The Flight of Swallows (40 page)

‘The master must know, lass,’ Kizzie told her gently. ‘’E must be warned ter be on’t lookout, an’ men an’ all.’

‘Don’t you see, if Brooke knew he’d go over to the Mount and beat my father senseless. He might even kill him. Nothing would contain him.’

‘’E could tekk some o’t men wi’ ’im.’

‘And do what with them?’

‘Nay, see to it ’e can do nowt ter any woman again.’

Charlotte was no longer listening. She was aware as Kizzie was not, being an ill-educated woman, that her father had right on his side as far as his children were concerned. Perhaps not
right
, for no father was allowed to treat his children as he had done, but the law would uphold him in his demand to supervise the upbringing of his own children. To have his sons and his baby daughter under his roof. Perhaps Henry might escape him, being almost a man and at Cambridge, but the others, if he said they must, would be brought home under his protection. He would bring the might of the law to bear and she and Brooke would be helpless.

She stood up and brushed down her creased and dusty skirt and Kizzie did the same.

‘Where tha’ goin?’ Kizzie asked her suspiciously. ‘’Cos wherever it is I’m goin wi’ thi’. Unless the master is by tha’ side I’m stickin’ to thi’ like a burr. An’ I’m tekkin’ no arguin’ sitha’. An’ no matter what tha’ say I’m warnin’ t’men ter be on’t lookout. Them bairns’ll stop in’t nursery.’

‘What about the boys?’

‘Nay, cannot tha’ go over there and tell ’em? They’re big lads an’ the teachers’ll listen ter thi’ if tha’ was ter let on.’

‘Robbie is only nine and if—’

‘’Teacher’ll watch out fer ’im.’

‘And the girls?’

‘What girls?’ Kizzie was genuinely puzzled.

‘He threatened the girls as well as me. Remember Maudie? Josie, Betty and Nellie walk home at night on their own.’

‘One o’t men can go wi’ ’em.’

‘And how do you mean to keep all this secrecy from Brooke? Do you think he will not notice the extra precautions?’

Kizzie sank down on to a small stool that had been discarded by some Armstrong lady who had decided it was not fit to grace her drawing room and put her head in her hands and groaned. Then she lifted it, a curious look on her face and stood up again, squaring her shoulders and, baring her teeth and hissing like some feline creature defending her young, took Charlotte by the shoulders.

‘Lass, my dear lass, tha’ve not ter worry over this. There’s many a farmer what’s got good reason ter resent tha’ pa. Me mam an’ pa ’ad a crop o’ barley what were ter mekk family a few bob until bloody Drummond an’ ’is pals were out ’untin’ an’ rode through it one day an’ ruined the lot. A tenant farmer what’s ’ad a crop spoiled can do nowt ter stop it. ’Appen summat can be—’ She bit off her words, conscious that Charlotte was watching her questioningly but with a loving smile she put her arms about the young woman who was as a daughter to her though there were no more than four years between them. ‘Stay close ter’t’ ouse an’ mekk sure when them bairns go inter’t garden John or Ned’re close by. Now’ – giving them both a shake – ‘let’s get down them stairs an’ ’ave us a nice hot drink. The master’ll be ’ome soon so go an’ pretty tha’self up. An’ tha’s not ter worry. D’yer ’ear?’

‘I’ll do my best, Kizzie, but—’

‘No buts, d’yer ’ear?’

The three brawny men, armed with nothing but their own fists, working men by the look of them, with the wide, muscled shoulders of those who are used to manual labour, crouched in the undergrowth at the very edge of Beggers Wood. It was almost two in the morning and there was a moon darting in and out of the clouds that raced across the sky with enough light for them to see should anyone be coming along the lane. They had been waiting for a long time and were thankful that it was a mild night.

They heard the approach of the horse first, its hooves chinking against the occasional stone, and at once they were more alert, waiting for one of them to give the signal. When it came they crept from the bushes into the lane and stood shoulder to shoulder as the horse and rider came towards them. The man on the horse was momentarily astonished but not afraid, since he was a man who was afraid of nothing.

‘What’s this, lads?’ he said smilingly. ‘I’ve nothing on me worth stealing because I lost it all on the cards this evening so you’d best go about your business and let me go about mine.’

He kicked his heels into his horse’s sides, prepared to move on, but one of the men leaped forward and grabbed the bridle while the other two pulled the rider from the saddle. The horse was left to make its own terrified way to its stable while the three men systematically began their task of mangling and mauling the shrieking man on the ground, their fists striking in unison, on and on until they had reduced him to a bundle of bleeding rags. There was none of the usual bloodlust that prevails when men beat each other, just a cool, precise, almost rhythmic landing of fist or boot on flesh, and though the man on the ground had drawn up his knees to his chest trying to save his eyes and his teeth, he lay there as one dead. Blood poured from his nose, one cheek was gashed to the bone, both eyes were closed and would certainly be black by morning, his leg was damaged and by the way he breathed his ribs were surely broken.

It was several hours before he was discovered. His stable lad had long since gone to bed, for the master’s horse was accustomed to being left to stand in the yard when the master fell off it and made his way to his own bed.

The three men were at their labours the next morning, for April was ploughing time and the farmers for whom they worked were ready to plant their crops. None of them had a mark on him, placid men who would help a toddling child to its feet, pat a dog with a gentle hand, ask a small girl the name of her doll, ordinary men who had given a helping hand to another, decent men who could not abide an injustice.

26

The news did not reach Charlotte and Brooke until they were about to sit down to their evening meal. The servants had been highly excited and not a bit sorry when they heard of it, for none of them gave a tinker’s toss whether the mistress’s father died or not. Had not the whole household been in a state of constant terror for many months because of his diabolical threats against his own children, keeping each and every one of them looking fearfully over their shoulder in case the devil should be there ready to snatch back the lovely child in the nursery who every single one of them adored? And what about poor Maudie who, even if she was a naughty girl and had an illegitimate child, had died because of him? Oh, he hadn’t killed her with his own two hands, they knew that, but he’d apparently driven her to take her own life and that of her innocent child. The mistress and them boys had been terrified of him so good riddance to him if he actually died from his injuries.

It was Malachy O’Brien, the gardener at the Mount who was on friendly terms with John Dudley, the Armstrongs’ head gardener, who brought the news of the attack on his master. They exchanged gardening tips with one another and had been known to share a pint at the local pub in the village. He was bringing John some cuttings in exchange for some new seed potatoes he and John thought might do well. He was pressed to sit down and drink a mug of tea while he described to them the state of his master’s injuries.

Kizzie was the one who told Charlotte and Brooke. They were surprised when she burst into the dining room, for they had been expecting Johnson, the butler. Brooke had been through a trying time with Charlotte during the hour they had spent dressing for dinner and in the drawing room and was looking like thunder, since she would not tell him what was wrong.

‘There’s something bothering you, my sweetheart, and I want to know what it is,’ he wheedled her.
At first.
Then he became more and more belligerent as she became more and more obstinate, swearing that there was nothing wrong, she had a bit of a headache, that was all.

‘Stuff and bloody nonsense. Don’t you think by now I don’t know when you have a headache or . . . the other . . . your monthly thing and you don’t act as though it’s the end of the damn world then. But you look like death.’

‘I’ll wear some rouge if you think I look so ghastly.’

‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I’m your husband. I love you. I love you so much, being without you would be an agony I couldn’t abide and I can’t bear to think there is something troubling you and you can’t or won’t tell me. Bugger it, Charlotte, don’t—’

He was clawing her heart to rags and at that very moment Kizzie burst into the room and they both turned in amazement to look at her. But it was to Charlotte that she spoke.

‘Tha’ pa’s badly,’ was all she said but her eyes gleamed with what looked seriously like triumph.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Brooke asked, but without much interest, for the mention of his wife’s father was anathema to him.

Charlotte stood up slowly, pushing back her chair. She knew that whatever it was that Kizzie was trying to tell her was good news and that . . . that somehow . . . somehow Kizzie had a hand in it. Brooke watched Charlotte. He had a trick of wiping all expression from his face when he wished to and since he was an intelligent man he was aware that something had happened concerning Arthur Drummond and the threats he had made almost a year ago and that Kizzie was telling Charlotte that she need not trouble herself with it any more. He too stood up.

‘What happened to him?’ he said quietly.

‘Someone thrashed ’im. Injured ’im real bad or so Malachy ses. Malachy’s gardener at t’ Mount an’ ’e come round ter speak ter John Dudley about summat ter do wi’t garden an’ ’e told us what ’appened. ’E were found this mornin’. ’Is ’orse come ’ome wi’out ’im so they searched fer ’im an’ found ’im in’t lane beside Beggers Wood. An’ God bless them what done it, I say. A devil ’e were an’ deserved all ’e got.’

Kizzie was getting carried away with herself and Charlotte knew that if she didn’t stop her telling what had happened, whatever it was would all come out. Not that there was any fear Brooke could do anything about it for it was, apparently, already done. And that had been what she dreaded almost as much as the things her father had threatened. Brooke was not involved! That was all that mattered for the moment
and,
for the moment her father was out of action. She had no idea how badly he was injured but if it kept him at home for a few weeks it would give her and Kizzie time to decide what they were to do to protect the children, and her staff, and, of course, herself from the damage he would inflict if he did not get his way.

But Brooke was not satisfied. ‘What exactly do you mean by that remark, Kizzie? I am aware that Drummond warned me and Charlotte that he would take Ellie from us if . . . if we did not . . . he wanted money, he said, but why should he terrify you and Charlotte? You say bless whoever has done this to the man and that he was a devil who deserved what he got. So, what evils has he promised both of you that you should be relieved he is now . . . well, we don’t know what he has suffered but it might be—’

‘I ’ope ’e’s crippled, so I do and I’m not ashamed ter admit it.’

‘Has he hurt you, Kizzie?’ Brooke said softly, but he was looking at Charlotte as he said it.

‘Nay, not me but—’

‘Who, Kizzie, if not you? Perhaps my wife, the children?’

‘Us all know what ’e did ter Maudie. Promised ’er all sorts an’ then turned ’er away. Them girls is all at risk, sir, ’specially them what go ’ome at night. An’ then there’s bairns . . .’

‘The outside men will guard them.’

‘It didn’t stop ’im comin’ in at back yard and forcin’—’ She stopped abruptly and put up her hand to cover her mouth, for she suddenly realised in her fear of Arthur Drummond and her joy at what had been done to him she was saying far too much.

‘When was this, Kizzie?’ There were sounds from the kitchen as Johnson prepared to serve the first course of the splendid dinner Mrs Groves, as always, had just cooked. Dusk had fallen, for it was almost the end of the day and from beyond the window came the sounds of birds settling sleepily in the trees. The three babies were all peacefully asleep in the nursery, cherished by Aisling and Rosie, after Lucy and Ellie, watched by a wide-eyed and fascinated Toby, propped on Rosie’s lap, had played a game of squealing piglets with the master.

One of the dogs was barking at the back of the house but it did not alarm anyone now that that bastard was fastened to his bed. Malachy had not known the complete extent of his master’s injuries except that the doctor had been there most of the day and a nurse was in attendance and would be night and day.

Kizzie looked at Charlotte and shrugged helplessly. Was she to lie to the master or was Charlotte to tell her husband the truth? Kizzie had been so delighted with the success of her scheme to incapacitate Arthur Drummond she had let her tongue run away with her. Her three brothers, who were mild men, big men but with a goodness in them that could not stand cruelty to the weak and helpless, had done their job well. They thought the world of Kizzie and of Mrs Armstrong who helped out anyone in need and Mr Armstrong was a decent man who looked after his tenants like their mam and pa. It was only a few acres of scrub they rented at the edge of Mr Armstrong’s property but Mam and Pa had worked all hours God sent to make it worthwhile and only last autumn the bugger up at the Mount had led his hunt across their land and ruined the harvest. The lads no longer lived at home, all of them finding work on neighbouring farms, married men with children, but they were glad of the chance to pay the sod back. They’d not done as much damage as they thought he deserved but, by Gow, he’d not sit on a horse for many months nor manage the journey to town to gamble away the money he was demanding from Mr Armstrong. If he’d got it. They were simple folk who knew nothing of the doings of the gentry but their Kizzie had told them that Drummond was trying to blackmail Mr Armstrong and terrify her mistress. It had been enough.

Charlotte sighed and sat down heavily on a dining chair, putting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands. Kizzie quietly left the room and as she entered the kitchen told Mr Johnson he had best wait until the bell rang before serving the master and mistress with dinner.