Flood (The Fenland Series Book 1) Read online

  I heard from Alice on the Wednesday and on Thursday gained Mistress Atwood’s permission to go home for the day on Sunday. Although it was no more than my due, for I had worked at the manor my full month, the other maids seemed to resent even this small liberty of mine, and I found myself with additional work allocated to me, including washing the men servants’ bedding, a dirty and heavy task. When it was done, I could scarce lift the buck basket to carry it outside, but no one offered to take a handle with me.

  To one side of the orchard there was a dense beech hedge, pleached and woven to make a barrier between the orchard and the stable yard, which was not walled on this side. The bushes were sturdy, so we made use of them for drying the heavier items like blankets. The family’s shifts and shirts – light fabrics which could be washed – were spread on the lavender hedge for its pleasant scent. Their heavy velvets and brocades were not washed at all, but left to grow sweaty and grubby, all outward show and inward stench.

  I began to heave the wet blankets on to the hedge, an almost impossible task with no one to help. It was rare indeed for the men’s blankets to be washed, even though they harboured bugs and dirt, and I knew the work had been devised for me out of jealousy. It was hot out in the full summer sun and I was growing hot and cross myself as I struggled, when I felt myself suddenly seized about the waist from behind. I had heard no footstep on the soft grass of the orchard, but I knew at once from the scent of him who it was.

  ‘Let me go, sir,’ I said, barely hiding my annoyance, for my hands were full of wet blanket and the front of my dress and my apron were soaked.

  ‘Nay, cousin Mercy, your struggles become you. You are as pink as one of my mother’s roses.’ He tightened his grip and pressed his face against the back of my neck. ‘You smell of roses too, and lavender. A veritable flower garden of delights.’ His hands crept up to my breasts.

  ‘Soap,’ I said coldly, ‘I scent the soap with rose water and dried lavender. And I wash regularly.’ For I could smell his sweat and the harsh feral scent of him as he pulled me close. I tried frantically to think how I could rid myself of him without calling for help. I dropped the blanket to free my hands, but still could not break away from him.

  ‘Come, Mercy. You have teased me long enough. I demand satisfaction, and as I cannot call you out, I must be satisfied another way.’

  He pulled me away from the hedge and twisted me around so that I was facing him. I would have laughed at his ridiculous words if he had not been so strong and my fear so great.

  ‘Edmund, this will not do. You cannot treat me as you treated that other poor child. Remember, I am Isaac Bennington’s daughter and kin to your family.’

  There was a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘What do you know of some poor child? Do you mean that mean brat of a scullery maid? She was willing enough. And as for kin – let us become a little more intimate.’

  With that he threw me on to the ground and lifted my skirts.

  The child may have been willing, but if she was not, she would never have been able to fend him off. This time, however, Edmund Dillingworth had to do with a woman who had milked cows and sheared sheep. I might not be as strong as he, but I was strong enough to fight back. As he groped with the belt of his breeches, I brought up my knee and struck him hard in the groin.

  He let out a cry of pain and fell backward as I scrambled to my feet. To delay him I grabbed the sodden blanket lying on the ground and dropped it over his head, then I took to my heels.

  When I reached the kitchen, out of breath and with my dress and cap awry, everyone turned to look at me. There was a kind of expectancy about them, and I knew that they had told Edmund where I could be found. I glared at them, then turned to one of the scullions. My heart was pounding, partly from fear, but also from a rush of anger.

  ‘Master Edmund is in need of assistance. He has met with a slight accident out by the beech hedge. And while you are there you can spread out the rest of the blankets to dry.’

  They continued to stare at me as he went out, and I heard a snigger, quickly suppressed. To my surprise, sour-faced Bess Whitelea smiled at me.

  ‘You may give me a hand with the pies for tonight, Mercy. You say that you have a light hand with pastry.’

  It was acceptance of a sort.

  I rose as usual before dawn on Sunday, but today it would be the turn of one of the other maids to light the fire and bring in water. I would not stay to eat with them, for I could barely wait to dress, so eager was I to be away. To my great relief, I had seen nothing of Edmund Dillingworth since that last encounter beside the beech hedge, and hoped he was taking care to avoid me. I ran down the stairs and out of the servants’ door under the grey skies of the dwindling night. The birds were singing their hearts out – blackbirds and robins and great tits and thrushes and willow-warblers and black-capped tits. As I headed away from the manor I heard the boom of a butter-bump far out among the whispering reeds of the marsh, then a flight of oyster-catchers shrieked their way overhead. Instead of taking the road to the village, I went the shorter way, ploughing around the edges of fields and skirting the boggy fringe of the Fens, jumping over the smaller ditches and balancing my way over the logs which served as footways over the wider ones. My skirt was soon soaked a foot deep, but I cared nothing for it. I wanted to sing, and my feet kept bursting into a run.

  The sky away to the east wore its first flush of gold, where the rim of the sun would just be rising above the sea, its rays reflected in the waves up to a perfect summer sky above. Where everything had looked silver and grey when I left the manor, a wash of colour was seeping over the world, as if an artist had passed his brush over a dull canvas with a tint of watery paint. Spread over the long grasses a gossamer of spiders’ webs was crusted and jewelled with diamond drops fingered by the sun. The air was full of the beloved whisper of rushes, the immortal fenland song which poured through me, blood and bone. By the time I reached the edge of our farm, the pale green of the sallows stood out clear against the sky, the waters of Baker’s Lode glittered, and away towards the commons I could see that the wheat – what was left of it – was brushed over with the faintest tint of gold as it began to ripen.

  No one was yet stirring in the house. I had forgotten that we now bolted our door and laughed at the absurdity of it. I was shut out of my own home! I gathered up a handful of pebbles and made my way round the corner to look up at Tom’s window. My first pebble missed, but the second hit the half-open window with a clink. No answer. I threw another. This one went in through the window and I heard a yelp. A moment later Tom’s tousled head peered out.

  ‘Mercy! We had not expected you as early as this.’

  ‘I didn’t stay a moment longer than I needed, but I’m shut out! Come down and unbolt the door for me.’

  His head disappeared and I ran back to the yard. I heard the scrape of the bolt, then there was Tom, comical in his night shift with his bare legs poking out beneath.

  ‘Your legs are grown very hairy,’ I said.

  He laughed. ‘It must have been Hannah’s salve she used on my bullet wound. Perhaps it is made from the fat of wolves or bears.’

  ‘Bears, I should think.’ I laughed from the sheer joy of being home again and hugged him hard. ‘Is everyone well?’

  ‘Well enough. Hannah and Nehemiah are valiant for their great age. Mother has never been quite well since Father was taken, but there is nothing really wrong. Just sadness and worry. I am quite recovered, as you can see.’

  I could also see that his face had grown thinner.

  ‘Off you go and dress,’ I said. ‘I’ll make up the fire. Do we have oatmeal? I’ll make some breakfast. I’ve had a walk of two miles from the manor.’

  ‘Kitty put the oatmeal to soak last night. The fire is damped down, but there are fresh peats. I won’t be long.’

  He ran upstairs and as I revived the fire and hung the porridge over the heat to cook, Kitty came out of her room, carelessly dressed and rubbing her eyes.


  ‘Oh, Mistress Mercy, you are home!’

  She beamed at me and I hugged her, then held her at arm’s length. ‘The Lord save us, Kitty, you’ve grown a foot taller since I’ve been away!’

  She giggled. ‘Not really. But I think I have grown. I am twelve now.’

  ‘So you are. Such a great age! Well, go and tidy yourself up and comb your hair. I will see to the breakfast. I am hungry as a wolf after my walk.’

  Soon we were all sitting around the table and, apart from Father’s absence, we might have been just as we were before the drainers came and all our troubles fell upon us. It seemed none of us wanted to talk about it and our conversation was all of simple, daily things.

  ‘After the wet spring,’ said Tom, ‘the weather has been quite kind. The wheat is ripening up, and full in the grain.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Nehemiah, ‘I walked the field yesterday, and I think the harvest will be no more’n a couple of weeks late.’

  ‘How goes the eeling?’ I asked.

  ‘Not so bad. I go further afield. Away down Baker’s Lode to the Nene and thereabouts. And Tom and me, we’ve been making baskets and hurdles to take to Lincoln market.’

  ‘Regular traders, we are,’ said Tom. ‘We have a stall in the market now, usually sell all that we bring.’

  ‘I heard Blaze in the barn,’ I said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Tom. ‘We thought it safe to bring him home again. I doubt the sheriff’s men will be back.’

  ‘And Hannah has set up a hive,’ Kitty joined in. Once she would scarce have spoken at table, but she was growing up. ‘She showed me how to weave a skep from osiers and we caught a swarm.’

  ‘Aye.’ Hannah reached across and patted Kitty’s hand. ‘I’ll make a bee woman of the lass yet. I think my own bees have followed me here. They are wise, bees. They know more than people give them credit for. I swear these are my own bees come to me again.’

  It sounded far-fetched. Yet the ways of bees are mysterious, and no one knew them better than Hannah. So our talk circled around what we would not discuss, but I was happy enough with that. Only my mother said little except, when we were clearing the table, she touched my hand and said, ‘I am glad you are come home, Mercy.’

  I was stricken, for I saw that she thought I had come home for good.

  ‘Mother, I have only one day’s leave. I am here just for the christening of Alice’s baby.’

  Her face crumpled. ‘I thought . . . Oh, perhaps Tom did say . . .’ She looked confused and it wrenched at my heart.

  ‘Never mind.’ I gave her hand a squeeze. ‘We will have a fine day, with the christening and the merry-making at the Coxes’.’

  The christening was to take place after morning service in the village church and we were then to adjourn to the Coxes’ home where Master Cox planned to treat the village in order to honour the birth of his heir. I dressed carefully, glad to lay aside my rough working clothes and don my best skirt and bodice, with a lace collar I had worked last winter, and a matching cap. I drew on my finest stockings, knitted of delicate lamb’s wool, and tied them in place with new garters of blue ribbon. I took up the delicate shawl I had knitted as my christening gift for the baby before ever I left for the manor. My roughened hands snagged on the fine stitches, reminding me how much I had changed. But as I went down the stairs to join my family I could pretend to myself that I was again Isaac Bennington’s daughter, and no longer the lowliest kitchen maid to the Dillingworths. The sun was fully risen and there was never a cloud to cast a shadow as my family gathered and set out down the lane to the church and the baptism of Alice Cox’s fine new son.

  Chapter Seven

  The Coxes’ house was dressed for festivity. It lay in the village street, at the corner of the green, next to Ned Broadley, the carpenter, and across the way from Will Keane’s smithy. Much of the village was already abroad, the women bustling in and out of the Coxes’ house with platters and bowls of food, baskets of new cherries and flagons of ale. We had brought a cured ham, our last. We could ill spare it, but family pride meant we could not fail to contribute to the celebration. Trestle tables were being set up in the orchard behind the house by Rafe and other young men of the village, and Tom joined them, while Mother and Hannah found their way to the kitchen. Kitty ran off to join the other children. It was not often that she had the chance to see youngsters of her own age, and I soon heard her giggling with the village girls. As a parish foundling she had been looked down upon by the children of respectable families, but now that she had a trusted position in our household she could hold up her head. I noticed that Joseph Waters had already secured himself a sup of ale and a slice of pie, although eating was not to begin until after church.

  I went in search of Alice and found her in the small bedroom she shared with Rafe at the back of the house. I felt a twinge of guilt again at the thought that they were still obliged to live with Rafe’s parents. She had lost weight and her face was pale. As she came towards me, hands outstretched, I thought she even moved less easily than before.

  ‘Oh, Mercy, it is so good to see you – how I’ve missed you!’

  We hugged each other and I found I could not speak. I had feared for her so much.

  ‘But your hands, Mercy! What have you done to your hands?’

  ‘Oh, nothing but a little too much honest labour.’ I tried to make light of it, but it was difficult to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I drew my parcel from under my arm. I had wrapped it in a piece of soft flannel and tied it with a bit of blue ribbon left over from my new garters.

  ‘This is for my godson, but I do not even know what he is to be called.’

  She gave me a wicked sideways smile. ‘He is to be Huw.’

  ‘Aha. In honour of his grandfather. Very wise.’

  We both laughed as Alice untied the ribbon and unwrapped the shawl.

  ‘Oh, this is so beautiful! You are a much better needlewoman than I am.’

  I looked now at my ravaged hands and shook my head. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘They will heal. Surely they will heal.’

  I felt the balm of Alice’s perpetual sunny nature soothing me and realised how I had been holding myself tense as a strung bow all these weeks.

  ‘Am I allowed to see Master Huw Cox the Younger?’

  She dimpled and her pallid face flushed a little with pride. ‘He is here.’

  She led me over to a carved wooden cradle beneath the window and turned back the covers. The baby lay with his tiny fists above his head and his eyes screwed up in sleep. He had a tuft of reddish gold hair, but his lashes were long and black. I leaned over and smelled the new baby scent of him: soap and milk and that indefinable sweetness that all babies bring with them into the world.

  ‘He has your hair.’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘May I hold him? Or will it wake him?’

  ‘He is very good and sleepy.’ She laughed. ‘At least in the daytime. Not at night. And I cannot keep him swaddled. See how he pulls his arms free, whatever I do.’

  I lifted the baby gently, cradling his head in my cupped hand. They are so tiny, newborns, yet there is such a pulse of life in them. I held him against my shoulder, where he squirmed a little, gave a grunt, then curled into it as if we were one flesh. I laid my cheek against that golden hair and ached with envy.

  ‘He’s beautiful. You are so lucky, Alice.’

  She sat down on the bed and passed her hand over her face, looking suddenly exhausted.

  ‘I very nearly wasn’t. For a time the midwife thought she must kill him to save my life. I had to fight her. I swore at her like one of Cromwell’s troopers and said if there was to be any killing, she must kill me and save the babe.’

  I thought of the village midwife, Meg Waters, a cousin of Joseph’s. She was as big as the blacksmith, with muscles to match. It must have taken some courage to defy her.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘What happened was that Hannah Green arrived. She saved us both. Somehow
she turned the baby, not right round but so he could come forth more easily. I’d lost a lot of blood then and I kept going in and out of blackness. I heard them arguing, Meg and Hannah, then Hannah took charge. After he was born, she dosed me inside and out, and eventually the bleeding stopped. She made me lie abed for a week.’

  ‘You are still looking pale.’

  ‘I’m much recovered now, though I tire easily. And the young master does not help, waking every hour of the night. Rafe has taken to sleeping in the kitchen.’

  ‘How easy it is, to be a man,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed.’

  I was reluctant to give up little Huw, but it was time to make our way to church. While Gideon had been absent in Cambridge and Canterbury, the villagers had been obliged to attend church in Crowthorne, where the minister was a fiery reformer, disliked by all of us. The Coxes would not have the baby admitted into the church there, under the new rules, and had made excuses to wait until Gideon returned to our parish, where the proper ceremony could be performed. Alice now wrapped Huw in my shawl and, just as she said, he pulled his arms free at once and curved them over his head. She tutted crossly.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alice. Why should he not have his arms free? We don’t bind our lambs and calves. Why should we bind our babies?’

  ‘Her ladyship will not be pleased.’

  Her mother-in-law.

  ‘She will not bother you in all this company. Besides, you are queen here. You have produced the heir.’ Laughing, we walked downstairs and joined the company to go to church.

  The summer sun filtered in through the east window I so loved, Mary holding out the white dove, the toddling Christ with his plump feet amongst the daisies. I let the words of the service wash over me and instead watched the shadows of the oak leaves dancing behind the scene. Beyond the very English field of daisies in the stained glass there was an improbable date palm and a very English church standing side by side on a little knoll. A stream ran down across the field and on its bank a hare sat up on its haunches, its paws dangling in front of its chest. It was as tall as the Christ Child and regarded him with interest across the water. I noticed, as I had never done before, that the Child was not looking at his mother but at the hare. He was stepping towards it, holding out his bunch of daisies. Perhaps he thought the hare would enjoy eating them.