Fourpenny Flyer (62 page)

‘Aye,' he said. ‘Happen he has, but I must go, all t' same. 'Twere on my persuasion t' meeting were called. I'm duty bound to attend, d'ye see? Tis a matter of principle. I'll not let t'others down. They depend upon me to be there.' And from the noise of trudging feet outside on the landing and the growl of voices in the street below them the others were already gathering, pulling him by their presence.

A matter of principle, she thought, weary resignation and her odd passivity pulling her down. He will go. I cannot prevent him. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘Yes, I see that Then I will come with you.'

He was disappointed. ‘I thought tha'd stay here,' he said. ‘Be here when I get back, like.'

‘No,' she said, taking her shawl from the hook and wrapping it about her shoulders. ‘I shall come with you. I mean to see justice done.' And she put on her bonnet, as though no more need be said.

‘Eh!' he said, following her out of the door. ‘What a grand lass tha'art, my Harriet.'

The street was full of people, men in their working clothes, women in linen bonnets and heavy shawls, all milling about in the dusk, too excited to stand still. Two men had a homemade banner coiled between them and a third was standing beside the door firing a bundle of about twenty rush-lights that were to be carried as torches. The blaze of them took away all other light from the doorway, so that Caleb stepped through darkness to join his friends. And what a cheer they gave him. ‘Good old Caleb! Tha's our Caleb!'

‘All set?' he asked.

And the crowd bubbled about him, eyes glinting. ‘En't we jest!' ‘We'll show them ol' mawthers a thing or two.' ‘Jest you lead on, bor!' And somehow or other, for no orders were given, they formed themselves into a column, a long column of dark heads and smoking lights, and went marching up King Street, singing as they went, with Caleb at their head, and Harriet tagging along beside him, running a little from time to time to keep with them all, so brisk was the pace they set.

The erupted out of Davey Place into the Market Square just as the clocks were striking eight. Darkness was setting in, but there were so many torches already in the square that it was possible to see quite clearly from one side to the other. Over by the Guildhall a hustings had been erected, with an awning above it, all green and white stripes like a sugar stick. ‘That's where I've to be,' Caleb said, looking over his shoulder at Harriet. ‘Stay here by the alley. Happen they'll provoke us, and I'd not like to see thee hurt.'

She hesitated for just a second, uncertain whether to obey him or not, and the march surged forward, carrying him on towards the hustings and leaving her behind. Perhaps it was for the best, she thought. There seemed to
be an inevitability about everything that was happening on this peculiar day, and this calm of hers made acceptance easy. Perhaps it was meant to be.

It was very noisy in the square and very crowded as more marchers arrived to flock between the deserted stalls, and mass in the space before the old Guildhall, their banners floating illegibly in and out of the light and their torches bobbing like buoys on rough water. Caleb had reached the hustings and was climbing up the steps, urged on by a flurry of hands, and five other men were climbing behind him. One carried a bundle of petition forms which he waved at the crowd. It all looked cheerful enough, and there was no sign of troops or constables.

Then the crowd hushed itself, and gradually grew still to hear what the first speaker had to say. He was a sturdy-looking man and he had a strong voice. Harriet could hear him from where she stood.

‘Friends,' he said, ‘we've come here this night, for to send a message to the two noble gentlemen, the Earl of Harrowby and Lord Suffield, who are here to dine in the Guildhall behind us. Let's give 'em a cheer since there en't more than six inches o' stone wall here atween us.'

And a cheer was given. Hurrah! Hurray!

Why it's just like Peterloo, Harriet thought. Mr Hunt asked that crowd to cheer when the constables arrived. And the memory struck chill. But the man went on speaking, less clearly now and at greater length, and there was still no sign of the constables. And then another man spoke, and another, and nothing untoward happened. Perhaps it was simply going to be a quiet meeting after all. She couldn't hear what any of them was saying, partly because they spoke too quickly and partly because the people all around her were talking to one another, but when the third speaker stopped he waved his hand towards Caleb and was plainly introducing him, and then the crowd shushed silent again. ‘Mr Caleb Rawson.'

He stood at the edge of the hustings, holding up his right hand, waiting as the torches steadied and the banners were set down and ranks of white faces turned towards him out of the darkness. He could see his Harriet
pale as a statue on the corner of Davey Place, her shawl a dark cross against the pale cotton of her gown, and he was glad she had obeyed him and stayed in a safe place. ‘Friends,' he said.

There was a rush of bodies behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see what it was. Four constables were clambering up the back of the hustings. The awning was being torn down. More dark figures were climbing. He could see a pistol, two, three. Constables were swarming towards him from every direction.

‘What's this?' he said, turning to face them. There was a burly constable standing right in front of him.

‘Riotous assembly,' the man said, leering. The light from the torches below them made his face look like a mask, with huge black nostrils flaring, and black pits for eyes and a down-turned menacing mouth. ‘Riotous assembly.'

‘Nay,' Caleb said, with some pride. ‘'Tis a peaceful meeting. We've no riot here.'

‘Try this for riot then, bor,' the man said, and punched Caleb in the stomach.

The blow was so sudden and unexpected it winded him. For a few seconds he staggered backwards, gasping for breath, as bodies rushed and hurled all round him, shouting and swearing. Then he recovered a little and saw that his friends were punching back, attacking the constables, and he knew he had to do something to stop them. ‘Nay!' he said again, putting out an arm to restrain his nearest ally. ‘Think on't, Amos. Think how 'twill look in court.'

‘You think on it, bor,' his tormentor said, seizing his arm and twisting it behind his back. ‘Since you'm all a-being' arrested. Here's a end to your fine ol' tricks, bor.'

Thoughts plummeted into Caleb's brain too quickly to become words. He simply knew them. She was right. They were all in danger. He must warn the others. He struggled with all his might against the strength of his captor, pulling the man with him to the edge of the platform. ‘Disperse!' he yelled at the crowd. ‘We are betrayed. Mr Richards is a spy. Disperse. They will call out t' troops.'

Then two more constables joined the struggle and he
was pulled from the hustings and thrown to the ground and kicked. And then they were marching him away. But he'd heard his voice echoing across the square, he'd seen understanding in the faces below him, the warnings had been given.

Harriet was still entirely calm. She watched the whole thing as though she were at a play. There you see, he's being arrested. I knew he would be. I
did
try to warn him. She wasn't even shocked by her lack of emotion. When the crowd obeyed him and began to run out of the square, she turned and went with them, walking sedately among their flying feet and outstretched hands.

The night coach was standing outside the Bell Inn, its inside passengers peering from the windows at the rush. She produced her ticket from her reticule, showed it to the coachman without word or expression and climbed to an outside seat. Now she would go home. She would drive away from this nightmare and go home to her nice quiet house in sensible Rattlesden. To dear Will and dear Annie and dear James. Home.

She was the only passenger on the cold outside seats and that pleased her, for conversation would have been impossible. She felt as though all words had been frozen inside her head. She watched the ostlers and post-boys at work as though they were in another world and when the coachmen told his team to ‘walk on' she sat back in her seat and began to count the lighted windows as they flickered past. And in this odd detached state she travelled through the countryside.

There was a full moon that night, clear and ice-white, whenever she could see it, but it gave the most fitful light, because it was obscured by a fast-moving torrent of blue-black clouds, some no more than a trail of blue gauze, others dense and black as ink. Sometimes she saw the road below her quite clearly and sometimes she was rocked forward in total darkness. It is like my life, she thought, as the hooves drummed on, sometimes so clear and easy, sometimes obscured by sin. But the thought was distant, too, as though she were thinking of someone else, and after a few more miles her mind emptied altogether and
she wasn't thinking at all. Nothing was real now. Nothing was happening. The hours and miles rolled past together.

They passed the White Hart at Scole and made a brief stop at Stowmarket while she sat where she was and waited quietly, thinking of nothing. Then they were off again. ‘If you would be so kind as to put me off at Woolpit, sir,' she said to the coachman as he gathered the reins.

Which he did, and she climbed down, moving slowly and carefully, thinking of nothing, but remembering to thank him.

She watched until the lights of the coach swayed towards the bend of the road, flickered and were gone, all at once as if they'd both been doused together. Then she set off to walk the rest of the way home, following the farm path south through the fields, walking automatically, thinking of nothing.

And there was her house, its pale pink walls pure white in the light of the moon. The door was on the latch, and there were candle and tinder box set on the window ledge ready to light her way. But she climbed the stairs in darkness, following the curve of the walls with her hands, and at long, long last, she was home, in her own room, falling face downwards onto her own bed, the bed she shared with her own dear John, home and safe. And her grief broke into anguished weeping and she put her face into the pillows to stifle the sound, for it would never have done to wake Will. Thought returned hot and cruel like pincers in her brain, and she cried and cried and cried, weeping for her dear, dear John, because she'd been unfaithful to him, and he was so good and kind and he didn't deserve it, and for Caleb because he'd been arrested and she'd tried to warn him and she didn't know what they would do to him, and for her own terrible, unpardonable sin. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Adultery. Adultery. She had broken her marriage vows and there was no health in her. ‘Oh!' she moaned into the pillow. ‘What shall I do? Whatever shall I do?'

It was dawn before the crying stopped and by then she was totally exhausted and fell asleep where she was, face down on the pillows and still fully dressed in all her
clothes. Which was how Peg Mullins found her, when she came in at seven o'clock with her mistress's early morning tea.

‘Lawks a' mussy, Mrs Easter,' she said. ‘Why didn'tcher call me, when you come in instead a' goin' off like that? Your feet'll be all swole up. Let's have them boots off quick.'

And they were swollen, so that the tops of her boots were cutting into her flesh. A bowl of cold water had to be fetched and cold compresses applied at once, and Will came into the bedroom wakened by all the fuss and was most concerned when he saw his mother's ankles and insisted on rubbing them to make them better. And then Rosie arrived and held the tea for her to drink as if she were a baby, even though she protested weakly, ‘I can manage, Rosie.'

‘Manage, yes,' Rosie said holding the cup firmly beneath her chin. ‘Manage.' And the word was not an agreement but an instruction for the tea to be drunk at once without argument.

They are all so kind to me, Harriet reflected as she sipped the tea. So kind and so dear. How can I possibly tell them how evil I have been? And as the taste of the tea soothed her mouth, and Will's small busy hands soothed her feet, the words of old Cosmo Teshmaker came back into her mind: ‘Lie low, keep mum and wait for the matter to blow over.' Would that be possible? Oh please, Lord, let it be possible! I did not mean to sin. Truly I didn't. Let it be possible. And then she felt ashamed of herself for pleading with God. I must take the consequences of this sin, she thought, whatever they are. But not yet. Not just yet.

‘We've got ducks' eggs for breakfast,' Will said happily. ‘Aunt Annie brought them over yesterday. Are you better, now Mama?'

‘Yes,' she said, smiling at him because he was being so loving. ‘How silly of me to fall asleep in my clothes.'

‘That's what comes a' midnight coaches, mum,' Peg said, removing the compresses.

‘Did you travel on the midnight coach, Mama?' Will said. ‘Was it dark?'

‘Very dark.'

‘Were you stopped by highwaymen?'

‘Why, bless the boy,' Peg laughed. ‘Would she be here if she had?'

‘If she had,' Rosie echoed, laughing too.

I will take each moment as it comes, Harriet decided. That's what I'll do. There's no sense in provoking trouble. I will wait. There is no need to say anything yet. ‘I think I'd better dress and start the day,' she said.

‘You got a letter from Mr Easter, mum,' Peg told her as they all left the room. ‘Come yesterday.'

He was in Cambridge and would travel on to Rattlesden in four days time.

‘Mama has some wild scheme to take us all off to Stockton, to ride in a carriage drawn by puffing billy, if you ever heard of such a thing. It will please the children, I suppose, but I could do without such jaunts. These locomotives are mere toys, and like to remain so. I cannot see how they will ever carry passengers as coaches do. In my opinion we should not bother with them. Howsomever, she comes to Bury in a week's time and proposes to tell us all about it then. You are much missed, my dear love,