’s this all about?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A
huddle of men crowded into the porch.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What
does it say, Mr. Harding?” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Let
him pass. Let him read it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">They
jostled him forwards and he edged between elbows and shoulders to the notice
nailed to the door.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Is
it...” someone said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He
nodded and felt his heart sinking, “A notice of enclosure.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A cry
rang through the crowd and brought others scurrying back to the porch.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“They’ve done this between them, Brandwith and the parson. They knew it!
They knew he’d be out of the way before we saw it.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Angry
oaths exploded and tempers flared. They hammered and rattled the door but the
parson had already bolted it firmly from the inside. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Saddler
saw his chance of taking command, “The Hall then! We’ll take this to the Hall
and show Brandwith what we think of his plans!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A cheer
resounded as he reached to rip the notice from the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Wait!”
Will cried, stopping his hand. “At least let me read it first so we know what
we’re up against!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“We’ll
not wait to let them walk all over us like they did in Beckford and Rowthorpe!”
Saddler struggled but Will kept a grip of his hand.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“He’s
right,” someone called, “let Mr. Harding tell us what it says.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Saddler’s muscle relaxed and Will let him go but there was no need to
read further, he knew exactly what the notice meant. He turned to the anxious
and angry faces, pushing and jostling desperate to hear every word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“This
is the first of three. They have to warn us for three Sundays of what they’re
planning to do.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“We
know damn well what they’re planning to do!” Saddler called, “I say we march on
the Hall.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
oaths rose again and they turned from the church like a mutinous army preparing
to attack.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No!”
Will shouted. “Acting too hastily now won’t help anyone. The slightest hint of a
riot and they’ll call in the troops!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
anger cooled a little but Saddler stoked the flames, “Let them bring in the
army, we’ll not go down without a fight.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“For
God’s sake, see sense!” Will said. “Think of your families. Who’ll care for them
when you’ve been arrested or transported or worse? There were nineteen men
hanged down south and where did that leave the rest? They still lost their land
and their jobs just the same.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">His
words stilled the fury of the crowd and they hovered between Will and Saddler
waiting for a further command.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“If you
want the best for yourselves and your families you’ll have to think this through
properly and beat them on their own terms.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“What?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“For a
start, calm down. Don’t rush into anything. You need to think clearly and
organise yourselves. There’s two more weeks before they can take their petition
to Parliament and after that they’ll have to wait for the commissioners to come
to see who owns what in the village.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
expect us to sit back and wait for it to happen?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“In the
meantime we make preparations.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Saddler
leaped forward, wild-eyed, “Aye! That’s right! Weapons, we need weapons. Down at
your forge, you could make swords and guns.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“We
don’t need swords! We’ve got scythes and pitch forks.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
could run a man through with a spade.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No!
No!” Will shook his head desperately, “Not weapons, you can’t fight an army with
spades and shovels. Violence won’t work!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Perplexed faces frowned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Go
home,” Will said, “and go through your chests, your cupboards, everything you
have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See if you can find any documents
to prove you own the land.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Documents?” Saddler scoffed, “What would we want with documents?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Ask
yourselves, do you own your land or do you rent it?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Dan
Throppe pushed his way to the front, “I rent the cottage but the strips are
mine. My father ploughed them and his father before him. It’s always been
Throppe’s land.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Fine,”
Will nodded, “can you prove it?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Aye,”
Dan’s fear made his tone aggressive, “ask anyone here, they’ll tell you. The
whole village can prove it!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">A
consensus of grunts and nods supported his claim.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s
the same for all of us,” Tom Fuller said, “we all know whose land is
whose.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
need it in writing.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Our
Joel can write. I’ll get him to write it for me.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;">
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s
not like that, Dan,” Will sighed. “You need official documents written up by
lawyers or magistrates.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“There’s only one magistrate round here and that’s the
squire.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Saddler
laughed loudly, “Squire Brandwith won’t be up to giving us documents when he’s
the one claiming our land.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Alright,” Will said, “just make sure. You may have something you’d
forgotten. A scroll, a scrap of paper, anything, however ancient that gives you
the legal right to your land.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And if
we haven’t?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Then...” Will spoke slowly, trying to think of a solution, “then we
negotiate.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Eh?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It’s
not solely Mr. Brandwith’s decision. To present a petition of enclosure to
Parliament they need the support of all the landowners whose land between them
makes up at least two thirds of the village.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some of this may be Mr. Brandwith’s, but who else owns land around here?”
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“The
parson.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Mr.
Cordwell.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Mr.
Huberts.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“That’s
it then,” Saddler cried, “they’re all Brandwith’s cronies. They’ve been planning
this for years. I say we take him on now before it goes any further.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“It
won’t get you anywhere. The best thing we can do is speak with him, get him to
see what we stand to lose.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Saddler
moved closer, “What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">we</i> stand to lose?
I don’t recall seeing you work the land, Mr. Harding. I don’t know that you’ve
any strips in the fields. You’ll be alright. You’ve got nothing to lose.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Oh
come on, Saddler. It’s my village too.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“But
you’re working for him now. It’s clear which side you’re on.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“No,
Saddler, no,” Dan said, “that’s not fair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mr. Harding’s a Lowkirk man through and through.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“And
when we’re thrown on the parish or sold to the mills where will he be? Making
machines for the slave masters running the place!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Will
nodded, “Saddler’s right. I am working for him. So, given time, if I do a good
job and you help me, we might show him he has more to gain by keeping things
just as they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it. He
runs a mill, a woollen mill; what does he need to keep it going?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">No one
answered.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Wool,
of course!”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“So?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“So
where does he get his raw materials? Supposing he had his own suppliers right
here in the village? He told me himself he wants to see the whole thing through
from beginning to end but he doesn’t know anything about farming. If we could
supply him with wool at a reasonable price he might think again about
enclosures.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“You
know nothing about farming either,” Saddler scoffed. “How many sheep do you
reckon it takes to supply a factory?”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I
don’t know.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“More
than we’ve got between us.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Maybe
so, but it’s a start. It’s at least worth a try. Once he sees you’re in earnest
he might be willing to give you a chance.” Will glanced around the hopeless
faces, none of them convinced. “Give me time,” he pleaded, “let me find out more
about him. The better we know him, the better chance we have of dealing with
him.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The
villagers looked at one another, each waiting for the next man to
act.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Go on home now,” Will said, “see if
you have any documents and if you find any bring them to me and I’ll read them
for you.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">One by
one they turned away and drifted towards their cottages until only Saddler
remained.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Be
careful, Saddler,” Will said. “Remember, men have been hanged for inciting a
riot.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Aye,
and you remember, Mr. Harding, men have been murdered for betraying them as
trusted them.”</span>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714569232976515363noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-724328173560884154.post-43092537230481286842012-11-30T11:33:00.000-08:002012-11-30T11:33:00.727-08:00The Fields Laid Waste - Chapter 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<strong>Chapter 2<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p> </o:p> Will Harding whistled as he
followed the maid along the oak panelled passage of Lowkirk Hall, and the notes
resounded so sweetly he dawdled in the hope of finishing his tune before they
reached the door. Though he had passed the Hall daily for most of his life,
this was the first time he had ever been invited inside, and he smiled at the
memory of the fear of the place that had possessed him when he was a boy.
Rumours of the old squire’s insanity were rife around the village and it had
become a game for the local lads to dare one another to sneak into the
courtyard, tap on the nearest window and flee for their lives. He had boasted,
along with the rest, of having seen Squire Rostley rolling across the floor
with bulbous eyes and foaming jowls and had repeated the lie so often he had
almost begun to believe it were true.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
the maid neared the door at the end of the passage, the gruesome images that
had haunted his childhood returned with sudden alacrity and his heart began to
race. In a moment of panic he half-expected to discover the raving squire
howling in front of his fire like a man possessed by a demon but as the girl
pushed open the door all he saw was an elderly man sitting, calm and sane, at a
library table and peering into a ledger.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mr.
Harding has arrived, Mr. Brandwith.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
man stood up and offered his hand in greeting, “Good of you to come, Mr.
Harding.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
directed Will to a chair and served him brandy, “You’re an engineer, they tell
me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
right.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
handed him the glass, “Is business good?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not
bad. I maintain a workshop in the village and a small forge just outside
Lowkirk. Nothing elaborate as yet.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
a growing reputation, I understand?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
smiled modestly as Mr. Brandwith shook his coat tails and sat down opposite
him. His hair was white, very white like wool, softening the clearly etched
features of his face: deep lines around his lips and crevices running from his
nose to his chin.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell
me,” he said with the look of a merchant examining new wares, “what are you
working on at the moment?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
hesitated; there were so many half-finished projects in his workshop and still
more in his mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Farming
implements mostly; seed drills, threshing machines, ploughs. It’s long been my
hope that I might use my designs to make labour easier for the villagers. I
have ideas which could help them to produce a wider variety of crops, make
better use of their land and weave more cloth but...” he paused, unnerved by
the intensity of the older man’s stare.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Materials
are expensive and most of the villagers are simple tenant farmers and weavers.
The harvest has been so poor the past couple of years that it’s taken all they
have to feed their families.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
your designs are wasted?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
shrugged, “ It might not have been so bad if...” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith raised his eyebrows.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“...if
the weavers hadn’t lost so much custom. With all the new factories opening in <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place> there isn’t the same trade for the villagers. They
do their best but with simple looms they can’t compete with factory prices or
output and customers aren’t prepared to wait.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith leaned back and pensively swirled his brandy around the glass, “And
you would like to help them?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They’re
my people,” Will smiled, “and I’ve been fortunate. I had an education, and they
say I have some talent so I believe it’s my duty to use what gifts I have to
help my neighbours.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Quite
right,” Mr. Brandwith agreed. “We must make use of all our resources to build a
better world for ourselves and those who come after us. But as you say,
machinery’s expensive, and what good are your designs if they all stay in your
head?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“In
a year or two, if the harvest improves...”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
if it doesn’t?” Mr. Brandwith shuffled to the edge of his seat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Then
I’ll trust in <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Providence</st1:place></st1:city>.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Providence</st1:place></st1:city>?” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
God gave me my gift, he must have done so for a reason. He won’t let it go to
waste.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith shook his head and, slapping his hand against his thigh, stood up,
“In my experience, Mr. Harding, the Lord helps those who help themselves and
those who fail, do so by their own lack of foresight. Don’t you agree?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
stared into his glass, “I don’t know. Sometimes circumstances go against people.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Circumstances!”
Mr. Brandwith moved to the window and looked out over his estate, “Look at me! I
came from nowhere, had nothing. My father died when I was six years old and
left my mother without a penny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look at
me now: this house, this land, a thriving mill with eight hundred workers. Do you
want to know how I did it?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
nodded obligingly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
made my own circumstances through sheer determination, hard work and using
every opportunity that came my way. If I’d waited for good harvests or <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Providence</st1:place></st1:city>, do you think
I’d be who I am today?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
rolled his eyes, carefully weighing his answer, “Perhaps you were fortunate in
the opportunities that came your way.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fortune
doesn’t enter into it. During the wars I made uniforms; in peace time I make
blankets and clothes. A man must adapt to circumstances, not wait for them to
arrive. Opportunities are always there for those alert enough to see them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“In
which case,” Will smiled, “I had better keep my eyes open.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah
ha!” Mr. Brandwith opened his arms in a gesture of sincerity, “I can see you
have the right spirit. Supposing I were to offer you my support? With my money
behind you, you could bring your designs to life.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
glanced at him cautiously, “What could I give in return?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
older man took a sip of brandy and swished it around his mouth for some seconds
before sitting down again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
mill in <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place> does well but there’s a good
deal of competition. I want to expand: a complete integrated mill the whole lot
from start to finish - scribbling, fulling, the best looms, the fastest
shuttles. I want to produce the most and the finest cloth in <st1:place w:st="on">Yorkshire</st1:place>.
Now then, supposing I were to offer you a chance to be part of all of that?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
can’t see how I could be of use.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
simple. You bring your designs to me before anyone else.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
good are threshing machines in a mill?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Forget
your threshing machines and your farm tools, you’ll never make a penny out of
them. Design my machinery and I’ll see you set up for the rest of your life.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
exhaled loudly and raised his eyes to the ceiling, “I’m sorry, Mr. Brandwith,
I’m a country man. Seed drills, planters, threshers; that’s my line.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nonsense!
You said yourself you could design looms for the local weavers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Simple
machines, yes, for their cottages, not the huge kind of things you’ll be
wanting.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith shook his head, undeterred, “A man of your ability learns quickly.
Besides, it’s merely a matter of scale: design small, build big!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
frowned, “Why me? There must be dozens of engineers in <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place>
who would be only too willing to work for you.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
yes, there are dozens of engineers all hoping for someone to back their
designs. Several times a week they come to my door begging me to try out their
inventions but I know very well that what they bring me today they took to my
rivals yesterday. Which is why I want someone new, someone I can trust, with no
contacts in the mills; an honourable man such as yourself who won’t be tempted
to share his designs with any other bidders.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
flattered by your offer, Mr. Brandwith,” Will said, moving to the edge of his
chair, “but as I said, my duty is to the villagers.” He put the brandy glass on
the table and stood up, “Forgive me for wasting your time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith, remaining seated, looked into his own glass nodding and moving his
lips in some internal monologue until Will reached the door. “A moment,” he
said, suddenly looking up, “I invited you here on the recommendation of my
son-in-law.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
stopped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
did some work for him in Beckford.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
right. Sir Edmund wanted running water brought to the house.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Which
you provided with excellent results?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
seemed pleased with the outcome.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
have seen it for myself. Very impressive. How did you manage it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was my father’s idea originally. I simply designed the pump; a hydraulic pump
bringing the water from the river at the end of his estate. Once that was in
order the rest was straightforward.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Could
you do the same for me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Bring
water here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith nodded. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
would be expensive; equipment, labour.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll
pay in advance. Name your price.” His chin was strong and determined, his lips
narrow and straight as though drawn that way through years of self-control.
Three vertical lines formed a frown on his forehead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“And if we’re content with each other’s part
of the bargain you might see your way to consider my previous offer. What do
you say?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
yielded with a nod, “I’ll sort out the water but as for the...”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Father!”
The door burst open and a rush of skirts flew like a whirlwind into the study,
“It’s awful, something awful has happened!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
girl, pink-faced and flushed, glanced in Will’s direction then turned to a
taller young woman standing in the doorway, half-concealed by the shadows.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tell
him, Caroline,” said the girl, pulling her into the room, “tell father what
happened.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith twitched with a slight irritation and Caroline shook her head, “It’s
nothing,” she said softly, “and father’s busy. We shouldn’t have disturbed him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nothing!”
The girl gasped with such vehemence that Will wanted to laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Caroline
stepped back into the shadows but the girl seized her arm, refusing to let her
go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith turned to Will and shook his head apologetically, “My daughter,
Ursula. I’m afraid her life is so dull that she turns any event into a drama.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Undeterred,
Ursula forced Caroline further into the room, “She was coming back from church
and she encountered some horrible men.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith turned away apathetically and Will couldn’t help but notice the
pained expression on Caroline’s face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who
were they?” he said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Villagers,
drunkards,” Ursula gushed. “They were all drinking at the inn. One was called
Saddler, wasn’t he?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
not sure,” Caroline turned back to the door, “but it really was nothing. They
were quite harmless. There’s no need to bother father with it.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Harmless?
A boy was hurt and when Caroline stopped to help him this Saddler was very rude
about the factory.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith turned sharply, “What about the factory?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Nothing,”
Caroline said, “they don’t mean any harm. They’re just frightened that we’ve
come to take over their land.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
isn’t their land,” Ursula huffed. “Father bought it at a high price. They’re
only his tenants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How dare they speak to
you like that, laughing at you as though you were no better than they are!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
their home,” Caroline said gently. “We’re the strangers here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They’re
animals, they should live in the barns with their cows. They’re dirty and
unkempt with no manners at all. I hope you’ll turn them all out, Father.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Caroline
stopped with her hand on the door and glanced at Will, “Excuse me, Mr.?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Harding.”
he bowed.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Please,”
she said, “pay no attention to my sister. She doesn’t mean what she says.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
do!” the younger girl gasped. “Susanna told me all about them. They come into
church smelling of pigs and cattle and once a sheep came right down the aisle
and wandered onto the altar during the service. Matthew had to delay his
sermon<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>until they’d chased it out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
Lamb of God!” Caroline smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Caroline,”
Mr. Brandwith intervened, “I won’t have blasphemy spoken in my house.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
sorry,” she said and as she opened the door, Will noticed how her feet made no
sound but moved with such timid steps as though apologising for disturbing the
earth.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wait!”
her father called and she stopped at once. “What name did you say? Saddler?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ursula
nodded, “That’s right, isn’t it, Caroline?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
waiting for her reply, Mr. Brandwith looked at Will, “Do you know him?” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Martin
Saddler?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s a weaver. He was doing
well at one time but now he’s lost most of his custom to the towns.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is
it any wonder if he spends his days drinking in the inn?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
no,” Will said, “that’s just today. They’re preparing for the dance, the
harvest feast tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is
he a tenant of mine?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
lives in the cottages by the old barn.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Saddler,”
Mr. Brandwith repeated as though to memorise the name.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Caroline
paused by the door and, though her eyes remained fixed on the floor, it was
clear that she was speaking to Will.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“There
was a boy,” she whispered, “I’m afraid he was hurt. They were taunting him and
he was bleeding. I tried to help him but he was so...so frightened.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tall,
long legs, yellow hair?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,
that’s him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Abe,”
Will smiled, “Abe Throppe. Don’t alarm yourself on his account, Miss Brandwith.
He’s subject to fits. He falls two or three times a week but he never comes to
any harm.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
raised her head slightly, “Throppe? I met a boy named Throppe in church. He
said he had come for a lesson.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
nodded, “Abe’s younger brother, Joel, my apprentice at the forge. He’s a good
lad, works hard and he’s eager to learn. The family have nothing but he tends
the glebe and in return Parson Williams gives him lessons.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
frowned, “How old is...” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Brandwith stepped between them, “I’m sorry, Mr. Harding. The girls are delaying
you. I’m sure they have other business to attend to.” He nodded to Caroline and
she retreated towards the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come,
sir,” Mr. Brandwith said, “I’ll show you around and we can discuss terms.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
had always loved the harvest feast; the dancing and singing, everyone drinking
enough to drown their fears of the oncoming winter. Yet that evening as he
stood, one foot raised on the bench, watching the dancers leap around the barn,
something seemed lacking. For no reason he could discern, a sense of
disappointment sagged his spirits and a kind of loneliness weighed on his
heart. He shook his head to shrug away the feeling and swayed to the music,
tapping his boot to the rhythm of the drum. To no avail. It was as though he
missed someone, yet no one was missing. All the villagers were there and the
barn was full. He counted and named them all in his head - no, nobody was
missing but as tune followed tune the loneliness grew more intense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
drained his tankard and refilled it from the barrel, as the barn grew sticky
with the sweat and warm breath of the revellers.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Alright,
Mr. Harding,” someone called, “stopped dancing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“For
now.” he smiled, drifting towards the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Outside,
the drum beat echoed on the cottage walls and the back of Throppe’s yard where
an old pig snuffled through the gullies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
leaned over the gate, “Alright, Bertie?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
boar glanced at him through tiny eyes buried in a mass of wrinkles. Taking an
egg from a box by the fence, Will pressed his boots through the slats of the
gate and climbed into the yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held
out the egg and the pig trotted over, snorting through a snout like a giant
limpet. Speckles of grain stuck to the sagging lips and a long slimy tongue
slipped in and out between rows of jagged teeth. Will popped the egg into
Bertie’s mouth and he guzzled it, shell and all, until long strands of clear
and yellow slime stretched from his jowls - no finesse, no manners, no sense of
his own ugliness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
we’re supposed to be the wise ones!” Will smiled, slapping his palm against the
bristly back. “We get the brains, the choices and decisions, and you get the
freedom not to care. What do you reckon, Bertie? Who has the better deal?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
pig gulped the last of the egg and trotted back to the wall where he rubbed
against the cottage, his only care in the world to rid himself of an itch. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Alright,”
Will nodded, “so there’s pork and dripping, but you needn’t worry. They’ll not
have you slaughtered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll just go on,
wake up every morning,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>stick out your
snout to see what the weather’s like and if you don’t like it you can roll over
and sleep for another hour. They’ll see that you’re fed and watered and all you
have to do in return is make a good impression on the sows and sire your
piglets.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
climbed backwards onto the gate and, dangling his legs into the yard, swigged
from his tankard. “Now, we, on the other hand, we’re the clever ones. We travel
and we study and we think that we’re wise, but what do we do? We spend our
lives making ends meet, worrying about how we’ll last the winter, or do the
right thing, or find a wife...”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sorry,”
a deep voice grunted, “did you say sommat?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
coughed, pretending to clear his throat as he turned to see two weather beaten
faces, brown and lined like autumn leaves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dan
Throppe smiled, raising a callused hand in a gesture of subservience, “It’s a
poor do when the cleverest man in the village spends harvest night talking to
pigs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s up of a dozen lasses in
there all waiting for a dance, Mr. Harding.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Martin
Saddler stepped closer, “Happen there’s sommat else on his mind tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
smiled and looked down into the yard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
a grand pig isn’t he?” Dan said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
nodded, “Have you thought of mating him with Martha Green’s sow?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
what!” Dan chortled, “She’s twice his size, is Bessie. She’d frighten him to
death!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
laughed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’d
be better with Dot again. Eight piglets last time and even the runt were a
strong little ’un.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is
that right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ask
our Abe. It were his idea to start him with Dot. He might not be bright but he
knows what’s what when it comes to pigs.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
people,” Will smiled.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Aye,
he has them measured too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saddler,
who until now had been staring towards the barn, licking his lips in
anticipation of a drink, turned, “You want to send him up to the Hall then and
see what he makes of this Brandwith.” He paused as though waiting for a
response but as the others continued to stare at the pig he sniffed and spat on
the ground, “Heard you went up there today, Mr. Harding.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
did.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
did you tell him we don’t want him here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah,
come on, Saddler, give the man a chance. He might not be as bad as you think.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dan’s
eyes widened with interest and, tugging nervously at his beard, he shuffled
back from the gate, “Did he say owt about his plans for the village?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No.
His only concern was for his mill.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll
bet!” Saddler huffed. “I’ve heard what goes on in there. There’s bairns working
twelve, fourteen hours a day, never seeing so much as a glimpse of the
sunlight. One second late and the door’s locked and the slightest mistake and
the foreman’s round with his whip.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Rumours,”
Will said, “and hearsay, that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Were
it a rumour that fifteen died of the factory fever last spring?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Never
mind the mills,” Dan said, “what’s going to happen here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did he make no mention at all of the
village?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Only
that he wants water bringing to the Hall.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
you’re going to do it?” Saddler said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
drained his tankard, “It could work out well for everyone. I’ll be laying pipes
through his estate and if I take them round the edge of the top field I could
put in a drainage channel at the same time. The strips up there have been
waterlogged so often they’re as good as useless.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saddler
shook his head cynically, “What’s the use in draining the land if it’s all
going to be taken from us?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dan’s
face contorted with anxiety, “You think he’ll enclose us?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
is just the start,” Saddler nodded, “water pipes today, fences and walls
tomorrow and unless we stop him we’ll be out before you know it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
won’t happen, will it, Mr. Harding?” Dan said desperately, “I mean, a man’s got
to keep his family. If I lose my land I’ll have nothing for them, nothing. Our
Joel will be alright, he’s a scholar like you, and the other lads might find
work, they’re bright and strong, but what about Abe, what will he do? God knows
he’ll never make much of his life but at least while we’ve got the land there’s
always a job for him.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
jumped from the gate and rested his hand on Dan’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, Dan.
Why should he want your land? Like I said, his only concern is his factory.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dan
stared earnestly into his eyes and Will nodded reassuringly, “He might not be
the devil everyone’s expecting. I mean a man with such beautiful daughters
can’t be all bad.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Beautiful?
That’s not what I’ve heard. Our Joel met one of them today. Sneaked up on him
she did, like a witch.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
laughed, “Like a witch?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Said
she wanted someone to show her round the village.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saddler
sniffed, “Eyeing it up to see what she could get her hands on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ugly
as sin, she were, with evil red eyes, according to our Joel.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will,
still laughing, shook his head, “The ones I saw today weren’t ugly. Lady
Beckford is beautiful and you must admit, Mrs. Williams isn’t bad.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
would you know,” Dan almost smiled, “with her face hidden under her veil!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saddler
stamped on the ground, “Ugly or not, it’s an ugly business they’re in. Let them
try to take our village and I’ll show them what we’re made of.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Aye,”
Dan nodded, “and every man of Lowkirk right behind you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saddler
stretched himself to full height and flexed his muscles with pride, “But
tonight,” he grinned, “it’s harvest! The lasses are waiting and it’s time we started
drinking. You coming, Mr. Harding?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
raised his tankard, “I’ll be along soon.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
watched them stride away but the sound of music and laughter weighed more
heavily on his heart and, when they had disappeared, he walked past the door
and along the side of the barn where he leaned against the wall and, sliding to
the ground, sat down on the cobbles. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
looked up at the stars that flashed and twinkled between the grey clouds and he
thought of the town; the darkness of the nights and the airless streets through
which he had so often wandered in his years away from the village. It had been
exciting at first: the busyness, the smells and the sounds, the cries of the
sellers from the markets, the strange accents of the immigrants and the stench
of the fish and spice stalls. He wondered if he had been happy then - perhaps
if he could go back...but even in those days something, something was
missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
burst of giggling echoed from behind the barn; girls’ voices high pitched and
slurred. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t
take no more, you’ll get yourself drunk.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m
alright! I know what I’m doing.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Aye,
you might do now, but if you drink anymore you’ll even think Abe Throppe’s
handsome.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
no, I won’t, there’s only one man for me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
what you said about the last one and the one before him!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
time it’s real. This one’s special.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
it doesn’t take a scholar to guess who he is.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
leaned sideways around the barn. Three girls sat on the ground passing a jar of
cider between them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So,”
Kate Green nudged Becky Saddler, “has he given you any sign?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
looks at me. I’ve seen him looking.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Looking?”
Sarah Fuller laughed, “You’re wasting your time. He’s not interested.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
danced with me, didn’t he?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
by the end of the night he’ll have danced with every girl in Lowkirk.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,”
Becky said, “it was different with me. I could tell by his eyes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was you with the eyes, gawking at him and swinging your hips.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sarah
shook her head, “You want to be careful, Becky. A man like him won’t settle
round here. He’ll not let all that learning go to waste.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kate
nodded, “That’s right. Don’t let him string you along. He’ll be off before you
know it and then where will you be?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Perhaps
he’ll take me with him,” Becky smiled dreamily. “I’d like that; pretty dresses,
a fine house and carriage. I’d drive through the streets and have people
calling, ‘Good morning, Mrs. Harding! What’s your husband invented today?’”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
laughed to himself and leaned back against the barn.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
tell you, you’re wasting your time,” Sarah said. “He’s not going to want
someone like you when there’s all them rich ladies to choose from.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span> “I’m worth ten of them and he knows
it,” Becky said, “and I know how to get round a man.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
aye?” the others laughed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Come
on then, if you don’t believe me, I’ll show you!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
the shuffling as they got to their feet, Will retreated into the shadows. Becky
stood up and paused for a moment, running her fingers through her loose hair.
She walked like a cat, one foot in front of the other in a perfectly straight
line, shaking her hips until her skirt billowed like a tree in the wind. Will
knew that walk well enough. The walk she adopted every time that she came by
the workshop with a broken scythe, a spade or a cauldron - any excuse to call
in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
shook his head and when they had passed he emerged from the shadows and sat
down again on the ground. Their giggling grew louder and their voices more high
pitched but he paid them little attention. He thought of the hundreds of years
that this land had belonged to their families and it saddened him to think that
Dan was probably right. A businessman like Mr. Brandwith wouldn’t let this
opportunity pass by; it was only a matter of time before he claimed his rights
and enclosed the fields and the common.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
scream shattered his thoughts. Will leaped to his feet and ran around the barn
to find Becky and Kate shrieking in front of Throppe’s yard. Abe, his eyes wide
and wild, towered above them with a mallet raised in his hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Abe!”
Will yelled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Get
him away! Get him away!” Becky cried throwing herself into Will’s arms. “He’s
going to kill us.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
shouldn’t be in there. Tell ’em, Mr. Harding! Tell ’em to stay away.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was only a bit of fun,” Becky squealed. “He wants locking up. He’s a mad man!” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
the mallet still raised above his head, and his face as stern as a crag, Abe
leaned over the gate and picked up a jar of cider, “Killing pigs i’n’t fun!”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
looked down at Becky who had pressed herself to his chest.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
was nothing;” she said, “we thought the pig might like to join the feast. A
drop of cider wouldn’t do any harm.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
alright, Abe,” Will said, releasing himself from Becky’s clutch, “no one’s
going to hurt Bertie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Slowly
he lowered the mallet, “They’ve to stay away from him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They
will, Abe, I promise,” Will nodded and the boy let the mallet fall.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
dangerous,” Becky said. “He’d have killed us if you hadn’t come when you did.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go
on,” Will said, pushing her gently towards the barn, “go back to the dancing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
gazed at him through huge brown eyes, “Aren’t you coming in with us, Mr.
Harding?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Maybe
later,” he nodded again towards the door. Abe stood by the gate, twitching one
eye and jerking his head. As Will moved closer he climbed backwards into the
yard where, cowering to the ground, he threw a gangly arm around the pig and
huddled close to its belly until slowly the twitching eased. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
leaned over the gate, “No harm done, Abe?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Daft
lasses,” he said, “daft lasses.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
Bertie’s alright, see?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No
thanks to them. Daft lasses.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“They’ve
drunk too much, that’s all. They didn’t think what they were doing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Abe
rocked gently and, still clinging to the boar, raised his head to the sky, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">She </i>won’t be drunk not like them daft
lasses.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Mm?”
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She’s
not like them daft lasses.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Who?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
finger shot to his lips and he smiled like an infant, “Sh, it’s a secret.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Will
smiled and climbed over the gate, “Will you share it?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Coyly,
Abe drew his knees towards his chest curling in on himself like a flower in the
night. His eyes darted around the yard searching out eavesdroppers, then he
shuffled closer to Will and whispered, “There’s a lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Which
lady?” Will smiled, “Martha Coke? No? Sarah Foley?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
a lady,” Abe looked up, his clear eyes shining, “a beautiful lady.” He ran his
fingertips over his cheek, “She touched me. She held my head in her arms and
she touched my face. She’s beautiful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Miss
Brandwith?” Will said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Abe
put his finger on his lips.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes,”
Will nodded, recalling her face, “you’re right, Abe. She <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is </i>beautiful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
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Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714569232976515363noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-724328173560884154.post-16181471424989944452012-11-24T07:14:00.000-08:002012-11-24T07:14:33.584-08:00The Fields Laid Waste - Chapter 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziSTUkxcktnneif1MhEZkG_GQW-odTeJ1xVL-yWDrwSECORsxPu9oSnoOd80BERCaqzOBXuGns_CXS3sNbSdRykwuySebrh6noHSxS2m64BlnFeE9JHk4pDYND3IvHNLCLTlDQTs0Wj1A/s1600/2fields.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziSTUkxcktnneif1MhEZkG_GQW-odTeJ1xVL-yWDrwSECORsxPu9oSnoOd80BERCaqzOBXuGns_CXS3sNbSdRykwuySebrh6noHSxS2m64BlnFeE9JHk4pDYND3IvHNLCLTlDQTs0Wj1A/s1600/2fields.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The Fields Laid Waste</strong></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
© Christina Croft 2006. All rights reserved.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">In
memory of all the forgotten children<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">of
the factories, mills and mines.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><u><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</u></span>Chapter 1<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the summer of 1832 Silas
Rostley, Squire of Lowkirk, fell to his death from the staircase of the Hall he
had rarely left for the past forty years. An old and reclusive man, few of his
tenants would have mourned his passing, had he not been the last in his line.
The Rostleys had owned most of Lowkirk for so many centuries that their name
had become synonymous with the unchanging pace of the village. Year after year,
decade after decade, as generations of tenants inhabited the same cottages,
tended their strips, courted, married, raised families and were finally laid to
rest in Lowkirk churchyard, the villagers rested content to know that ‘the
Squire’s in his Mansion, all’s well with the world.’ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
name of Rostley enfolded the village with a reassuring familiarity, and nowhere
was the god-like influence of the family more apparent than in the ancient
parish church. Babies were baptised in a worn stone font, engraved with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ornate lettering: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">In Loving Memory of Barnabas Rostley.</i> A Rostley shone through the
face of St. Michael in a stained-glass window behind the altar; Rostley crests
and banners hung from the rafters and the rails of the choir stall;<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>and the name<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Rostley</i> was inscribed in every alcove, on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>every monument, and on the rickety stone
flags of the nave over which Caroline Brandwith stepped one morning in late September.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Reaching
the front pew, she knelt and raised her eyes to the altar where a glowing
candelabrum shot flickers of light across the blue-green glass of the windows.
The worst part was over; she had made her confession and weathered her father’s
response. He hadn’t understood, of course; she had never hoped that he would;
but his rage had subsided and only his silence and the bitterness in his eyes
remained to condemn her. Perhaps, she thought, it was <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Providence</st1:place></st1:city> that brought her to Lowkirk. Had
they stayed in <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place> she might never have
revealed her secret and would have died with that deceit upon her conscience; now
the truth was out and her soul might be at peace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was for peace that she joined her hands and prayed. There was little hope of
regaining her father’s affection or of ever being allowed to forge a life of
her own. She had destroyed her future long ago, but now, in her twenty-ninth
year, she bowed with resignation, asking only for the grace to find some
purpose to fill the years that lay ahead.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The creak of the vestry
door distracted her from her prayers as a small boy stepped from the shadows,
carrying an unlit taper. He moved across the altar and on tip toes stretched to
light its wick from the glowing candelabrum. The flame sparkled then burst into
life and as he turned, the light illuminated his face so clearly that Caroline
shuddered and immediately closed her eyes.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is
this how it’s to be now;” she prayed, “will I never be able to look at any of
them without wondering?” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
light through her closed lids grew brighter and the sound of approaching footsteps
compelled her to look again at the child. Cupping his hand to protect the
flame, he descended the sanctuary steps and moved down the centre aisle. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Caroline
slipped backwards onto the bench and viewed his face, trying to estimate his
age - nine, perhaps ten years old. It was hard to tell with these rosy-cheeked
country children. She had become so used to the waifs in the town, skinny and
undernourished, appearing much younger than their years.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good
morning,” she whispered.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped at the end of the bench with the
faintest glimmer of a smile. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
your name?” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Joel.
Joel Throppe.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Joel,”
she smiled gently, “I wonder if you would help me. I’m new to the village and I
was hoping someone might show me around.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
brow furrowed indecisively.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’ll
pay for your trouble.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
not that, Miss. I’d gladly show you round but I’m on my way for my lesson.
Parson Williams will be angry if I’m late.” He shifted awkwardly, moving the taper
towards her face, and then, with a slight shrug added carelessly, “If you’re
still here in an hour I’ll be back. I could show you then.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
nodded gratefully and he smiled, “Are you just up for the harvest feast or will
you be stopping over?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
I’m not a visitor. I live here now.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
peered more closely, “You live here?”</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We
moved into the Hall last week.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
smile vanished instantly, “You’re Mr. Brandwith’s wife?”<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“His
daughter.” <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
turned away quickly and walked up the aisle, “I won’t have time to show you
round. After my lesson I’ve to help my father.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Please”
she called after him, “I don’t mean any harm. I only want to meet the tenants.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s
harvest and they’re busy in the fields. They haven’t time for meeting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> that wounded her most;
more than the abruptness in his voice or the sudden urgency in his footsteps as
he hurried beyond the pillars and disappeared. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Caroline
sighed and the sigh echoed on the cold stone walls with the rustle of cotton as
she moved from the bench and drifted slowly towards the door. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>From
the porch she gazed beyond the graves to the orchard where dark red apples hung
from swollen branches. The leaves had not yet faded but retained their summer
freshness thanks to the heavy rains in Lowkirk that year. Squirrels hopped up
and down the trees, spaced like sentries at regular intervals, forming an
avenue to the Hall. Their branches merged above her head in a canopy of green
and auburn, and Caroline wondered if in time she might grow to love this place.
The prospect was so much brighter than the view from the Mill House in <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place> where all she could see were factory towers and the
weary faces of the workers, lined with the grime of the town. There was beauty
here: the smell of the earth, the touch of crisp autumnal air and the vast
array of colour so much brighter than the black and white world in which she
had been raised. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Raising
her skirts above the ridges of mud, she walked on, inhaling the scent of damp
grass and wet leaves. An unexpected optimism raised her spirits. Perhaps now,
breathing fresher air, there was even the hope that Jane might recover and, in
time, the hostile villagers might warm to the strangers in their midst.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
the path wound around the edge of the village green, voices that had once
sounded distant and remote grew clearer: loud male voices, so deep and raucous
they seemed almost aggressive, as though rousing themselves for a fight.
Caroline stopped to listen more intently then followed the sound until, from
behind the broadest tree in the row, she had a clear view of the inn yard where
a band of roughly-dressed men were shouting and cheering. Some sat on the
ground, others bent double, clutching their sides and almost toppling over in
paroxysms of mirth. Never in her life had she heard such laughter - the sheer
uncontrolled hysteria that contorted the weather beaten faces not only of the
young men but the older ones, too. Tears rolled down their cheeks and they
rocked and they shook and they clung to one another for support as the exertion
enfeebled their legs. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Intrigued,
Caroline edged closer until she was near enough to catch the words they called
through breathless gasps.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Giddy-up!
Giddy-up!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
clicked their tongues as though goading a reluctant mule and from the centre of
the circle she saw, rising and falling, the outstretched arms of a man whose
head bobbed up and down as if he were breaking in a new pony. In his hand was a
stick with which he seemed to be lashing at the creature beneath him, and yet he
was too low, far too low, to be on horseback and as Caroline watched the grin
deepening on his face, her smile slowly faded.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
wasn’t the innocent laughter of friends; it was the yelping of hounds tearing
in for the kill, the inhuman thrill of the pack. The circle broke to make way
for the rider and Caroline stepped back in horror to see beneath him a creature
who seemed barely human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>On
his hands and knees crawled a thin, ragged youth of about seventeen. His hair,
sprouting unevenly over his head, had the colour and texture of straw and his
clothes were so threadbare and torn she could trace every bone from his wrist
to his neck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His head was bowed and his
cheeks were purple, straining under the weight of the man on his back. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Faster!
Come on you bugger! Faster!” The rider dug his heels into the youth’s belly and
thrashed at him with the stick.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
the slightest hint of insubordination, the boy crawled across the inn yard. A
leather bridle was strapped over his shoulders and, when he raised his head
with a gasp of pain, Caroline caught sight of a buckle cutting into his mouth
until drops of blood dripped down his chin like red wine trickling from the
lips of a drunkard.</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
cheering and laughter faded and the faces of the onlookers dimmed; all she
could see was this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">creature</i> in
torment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without thought or hesitation, she
sprang from her hiding place, ran across the green and, crouching before him,
clutched his face in her hands. Gently she unbuckled his fetters but like a
terrified animal he shrank from her touch and cowered until his chin reached
the ground where he stayed as still as a statue.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
cheering stopped and for a moment there was silence then a groan came from the
crowd. The rider dismounted and towered above Caroline with his eyes fixed on
her face. She looked down at the youth; the yard beneath his knees and his
hands was stained crimson and a thin stream of blood dripped from his lips.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
could you! How could you treat him like this?”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
rider lunged forward and seized the boy’s hair, dragging his head from the
ground, “He’s alright.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He enjoys it!
I’n’t that right, Abe? Here, have a drink!” He laughed and slowly, deliberately
poured the contents of a tankard over the boy’s head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Still
he didn’t move; he seemed not even to blink though the ale dripped into his
translucent green eyes. Caroline mopped his face with the edge of her shawl and
cradled his head in her lap. <br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
bleeding,” she said, “bring some water.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
of the bystanders moved to obey but the man with the stick held him back.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Saddler,”
someone whispered, “don’t you know who she is?”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
don’t care who she is. She’ll not tell me what to do!”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
turned his back on her and stood like a great tree blocking the light of the
sun. Her heart pounding, Caroline looked down on the youth but the moment she
opened her mouth to speak he leaped to his feet and with the sound of a
whimpering dog darted across the green and disappeared beyond the trees.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Straightening
her skirts, she stood up and met Saddler’s stare.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He’s
an imbecile,” he grinned, “he doesn’t feel like normal folk feel.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Normal
folk? You think it’s normal to beat and humiliate him!”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Begging
your pardon m’lady,” Saddler bowed with mock courtesy, “I learned my manners
from men like your father. Did I treat the lad any worse than he treats his
workers?”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Leave
it, Saddler,” someone said but the man curled his lip.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
know what goes on in Brandwith’s factory, so don’t come round here telling us
how to behave.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“She
was only trying to help, Saddler.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Aye,”
he said, moving so close she could smell the ale on his breath, “and if she
wants to help, the best she can do is get back to <st1:place w:st="on">Leeds</st1:place>
where she belongs.”<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
clenched his hand into a fist, raised it above his head and let out a cry so
loud and ear-piercing it shook Caroline to the core.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Brandwith!”
he spat on the ground before leading the crowd back to the inn.<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
Caroline turned away trembling, the sound of his laughter echoed through her
ears like the thunder of the looms in Brandwith’s mill.<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>Christinahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00714569232976515363noreply@blogger.com0