Replenish the Earth (7 page)

Chapter 4

When William Pursley had left, Sarah moved across to the windows and sure enough, a few minutes later she saw him striding away towards his farm. So much strength and energy! She envied him that free stride, something she had never experienced in her whole life.

Was she being foolish about this house? She didn’t know. But a quiet life in Tunbridge Wells, a town Mr Jamieson had suggested as suitable for an unmarried lady of means, didn’t appeal to her at all, while the thought of living here, of bringing the house back to its old self - ah, that appealed to her greatly. But if her grandfather hadn’t been able to manage on his income, how could she? It would all need a great deal of thinking about.

A tap on the parlour door brought her out of her reverie. Mary peered in. ‘Will says I’m to show you round.’

‘Thank you.’

Mary pushed open a door at the back of the dining room. ‘This was the still room, and beyond it are the store-rooms and you can get to them from the kitchen too.’

Sarah went to glance inside them, but they were all empty.

‘Made some lovely perfumes, she did, your grandmother,’ Mary went on. ‘And medicines, too. Had a cure for everything, she did. Her book of receipts is in the library. She wrote ’em all down.’

She led the way back into the hallway and across to the front room at the other side. This was a much smaller room, but still larger than any Sarah had ever lived in. 'This were your grandmother's own parlour. Used to be nice, it did. She allus put flowers round the place, an’ branches of berries an’ such in winter. But it ent been used since she died. Master wouldn’t even come in here.’

Allowing little time to linger, she led the way briskly through yet another door into the room to the rear of it. All the main rooms seemed to lead off the hall or off one another in the old-fashioned way, Sarah thought as she followed.

‘An’ this were called the winter parlour. Family sat in here an’ ate their meals in here too, when there weren’t any visitors. Warm, it is. That grate throws out a good heat. Best fire in the house, that is.’

Sarah continued to follow quietly. Afterwards she would walk round again on her own. For now, she was content to get a general idea of what the house,
her house
, was like and to listen to Mary's rambling reminiscences.

Opening from the far side of the winter parlour was the library, a long narrow room, forming the west wing that jutted out to the rear, as the stillroom and storage rooms had formed the east wing. Her mother had described her old home often, but that was not the same as seeing it, especially when everything was so much bigger than Sarah had expected. According to her mother, the Manor had been built in bits and pieces, with each generation adding something new.

There were several rows of old-fashioned books along shelves at one side of the library, but they were as dusty as the rest of the house. There were yards of empty shelves too, as if the library had never been finished. Well, she couldn’t afford to buy books, so they must stay empty.

‘There!’ Mary pounced on something. ‘This is your grandmother’s book.’ She opened it and ran a finger over the faded black handwriting. ‘Wish I could read it. She knew some clever things, Squire’s lady did.’

Sarah looked at the book, promising herself to read it from cover to cover one day, then laid it down carefully, for Mary was waiting for her at the far end of the room, to show two more small rooms leading off it, one Squire’s private cabinet and the other the estate office which had a door leading straight outside, so that tenants didn’t need to pass through the house.

‘’Ent been any business done in there for years, though, mistress,’ cackled Mary. ‘Squire said there weren’t enough of the estate left to need a bailiff, let alone an estate office an’ he told us to shut that room up. Said it could rot, for all he cared. That Frenchie took care of most things after that – an’ Will Pursley helped some. He might be young, but he d’know more about runnin’ a farm than a dozen Frenchies what can’t even talk proper!’

‘Who was the - er - Frenchie?’

‘Squire's manservant. Looked after his clothes an’ such. Even at the end, your grandfather were fussy about his clothes an’ you never saw him outside his bedroom without his wig.’

Up the wide, shallow stairs there were ten rooms, a number which took Sarah’s breath away, most of them opening into the long gallery which ran the length of that floor. The great chamber was really a suite of rooms over the west wing.

‘Just for dressin’ in, these little rooms at each side were,’ Mary said proudly, flinging doors open and sending them crashing back into walls.

Most of the other bedrooms were a jumble of furniture, some of it shrouded, some of it uncovered and dusty. Some had broken windows, partly boarded up.

‘Will comes sometimes an’ stops the worst of the weather from gettin’ in,’ Mary said. ‘But it were me an’ Petey what brung the old furniture down out o’ the attics when the roof got bad. It d’get worse every year! Squire wouldn’t hev the carpenter in, neither. Said the house’d last his time an’ after that, he didn’t care none.’

‘Did he - ever mention my mother?’

‘Wouldn’t hev her name spoke, mistress, beggin’ your pardon. Nor your uncle’s, neither, after he died - not once Squire found out how much money Mr Ralph owed. Terrible lot, it must ha’ been, an’ the master left to pay it! Don’t seem right, that don’t, do it? Mr Sewell’s got a good deal to answer for. My Harry was alive then an’ we was livin' over the stables an’ . . . '

‘What did my grandfather do next?’ Sarah interrupted, impatient of digression and desperate to understand how her family had sunk so low.

Mary screwed up her forehead in thought. ‘Well, mistress, after a day or two Squire called all us servants into the hall, indoor an’ outdoor, all of us together, an’ he told us he’d hev to turn us off. Terrible shock, that were! Some of us had been here all our lives. He told us we could stay on till we found new places, but to be quick about it.’

‘Why didn’t
you
leave, then?’  

‘Because,’ she shifted her feet uneasily, hesitating, then said in a rush, ‘Well, truth to tell, it were on account of Petey. My Harry could’ve got a job easy, but folk was afraid of Petey. They wouldn’t let us take him with us, an’ me, I wouldn’t have him put in the poorhouse. It’d kill my boy to be shut up in that place.’

She added, almost to herself, ‘I don’t know now if I did right. Fair broke my Harry’s heart, it did, to go for a day labourer, him as had been under-coachman. When we couldn’t find nowhere to go, Squire said we could stay on here if I did some cleanin’ for him an’ such. He couldn’t pay us no wages, but we had a roof over our heads an’ the leftovers, so we managed. 

‘Then my Harry keeled over in the lane and died one day. Sudden, it were. No time to say goodbye. After Squire died, I stayed on here. Don’t allus eat so good, but we manage, me an’ Petey do. He gets bits of work sometimes an’ I do washin’ an’ such for Mrs Pursley. An’ there’s stuff growin’ in the garden still.’ 

After a moment or two they continued the tour, but Mary kept harking back to the subject of the Squire's losses. ‘Sold off Hay Nook Farm, your granfer did, and Downleigh Meadows and Uppercombe Edge. Sold some of his cottages in the village too.’

And his London house and business interests, mentally added Sarah, who had had the whole list from Mr Jamieson. 

‘That Mr Sewell bought ’em,’ Mary went on. ‘Bought everythin’ he could lay his hands on. Foreigner, he is. Comes from up Bristol way. Made hisself a fortune from sellin’ tea an’ such-like, they d’say. He were wild to buy the Manor, but the Squire wouldn’t part with that, choose how. Said he intended to die in his own home an’ they could fight over it afterwards. He did it, too.’ 

‘Did what?’

‘Died here. Just like he said he would. Died in the great parlour. That Frenchie found him one evening, sat there in his chair, stiff as a board. An’ now Mr Sewell tries to call hisself Squire. Built a big house down on Marsh Bottom, he has, an’ calls it The Hall. I d’call it Marsh Bottom still! That’un’s no Squire! Don’t know nothin’ about the land, he don’t. Proper townie, he be.’

She scowled. ‘Them as work there has to call him Squire, though, else they’ll lose their places. Throw you out of your job an’ cottage soon as look at you, he would. So folks don’t dare say nothin’ ’cept what he wants to hear - specially if those two men of his be near. Tell their master all they hear, they do. Then bad things happen to folk.’ She looked sideways at Sarah and added, ‘Be you goin’ to sell to him, mistress, or be you goin’ to live here?’

‘I’m staying, though I don’t know how we’re going to manage,’ she admitted. ‘There isn’t much money.’

‘Old Master did allus live very fine,’ volunteered Mary, ‘right to the end. You could feed ten families for a year on what Old Master spent on clothes, let alone the wages he paid that Frenchie.’

Sarah stared at her. ‘How much does it cost to buy food in the country? Can you tell me some prices?’

Mary blinked and struggled to gather her slow thoughts. ‘I couldn’t rightly say,  mistress. Folks don’t buy much food, if they can help it. They d’grow things themselves.’

‘Grow what sort of things?’ Oh, it was galling to be so ignorant of country life!

‘Well, they d’keep pigs an’ chickens an’ such. White bread d’cost a lot, full sixpence a loaf over in Sawbury, but rye bread be cheaper. If you d’buy a rabbit, he’ll cost you  twopence, but my Petey d’catch ’em in the woods sometimes an’ that costs nothin’.’ She clapped her hands to her mouth in dismay at what she had revealed. ‘Oh, mistress, don’t have him taken up for poaching! They’ll hang him for sure. What hev I said?’

‘It’s not poaching. They're my woods, and I give Petey permission to catch rabbits there any time he wishes. Go on! Tell me some more!’

Mary relaxed again, took a breath and rattled off a list of foodstuffs. ‘Mistress Pursley d’make fine cheeses, but they be tenpence the pound. She sells the best ones in Sawbury, not here. Stewin’ meat be twopence a pound when someone kills a beast. Roastin’ meat costs more. We got plenty o’ fruit, though, and that don’t cost nothin’. There be some nice apple an’ pear trees in the orchard. Me an’ Daniel Macey d’make cider still, just for ourselves, like. Well, them apples'd go to waste otherwise, wouldn’t they? Mr Jamieson said me an’ Petey could eat the fruit, so I stored ’em up careful an’ there be plenty left still. Bit wrinkled, but they d’make a nice pie. An’. . . Mistress! Mistress! What be you a-doin’?’ 

For Sarah had grabbed her by the waist and swung her round in a clumsy, lop-sided dance, which only came to a halt when they stumbled against the bed and sat down abruptly on it.

‘Oh, Mary, Mary! That’s it, don’t you see? When Mr Jamieson told me I wouldn’t be able to manage, I couldn’t understand it. We managed on far less in London, with rent to pay and seacoal to buy. But he seemed so certain it was impossible - and my grandfather hadn’t managed well, had he? But it was my uncle’s debts which caused the trouble. I see that now.’

She paused a minute to frown and wonder why everyone seemed to have got into debt to Mr Sewell, then pushed that thought aside and continued eagerly, ‘I’m sure I could manage here! I’m strong and healthy, in spite of my lameness.’

Then she became aware of the anxiety in the other woman’s eyes and guessed what must be the cause of it. ‘Will you stay and help me, Mary? You
and
your son? I can’t afford to pay you wages, not at first, but one day, if things go well, I’ll make that up to  you. And I will feed you properly and clothe you better.’

The wrinkles on Mary's weather-beaten face multiplied a hundredfold as she smiled and reached out to grasp her mistress’ hand. ‘Aye, Mistress Sarah, we’ll stay. This be our home too. An’ don’t you worry ’bout wages. Petey don’t understand money anyway. It be kindness as he needs. Kindness an’ shelter an’ food. He’s a strong lad an’ he’ll earn his keep, never you fear! An’ I’m not too old to work hard, neither.’  

Sarah persuaded her beaming maidservant to return to the kitchen and spent the rest of the time till Will Pursley came back for her going over her house on her own, peering into every chest and cupboard, gloating at the sight of so many things which she could use. Linen, clothes, tableware.

She decided to move in the next day and sleep in the great chamber. However, the room needed a thorough airing, because you could feel the dampness. She found Petey and directed him to carry the feather mattress down and put it to air before the kitchen fire. Mary was set to scrubbing the bedroom floor and washing the windows, while Petey took the carpet outside into the frosty air and hung it over a line, beating it with great gusto, clumsy thwacks that made him laugh aloud and also caused him much sneezing. 

So when Will came back, it was to find a woman glowing with hope and bubbling over with ideas, a woman who wouldn’t even listen to the fresh arguments he’d marshalled for her not living here.

Did she not realise that Sewell’s bullies would be back? Or that Sewell would try other nasty tricks on her? She couldn’t possibly manage on her own, however hard she was prepared to work.

When he left her at the inn, he went away to worry about it all, but for some reason, he couldn’t get the memory of her glowing face out of his mind. She’d been so happy. He wished desperately that he could keep things that way for her.

There was too much unhappiness in this world, that was sure. And men like Sewell caused more than their share of it.

* * * *

The following morning, Sarah again hired the gig from the inn, and got the lad to drive her and her luggage to the Manor, plus a basket of food packed by Prue Poulter. She’d borrowed a walking stick from Prue, one with a nobbly end to it, and she set it close at hand, keeping a careful eye out for attackers as they drove. But nothing disturbed the peace and beauty of the day.

Left alone with her new retainers, Sarah wondered that she felt no fear, only great joy at being here. But she couldn’t spare the time to savour the moment, for two faces were staring at her expectantly, waiting for orders.