‘Abel said he met up with them. The church folk put him in touch.’
‘He visited the cottage?’
‘He said they went funny after we left. Y’know – loony. Anyway they were taken into an almshouse.’
Daisy stared into the distance. ‘Perhaps they were always a bit like that.’
Boyd shrugged. ‘Who can tell? But they were lucky it was an almshouse and not a workhouse.’
‘At least they’ll be looked after. We did do the right thing by running away, didn’t we, Boyd?’
‘Of course we did.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed them. Then seemed to think better of the gesture and moved away from her.
Daisy was getting used this hot and cold behaviour from Boyd. She understood. He was trying to make her more independent of him for both their sakes and she tried her best to struggle with her own beleaguered feelings. Boyd pushed her away in the same manner that she had had to push James away. She felt so alone that she would have welcomed the discovery of new relations anywhere. But she had had enough of fanciful dreams and declared, ‘Well, I think Abel Shipton is mistaken.’
‘I’m not so sure.’
They walked on in reflective silence and parted on the edge of the village.
‘Give Joseph a fair hearing, Daisy,’ Boyd said.
‘I shall. But I have to be able to care for him a little, don’t I?’ She hurried down the main street past the inn and the shops until she came to the butcher’s. Mrs Farrow was
watching for her from the window of her upstairs chamber, and waved excitedly when she saw her. Daisy suppressed a sigh. Everyone seemed to want this marriage; everyone except the prospective bride.
She lay awake for ages that night re-living Joseph’s visit. Her first impressions of him were reinforced. He was pompous and patronising, believing himself to be a desirable match for her and the instrument of closer connections between the Farrows and the Abbey. When Mrs Farrow suggested they would be forever in his debt, he readily agreed.
Daisy tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was loquacious and cheerful. Her ‘dowry’ of an estate cottage was generous and tempting bait, and one that few men would refuse. But his behaviour towards her in the scullery set her mind against him for ever.
He had gone out to the privy and she was stacking the tea pots ready to wash later, when a left-over piece of scone fell on the floor and she bent to retrieve it. Then she felt his hand run up the back of her leg and squeeze the flesh of her behind and she would have squealed if he had not stifled her mouth with his other hand. He pulled her upright and breathed, ‘Don’t make a sound. You wouldn’t want to upset Mrs Farrow if I have to tell her of your lewd ways.’
‘Yours, you mean,’ she tried to say.
He turned her round and pinned her against the rough stone wall, still pressing a hand over her mouth. The hand under her skirts moved around to the front and began stroking her lower abdomen, trailing down between her legs, his probing fingers finding her flesh through the opening in her drawers.
‘Stop it,’ she mumbled.
‘Not on your life. It’s what married folk do and we’re as good as.’
‘We are not,’ she muttered through his fingers.
He ignored her, pressed the full length of his body hard against hers and plonked his open mouth over her lips. She flailed around with her hands and managed to knock a plate to the floor so that it shattered noisily on the flags. She heard a door open and, thankfully, he released her as Mrs Farrow called, ‘Daisy!’
‘Coming, Mrs Farrow,’ she answered.
‘Better get back in there.’ Joseph shoved her in the middle of the back. ‘I’ll follow in five minutes.’
Daisy fled from the scullery. The incident troubled her and disturbed her sleep that night so she was awake when the church clock chimed the hour. But it wasn’t the clock. It was the Big Bell, and the deep sonorous bong continued, one note, one repetitive note. She heard Mrs and Mrs Farrow climb out of bed and raise a window. There were voices, shouting, coming from the street. Something was amiss! A flood? A fire? Daisy scrambled out of bed, pulled on her cloak and went on to the small landing. The single bell from the church tower continued to ring.
‘What is it?’ she called. ‘What’s happening?’
The door to the front bedchamber opened and Mrs Farrow appeared with a lighted candle.
‘He’s gone,’ she said vacantly. ‘After all these years, he’s gone.’
Daisy’s lack of sleep had made her irritable and she demanded, ‘Who?’
‘Lord Redfern, of course. Who else? He slipped away in the early hours.’
Mr Farrow appeared beside her. ‘Best get yourself dressed
and the range going, lass. The whole village will be up and about soon.’
‘Over here, Boyd.’ Daisy jumped up and down to see over the heads of folk lining the main street in Redfern Village. The sash window above her head slid open and Mrs Farrow leaned out.
‘Come inside quickly, before you are both crushed to your de—’ Her head disappeared inside abruptly as Mr Farrow yanked her back.
Daisy took hold of Boyd’s hand and dragged him down the side of the shop to the backyard, into the house and up the stairs to Mr and Mrs Farrow’s front bedchamber.
‘Come along in, lad,’ Mr Farrow said. ‘You two young ’uns kneel in the front then we can see over you.’
‘How long can you be away from the stables?’ Daisy asked.
‘I have to be back before the carriages arrive from church. I’ve never seen so many lined up along the driveways. Every grand family in the country must be here.’
‘It’ll take ’em an hour to fill the church and just as long to empty. We’ve been told there’s no room for us villagers. Most have taken up positions on Church Rise for a view of the churchyard.’
‘Who are these people out here, then?’
‘They’ve come from all over the county to pay their last respects. There’s not many folk that don’t benefit from Redfern Abbey one way or another.’
‘Here they come!’
Daisy watched in silence as a procession of grand carriages, many with ornate coats of arms painted on the doors and black leatherwork on their horses, rolled slowly down the main street. Drivers and liveried footmen wore dark coats
and sombre expressions. The coffin rumbled past covered by the Redfern standard and resting on a black bier drawn by two black horses with black plumes on the heads. An open carriage followed carrying Master James accompanied by a thick-set older man with a swarthy ruddy face who was vaguely familiar to Daisy.
Daisy stared at James. He was dressed in black and wore a tall hat. His countenance, as Daisy expected, was serious. But he appeared so very sad that she wanted to rush out and comfort him with hugs and kisses. Her sentiment was so strong that she had to blink back tears. Onlookers were standing on boxes and even chairs brought along for the purpose of securing a good view of the visiting gentry that followed the chief mourners.
‘Who is the gentleman with Master James, sir? I saw him arrive at the Abbey on horseback,’ Boyd asked Mr Farrow.
‘That’s his real father. He’s stayed at the Reddy Arms recently.’
‘I didn’t know he had a father.’
‘I did,’ Daisy said. ‘Why doesn’t he live at the Abbey?’
‘Ooh, there was a scandal to do with his mother and grandmother,’ Mrs Farrow replied. ‘I heard his lordship – his late lordship, that is – tried to cut them out of any inheritance, but he couldn’t break the entail.’
Her husband added, ‘It’s the same with all big estates. It all goes to the nearest male heir. Keeps it together for future generations, you see.’
‘Yes, I do see,’ Boyd said. ‘Wouldn’t his father have had to run things for James anyway, as he is not yet one and twenty?’
‘Eighteen’s old enough to inherit a title. Queen Victoria ruled from the start without a regent.’ Mr Farrow chuckled.
‘I heard that old King William hung on until she was eighteen just to spite her mother who was desperate to be regent.’
Mrs Farrow was peering at James and his father as their coach moved forward. ‘He’s the new Lord Redfern, then. The one that wasn’t allowed anywhere near the Abbey.’
‘Can’t stop him now, can he?’ Boyd commented. ‘I wonder if he’ll make a lot of changes.’
Daisy was thinking about James. How awful for him to lose the only family he had known, even though his lordship was reputed to be a bitter old man. James had no brothers or sisters to turn to and now he had to mourn in a most public manner with a father who was all but a stranger to him. She wanted to be with him, to be by his side as he grieved. ‘Shall we go and see the burial?’ Daisy asked. ‘We can try round the back of the churchyard?’
‘Your best bet is the big cedar tree,’ Mr Farrow suggested. ‘I climbed it reg’lar when I was a lad. It’ll give you a fine view of the Redfern vault.’
‘I don’t think so for Daisy.’ Mrs Farrow sounded shocked. ‘You’ll rip your gown.’
‘Oh please, Mrs Farrow. I’ll be careful. Boyd will see to that.’
Mr Farrow came to her rescue. ‘Let her go, dear. There’ll not be another spectacle like this for a generation. Hurry along though. I won’t be the only one who’s remembered the cedar.’
He was right and the highest of the thick spreading branches was taken. Boyd made a back and Daisy took hold of a hand offered from above. Someone came after Boyd and made a stirrup for him to climb after her. Before long the ancient tree was laden with young folk sitting and standing
amongst the strong branches. They were near enough to hear the singing inside the packed church, and the silence when it stopped.
The bell tolled again and two clergymen came out slowly. Daisy heard snatches of a conversation from beneath her. ‘The old rector is to retire.’ ‘This new fellow is tekking over.’ ‘Oh yes, he has a wife and family.’ ‘Aye, there’ll be a bit of life in the rectory now.’
The single repetitive ring continued as the coffin came out on the shoulders of six tall men. Mr Stanton was one of the front coffin bearers and, Daisy inhaled sharply, Joseph was there too. He really must be an honoured and trusted servant. She grimaced and thought, I bet his butler has no idea how he can behave towards ladies.
Master James and his father followed the coffin. A procession of grand gentlemen in regal or military uniforms wearing black arm bands came after them and stood around the Redfern vault. It was a large stone-built mausoleum with steps to the crypt below ground. The coffin disappeared first. The clergy continued their prayers as mourners filed one by one into the crypt and emerged from the other side. A significant group, however, stayed above ground and bowed their heads.
‘Boyd?’ Daisy gave him a nudge. ‘Isn’t that Abel Shipton? He’s that tall fellow at the back?’
‘I do believe it is. How come he got a seat in the church?’
‘I don’t know.’ But Daisy watched as James detached himself from his father’s side and moved amongst the mourners. Daisy couldn’t see his face but he was standing quite straight and she thought he was being very brave. The clergymen came to speak with him but the old rector moved away after a moment. Then she was surprised to see James’s father
approach the new vicar and embrace him in a way that suggested they were well acquainted. The other mourners began to disperse as their carriages appeared at the churchyard gate to take them to the Abbey.
The villagers crowding the churchyard perimeter started to move away and someone in the cedar tree announced free ale and a good spread at the Reddy Arms.
‘I’d better be getting back to the stables,’ Boyd said. He dropped easily from the branch and held out his arms to catch Daisy as she pushed herself off her temporary perch. She fell onto him heavily but he didn’t budge an inch. Strong, steady Boyd, he was her rock and she clutched at him. He hugged her back for the briefest second then stepped away. ‘I’ve not had a chance to ask you how you got on with Joseph.’
‘I don’t like him,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ He sounded surprised.
She looked at the ground and didn’t answer.
‘You ought to tell me, Daisy.’
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.
‘Look, everywhere is shut for the day so why don’t you come back to the stables with me? There’s a spread in one of the barns for the outdoor servants.’
‘Will Joseph be there?’
‘He’ll be waiting on the gentry today.’ He gazed at her for a moment. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
She shook her head.
Boyd blew out his cheeks. ‘What am I going to do with you, eh? Run and tell Mrs Farrow where you’re going and we’ll cut across the park to the stables.’
Daisy’s eyes roved around the churchyard hoping for one last glimpse of James. He was talking to his father.
* * *
‘The carriage is waiting to take us back to the Abbey, Pater.’
‘I’m not going.’ Edgar had already had more than enough of this celebration for the life of a man he hated.
‘The mourners will expect you, sir.’
‘And have all the South Riding gentry staring at me and asking questions?’
‘You are Lord Redfern now, Pater.’
‘I can’t do it alone. I’ve not lived among them as you have and I need – look, son, why don’t you do it for me. You are acquainted with them.’
‘Certainly, if that is what you wish. The villagers will want you to put in an appearance at the Redfern Arms as well.’
‘I’ve told you, I can’t do it.’ He moved from side to side, hesitating over how much to say. ‘I have to talk to you, James, to explain things.’
‘What things?’
‘I’ll ride over to the Abbey tomorrow when they’re gone.’
‘You said your home was ten miles distant. It will be too much for you, especially in this cold weather. I’ll come to you.’
But Edgar was firm. He wanted to find out how much James knew about Prudence before his son met her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean it. I do not invite you.’
‘Then at least let me send my carriage.’
‘
My
carriage.’
‘Sorry, Pater.’
Edgar’s shoulders sagged. ‘You’ve been schooled well for the role of lord. Send my horse to the rectory as soon as you can.’
‘I shall instruct Stanton to see to it personally. You will – I mean, you can be a proper father now, if – if you wish it.’