Replenish the Earth (13 page)

Hannah had been quick to learn how to set and serve a tea-tray, so that Sarah would not be ashamed to offer refreshments if someone called, and she now insisted on making up a tray every evening for her mistress, a small ritual which pleased them both.

The servants used the tea leaves a second and third time, and considered themselves lucky to get an expensive drink like tea so regularly. Like their mistress, they began to make a nightly ritual of their own tea-drinking, and all of them looked forward to that cosy final hour in front of the kitchen fire before they went to bed, when they would chat, or listen to Hannah reading from the Bible and explaining the harder words to Mary and Hetty.

In the presses, Sarah found piles of household linen, yellowed and creased, but of such excellent quality that it would last her for many years, with some mending and patching. Thank heavens she was a good needlewoman!

First, however, she set herself the task of remaking some of the old-fashioned clothes she found in the cupboards upstairs for poor Mary and her son, who were dressed in near rags. She might not be able to pay them properly, but she could see that they were decently clothed, so they were not ashamed to go to church on Sundays.

For her entertainment she turned to the small library. It contained some yellowing copies of an old newspaper entitled, ‘The Ladies’ Diary’, carefully sewn into leather binders. More to her taste was another periodical called ‘The Tatler’, which promised in its opening number instruction for the general public and entertainment for the fair sex. The few books on the library shelves formed a motley collection, ranging from the most modern, ‘The Country Gentleman’s Vade Mecum' of 1717 to old-fashioned volumes of poetry, plays and even sermons. The pages of some books were still uncut, and she wondered why they had ever been purchased in the first place if no one had bothered to read them.

The little dogs, which Sarah christened Bella and Betty, soon made themselves at home and insisted on joining her in the parlour in the evenings, rolling about on the carpet till they fell asleep by her feet. She found them surprisingly good company, for they always came rushing to greet her when they returned from a walk with Hetty, nuzzling her with their heads until she fondled them.

She had never had anything to cuddle like this before and wondered wistfully how it must be to have a baby of your own to love. She’d often watched other women with their children and envied them. But to have a baby, you must have a husband and who would want her? She didn’t let herself dwell on that matter too deeply, just enjoyed what had been granted to her – it was more than she’d ever expected, after all.

At nights the dogs slept on old blankets outside her bedchamber in the long narrow area which was part landing and part long gallery, a place for the owners to enjoy walking in winter. Twice the pups woke her by growling at something. Each time she roused the servants, and they lit candles and made a lot of noise.

After the second occasion, they were not disturbed in that fashion again, but one morning, Will Pursley found signs that someone had tried to light a fire in one of the outhouses. Luckily it hadn’t spread far, because the place was so damp. After that, he arranged for two of the youths from the Waste to sleep above the stables with a fierce dog, of which there were several among its inhabitants, who were of a more independent nature than the villagers.

The animal would give warning if anyone tried to break into the outhouses again and as the youths lived in crowded conditions with their families, they were happy to have a comfortable bed of hay to themselves, and some hearty meals at the big house as a reward, not to mention permission to take rabbits from the woods.

One evening, Will Pursley came up to the house to consult Sarah about some small alterations he wished to make to the stables, so she invited him to take a dish of tea with her. Her happiness at having a guest to entertain was so transparent that Will hadn't the heart to tell her he detested the taste of tea and couldn’t understand why people paid ten shillings or more a pound for the bitter stuff with its inedible leaves.

He did find, however, that he enjoyed sitting quietly by the fire in an elegant room, resting after the labours of the day. Sarah Bedham was a very undemanding companion and didn’t expect him to entertain her - as Amy Barton always had. Best not to think of Amy. He was well shot of her, he supposed, but she had made him laugh - and he missed the companionship of a woman, as well as the prospect of a wife and family of his own.

The harmonious relations between Will and Sarah did not, however, last indefinitely. Mr Rogers had heard of the break-in and the other attempts to damage the Manor. He also thought Sarah was looking a little tired, so he made Will promise to keep a better eye on her and not let her exhaust herself or take any foolish risks. Inevitably this brought them into conflict.

When Will met Sarah limping back from the village, favouring her bad hip more markedly than usual and looking white with exhaustion, he attempted to remonstrate with her. And she, knowing that she shouldn’t have attempted the journey on a muddy day, fired up and told him in no uncertain terms to mind his own business.

Will too had had a hard day, which had included an encounter with Sewell, who had harangued him from the safety of his coach, while his bullies watched and laughed. As Will knew that Sewell would like nothing better than a chance to have him up before the magistrate for assault, he had forced himself to walk away and ignore the gibes, even when the coachman flicked his hat off with the whip.

Now, at Sarah’s sharp words, his temper flared up and his answer was in no way respectful. He concluded by pulling the heavy basket out of her hand and carrying it up to the Manor, with her fuming by his side.

‘I don’t need your pity!’ she spat at him as they entered the small gate in the wall.

‘Pity! Who'd pity a she-cat like you?’ he retorted. ‘It’s plain sense not to try to do things that are beyond your strength.’

‘I’ll decide what is and is not beyond my strength! I’ve managed for twenty-eight years without anyone's help and I’ll continue to manage for the next twenty-eight, thank you very much!’

‘Well, in the country, we all help one another, so
you
will have to get used to that.’

He slammed the basket down on the front steps of the house and strode off across the garden and through the woods, while she, more exhausted than she would admit, with her hip aching furiously, picked it up and took it to the kitchen.

‘That Will Pursley is a deal too high-handed for a man in his position!’ she stormed. ‘Who does he think he is?’

Mary eyed her mistress's angry face in amazement, and with a touch of amusement, too. ‘His father were just the same. Your grandfather used to say that those Pursleys didn’t know their station in life, but damned good farmers all the same and good men to hev on the land. Had a soft spot for them, he did, even after he went funny.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth, belatedly remembering to whom she was talking.

Sarah couldn’t help chuckling at what Mary had said, but her mood darkened again after Hannah came in and told her bluntly that she’d better go and rest, for she looked fair wore out.

‘Not you too!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘I’ve just had Will Pursley hectoring me about not doing too much!’

‘Well, he was right then, wasn’t he? White as a sheet, you are, mistress. I’ll light the fire in the parlour and you can go in there and rest.’

‘I’ve no intention of resting! There’s too much to be done!’ To assert her independence Sarah dragged herself off to make a survey of the dining-parlour and decide what needed doing there. The two servants exchanged expressive glances and went back to their tasks.

But these were small squalls which didn’t spoil the sheer pleasure of living at Broadhurst for Sarah.

The letter to Mr Jamieson had been written a while back, and one day she received a stiff reply that he would honour her wishes, but still couldn’t agree with her decision.

* * * *

At the end of March it was Quarter Day and Will Pursley went off in the snow, which had brought icy winds whistling round the eaves again, to collect the rents. Very much on his dignity with Sarah after their disagreement, he came up to the Manor one evening to present his accounts and hand over the monies.

She still owned two smallish farms near Sawbury, which had some enclosed land of their own and some grazing rights to the common meadows there. The grazing was shared by Mr Sewell and Lord Tarnly’s tenants and by divers other smallholders. 

There were also four cottages and Mistress Bell’s shop which gave her rents in the village of Broadhurst, and two houses and a shop in Sawbury itself. Mr Jamieson might consider this a much diminished inheritance, but to Sarah it was astounding that she owned so many places. She’d had to expend much of the money she’d brought with her from London on dressed wood and new tiles to repair the roof, but fortunately, the tenants of the cottages and houses had paid their rents in full. The two farmers, however, had also suffered from cattle-sickness and could pay only a portion of what they owed.

‘Are they good farmers?’ Sarah asked.

‘Not very, but they won’t listen to any advice. And someone has told them they’re safe until their leases run out, whether they pay their rent or not. I think that same person has also been filling their heads with the idea of complaining about the state of their houses, for they made some very unreasonable demands, considering how much they still owe. I soon told them they could expect no improvements till they started to look after their land properly and pay their rents!

Her shoulders sagged and she stared at him in dismay. ‘Is this Mr Sewell’s doing again, do you think?’

He nodded. ‘His bailiff’s, anyway.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘And I didn’t mention it before, because I didn’t want to worry you, but someone's pulled up part of my new hedge and a couple of time the park gates have been opened at night. They want my cows to stray, I suppose. So with your permission I’ll buy a strong padlock.’

‘When did this happen?’

He shrugged. ‘A few days ago. Last night as well.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Those are
my
gates! I’ll pay for the padlock.’

‘You've enough to do, worrying about the house. Besides, I lock my beasts up at night and we’ve got young Zacky Haplin and his friends keeping a watch on things.’

‘I wish to be informed of such things in future. I do not care to be kept in ignorance. See that you remember that!’

‘Yes, Mistress Bedham.’

His tone was mocking. She didn’t know how to deal with him sometimes. And yet, in spite of his broken nights, he still found time to watch out for her going into the village and appear conveniently with his trap to drive her home. She sighed and moved her position now, unconsciously easing her aching hip, then flushed as she realised he was all too aware of why she had moved.

‘What about your own rent?’ she asked quickly to divert his attention from herself. ‘We must come to some new agreement, because you’ve supplied us with food and helped us in so many ways.’

‘I can pay half,’ he said, stiff now with embarrassment. ‘Half in coin, that is.’

‘Then there is your fee for acting as my agent and collecting the other rents.’ She took out a new quill, sharpened its point and uncapped the ink pot. After scratching down some figures, she shook too much sand out to dry the ink, clucking in annoyance at her own carelessness as she blew it gently off. ‘I have taken into account the work you’ve done on my roof and windows, also the milk, butter and cheese you’ve supplied to the Manor - not to mention the mutton when you kill a sheep. I think we may call ourselves quits about the rest of the rent, Mr Pursley.’

His voice was rough and angry. ‘I don’t need your charity!’

‘I’m not offering it! See for yourself.’

She tossed the piece of paper at him, scattering more sand over the other papers, then sitting drumming her fingers on the table as she waited for him to finish studying her figures.

He muttered under his breath, then looked up with another of his frowns. ‘You've been overgenerous.’

‘On the contrary, I’ve omitted the many small services you’ve done for us. It is I who am in
your
debt and I’m no more minded to take anyone's charity than you are!’

They sat glaring at each other across the table and in the end, conscious that she was his landlord as well as an attractive woman, Will forced himself to swallow his anger and say in his abrupt way, ‘Then we’ll call it quits and I’ll be over tomorrow to start mending those attic windows.’

She inclined her head, accepting this compromise, and watched him stalk out of the house. She had intended to offer him a dish of tea again because when they were not quarrelling, she enjoyed his company greatly. The pile of coins he’d left behind was smaller than she’d hoped, but she had complete faith in his judgement, as well as his honesty. And when had she begun thinking of him as simply ‘Will’? It wasn’t seemly.

But she knew how much she depended on him. If only she’d been pretty, she might have - what was she thinking of? She tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but it was in vain. Every time she saw him, he seemed to lodge a little more deeply in her thoughts.

‘Oh, you are a fool, Sarah Bedham!’ she muttered, then realised how comfortable the new name had become on her lips and gave a wry smile.

* * * *

One day, when Sarah and Hannah were working together on one of the dusty rooms, Hannah asked her about some rumours that were circulating in the village. ‘They say you’re goin’ to leave Broadhurst after all, mistress, that you be short of money.’

‘What? Who says that?’

‘’Tis common talk over the cider pots. Ted Haplin heard it and asked me if it was true. Him an’ his family would be in a fine pickle if Mr Sewell took over, you see. Don’t like the Waste dwellers, he don’t, because they don’t pay any rent to him.’

‘Well the rumour isn’t true! How could anyone possibly think I’d leave?’

‘No one would blame you, mistress,’ said Hannah, striving to be fair. ‘’Tis hard for a woman on her own, as I d’know, and you not raised to country ways. They say as you're missin’ town life and the company you had there.’