Sir Henry stared absently through the French windows at the long avenue of beech trees. A Clydesdale, shoulders down, hauled a wagon load of hay towards the great timber framed barn and a group of labourers, scythes and rakes over their shoulders, trudged wearily behind. It was all lost on the ageing patriarch whose stare was almost transfixed.
A clerk tapped gently on the door and brought in a wad of papers. “Daily returns, Sir Henry,” he muttered.
The landowner turned, as if awoken from his daydream. “What, what say?” he snapped.
“Daily returns, sir.” He dropped the sheaf of papers onto the vast oak desk and slithered away.
Sir Henry turned his attention again to the French windows and a deep furrowed frown appeared on his brow. He turned to the desk, opened the top drawer and selected a slim panatela from the box. He sniffed it appreciatively before striking a match and slowing coaxing it into life. He returned to the French windows and puffed deeply on his cigar.
The image of the woman came to haunt him again; her abruptness and impudence still left him reeling. He had just begun his morning ride. As he approached the five barred gate at the end of the beech tree avenue, the woman in a frayed dress, shawl and clogs and carrying a small child, stepped from the undergrowth and pushed the gate shut.
“Open the gate, woman!” he demanded.
She stood deliberately in his path, turned the child to face him and snarled, “This is your grandson, Sir Henry, though I doubt he’ll ever grace your table. Another of your useless son’s bastards. The swine fed my young daughter too much cider last harvest, then lead her to the hayrick and took her maidenhead.” She held the child aloft again. “This is the result, sir!”
Sir Henry had sniffed and made no to effort to deny the charge, or to offer an apology, or make amends. “Send me a letter with all the details and I’ll see what can be done. Open the gate,” he ordered.
“No!” she spat with a determination that took him quite by surprise. “No, not this time. This time he, or you will pay for his sins,” and she held the child towards him again. “This time the bastard-child will have all the privileges of life that one of your legitimate grandchildren could expect, he will have............”
Sir Henry growled, spurred his mount and the mare leapt forward. He raised his crop over his left shoulder and was about to strike her but she lifted her arm in defence and called, “There are others watching nearby. Strike me down and the whole county will know by sundown. I will drag you through every court in the land sir; further, I will expose your feckless son for the abuser of young girls that he is. I will ruin your name.”
He lowered his crop and curbed his rage. “What is it you want woman?” he demanded.
“I want a dry and roomy cottage for my family, a full time job for my daughter and husband and an allowance to pay for the upkeep and education for the boy until he is old enough to support himself. The county should know of your efforts to hush-up your son’s misdeeds. I will expect to hear from you before sundown or the letters will be posted to the high and mighty of the county. I am Maud Sykes of Summerton and you haven’t heard the last of me. Good day sir!” and she turned sharply a disappeared into the undergrowth.
Sir Henry blew out a long plume of cigar smoke as he slowly paced the room. A clerk entered with another sheaf of documents but was dismissed with a curt wave of the hand. He slipped his half hunter out of his waistcoat pocket and checked the time, conceding that he had but a few hours to repair the situation and preserve the family name and reputation. The woman had been correct in her statement that he had indeed covered up his son’s string of indiscretions, an observation which rankled and irritated him. He further realised that this time he would not be able to buy off the injured party with a barrel of ale or a few shillings. This time the price would be much higher, with the possibility that she may return for further instalments. He gritted his teeth, but even now felt no urge to send for Morley, the solicitor.
He glanced at the small paintings of his grandfather and father which graced the wall over the mantle shelf. His grandfather, the village rector, tall and godly, had been left a modest inheritance and bought a small farm across the dale. His father had toiled long hours and days and added more farms and land. Sir Henry was equally proud of his own contributions which had seen their efforts grow into one of the finest and successful estates in the county. His pride and position was now dented with yet another of Master Charles’ improprieties. His stern warnings to Charles had gone unheeded and the self indulgent youth had gone from one wild escapade to another with ne’er a thought or care for the consequences. Sir Henry had continued repeatedly to cover up his excesses and debts as a man does for his youthful son.
He paced the flagstone floor again, glancing now and then at the portraits of his ancestors, virtuous and trustworthy, true pillars of society who would be outraged at his son’s continued infidelities. A long case clock solemnly ticked away with a doleful monotony. His thoughts were fluctuating between family and reputation, right and wrong and to his obligation to the family of his new grandson. His clear thinking and determination to protect the family name was obscured by the recent revelation of a new family member, to which he was slowly feeling a growing sense of attachment.
His lunch sat on his desk untouched and any staff that had the temerity to enter his inner sanctum was dismissed with an impatient flick of the wrist. He knew that he had an hour, or so, to find a solution.
The air grew thick with cigar smoke and he became resourceful and determined. The answer slowly came to him. He would send the youth to an isolated private college which applied a strict regime. Sir Henry mulled it over the implications for some time and yanked the cord.
“Yes m’lud?” asked the butler.
“Send for the boy.”
He casually strolled in, still in his riding gear and dropped onto a chair. Sir Henry stared at him and stroked his chin. “I was accosted this morning by a woman from the village who claims you seduced her daughter, sir.”
The boy shrugged, dismissively.
“I am not prepared to cover for you any longer. You are an utter embarrassment to the family name. I will enrol you at a private, residential college to study land management. If you fail one exam or miss one day’s lessons you will be expelled and I will cut all your allowances. You leave on Sunday. Good day sir.”
He pondered for some time and as the sun began to fall towards the western hills, then he pulled the cord and summoned his clerk. “Fetch Perkins, the coachman.” he ordered.
“Perkins, do you know the hamlet of Summerton?”
“Yes, m’lud!”
“Take the trap there, find a woman called Sykes. I spoke to her this morning. Persuade her and her daughter to come here. I have an urge to speak with them and to rectify a great injustice. If you can, try to coax them bring the new child!” he said, his voice calm and even.
A clerk tapped gently on the door and brought in a wad of papers. “Daily returns, Sir Henry,” he muttered.
The landowner turned, as if awoken from his daydream. “What, what say?” he snapped.
“Daily returns, sir.” He dropped the sheaf of papers onto the vast oak desk and slithered away.
Sir Henry turned his attention again to the French windows and a deep furrowed frown appeared on his brow. He turned to the desk, opened the top drawer and selected a slim panatela from the box. He sniffed it appreciatively before striking a match and slowing coaxing it into life. He returned to the French windows and puffed deeply on his cigar.
The image of the woman came to haunt him again; her abruptness and impudence still left him reeling. He had just begun his morning ride. As he approached the five barred gate at the end of the beech tree avenue, the woman in a frayed dress, shawl and clogs and carrying a small child, stepped from the undergrowth and pushed the gate shut.
“Open the gate, woman!” he demanded.
She stood deliberately in his path, turned the child to face him and snarled, “This is your grandson, Sir Henry, though I doubt he’ll ever grace your table. Another of your useless son’s bastards. The swine fed my young daughter too much cider last harvest, then lead her to the hayrick and took her maidenhead.” She held the child aloft again. “This is the result, sir!”
Sir Henry had sniffed and made no to effort to deny the charge, or to offer an apology, or make amends. “Send me a letter with all the details and I’ll see what can be done. Open the gate,” he ordered.
“No!” she spat with a determination that took him quite by surprise. “No, not this time. This time he, or you will pay for his sins,” and she held the child towards him again. “This time the bastard-child will have all the privileges of life that one of your legitimate grandchildren could expect, he will have............”
Sir Henry growled, spurred his mount and the mare leapt forward. He raised his crop over his left shoulder and was about to strike her but she lifted her arm in defence and called, “There are others watching nearby. Strike me down and the whole county will know by sundown. I will drag you through every court in the land sir; further, I will expose your feckless son for the abuser of young girls that he is. I will ruin your name.”
He lowered his crop and curbed his rage. “What is it you want woman?” he demanded.
“I want a dry and roomy cottage for my family, a full time job for my daughter and husband and an allowance to pay for the upkeep and education for the boy until he is old enough to support himself. The county should know of your efforts to hush-up your son’s misdeeds. I will expect to hear from you before sundown or the letters will be posted to the high and mighty of the county. I am Maud Sykes of Summerton and you haven’t heard the last of me. Good day sir!” and she turned sharply a disappeared into the undergrowth.
Sir Henry blew out a long plume of cigar smoke as he slowly paced the room. A clerk entered with another sheaf of documents but was dismissed with a curt wave of the hand. He slipped his half hunter out of his waistcoat pocket and checked the time, conceding that he had but a few hours to repair the situation and preserve the family name and reputation. The woman had been correct in her statement that he had indeed covered up his son’s string of indiscretions, an observation which rankled and irritated him. He further realised that this time he would not be able to buy off the injured party with a barrel of ale or a few shillings. This time the price would be much higher, with the possibility that she may return for further instalments. He gritted his teeth, but even now felt no urge to send for Morley, the solicitor.
He glanced at the small paintings of his grandfather and father which graced the wall over the mantle shelf. His grandfather, the village rector, tall and godly, had been left a modest inheritance and bought a small farm across the dale. His father had toiled long hours and days and added more farms and land. Sir Henry was equally proud of his own contributions which had seen their efforts grow into one of the finest and successful estates in the county. His pride and position was now dented with yet another of Master Charles’ improprieties. His stern warnings to Charles had gone unheeded and the self indulgent youth had gone from one wild escapade to another with ne’er a thought or care for the consequences. Sir Henry had continued repeatedly to cover up his excesses and debts as a man does for his youthful son.
He paced the flagstone floor again, glancing now and then at the portraits of his ancestors, virtuous and trustworthy, true pillars of society who would be outraged at his son’s continued infidelities. A long case clock solemnly ticked away with a doleful monotony. His thoughts were fluctuating between family and reputation, right and wrong and to his obligation to the family of his new grandson. His clear thinking and determination to protect the family name was obscured by the recent revelation of a new family member, to which he was slowly feeling a growing sense of attachment.
His lunch sat on his desk untouched and any staff that had the temerity to enter his inner sanctum was dismissed with an impatient flick of the wrist. He knew that he had an hour, or so, to find a solution.
The air grew thick with cigar smoke and he became resourceful and determined. The answer slowly came to him. He would send the youth to an isolated private college which applied a strict regime. Sir Henry mulled it over the implications for some time and yanked the cord.
“Yes m’lud?” asked the butler.
“Send for the boy.”
He casually strolled in, still in his riding gear and dropped onto a chair. Sir Henry stared at him and stroked his chin. “I was accosted this morning by a woman from the village who claims you seduced her daughter, sir.”
The boy shrugged, dismissively.
“I am not prepared to cover for you any longer. You are an utter embarrassment to the family name. I will enrol you at a private, residential college to study land management. If you fail one exam or miss one day’s lessons you will be expelled and I will cut all your allowances. You leave on Sunday. Good day sir.”
He pondered for some time and as the sun began to fall towards the western hills, then he pulled the cord and summoned his clerk. “Fetch Perkins, the coachman.” he ordered.
“Perkins, do you know the hamlet of Summerton?”
“Yes, m’lud!”
“Take the trap there, find a woman called Sykes. I spoke to her this morning. Persuade her and her daughter to come here. I have an urge to speak with them and to rectify a great injustice. If you can, try to coax them bring the new child!” he said, his voice calm and even.