Beyond the Storm (9 page)

D
AVID WAS AT
the back door of the rectory, instructing Percy on his day’s work, before leaving to carry out his own parochial duties on foot, when Alice called from the kitchen. ‘David, tell Percy to have the pony and trap made ready. I am coming out with you.’

Taken by surprise, David asked, ‘Why? I am only going to the poorhouse to interview the young man recommended to us by Henry Yates. There is really no need for you to come along.’

‘If he is to be employed around the rectory grounds I want to form an opinion of him too. Besides, I would like to see what
conditions
are like in the poorhouse, especially for the women and girls accommodated there. If you had a wife she would be expected to take an interest in such things. As your sister, I am the next best thing.’

David had to admit to himself that she was right. A parish priest’s wife was expected to involve herself in a great many aspects of parish life. He was secretly delighted that she wished to involve herself in his work … but was also aware she was
basically
opposed to taking on another employee. Her presence at the poorhouse could lead to Tristram Rowe being deemed ‘
unsuitable
’ to work at the rectory.

Nevertheless, he knew it would be futile to argue the point with her. ‘I will tell Percy – but bring a coat. There is a chill wind blowing from the sea.’

Alice enjoyed the drive to Tintagel. She had only rarely left the Trethevy rectory since she and her brother arrived there, but with Eliza now fit enough to take on many of the household chores she intended being less tied to the house.

As though reading her thoughts, David asked, ‘Do you feel quite confident about leaving Eliza in charge of the rectory in your absence?’

‘Perfectly confident. After witnessing her resourcefulness in dealing with Moyle yesterday I would entrust her with any task.’

Less assured than his sister, David said, ‘Yet we really know so little about her, and she has no references.’

‘In view of the manner of her arrival at Trethevy that is hardly surprising,’ Alice retorted, ‘and we both know that many servant references are exaggerated simply because the employer is anxious to be rid of them. I like to think I am a good judge of
character
, indeed, you have said so yourself, on many occasions.’

At that moment the pony and trap rounded a bend in the narrow lane and were immediately in the midst of a small flock of sheep being driven by a diminutive, bow-legged farmer who had a weather-beaten face that must have witnessed the seasons of more than three-quarters of a century.

Allowing his sheep to enjoy the grass that was plentiful on the lane’s verges, the farmer doffed his stained and misshapen hat to the young rector and for almost half-an-hour regaled the sister and brother with tales of past parish priests, and the current gossip of the area.

By the time the conversation came to an end sheep were
scattered
the length of the lane for farther than could be seen and, with a series of unintelligible commands, the old man sent his patient sheep-dog off to round up the flock and bring them back to their garrulous shepherd.

Resuming their journey, David and Alice discussed what the old farmer had told them about the area and, long before the subject had been exhausted, they arrived at the poorhouse.

The building was not as large as Alice had imagined it would be, but David explained that this was merely a
parish
poorhouse and soon to be superseded. A law had been passed by the
parliament
in London, ordering adjoining parishes to amalgamate into ‘Unions’, with a view to saving money by having a single poorhouse – or ‘workhouse’ as they were becoming increasingly known – to serve a much wider area. A far more rigorous routine would be enforced in these establishments, with the intention of discouraging those it was felt were
able
to work, from
claiming
aid.

The new law failed to take into account the dearth of work in many rural areas and the new poorhouses would also be required to provide accommodation for the aged and infirm, as well as an asylum for those of unsound mind. In addition, there was the problem of foundlings, orphans, vagabonds and destitute mothers-to-be to be taken into consideration.

Although the law was now on the statute books, in this part of Cornwall, as in many other areas of the country, the buildings that would provide the necessary facilities had yet to be built and most of the needy were still housed in parish poorhouses.  

The Tintagel building was spotlessly clean – a tribute to Henry Yates, the poorhouse master – but Alice felt it lacked ‘soul’. The men and women she saw as she and David were being escorted to Yates’s office seemed to be no more than the empty shells of human beings. There was little life force discernible within them and it made her feel uncomfortable.

She felt even worse when she and David passed through a room where children sat in an unnatural silence on either side of a central aisle, boys on one side copying words from books, girls on the other, heads bent over various forms of needlework. There
was not a smile or a hint of curiosity from them about the visitors and Alice found their lack of inquisitiveness unnerving.

In contrast to the inmates of the establishment he supervised, Henry Yates was a jovial, roly-poly man with an ingratiating manner. Welcoming them to his office, he sat them down and sent one of his female assistants off to fetch tea for them all.

The tea was duly produced and consumed and when David declined an offer by Yates to be shown around the establishment, Tristram Rowe was sent for. Alice had formed no opinion of what the young man would be like, nevertheless his appearance came as a surprise.

The majority of Cornishmen she had met with were
dark-haired
, brown-eyed men, but Tristram, who was able to claim Cornish descent through countless generations, was proof if any was needed that roving Viking adventurers had reached the Cornish shores and left behind enduring evidence of their visitation. The young man who limped into the poorhouse master’s office was tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed.

There was also a restless energy within him that many months in the Tintagel poorhouse had failed to quench and, unlike the other residents Alice had seen, he had a ready smile that was never very far away.

‘Reverend and Miss Kilpeck, this is Tristram Rowe, the young man I told you about, Reverend.’

Smiling briefly at Alice, Tristram turned his attention to David, and it was to him he spoke now, ‘Mr Yates said you’re looking for someone to work at the Trethevy rectory and in and around the old church there, Reverend. For as long as I can remember I’ve thought what a pity it is that such a lovely little church building has been allowed to get into such a state. Old Percy – Mr Nankivell – tells me you’ve almost got it ready to have services there … and that you’ve done more than your share of the work, Miss …’ this directed briefly at Alice. ‘My grandmother once lived close to
Trethevy and she told me that many of her family were buried in the churchyard up there in times gone by. Old … Mr Nankivell, says it’s being used to bury folk again and I would love to feel that I’d had a part in putting things there to rights again.’  

David’s expression had become one of excitement while Tristram was talking and now he said to his sister, ‘Do you hear that, Alice? It
is
consecrated ground! We were quite within our rights to bury bodies from the
Balladeer
there.’  

‘I never doubted it,’ Alice said, refraining from reminding her brother that it was her idea to bury the shipwreck victims there in the first place, then turning to Tristram she said, ‘So you know Percy?’  

‘Yes, Miss, he used to visit my grandmother sometimes, usually when he was particularly hungry. They knew each other when they were both children and enjoyed talking together about the “good old days”.’  

‘It’s good that you and Percy get along with each other,’ David said. ‘If you come to work at Trethevy you’ll both have rooms above the stables at the rectory and will need to make joint arrangements for eating.’  

‘That will not be necessary,’ Alice interjected. Avoiding her brother’s surprised glance she explained, ‘If you come to work at Trethevy, you and Percy will be fed from the rectory, although such an arrangement will be reflected in your salary, of course.’  

Only now did she meet her brother’s puzzled gaze,
explaining
, ‘Eliza has said she will help with the cooking. Apparently it is something she enjoys and would often help the cook in her last employment. I allowed her to cook your breakfast this morning – under my supervision, of course – but as you did not complain I imagine it must have met with your approval?’  

‘It was excellent,’ he agreed. ‘Had you not told me I would never have known it was not
your
cooking.’  

Turning back to Tristram, he said, ‘Mr Yates has told me about
your accident, do you think you can cope with working at Trethevy, where you would be gardener, horse-keeper and general handyman?’

‘I will be able to do all that’s asked of me, Your Reverence, and do it well.’

Tristram spoke eagerly and Alice realised he was desperate to be given a chance. She glanced at her brother and, correctly reading her expression, he said to the anxiously waiting young man, ‘Very well, I will take you on trial for a month at six shillings a week. If you prove satisfactory, it will be raised to seven shillings, inclusive of accommodation and food. If that is suitable, when can you start work?’

‘There’s nothing to keep me here, and my belongings will fit into a single bag. I could start right away. Today!’

‘Very well, you can travel to Trethevy with my sister and I in the trap.’

Finding it difficult to hide his delight, Tristram said, ‘Thank you, Your Reverence, you will have no complaints about my work, I promise you, and if we are going in a pony and trap I’ll drive, just to prove I can handle it as well as anyone, then I’ll set to work as soon as we arrive at the rectory.’

He was so eager to show his worth that Alice found it almost painful, and she said, kindly, ‘You can drive the pony and trap by all means, but when we reach Trethevy you will need to spend the rest of the day making your room over the stables fit to live in. You can begin your duties tomorrow. Percy can help you to settle in if you think you will need any help. He will be delighted to have someone to share his work at Trethevy.’

Alice thought that Percy would undoubtedly unload most of his work on to this fit and eager young man, but she doubted whether it would be resented.

As an afterthought, she wondered what Eliza would make of such a presentable young man.

Percy’s enthusiasm for having a youthful helper to take on much of his workload was not shared by Eliza. Whilst genuinely
enjoying
the opportunity to spend time in the rectory kitchen, she was decidedly cool towards Tristram Rowe and seemed determined to have as little to do with him as was possible within the small Trethevy household.

It was decided that Tristram would collect meals for himself and Percy from the kitchen and the two men would eat them in the rooms they occupied above the stables, Eliza eating alone in the kitchen, after everyone else.

The arrangement suited Eliza well. It meant she would not have to worry about fielding any of the awkward questions about her past that inevitably crop up during conversations over meals between people who are not familiar with each other.

There was another reason she preferred eating alone. During her young life – especially within the confines of the workhouse – Eliza had met with few men. Those she
had
come into contact with had done nothing to earn her trust, the husband of her late employer and Eval Moyle not helping to enhance her opinion of men.

She regarded old Percy as a kindly, if crafty figure but he had shortcomings in respect of personal hygiene, and David Kilpeck … well, he was a
Reverend
. Tristram Rowe was different. She found him somehow disturbing and decided she would be wary of him.

For his part, Tristram always behaved with the utmost propriety towards her, never anything but polite yet remaining aloof, his opinion of
her
known only to himself.

This state of affairs continued for some months after his arrival at the Trethevy rectory until a change in their relationship was unexpectedly brought about by none other than Eval Moyle.

F
IFTY MILES FROM
Trethevy, in the town of Truro, events that were destined to have a lasting effect upon the future of the servants of the North Cornwall rectory were already unfolding in a manner that would end in violence.

In Truro, as in other parishes throughout the land, a tax was levied on householders and businesses for the benefit of the parish church, symbol of the Established Church of England. This tax was bitterly resented by Nonconformists and they would occasionally refuse to pay what they regarded as an unjust tax.

It so happened that this is what had occurred in Truro, one of the largest towns in Cornwall, as a result of which three
dissenting
shopkeepers were taken to court and a distress warrant issued by the magistrate, ordering the town’s constables to seize goods from the three men and have them auctioned in order to raise the unpaid tax.

The items were duly gathered and, in accordance with the court’s instructions it was arranged for them to be auctioned and the monies from their sale paid to the churchwardens.

News of the actions taken by the magistrate and town
constables
quickly circulated throughout Cornwall, helped by Nonconformist preachers who broadcast details of the
proceedings
from the pulpits of their own churches.

As a result, on the day of the auction many Dissenters
descended upon Truro, led by work-hardened tin-miners who had a reputation of physically fighting for anything they
perceived
to be their ‘rights’.

Eval Moyle was among the crowd gathered outside the auction rooms and his voice rose above all others, urging the increasingly volatile crowd to disrupt the proceedings of the forthcoming auction.

It was unfortunate for the auctioneer that he arrived upon the scene when Moyle’s oratory was in full flow. A dapper little man of middle-age, he was immaculately dressed in a dark grey frock coat, striped waistcoat, Oxford blue cravat and white doe-skin trousers. His outfit was topped by a tall beaver hat perched upon an impressive head of dark brown hair which curled over his ears.

In such clothes he stood out from all those in the crowd and his arrival was greeted with noisy derision. When Eval Moyle caught sight of him he announced, ‘Here’s the man who’s hand-in-glove with Church and magistrates! He’ll make certain the treasured possessions of hard-working and God-fearing Christians are sold for a pittance, the money going to them as pay no more than
lip-service
to the Lord while living off the fat of the land in His name.’

The auctioneer was a mild-mannered man but, although
frightened
to find himself surrounded by such a noisy and angry mob, he had a task to perform and was determined to carry it out.

Addressing those closest to him, he said, ‘All the goods that come under my hammer will be fairly sold to the highest bidder….’

The statement was greeted with howls of derision, but the
auctioneer
refused to be prevented from saying his piece. ‘… Any money received over and above that ordered to be paid to the churchwardens will be handed over to the persons from whom the goods were seized.’

‘They don’t want any leftover offerings from the likes of you.’ Once again the loud voice of Eval Moyle rose above the hubbub
from the crowd. ‘They want the return of the goods the Church has stole from ’em – and we’re here to see that’s what they get!’

The auctioneer would have been wise to accept that the mob were intent upon disrupting the business of the auction house for that day, at least, and turn away leaving them to celebrate what would have been a meaningless and purely temporary victory. But he was neither wise, nor lacking in courage.

‘I sympathise with those who have had their goods seized, of course I do, but theirs are not the only items in the auction and I have my duty to perform, so if you will excuse me.’

While he was talking, Eval Moyle, determined that the unruly mob would accept him as their leader, pushed his way through the throng of volatile demonstrators and confronted the
auctioneer
. ‘You’ll do no business today with selling other men’s goods, so I suggest you turn around and go home.’

‘I can’t do that.’

Trying to hide the very real fear he was feeling inside at being confronted by Moyle, the auctioneer tried to move forward,
by-passing
him, but a leg was thrust out from the crowd and he tripped, cannoning into the Primitive Methodist preacher and losing his beaver hat. Reaching out to retrieve it, he was foiled by the heavy boot of a miner which stamped upon the expensive headgear.

When the unfortunate man tried to rise to his feet Moyle kneed him and he fell to the ground once more. A cheer went up from the crowd and they closed in upon the fallen auctioneer.

A small group of hopelessly outnumbered town constables had been watching what was going on from the comparative safety of a nearby narrow alleyway but, aware of the very real danger posed to the auctioneer, they bravely chose to come to his rescue.

It was a grave mistake. They were instantly set upon by a mob eager to vent its pent up anger and frustration on anyone in authority.

With attention turned away from him, the original object of the crowd’s fury was able to crawl to the auction rooms, but he had not escaped unscathed. Bruised and beaten and minus his hat, frock coat and cravat, his waistcoat had been torn beyond repair and he had also been dispossessed of his fine head of hair, which proved to be no more than an expensive wig that had
disappeared
in the mêlée to reveal a balding pate, adding some ten years to his appearance.

Despite his battered and dishevelled state, minutes later the brave auctioneer appeared at an upstairs window of the auction rooms and endeavoured to conduct an auction from here.

It was an impossible feat. The crowd of Dissenters and miners were now battling among themselves, as well as fighting the
constables
who had been reinforced by reserves hurriedly called in to help deal with the brawling crowd.

It was not long before a magistrate arrived on the scene and called upon the brawling mob to cease their unruly behaviour. When his orders were ignored he proceeded to read out the Riot Act, at the same time sending off a messenger to call out the militia to quell what was now a riot in law, as well as in essence.

Missiles were being hurled about, many aimed at the auction rooms and the plucky auctioneer was finally forced to bring his attempts to conduct business to a close when glass from the window above his head began showering about him.

When the riot in the street was at its height, a well-respected Cornish nobleman appeared upon the scene. His title had been bestowed upon him for great gallantry at the Battle of Waterloo, in 1815, and he had interests in a number of the mines where the rioting miners worked.

Standing on the steps of a nearby house he repeatedly called upon the men to stop their fighting before the militia put in an appearance and began taking action against them.

At first it seemed he would be ignored but, as he was
recognised
by more and more of the rioters, the fighting in the
battle-strewn
street gradually died down.

The riot was over and the fighting on the streets of Truro had come to an end before the arrival of the militiamen. The objective of the rioters had been achieved inasmuch as there would be no auction of chapel-goers’ property in the auction room on this day and, after raising three hearty cheers for the veteran Cornish peer, the rioters dispersed.

The Dissenters and their allies had won the day, but
retribution
would pursue them throughout the county. The names of many of those involved were known to the constables and the magistrate who had been present throughout the disorders and arrest warrants were made out for a large number of them.

Foremost among those singled out to pay the penalty for their actions at the riot scene was Eval Moyle.

Aware that he was known to the constables who had been attacked during the rioting, Moyle knew he would be among the first they would come seeking, and a magistrate sympathetic to the Established Church would have no hesitation in committing him for trial to a higher court, where he would undoubtedly receive a harsh sentence.

Moyle realised that if he was to avoid retribution he would need to leave Cornwall – to leave the country, perhaps, but before he did so he had a few scores to settle.