Three Round Towers (15 page)

I didn't mention my news to Cecilia as she seemed preoccupied, so once Beth was settled for the night I sat at my window and tried to collect my thoughts, failing miserably. Despite sitting for some hours in the dark I was no nearer to a plan of action. I undressed and began my nightly ritual of combing my hair – it was the one thing I knew would calm me. I slipped between the cold sheets and fell into an exhausted and fretful sleep. Beth cried fitfully throughout the night but she was not overly warm so I did not worry.

The next morning was a picture of beauty with a wispy mist threading over the damp ground. A pale lemon sun rose tentatively beyond the orchard. I breathed deeply as I wondered how I could willingly leave this place that had become my refuge and latterly home.

I had risen early and Cecilia had not yet come down so after giving Beth her breakfast, which she ate as enthusiastically as ever, I settled her down in the care of Mrs Fisher and Cilla and went up to Cecilia's dressing room. I planned to tell her my news and ask her opinion. As I went in I could hear her retching and found her lying on her bed with a pitcher and bowl to hand.

‘Cecilia, what is it?'

‘I believe I am with child,' she said primly before collapsing into a fit of giggles mixed up with tears. ‘Oh, God, I feel dreadful.'

‘Does John know?' I questioned.

‘No one knows, not even me.'

‘Shall I call Dr Grieve?'

‘Absolutely not. I will wait and see, but I am fairly certain. Don't tell anyone Esther, promise me, promise you won't.'

‘John made me promise too – to tell him.'

‘You mustn't, not yet, because he will be very upset when I tell him that my mother has insisted on me returning to Hadgwick Hall if and when I become enceinte.'

‘You are going to leave? Why?' I was astonished.

‘My mother insists that I must be cared for by her own staff and doctors so that the baby does not die.'

‘But I would care for you, as would John and Dr Grieve.'

‘She does not consider that good enough and blames John for the loss of her first grandchild.'

She was struggling to sit up so I put my arm behind her and lifted her into a comfortable position. She looked pale as she spoke. ‘Esther, I am sorry but she won't hear of you coming with me. We have talked about it in our letters and I am afraid that she is a trifle jealous. When I tell her that I am with child again she will insist on sending the carriage immediately to carry me off to civilisation again.'

‘But, surely, you don't have to go?'

‘No, but I want to distance myself from the awful time I had here, before you came Esther. I want to do things differently and not live in the past as I am afraid I will do, endlessly comparing.'

‘Let me get you some breakfast, it will make you feel better.'

‘Don't be cross with me Esther, I must do this my way – this time.'

‘Don't be a goose – why would I be cross? You must order your life as it suits you.' Or your mama I thought. Poor John, he would be bereft.

I didn't tell her my news as this new plan would clearly affect my position in the household. I had to think.

The following morning I rose bright and early and despite being tired from a lack of sleep went straight to Cecilia's room to find her retching into a bowl again. We sat together with a light meal of oats and honey to settle her down. Gradually the sickness subsided and I promised, again, not to tell John until she was ready.

I was uncomfortable with this but after a few days of sickness Cecilia finally told Farmer Elwood of her pregnancy and persuaded him that her decision to return to her former home for the confinement was necessary. Cecilia only had to write to her mother and everything would change. I don't know if they discussed my situation in their household but now that Cecelia was definitely leaving I felt I had no choice but to leave the house although they never said. They were delighted for me when I told of Dr Grieve's offer of employment but I couldn't help thinking that I was going from one household of a man without his wife to another household where there had never been a wife, but rumour, according to Cecilia, of a mistress.

‘If you are not happy Esther, you can return to South Farm as soon as I am back with our baby. I wish my mother was not so difficult and would let you come with me as my companion but she is adamant that my old governess holds that position. I do not feel strong enough to fight her on this.'

‘Nor should you, Cecilia, your mother is entitled to have who she likes in her own household and my being there would create difficulties for you when you don't need them.'

Later, when Beth and I were alone, I shed a few tears before writing a brief note to Dr Grieve, accepting his proposal, with thanks. I hoped I would be able to stay at the farm until Cecilia actually left in a month's time. I also hoped to meet up with Wilf again under more conventional circumstances. I became quite devious in trying to find out more about him.

My last month at South Farm was bitter sweet, with Beth and I constantly in Cecilia's company as she prepared for her journey. Beth was now weaned fully and was able to walk a few steps without falling down onto her plump little bottom. Her words were a joy to hear with everyone taking time to help her develop. She was a happy child and full of laughter. I often took her into Lewes to Mrs Makepiece's home where her grandfather would visit and play with her. His wife had never been reconciled to his dead daughter's child and I often wondered why people had such a large capacity for bitterness and jealousy. On occasion I had met Becca's stepmother in my trips round the town and she crossed the road rather than acknowledge me.

I spent many hours studying my father's journals in the hope that I would have the skills that Dr Grieve expected of me. As I read and reread his medical observations and my mother's receipts I was reminded of our happy household and wished that I could have a home and children to fill it. Such thoughts always seemed to lead to me thinking about Wilf. I had found out a little about his background and like me he had suffered great loss. His father had been factor of South Farm for many years and Wilf was brought up in his mould. Tragedy struck when he was about fifteen. His father had been set upon by a gang of local men when he tried to prevent them stealing from one of the properties he looked after. These men were after horses and weapons and were notorious locally for their callous wickedness. The poor man had been beaten to within an inch of his life and several months later had died of his wounds. He was able to identify some of his attackers who were taken up by the law and punished severely. One man was hanged and several others transported. Farmer Elwood's own father had arranged for young Wilf to be educated and adopted by one of his tenants in the hope that he would be able to work on the farm in the same capacity as his father when he grew into manhood and that was exactly what happened. Wilf was unmarried, though he had a sweetheart of long standing: a young woman who lived nearby in one of the farm's tied cottages. Cecilia thought that the relationship was not of the strongest otherwise they would have married. Wilf did not appear keen, she said, to tie himself to family life.

Since my adventures with Wilf I had tried to understand the circumstances that were causing so much unrest. I had been quite stung by the way Wilf spoke to me of not being aware of the lives of the poorer people, of their hunger and deprived conditions.

I talked to Cecilia who told me that many local people contributed to the parish poor fund to enable families to keep together rather than be taken into the workhouse. Farmer Elwood had taken on extra workers whenever he was able but there were some families who just couldn't be helped – the lazy and the feckless for example. According to Cecilia the burden on the parish was great.

We talked much of bad harvests, severe winter weather and failed crops with famine stalking the South Downs. The weather was frequently the means of driving people down into the gutters. Some tradesmen tried to capitalise on the lack of supply with higher prices for their goods. Bread was often the touch paper for rioting; the light loaves that were sold produced less goodness with resulting ill health and weakness.

Some decent local people were so concerned with the hunger they took matters into their own hands and provided hot broth for upwards of 900 people in Lewes. Mrs Makepiece told me about many benefit occasions to raise money for the malnourished children. I volunteered to accompany her when she was called on to help prepare and serve food. Ladies of the town would make items of clothing from their own spinning and collections of scrap materials so occasionally you would see youngsters clad in the very best fabrics previously worn on the backs of the educated classes. Despite these attempts to help it never seemed to be enough.

A threat of violence built and Cecilia told me that some men had became sufficiently well organised to threaten those instrumental in keeping prices up; they promised an uprising of thousands of desperate men. Farmer Elwood was at the Star for the Saturday market when a letter was produced threatening violent destruction. The letter had been sent to the justices who promptly sent it to those who were deemed to be the cause of light loaves and profiteering. The writer of the letter claimed to have 18,000 men armed and ready to act, and, with such numbers no militia would be able to prevent a determined assault. Cecilia was greatly frightened by these threats and fretted constantly that she and her benevolent husband were being tarnished by the actions of profiteers.

Nowadays when I walked around town I saw Lewes in a new light. On the surface all seemed to be calm and prosperous with well-shod people smiling, talking and laughing with their neighbours but underneath in the dark alleyways and less popular areas of town I saw the grim evidence of hunger and want. Crying children with swollen bellies, mean housing, dirt and rampant disease; smallpox, consumption, scarlet fever, even malaria; women who were unable to cope resorting to gin and selling their bodies in order to feed the children. I was horrified to think that I had been enjoying the fruits of other people's labour with no thought for those who had nothing. I vowed to myself that I would do all that I could to alleviate the suffering of the sick when I began working for Dr Grieve though, in truth, I had never seen anyone poor at his house or the coroner's office except myself and Billy.

It was while Mrs Makepiece and I were on a trip to take eggs to a family she supported I had a dreadful shock. We turned a corner near the house of correction in North Street and came upon a small quarry being worked for chalk. As we approached some tiny cottages a young man appeared at the gate of the quarry: he was leading a horse that looked familiar. I clutched Mrs Makepiece's arm and dragged her back into the shade of a building. ‘Wait,' I gasped.

‘What is it lass? You look like death.'

‘It's one of the Coad boys. The eldest. I can't go near him, please.' I pressed myself flat against the wall, my heart thumping.

Mrs Makepiece stood in front of me and shielded me from his eyes had he been looking in our direction which, thankfully, he wasn't.

‘Esther you are going to have to prepare yourself to meet this family betimes. Lewes is a small place and there are a number of them.

‘I know,' I groaned, but seeing him like that was a great shock. ‘Since the trial I have done my best to erase all memory of those odious people.'

‘Well come on, he's gone now, we'll go and deliver these eggs and see if the Higgins children are helping their poor ma. Now, turn your thoughts away from Coads and think about this decent family that is down on their luck.'

I tried, but it wasn't easy – that is until we got into their house, or what passed for a house.

Miss Wardle's piggies lived in better conditions than this family of ten. Everywhere I looked there was a grey face pierced by enormous staring eyes. The mother of all these children had a child to her breast and two more clutching her skirts. She looked drained of all colour and her dark and greasy hair straggled down her back.

As soon as Mrs Makepiece opened the door they fixed their eyes on her basket, which contained a small jug of milk, a dozen eggs and a twist of salt probably left over from the salting of the meat.

‘Here Mary, m'dear, this will make a nice tea for everyone today and I've asked Miss Wardle to save you some lard. Have you heard from Samuel, word of mouth like?'

‘Nay, not a dicky bird but I know he'll be trying his best to find some work inland, like.'

‘P'raps he would be better occupied in staying put and doin' a bit of fishing,' she suggested.

‘He's afeared of bein' taken up for poaching.'

‘Aye. Anyways, my girl I brought you some soap so mayhap your eldest girls could offer to do a bit of washin'. P'raps some in the house of correction might employ them – they are not all vagabonds and thieves and some might pay to look clean afore their meeting with the justices. You tell that girl o' yours to give these childer a bit of a scrub like.'

Mrs Higgins thanked us for our visit and encouragement. She smiled as much as she was able through her blackened teeth. ‘We be that grateful to you. I had naught to feed us tonight so a couple of these eggs will do just the job.'

As we left Mrs Makepiece turned to her and said sternly, ‘You make sure you eat too, Mary. If aught happens to you these childer will be put in the workhouse. You need to keep your strength up until Samuel comes back.'

‘Aye, I do know that.'

The conditions in that little home had taken all thought of the Coads from my mind and it wasn't until later that night as I was trying to sleep that they resurfaced.