Brothers at Arms (47 page)

“I don’t know about you, chaps,” Joshua said, striving to salvage his pride, “but I could do with a drink. I’ll stand the first round.”

“I trust that you were not down at the Mermaid Inn on Saturday night, getting into bad company, gentlemen? It seems there was trouble in the village, some time after nine o’clock. An incident between a group of the local fishermen and Preventive Officers from the Revenue Cutter from Yarmouth, caused, if rumour is to be believed, by someone who tempted the locals to drink gin – or “blue ruin
”
as it is known – which might have come to these shores as contraband. This suggestion the innkeeper’s wife vociferously denies, and few men hereabouts are brave enough to challenge her assertion face to face.”

Having seen the woman in question, Joshua could almost hear her strident voice denouncing the slur on her character.

August had finally arrived, and the students were at their regular monthly meeting with the agent. The last one Harry and Jack would attend before leaving Holkham in a few days’ time. The tavern to which Mr Blakeney referred was in one of the fishing villages, three miles along the coast.

Discretion kept the lads silent. The day was right, and their Saturday evening visit was to say farewell to Patience and Prudence, the black-haired wenches who served in the bar, and “obliged” Harry and Jack, but by nine o’clock, they were back at Holkham.

Joshua had been to the inn only once before, but it looked different at night. With several hours to sunset, it was light outside, but the taproom was dark, and the two lanterns hanging by the bar had little effect on the smoky atmosphere. Nor did the oil lamps in wall sconces, or the kindling spitting on the flagstone hearth, brighten the gloom.

Despite the earliness of the hour, trade was brisk, but on their entry, an uneasy silence fell over the room. Several men occupied each of the wooden settles along the walls, and Joshua felt numerous other eyes in dark corners turn to watch them. He saw the two wenches that Harry had come to see, but under the watchful gaze of the innkeeper’s wife, Prudence and Patience showed no sign of recognition.

In fact, the formidable dame with a penetrating voice stopped them before they reached the wooden bar counter.

“Begging your pardon, young sirs, but we have no parlour for the gentry.”

There was still an empty table by the window, but the finality in her tone left them in no doubt that their presence was unwelcome. Harry looked stunned, Jack bemused and Joshua said, with all the dignity he could muster, “In that case, chaps; we’d better try the Ostrich.”

But rather than risk further rejection, they rode silently back to the stables.

Recalled to his surroundings, Joshua realised the agent was still speaking.

“I must have forgotten to tell you, Mr Norbery, that the Mermaid is known to be one of the smugglers’ haunts. It seems that the crew of the Revenue Cutter came ashore for a drink, and two of the Preventives have disappeared.”

The agent’s words made Joshua remember the thriving trade at the inn, and two newcomers, wearing black-peaked caps and jackets, that stood waiting outside the door, for him to leave.

He wondered what had happened after they left. Who was the man who made free with his money to buy gin? Was he already in the tavern when they arrived? Had the innkeeper’s wife sent the lads away because she anticipated trouble? Were the missing Preventives the two men he had seen outside the inn – and were they still alive?

Jack and Harry left Holkham in the middle of the second week of August.

Mr Coke entertained them to a farewell dinner, and the two lads said their thanks to their host. They extended an invitation to Joshua to visit their homes when he was in the district. He said the same to them, but doubted if anyone would venture as far as the Welsh borderlands.

Their absence left a void that was hard to fill. He missed their cheery laughter, and acceptance that he was not like other men. Sober, they had never questioned it, but sometimes in their cups, they teased him. If only he could have told them the reason why.

Work left little time for maudlin thoughts during daylight hours, but he felt lost in the evening, listening to the silence of the stables. It was a strange time, when the light of the waxing moon found a chink in the blind and disturbed his sleep.

At Linmore, he was unaware of the effect moon cycles had on the tides, but with Holkham village almost on the seashore, everyone knew when to expect a high tide. He heard whispers about the dark of the moon being the likely time for a smugglers’ drop of contraband; and after recent events, knew well enough to keep away from the shore. He would have loved to spend his evenings riding on the beach, but the last thing he wanted was to encounter any trouble when he was alone. The same applied to drinking without company.

His sense of isolation was worse the second Sunday he was alone. He did not know whether to head for the salt marshes, watch the birds on the shore, or swim in the sea. In the end, he rode a couple of miles along the beach to the end of the plantation of pine trees, which formed a windbreak at the edge of the salt marshes. Once there he tied the horse to a tree, stripped to his underclothes and walked down the beach to the waterline.

The beach looked as it normally did, except that a strip of sand on the landward side of the dunes seemed uneven, almost as if someone had dug holes in it. He puzzled about the cause, and then realised that it would disappear after a couple more high tides.

He paddled ankle-deep for a while, and then wallowed in the surf, letting the little waves ebb and flow over him to wash away his sense of inadequacy. It felt so good, but after about half an hour, he went back up the beach as far as the sand dunes, and sat down knowing the tide would be out for a few hours yet.

It was strange to think he was alone, and nobody knew where he was, but the sense of peace was worth it. He mused, noting how the rich colour of the sky merged into the sea. Within minutes, he was asleep.

The sky was darker when he awoke, and a keen wind blew across the sand. He shivered, realising the tide had turned and was rippling closer. It looked grey now, and infinitely more menacing as it raced ahead of him along the beach to the east, the way he would have to ride.

Scrambling over the dunes, he set off up the beach at a run, thinking of lurid tales he had heard of the encroaching tide catching people unawares. Local folk knew better than to go out alone. More fool he for not heeding the warnings. Halfway up the sand, he saw his horse, still tethered where he left him by the pine trees. Joshua slowed his pace to catch his breath, and looked around to find his top clothes.

Then he saw them, in the hands of a peasant woman standing beside the horse. There was nothing for it, but to walk boldly on and claim his property. At least he was partly clad. It was not much covering, but infinitely better than a month ago when he went swimming with the other lads. His courage failed, a few yards from his objective, and he stood waiting for the woman to speak.

“I found your clothes halfway down the beach, and then this handsome fellow all alone,” she said, draping the garments over the saddle, before giving the horse her full attention.

In his haste he dressed without order. His long-tailed shirt came first to hand, but he fumbled with the buttons, and slipped his bare feet into his boots, forgetting his socks, then she turned back before he could find his breeches. At least he achieved a modicum of decency. His waistcoat, neckcloth and frock-coat could wait until he was alone.

There were too many distractions. Her soft drawl sent a shiver down his spine. Quite why he could not tell, for she was not a beauty. Her sand-coloured hair and weathered face gave her a comely air, but her gentle brown eyes were alive with humour. It made him want to smile as well.

She turned to look at him. “You must be one of the young gentlemen working at the Hall.” Her matter-of-fact voice was soothing. “I’ve seen you down here before, when I’ve been out collecting wood along the shore.”

He wondered what else she had seen. It was difficult to know what to say, but the woman solved the problem.

“I’m Tess Dereham,” she said, extending a hand in greeting, much as a man would have done.

“Joshua Norbery, at your service, ma’am,” he said, feeling the strong grip of a hand roughened by a lifetime of work. Honest hands, not scented and smooth, like so-called ladies he had known in the past.

It seemed incongruous, to be leading his horse along the shoreline, clad in his boots and shirttails, accompanied by a woman he did not know, but in Tess’s company, he did not feel the slightest urge to scramble into his clothes and dash away. He felt safe.

Maybe it was the fact that she said, “There’s no cause for you to be embarrassed at being seen by someone of my age. I’m probably a dozen years older, and married for the second time.”

He followed her through the tree line and along the path until they reached a wooden shack he had not known existed.

When she stepped through the door, it seemed natural for him to follow.

“You’d better get those clothes off, and I will find you some of my first husband’s to wear. Those women in the Holkham laundry won’t thank you for putting sand in their water.” She seemed amused at the prospect.

Sandy clothes?
Then he realised she was right about the grouchy laundry workers. He waited as she went into a back room, reappearing immediately with a neatly folded pile of linen.

“Here you are,” she said. “Try those for size. You can change in there.” She nodded towards the back room.

Joshua stopped at the door, realising it was a bedroom. “Oh, but…”

“It’s all right,” she said matter-of-factly. “There isn’t anywhere else.”

Nowhere else, she said…apart from the room through which he entered the dwelling. A room stripped bare of all but necessities. He cringed, seeing rushes on the earthen floor, but no curtains at the windows.

In the centre, he saw two wooden chairs, their seats worn with age, one on either side of a well-scrubbed table, and on the top, a couple of rough platters and tankards. The sizeable barrel of ale in the corner, and small shaving mirror on a shelf seemed almost a luxury.

Tess seemed unconcerned, but he felt an intruder. It did not seem right to walk half-dressed into a room she shared with her husband. A space dominated by a cabin-type bed along the wall opposite a small-paned window that did not open. There was room for storage underneath. Not in cupboards, but screened by a strip of gathered cloth to match the faded bedspread. Despite the frayed edges touching the floor, the many-times washed linen was clean.

He looked around for a chair on which to sit. Not finding one, he sat on the bed to remove his boots, and pull his shirt over his head. As he stood up again, his coat slid to the floor, and a pencil rolled from the inner pocket, out of reach.

Annoyed, he swept back the curtain, and peered under the bed. It took but a second to retrieve the pencil, and a few more to see the wax-covered bundles stored beside a couple of wooden barrels. Then he looked away.

Aware of his indiscretion, he replaced the screen as he had found it, then stood up and reached for the dry underclothes. Try as he might, they did not fit. He almost laughed aloud. The previous owner was evidently a man with a larger girth. No matter what he did to hold the coarse long drawers in place, they slid unimpeded down to his knees.

The drab coloured undershirt looked no smaller, so he set it aside, and replaced his linen shirt, donned his buckskin breeches, and buttoned up his waistcoat and jacket. Finally, he added his stockings and boots.

Standing with neckcloth in hand, he noticed for the first time a rough wooden wardrobe in the corner, and in the tarnished reflection of the long mirror, he met the appraising gaze of the woman standing beyond the open door. How long she had been there, he did not know.

As he walked back through to the other room, with his underwear, Tess held her hand out expectantly, and he relinquished them to her care.

“The others are too large, I’m afraid,” he said, “I’ve left them on the bed.”

“Yes,” she said, with a smile. “I should have known you were too slender.”

“Thank you for allowing me to use your…room,” he said. “I’m much obliged.”

Ignoring his embarrassment, she gave her attention to his discarded underclothes.

“Mmm,” she said appreciatively. “This is quality linen, not like the rough cloth I gave you. There is no need to worry I will spoil it. I was a laundress up at the Hall before I married my first husband.” Having started to reflect, she said, “We were walking out together for seven years before we wed, and within a year of the wedding, he was taken with lung fever.”

Joshua started to speak, but she continued almost conversationally.

“The next time, I married a fisherman, like my father, but he’s out on the boats most nights, and when he’s not, the pair of them go to the ale house down by the harbour.”

Her words were a sad reflection of the lonely life she lived. Then, as if fearful she might have revealed too much, she said in a brisk tone, “Enough of that. If you come back next week, I promise your linen will be washed as well as they do it at the laundry.”

Riding back up the drive, Joshua realised he had forgotten to ask about charges. When he returned the following week, he found Tess alone as before.

“I hope your husband won’t object to my presence, Mrs Dereham,” he said, not knowing how else to enquire the man’s whereabouts.

“Don’t worry,” she said, with a wry smile. “He’s not here and I don’t expect him to be home for hours yet – if he bothers to come.”

It was said from the heart and Joshua was glad when she turned her attention to his linen. In that, Tess was as good as her word and the standard of cleanliness was everything she had promised. He took a coin from his pocket, hoping that she would enlighten him. “Will this be enough to cover the cost?”

“That’s far too much.” Tess seemed surprised he took a guinea so lightly.

“Please take it,” he said. “I have nothing less with me.”