Chapter 4

The next day I awoke thoroughly rested and determined to explore the town. I would take Thomas with me and I persuaded myself that our little jaunt would be part of his tuition. The English gentry have commonly taken an interest in architecture and I thought it would be quite appropriate for me to nurture in the child a love of elegant building. Later I would show him my copy of Vitruvius’ great folio with fine illustrations of pillars, arches, caryatids and so forward.

After breakfast, I collected the child from his nurse and set off. It was a fine day, a little blowy and with falling leaves whirling about us. We had some entertainment as we walked down the drive by trying to catch a leaf before it reached the ground. As anyone who has tried it will tell you, it is much more difficult than it looks, despite the profusion of leaves: they dip and whirl out of one’s hands just as one is about to grasp them. Nevertheless we were both vastly amused by the sport and in a good mood by the time we quit the grounds.

Although I had arrived at the closest railway station at Wymondham, Southwell Hall was the manor house of Great Carbrooke and lay just to the east of that town in its own extensive grounds, being separated from the settlement proper by the main highway. We crossed this and came almost immediately into the bustle of a typical market town, similar in outline to the ones I knew so well at Keswick and Ambleside. The High Street was very wide to give the space needed on market day and was well cobbled. There was a handsome town hall about midway along and two large inns as well as the usual proliferation of shops. As females will, I wandered past their windows, appraising the goods for sale. Yet I knew my duty and did not linger: that would be tedious for Thomas and contribute nothing to his instruction. I resolved however to make other visits in my free time.

Thomas pointed to one of the inns - the Gryffin. “Nurse says that place is haunted,” he pronounced.

I laughed, “Surely you don’t believe in ghosts, Thomas?”

“Nurse says a man killed himself in one room and no-one could sleep there because of his moaning. He has gone now, though.”

I smiled at his earnestness. “Well, it is a fine story, but I think the dead are at peace.”

He did not reply, but his expression showed me that he was unconvinced.

We wandered around amicably, Thomas commenting in his sweetly childish manner on some of the passers-by. After a while, we left the central part of the town for a less prosperous area. In many ways this was more interesting and I was also able to salve my conscience with a little teaching by talking about how houses could be built.

“Do you see how the houses here are almost all made out of brick, Thomas?” I said. “That is because bricks are made from clay and clay is cheap and plentiful hereabouts. Where I come from, there are many rockfaces and loose rocks, so the cottagers collect the stone, shape it roughly and make their homes from it.”

The child looked at the nearest wall and thought about the matter. “It would be pretty, but cold,” he pronounced at last.

I laughed. “Well, we certainly need our fires for much of the year!” I conceded. “But now, look up at the roofs. Do you see that most of them are thatched? The builders use the reeds that grow along the rivers; they dry them, tie them into bundles and peg them to the roofs. But reeds are much rarer in other parts of England, so instead the thatchers use straw from the growing of wheat. And in my own country, where both reeds and straw are scarce, we use a special rock called slate that can be split into thin plates and keeps the rain off very well.”

We wandered around without any particular plan and the little boy found the shops and trades in this area much more attractive than those in the High Street. We passed a chandler’s shop from which emanated a strong smell of hot mutton fat, and I was able to explain the difference between the expensive bees-wax candles in use at Southwell Hall, and the cheaper tallow candles made from animal fat. A little further on we found a carpenter fashioning a large door. He had placed it on trestles outside his shop to take advantage of the still-clement weather. His vigorous strokes of the plane fascinated the child, as did the flurry of wood shavings which lay all around and pleased us with their distinctive and agreeable smell.

Almost next-door was the smithy. The double doors were open and we were able to peer in at the smith at his work. My charge was awestruck by the bangs of the hammer on the anvil, the red-hot metal and the flying sparks. The smith, a brawny man wearing the leather apron of his trade, looked up and gave Thomas a smile. No doubt the Hall provided a good part of his custom.

As fascinating in its own way was the confectioner’s shop. In its bottle-glass windows were displayed the traditional sweetmeats: striped bulls eyes, barley-sugar twists, sugar sticks, brown liquorice, and so on. Thomas was able to impart the information that the shop also sold toys, such as marbles and whipping tops. I made a mental note to speak to Mr Uttridge in private regarding this. A few simple treats - not enough to incite gluttony - might be useful as presents for learning well.

I did not want to tire a small boy and after less than an hour we circled back to the High Street. Emerging from the maze of streets near to the Town Hall we encountered a tall lady, dressed in some style in a bright green gown and bonnet of a darker green.

“Why, hallo Thomas!” she greeted the boy. “And good morning to you, Miss,” she added. “My name is Jarvis, and I was the housekeeper at Southwell Hall for many years.”

“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Jarvis,” I returned. “My name is Catherine Greencliffe. I have been employed as a governess for Thomas and he has been showing me the sights of the town.”

“He is a charming little boy,” she said, “and a favourite with us all.”

“Yes, indeed. Very clever and willing to please. I take it you have another situation in town?”

Miss Jarvis smiled in a rather patronising manner. “No Miss Greencliffe, I was fortunate enough to come into a little money and so was able to resign my position. Not without regret, as I was always very happy at the Hall; Mr Uttridge being a most obliging gentleman.”

I made a conventional reply. I must confess that I took rather an aversion to the lady. Her smile flaunted her conviction that she knew of matters hidden to most and that, combined with her height and manner of dress, made me feel that she was patronising me.

“I must take Thomas home,” I said. “It will soon be time for his luncheon. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”

“And you, Miss Greencliffe,” she said, still smiling as we turned away.

My words had been in the manner of an excuse, for we still had some time before our meal. I therefore decided to visit the parish church on our way home. The church was back across the main road, on the same side as the Hall, and in fact a track led across the fields between the two for the convenience of the gentry when fulfilling their religious duties. I had not been informed of the details of the matter, but I assumed that Mr Uttridge had the benefice in his hands.

We crossed the road hand in hand, walked through the lich-gate and found ourselves at the porch of the church. It was, I saw, dedicated to St Walstan, of whom I confess I knew nothing. We entered and I found the church was quite spacious and fitted with many high-sided pews, some of which were labelled as ‘free’ or ‘for strangers’. There was little ornamentation of any sort, unless one included several painted wooden plaques set up on the walls. They bore sombre inscriptions such as: ‘If they hear not Moses and the prophets neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.’ and again: ‘As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over him, and he is gone; and the place thereof shall know him no more.’

I gave a slight shudder and turned away - only to find myself face-to-face with the vicar. I gave a gasp of surprise and raised my hand to my mouth.

“Forgive me, my child,” he said smirking at me in an ingratiating manner. “I fear I startled you.”

“You did indeed sir,” I replied, calming myself with an effort. “I confess I was so immersed in admiration of your church that I did not hear you approach.”

“I believe I have the advantage of you, madam. I heard from my old friend Mr Uttridge that he has employed a governess for young Thomas, and I have no doubt that you are she.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. “My name is Catherine Greencliffe.”

“Mine is Mapes. You are a Catholic, I believe?”

“I am, sir. Mr Uttridge particularly requires that his son be brought up in the faith of his mother.”

The vicar’s smile broadened. I was becoming weary of knowing smiles that morning.

“One must of course always remember that this church dates from the fifteenth century and so once gave allegiance to the Pope of the day. It is dedicated as you will have seen to St. Walstan. He is said to have been born in Bawburgh, a village between here and Norwich, and although the son of a rich man humbled himself to work as a farm labourer. A quaint story is told of his death: he was working in the fields scything hay and saw a vision of an angel who told him to lay down his scythe and rest. He thereupon went home and died an hour later.”

“That is a most affecting tale.”

“Allow me to point out some other features of interest. Wood carving is relatively rare in Norfolk, but if you would care to glance over here,” - he indicated the pulpit - “you will see a quite spirited rendition of the devil cowering before the archangel Michael with his flaming sword. Note the flies circling around the fiend’s head: that is because the Hebrews named the devil Ba’al Zebûb which is to say, ‘Lord of the flies’, commonly rendered in English as Beelzebub.”

“Flies?” I repeated. There must have been some tautness in my voice because the vicar looked at me curiously.

“Do you, my dear, perhaps suffer in some degree from pteronarcophobia, or as it is vulgarly said, a fear of flies?”

“I dislike them,” I said stiffly.

“Most natural in a young lady,” he said, with a return of his oily smile, “Beelzebub was the god of the Moabites. The ancient Hebrews despised that race because, as the Bible tells us, they were descended from the daughters of Lot who had borne children of their own father. In naming the god, the Hebrews wished to compare the Moabite deity to a heap of foulness and his worshippers to insects.”

I felt a strong urge to quit this place and to be rid of this wretched man and his insistent erudition. For the second time that morning I used my charge as an excuse for breaking off an unwelcome meeting.

“It is most kind of you sir to spend this time, but it grows near Thomas’ mealtime and we must be away.”

“Of course. I am sure we shall meet again soon.”

He saw us to the door and we took the diagonal path across the field back to Southwell Hall. There I was able to give Thomas back into the charge of his nurse and retire to my room.

That evening I again joined the squire for dinner and afterwards accompanied him to the parlour while his son was being sent for. We discussed the events of the day and Mr Uttridge chuckled at his son’s descriptions of the sights of the town. I outlined my general plan of giving the boy grounding in the principles of architecture and my employer, in an amenable fashion, agreed that this was a desirable aim and suited to his age.

“I would hope, Miss Greencliffe, that you will give him a general education so that he may take his place in the world and be able to converse on any subject with which a gentleman should be familiar.”

“That is most definitely my intention, sir,” I replied. And indeed, I was charmed by his interest in his son’s schooling.

Mr Uttridge smiled gently in reply and fell silent, one arm around Thomas. After a few moments I observed that their eyes rose as one to the portrait of Mrs Uttridge. No doubt this was a nightly ritual for them - both of them perhaps longing for her return and mourning her absence from her home. Inevitably, my eyes followed theirs and I noted that two flies were crawling over the surface of the varnish. Were these noxious creatures to be everywhere I went?

I rose, breaking their reverie. My employer started a little then also rose to his feet.

“I shall retire to my room for the evening, if I may sir.”

“Of course. We shall meet again tomorrow.”

I smiled at Thomas, who solemnly wished me good night, and left the room.