Replenish the Earth (26 page)

Gone off to hide till the gossip died down, said the uncharitable.

A week after that, Sam Poulter passed on the information to Will that Izzy had got drunk the previous night in The Golden Fleece and let slip the information that his master had had a few bits of bad luck, businesswise, and would have to spend more time away from home himself in the near future, tending to the concerns which had gained him his fortune in the first place.

Good riddance, said Will, and the sentiment was echoed by most of the people in the village, who found life a lot easier without Sewell popping up to shout abuse at them if they so much as looked up from their work for a minute or two.

Smiling at his own cunning, Sewell made sure as many people as possible saw him driving off in his fine new carriage, but left his wife at home. She had dared refuse to forge a new bill of debt for him, and none of his threatening had persuaded her. She was even talking of confessing her sins to that doddering old fool of a Parson. Well, he’d soon put paid to that. She’d not dare tell the tale to her own shadow now, or it’s be the last tale she ever told.

And he’d meant that. Better no wife at all than one who betrayed you.

* * * *

The peace in Broadhurst didn’t last beyond the autumn.

Every alternate Saturday saw Jessie setting off for Sawbury market in the cart, sometimes accompanied by her son, sometimes by one of the Haplin boys. One week, however, they were fired upon by an unknown assailant on their way back and the shot narrowly missed Will, who was driving.

Since he didn’t wish Sarah to worry, he made light of the incident. It was probably someone out shooting in the woods, someone who hadn’t taken care where he was aiming and who was afraid to admit his fault. 

‘Who would that be?’ demanded Jessie. ‘We know everyone round here. None of them’d be out shooting at people.’

‘Well, perhaps it was a highwayman, then.’

‘A likely tale! A highwayman would find such poor pickings round here, he’d starve to death, and well you know it, our Will. No, there’s only one person in Broadhurst as hates you.’

‘It couldn’t be him. Sewell’s been in Bristol for the last few weeks, and his two bullies with him. Now, don’t you go worrying Sarah with this, mother. I’ll keep a better watch out in future, I promise you.’

But Jessie couldn’t help mentioning the incident and Sarah didn’t take the matter lightly, either. ‘Highwaymen don’t haunt the roads round Sawbury,’ she said, gazing in terror at Will. What would she do if anything happened to him? She didn’t want to raise a child who didn’t know its father. She’d hardly known her own and had felt the lack of that many a time, and not just because of their shortage of money.

‘Then perhaps my first guess was right and it was an accident,’ Will said.

‘Accident! You don’t believe that any more than I do. Sewell might be away from home, but he could have hired someone else to do it for him, couldn’t he? In fact, he’s more likely to have hired someone else, because he never does the worst things himself.’ She clutched his arm with one hand, the other resting on her swelling belly. ‘He hates us, Will. He’d stop at nothing to get our land. Please take care.’

But another week or two passed and nothing happened, so Sarah had to admit that perhaps her fears were groundless

* * * *

Robin Cox was a happy man again. He and his family were put into the home farm when the Pursleys moved out, though its management remained in Will’s hands. Bessie Cox wept with joy the day they moved in and Robin wasn’t far from tears either. Since being turned out of his cottage at Hay Nook Farm when his master was dispossessed, Robin had had to eke out a living in a series of casual day-labouring jobs. The other farm workers had got positions out of the district and moved away, but Robin had a stubborn streak and refused point-blank to leave Broadhurst. It was
his
village! He’d been born there and by dang, he’d die there, too!

He, his wife and his six children had gone to live in a one-room, tumble-down cottage belonging to the Old Squire, which was the only place available in the village. There, two of the children had died from one thing or another, and his Bessie had grown so thin and listless he’d thought to lose her too. All he’d clung to was the determination that Sewell wasn’t going to drive him away from Broadhurst, not if he had to watch all his family die, no, and not even if he followed them into the churchyard and had to come back to haunt their tormentor.

Now, Robin had a regular job again and a house that was a palace, even compared to their old cottage. Mistress Pursley had left them a lot of fine furniture to help fill all those rooms and no king could have been happier than they were. Moreover, there was occasional work for Bessie in the dairy, like in the old days, or helping with the rough work in the big house, and there was regular employment for his eldest boy, Johnny, a sturdy lad of ten, quite big enough now to bring in a shilling or two. 

‘I’m grateful to you for all you’ve done for us, Squire,” he said gruffly one day, determined to voice his gratitude.

‘What did you call me?’ demanded Will, stiffening.

‘Squire,’ repeated Robin, a man of few words.

‘I’m not the Squire!’

‘That you are!’ retorted Robin, who could be just as stubborn as Will. ‘Bedhams hev allus been Squires in this village. You be a Bedham now, only male there is, an’ you live at the Manor. So it stands to reason you be the Squire. Everyone says so. Well, them as dares.’

‘Don’t be stupid, man!’

‘I ent stupid!’ And nothing would stop Robin from addressing Will as Squire and talking about him in the same way. Because of this, he twice he got into fights with Sewell’s employees, who also drank at The Golden Fleece, for lack of anywhere else, but kept their distance from Bedham employees.

Robin remained quite unrepentant about it, even to the point of boasting to his wife about the good thump he had given that Eb Mendle. Why, that blow alone was well worth a torn shirt and a black eye, and he wasn’t going to change his ways for her or for anyone. He’d tell the truth and shame the devil.

‘But Mr Sewell will find a way to get back at you, because Eb’s one of his men,’ she pleaded. ‘Couldn’t you just - be a bit quieter about it all, Robin lovie?’

‘No, I couldn’t.’ Just let Sewell try anything, he thought. There were a few men ready to side openly with the Bedhams now, even if the womenfolk were a bit nervous about it all. In fact, it was a great pity Sewell had stayed in Bristol so long, it was that. Time he got his come-uppance. More than time.

Chapter 14

By November, the days had closed in and frost was beginning to glisten on the leaves of the evergreens, crackling underfoot on the edges of puddles in the mornings. Sarah had stopped feeling sickly, but this had been replaced by a tendency to drowsiness, of which she was secretly ashamed.

The other women in the house, who had all been through this, smiled sympathetically and reminisced about the vagaries of their own pregnancies. Even Mary learned to tiptoe into rooms instead of clattering in on a trail of words, for you never knew when you’d find the mistress taking a nap somewhere.

Although Sewell returned to take up residence again at the Hall, less was seen of him around the village than usual, and even his two bully-boys seemed quieter and less aggressive. The rumour spread, though no one quite knew whence it came, that Sewell had suffered financial reverses of considerable magnitude and needed to live quietly for a while.

‘That’n could no more live quietly than a blackbird can stop calling in the spring,’ Thad said to Will one day. ‘Nor he won’t have forgotten his quarrel with you.’

‘I agree. Let me know if you hear of anything going on.’

‘I will, Squire.’

‘Not you too!’

Thad shrugged and grinned. ‘Well, I ent callin’ that’n Squire. An’ you be a Bedham now.’

Will didn’t waste his breath arguing, but changed the subject. ‘I came here to discuss that seed drill you’re making for me. I think . . . ’ And the two were lost for over an hour in their favourite pastime. 

Then several disasters hit the village in quick succession, which quite took the heart out of the Christmas festivities. Sarah, wrapped in her drowsy cocoon of personal happiness, noticed them less than anyone else, but even she was beginning to realise that something was wrong, and badly wrong, in Broadhurst.

‘Is it that man again?’ she asked Hannah, for no one else would discuss it with her.

‘So most folk believe.’

‘I had hoped . . . ’ Sarah let the words trail away.

‘Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?’
quoted Hannah.

‘What can we do?’

‘You can do nothing, mistress.’ Hannah nodded towards the swelling belly. ‘Your business is to have a healthy child, so leave the worrying to the menfolk.’

But Sarah couldn’t do that. Worries began to creep into her mind, and she couldn’t forget that someone had shot at Will on the way to market. It hadn’t happened again, so maybe it had been an accident - but maybe it hadn’t.

The first disaster wasn’t recognised as anything other than bad luck. One of the village hayricks caught fire and burned to the ground, causing a shortage of valuable feed. The men worked quickly to stop the fire spreading and managed to save the other stacks. No one thought it more than an unlucky chance.

Until the second incident.

One evening Mistress Bell heard a noise and went into the shop to find two men throwing flour across the floor, then adding her chunks of sugar and trampling them underfoot. They only laughed when she screeched at them to stop, then continued to destroy her goods and livelihood methodically.

Without thinking she rushed across the room to stop them. One of them grabbed her, pushing her to the other, who pushed her back again with a laugh. The first one then began to feel her breasts and though she tried to beat him off her, he was much bigger and stronger and she could do nothing.

‘Been a long time,’ he said to the other with a grin and lifted her skirts.

Her screaming brought her children running and the other man brandished a knife at them. ‘Keep back, or I’ll slit your throats. Stay there, you!’

The first man made short work of raping her, clouting her hard across the side of the head when she tried to scratch his face. He got up afterwards to button his breeches and grin at his friend. ‘Want a turn?’

‘I would but one of them children’s just run off. Better get going before someone comes. We’ve done the job now, anyway.’

The neighbour was already at the door, but the man with the knife threatened him and he backed away. The two strangers then ran across the green and shortly afterwards came the sound of horses galloping away.

The neighbour’s wife went in to see what was wrong and found Mistress Bell, huddled in a tight ball on the floor, her clothes in disarray, sobbing in a whimpering, desolate way that tore at your heart strings, ’deed it did.

Everyone was shocked to the core. Such a thing had never been heard of before in their little community.

The men were never caught or even seen in the district again, but people locked their doors carefully at night from then onwards.

The younger Bell children had nightmares for a long time, and the slightest sound after dark would make them freeze in their places and send the colour from their cheeks. Mistress Bell became a ghost of her old self, too, paler, thinner and jumping at sudden noises.

Even young Ned lost his cheerful grin and took on a grim look, his expression too old and wary for a lad of his age. He began to do some investigating on his own account. Thad had always considered Ned Bell a very smart lad. Now he proved himself to be much smarter than Sewell and his men realised, for they continued to discuss their plans and options without checking the stables for eavesdroppers.

Ned took his findings to Thad, who rewarded him by allowing him to join a small determined group, formed mostly of Waste dwellers, whose existence was unknown to most of the other villagers.

‘We intend to keep an eye on Sewell and his henchmen,’ Thad explained.

‘I can help,’ Ned said eagerly, ‘find things out.’

Thad set his huge lumpy hands on the lad’s narrow shoulders. ‘You have to be careful about this - more careful than you’ve ever been in your life before. If they catch you spying, they might kill you - and what would your mother do then?’

Ned’s mouth fell open.

‘What’s more,’ Thad went on, driving his point home remorselessly, ‘If they did catch you, they’d know we was after them. So that’s another reason for you to be careful.’ He shook the lad, gently and repeated, ‘Don’t - take -
any
- risks.’

‘I won’t, Thad.’

‘In fact, don’t do anything without asking me first.’

‘No, Thad. But we are going to stop them, aren’t we?’

‘Oh, yes. And you can be part of it if you follow orders.’

Ned went home, saying nothing to his mother, but his heart swelled with pride that an important person like Thad Honeyfield should trust him like this.

When he grew up, he wanted to be just like Thad.

* * * *

Sewell demonstrated great indignation after the attack on Nancy Bell. He stopped Sam Poulter one day on the green to harangue him about doing his duty as village constable, and he even approached Will publicly after church one Sunday.

‘I know we’ve had our differences, Pursley, but we must unite against this lawlessness that has crept into the district.’

‘We definitely need to drive it out again,’ Will agreed in an expressionless tone.

‘And if there’s ever anything I can do to help in that, I’m ready to set aside my personal feelings for the common good.’

‘Yes.’ But Will ignored the outstretched hand and whisked his wife away before Sewell could summon his own wife to join them.

‘What did he mean by that?’ Sarah whispered as they walked away.

‘He’s trying to fool folk about who’s behind it all. Ha! As if we don’t know what he’s trying to do, which is terrorise folk till they daren’t say him nay.’ Will sat and fumed all the way to the edge of their land, then got off the trap abruptly at the new gatehouse. ‘I need to have a word with Ted. I won’t be long. You can drive back, can’t you?’