Exchange of Love, page 3
“Massive job, too big for you, me and Eric.”
“Dunno,” mused John. “Say we start on the hall below, remove the staircase, get the basics in order, then we look at the panelling and ceiling. Few more guys, sort of build it up?”
“Be an interestin’ ideal,” agreed Alf. “If Ransom could pay for it, the work here would see me time out to retirement. Not sure I want a lifetime job. How much would it all cost?”
“No idea,” shrugged John. “I thought it would be worth working up a proposal, suggest getting grant money, you know.”
“I could get a quick estimate together for the fancy woodwork, just to scope the price, like,” said Alf.
“Was just an idea—”
“I’m not walking away from it,” said Alf. “I’ll give you me figure. First refusal on all the joinery, OK?”
“Need to speak to Simon Ransom before I do too much, but it could be a good project,” John replied.
“You do that, John, but I need a piss. And I got a coffee and sandwiches to eat. I’m going out in the sun.”
“See you later.” John took a notebook from his overall pocket. “I’ll just make a few notes on the stonework.”
“We’ll need to get into the roof space over that ceiling, take some floorboards up,” said Alf as he walked away.
John studied the panelling – simple protection stuff, not more than a hundred years old. He tapped it. Could be hollow; generally was. He tried to visualise the couple he had seen, or imagined, on the hidden painting. Penny had mentioned Edward, her husband. Was he the bloke in the portrait? John wandered to the window and peered through some of the remaining leaded panes. Outside, Alf had his overalls and shirt off, and sat incongruously in safety boots and shorts eating from a plastic lunchbox; sardine sandwiches in all probability, his usual ‘bait’ as he put it.
John imagined how the now unkempt gardens would have looked. Very formal, he supposed, in the French or Italian style, just a step on from the medieval, before the eighteenth-century vandals Hoare and Brown had brought in the wilderness and open-park fashions. The ruined wall could have been the walled kitchen garden.
Movement caught his eye. Two people walking arm in arm strolled leisurely towards the stable block. The rusted out tractor and pile of rubble had gone. Thatch replaced corrugated asbestos. The woman was Penny, dressed in a simple brown shift dress; the man was the cavalier in the painting but in plain everyday dark breeches and white shirt. John’s vision seemed to zoom in on their faces as they talked together; she half ecstatic, he attentive but proud. God, even a kid could read their emotions and know what they had been up to. Penny looked suddenly and caught John’s eye. Her face registered total surprise and she turned to speak to Edward. His eyes flashed up to John blankly without recognition.
John opened the creaking window, waved and shouted, “Hi, there!”
Edward stared directly at him in utter disbelief.
John’s image of them faded. The gravel walk receded to its normal distance and transformed back to a farm track. Trim hedges became brambled clumps, and an oily pool appeared in front of the garage.
“Hi,” Judith Ransom called back to him from off to the left of the present-day lawn; she must have just come out of the house.
Alf looked up in surprise at John, flicked his eyes over at Judith, felt embarrassed, and continued to eat his sandwiches.
John closed the window and staggered back to regain his composure. Shock at seeing Penny and Edward, embarrassment at bawling out as if to Judith – he’d better get down there and say something sensible.
On a summer afternoon in 1643, Penny Peverell stared hard into the face of Sir Edward Peverell Esq, master of Peverell House. They had hurried upstairs to their living room but found no trace of John. Edward had searched the house and now looked bemused at Penny. His face was pale, his eyes still darting around their crimson-draped room as if expecting to spot John hiding.
“You did see him, Edward?” Penny asked hesitantly.
“I have searched the house. The servants saw no one.”
“But it was John.”
“I know, I know. I can tell pheasant from partridge at a hundred yards and shoot either. I trust my eyes, and it was your cousin, John Jackson. At first, I just noticed a misty shape, then when he waved and called, I could see him quite clearly – it was definitely his voice.”
“Then I’m not mad!”
“No, you are not mad, but he is a varlet, coming back from the dead to disturb the peace of our home. What can it mean?”
She smiled to see his mask of cavalier self-assurance had begun to slip, revealing the true Edward, much more thoughtful and questioning than many would suspect.
“I have no idea,” she said as she walked to the servants’ entrance at the side of the room. “I hope it is no omen. The first time he just strolled in, through this door, and then seemed shocked to see me, in my own house.”
“But he recovered well enough to grasp you to him.”
“Yes. Well, I may have approached him first, to lay the ghost. I did kiss his cheek.”
“You said he kissed you?”
“Yes, he responded and tried to kiss my lips. Now he waves and calls as if he had arrived to visit and found us out riding.”
“Thank God he didn’t materialise yesterday on the Downs, he would have died again of jealousy.”
The rest of the day passed easily enough with each of them often locked in their own thoughts. As light fell, they sat, backs to the window, to get the last rays of sun on the books they read. Between them one of the branched candlesticks burned yellowy. Edward put down his book on the padded window seat.
“Ah, it’s time for bed and sleep.”
“Book boring?”
“No, difficult. French. Written by Jean Roche, on waging war. And it’s all wrong for our war.”
“Oh, Edward. And it cost you so much to get it.”
“No, it was worth reading. It has validity to French and German campaigns, but not to England. Here too many men fight for principle, often misplaced I agree, but they have conviction and resolve. In our battles, even untrained militia do not turn and run like paid mercenaries. That is why so many are killed on both sides. I wish Prince Rupert and some of the king’s friends understood and treated all Englishmen with respect, aye, and the Scots too for that matter. The king knows his subjects better but he is unsure of himself.” Edward closed the book with resignation. “I can sell this, if I can find anyone to read it.”
“Edward, I’ve been thinking.”
“Eh?”
“Seriously. Do you want to do something about Cousin John’s ghost? Speak to a churchman?”
“What, a vicar with bell, book and candle? Hell’s teeth, no.”
Penny laughed at his shocked face. “Edward, calm down. I just thought this is your home and—”
“Our home,” he corrected. “Would you have me cast out one of your family, even if they are but a spirit?” He paused. “I am serious. If John has returned for a purpose, then we should help him. If he needs company then I will call for an extra pipe and a can of ale.”
“You are a fool.”
“Good! A simple fool but one with principles. If he returns again, we treat him as a guest. As we did in life, and as he did for us. But he must curb any indecent advances to you. A family embrace or kiss I can tolerate, even applaud. Any more and I will take drastic action.”
“Edward, you are drunk!”
“I never have been drunk in all my life – one glass of wine, one tankard of beer only. I’ve thought long on this.”
“And, my jealous husband, if my ghostly cousin o’er steps your mark, what will you do? Call for bell, book and candle after all?”
“Never. I’ll use my pistols, loaded with silver ball, or take up the silver fruit knife!”
CHAPTER 5
Sir Edward Peverell believed the running of his estate should be a simple, beneficial duty but one requiring him to take some responsibility for the community. While he was away with King Charles’s army in Oxford, Penny had taken on Edward’s duties in his absence, including acting as justice of the peace. There was no legal authority for her to do this but most of her ruling had been accepted readily. Now, after the first halcyon days of his return, Penny had persuaded Edward to review her decisions and resolve a few outstanding issues.
There had been no raids or foraging in the area, but tensions were high in the villages and on the estate farms. There was fear of civil war coming closer; that taxes would rise even higher; men might be conscripted and dragged off to fight. In response to fear of crime and lack of law enforcement, a ‘band of clubmen’ had been formed to help protect the community.
“Will Tachem is a good man,” Penny conceded. “Well suited to being leader of the clubmen. Anyone in the parish, village or farm can call on them at any time, day or night.”
“I fully approve of all this,” stated Edward. “It deters wandering thieves and disorder.”
In this climate, it seemed everyone wanted to seek their own advantage: tenant farmers argued over boundaries; villagers argued over access to common land. Often they came to Edward to settle these arguments, or to Penny when he was away. On his return from Oxford, Edward had endorsed all of his wife’s decisions, but suggested that having Robert Tachem suffer a ten-lash flogging and a morning in the stocks for drunken behaviour a little harsh.
“I had to show there was no favouritism towards him. Robert is an unruly lout, picking fights with men, seeking to force his attention—”
“I agree, I agree. Robert deserved to be punished, and Will Tachem gives himself airs above his station. I’ll speak to both of them. Will that suffice?”
“Better you send the son off to the wars—”
“Ah, that is enough legal business for one day. Enough for a month. I have only been gone two weeks and all our people are in dispute with each other.”
Penny started to speak but Edward continued.
“Come, let us take some food and ride out along the riverbank. I know a secluded peaceful spot—”
“And I know what happens there,” interrupted Penny archly. “You are insatiable!”
“You object?”
“Not in the least. But there is still more business to attend to.”
“I will have both parties flogged for disturbing my peace, and our pleasure.”
“All in good time,” Penny continued. “What is more difficult is this boundary dispute between two of our tenants.” She indicated a page of notes and other papers. “It is beyond me. They seem to dispute a boundary between the farms by about a yard.”
“These two were firm friends as boys. Can’t they go halfway? It’s madness to fall out of friendship over this.”
“They both declare no compromise is possible,” Penny said. “It is a matter of principle. Each wants justice over his thieving neighbour.”
“God save us from principles,” said Edward bitterly. “If the king will not compromise with parliament and even the king’s adviser, Culpepper, cannot compromise with Prince Rupert as to the war, how can we expect two farmers to be reasonable?” He sighed. “I suppose I must settle this. How does it lie?”
“I said I had insufficient local knowledge and would await your return,” Penny said, stroking his arm.
“I have a bailiff who—”
“Who agrees with me. It’s your judgement.”
“And what shall I do?”
“Ride out to the spot, march up and down, huff and puff, and then say the line should be halfway.”
“It’s a fine day for a ride. I will take Roger, our bailiff, with me.”
“He is organising the harvesting.”
“Good. I will point this out to our sullen tenants and authorise Roger to charge them a harsh fee for his time, and for drawing up the new boundary in the parish record. That’ll teach ’em a lesson!” He smiled fondly at Penny.
“With my husband’s permission, I would ride out too.”
“A detour on the way back, possibly along the riverbank?” suggested Edward hopefully. She nodded in agreement.
“And while you find Roger I will quickly change and hasten up a bag of food and drink.”
It took several hours to prise Roger from the oat field, and it was near midday by the time he and the Peverells arrived at the disputed boundary.
“This baulk marks the boundary.”
“Nay, you ploughed the true one out!”
“Stop this,” shouted the bailiff. “I’ve read the records; it’s a line drawn from the church tower to the ancient oak by the pond.”
“Aye,” bluffed Edward sagely. “I recollect it well.”
“But the oak blew down last winter,” said Penny, “hence the dispute.”
“God’s teeth!” cried Edward. “Roger, drive a stake in the middle of the tree throw, take a sight to the centre of the church tower, and mark a line.”
Suddenly there was a distant sound of two rapid gunshots.
“It’s an alarm from the town,” said Roger in concern. “Two shots will mean a threat to the west of St Wilfred’s church tower.”
“Coming away or going toward the town?” asked Edward. He stood in his stirrups looking over the hills towards Box Village. “I can see horsemen on the road riding towards us and Peverell.”
“This way?” asked Penny.
“Whichever it is, the watch are sending out a warning. Fall back to the house,” instructed Roger.
“Looters, I lay,” shouted a farmer. “Our farmstead and granaries are here, Sir Edward. Arm yourselves, men! Stand with us, sir,” he pleaded. “We only have bill hooks and staves.”
“They are probably just travellers or merchants,” said Penny, hopefully.
“Will Tachem wouldn’t send a warning for a party of merchants,” said Roger. He had pulled an ancient matchlock musket from its horse holster and was trying to strike a spark to light the match.
“Careful, man!” said Edward. “You will fire your piece by mischance.”
“Not loaded yet.”
“There are only five horsemen,” stated Edward. “We will hold our ground here with the farm tenants.”
“The house staff will be sufficient to guard Peverell well,” agreed Penny. “They will have heard the warning shots. With grooms and servants, there are eight men and at least six guns.”
“Henry York, our butler, is an old soldier, and will take charge,” said Edward. “You have your pistol, my lady?”
Penny was already fixing the key to span and cock a small functional wheel lock pistol. “Aye, captain,” she said with humour. “Do not stand to my left, this sends a jet of flame out sideways as it fires.”
With the labourers concealed behind a hedge, they lined their horses up across the road, Penny, with her small lady’s pistol, beside Edward.
“Can you cope with one of my horse pistols as well?” Edward asked her. “Once I fire, I’ll charge with my sword.”
She nodded and took the heavy handgun, feeling suddenly very much afraid.
They sat motionless on their horses, waiting as the approaching men rode through a small copse about one hundred paces away.
“Halt, in the king’s name,” roared Edward. “We are armed and will give fire.”
The party slowed and stopped fifty yards away. Their steaming sweat-flecked horses had been ridden hard.
“Stand aside in the king’s name,” shouted back their leader. “Stand aside, I am Thomas Waddell, a messenger from the king, seeking Sir Edward Peverell.”
“It could be a trick,” whispered Roger, blowing on his carbine’s match to make it glow hotter.
“I think not,” replied Edward. “Roger, do not point that thing at me!” Edward moved slightly forward on his black horse, drawing himself up importantly. “I am Sir Edward Peverell,” he called out. “Advance slowly, alone, and with no weapons, Master Waddell.”
“If they charge, I will shoot at the two on the left,” said Penny. “My horse isn’t trained for gunfire and may shy, so I will shoot both pistols together.”
Thomas Waddell advanced cautiously towards them, alone. “This is an outrage. An outrage for the king’s messenger to be met by armed men on the road and,” he sneered at Penny, “a gentlewoman.”
“A gentlewoman who can shoot as well as any man,” snapped Penny.
“You have a letter, sir?” asked Edward.
Waddell nodded, reaching into a pouch at his side.
“You may have noticed, sir, that we are at war. I will have no foragers or rogues plundering my tenants.” He took the folded and sealed parchment and turned to Penny. “We are honoured. The king’s seal indeed, and that of Prince Rupert. The address to me has been written by His Highness Prince Rupert himself.”
“I am charged,” said Thomas Waddell pompously, “to bid you read the message alone and communicate it to no one. It is imperative that its contents remain an utmost secret. I am to await your answer and return.”
“You will go nowhere tonight without fresh and fed horses,” replied Edward. “I could supply you a fresh mount but not your escort, and you cannot travel alone with my reply.” Edward stopped to praise the tenants and labourers for standing firm with him, before leading the impatient Waddell and his escort off to Peverell House.
Roger and Penny stayed behind to finish the boundary marking.
Some hours later, having dined with Master Waddell and persuaded him to stay overnight, Edward joined Penny alone in their private sitting room.
“You did well to excuse yourself from dinner. That man is insufferable!”
“So, Prince Rupert wants to capture Bristol for the king’s cause?” asked Penny looking up from her book. “Is it necessary?”
“I agree it is essential,” replied Edward, throwing off his jacket and taking up his pipe. “After London, it is the second most important city in England for merchants and workshops. And it is a good seaport. With the major south coast ports like Portsmouth and Dover held against us, it is our only access for large shipping; the Cornish harbours are too small and remote.”
