Still in the cricket whites favoured by about half the men, I sipped ale with the other members of Thorncroft village team, including both the Kenton brothers, on benches outside the village inn. The Royal Oak might well have dated to the time of King Charles: the building walls were so far from the vertical that it seemed impossible that it should not have collapsed years ago. It would have entranced an artist with a taste for the romantic, as would much of the village, which straggled along the road, on to which some front doors opened directly. Set back were the grander ones, such as Dr Page’s. Although it still lacked a school, there was a post office and a couple of tiny shops. The village green sat at the heart of it all.
At first, talk was all about the match: how badly some of the players had fared, so that we got very few runs, and how it looked as if we had no hope of saving the game.
‘Until you came on to bowl, gaffer,’ said Alf Hargreaves, his lordship’s pig man, supping from his tankard, ‘and showed us all how to do it, in a manner of speaking.’
‘But it was your fine catches that brought about their downfall,’ I countered, truthfully, swatting a gnat. ‘Yours and young Elias’.’
‘Ah, I reckon he catches them with those whiskers of his,’ Alf snorted, smoothing his more modest moustache. ‘If ever Shropshire gets round to having a proper county team, I reckon he should be in it – though they’ll choose gentlemen over any working lad, no doubt.’ He spat, copiously, then waved a brawny arm. ‘Bring Granfer Hawkins over – not him, so much as his pipe. Foul it may be, gaffer, but the thing is, the damned midges and gnats – begging your pardon, gaffer – can’t abide it. Now, gaffer, Granfer there is uncle to John Coachman.’ He drank again. ‘My lad Luke’s gone up in the world, compared with me – his lordship’s valet, see. Imagine, me, the pa of a valet! I never leave here, where I was born and raised, except when we’re playing another village, but he’s jauntering round all over the county, aye, and further afield too. Sometimes without a moment’s notice, too – not like the old lord, who liked to plan things to the nearest milestone, or so it seemed. He gets an invitation and – pff! – off they all go. And just when you think he’s going to be all quiet and reasonable, blow me if there isn’t blood for supper if Luke forgets a favourite necktie or set of studs!’ He looked from left to right and dropped his voice. ‘There’s things young Luke has to turn a blind eye too, mind, like—’ He clapped a hand over his mouth, as if it suddenly dawned on him that he was not being tactful. ‘Begging your pardon, gaffer.’
‘Luke always strikes me as a very efficient and well-presented young man,’ I said smoothly. ‘And now, if I’m not to be bitten to death, or veritably kippered by Mr Hawkins’ pipe, I must be on my way. But I’ve left enough with Marty Baines for you all to have another half.’ Marty Baines, the landlord, was an amazingly sober man, rumoured to be more Chapel than Church, who could be relied on not to let anyone get fighting drunk. He’d shown me the pump at the back, useful for making men quietly presentable to their wives. He wanted no violence laid at his door.
Alf tugged his forelock. ‘You’ll be playing for us regular, will you, gaffer, from now on?’
I smiled as I thought of the unalloyed pleasure I’d had this afternoon. ‘If you’ll have me, I’ll be there as often as my work with his lordship permits.’
To my surprise, he got up and fell into step with me, just until we were out of earshot. ‘This is a bad business for the Billingses, gaffer. Who’d have thought a quiet young maiden would be so foolish?’
‘Foolish she may be, but then she’s little more than a child,’ I said, not quite mildly. ‘And there’s a young man in the case too. Have you any idea who he might be?’
As if puzzled by my attitude, he shook his head. ‘There’s always gossip. Word is, gaffer, it’s someone from the House, not an outside man. But I’ll have to wait till young Luke comes back before I know anymore, won’t I?’
‘You underestimate yourself, Alf. You’ll pick things up that I never will.’
‘But not as well as Marty. He’s the eyes and ears round here. But not the mouth, if you take my meaning.’
‘I do indeed. But maybe even a discreet man might talk to you. And you know where to find me, don’t you?’ I slipped him a florin.
He looked as if he was about to protest, but pocketed it nonetheless.
My walk back took me past the little row of cottages, all belonging to the estate and none as well-maintained as I liked, though most of the gardens showed the pride and effort that went into them. Some women were catching the evening sun as they weeded the flowerbeds; others were simply chatting across garden fences – all in all, an idyllic sight such as my imaginary artist might want to paint. But how many of the women were as prematurely aged as Mrs Billings? I knew Mrs Faulkner was always ready to help in an emergency, doing the work that many other dowagers in Lady Croft’s position would have thought an essential part of their duties – indeed, in many cases, the only part of their duties. My mother would have been horrified by what she would have considered idle inertia. I recalled her setting up a sewing class and teaching women about growing herbs and vegetables, hitherto in our village an exclusively male occupation. Mysteriously she always discovered a glut of fruit and an apparently endless supply of sugar so that every household had a supply of blackberry jam and preserved plums, damsons and greengages. She would have approved whole-heartedly of Mrs Faulkner’s still-room, and been delighted to know that the contents were not kept for the Family’s use alone.
I had hoped that Mrs Faulkner would be able to spend the day at leisure, giving her injury a chance to recover; many a woman would have taken to her bed. But here she was, strolling through the park, wearing another of those pretty little hats to shade her eyes against the westering sun, which cast a rosy glow across her features. It was easy to fall into step with her. I enquired after her health.
Her voice was bracing. ‘I find a good walk will cure most ills, Mr Rowsley, backs included. Now, I’m afraid that with all your play and probably your ale with your teammates you have missed supper. But Mrs Arden has a soft spot for you and I believe you will find a shepherd’s pie awaiting your attention if you call round to her kitchen.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure my feet will find their way there in a few minutes. But I’ve just seen young Harry Kenton in his brother’s garden. It’s time I spoke to him about Maggie. I know they were no longer walking out together but he might know who replaced him in her affections.’
Briefly she touched my arm. ‘Unlike his brother, Harry has a temper, I hear – especially when he has been to the Royal Oak.’
‘Yes, I saw him there, but I did not want to speak to him in front of anyone else, particularly as he had just taken a magnifi-cent catch which brought me my third wicket. And this might be a good time to talk, since we still share the golden glow of sporting success. I’m sorry, Mrs Faulkner, that you could not be there. We managed a famous victory – and they’ve invited me to be part of the team for the rest of the summer.’ I must have sounded like a silly schoolboy.
‘Perhaps one good thing to come of his lordship’s improvements will be that I have a chance, very casually, very accidentally, to watch while I supervise the team teas.’ Her words were mild enough, but I could feel the anger behind them. She turned her face away.
I thought of my mother’s words: It seems to me that as the years go by we are determined to cast a veritable corset round women’s activities, just as we put them round our bodies. All this fainting and fading – cut our stays and give us less to eat and we’d be ourselves again.
‘I truly hope so. How, why, did we forget that once girls were encouraged to climb trees and play? At least Jane Austen would have us believe that they did.’
She faced me again, her smile of delight transforming her face. ‘Ah! You have read Northanger Abbey! But remember that Catherine had to give up being a tomboy to become a heroine!’
‘If I ever had a daughter I would like her to be both. But now I have to do my duty and confront Harry, do I not? Mrs Faulkner, I would welcome your views on what the young man has to say. May I hope to join you in a cup of tea when I have eaten what I expect is a magnificent shepherd’s pie?’
‘You would be welcome.’
Mrs Kenton greeted me as if I were an angel from heaven. Silas likewise, rosy with ale and exercise, shook my hand with fervour, and ready to talk through the match. When at last he understood that I was there for a less pleasurable conversation, he melted into the shadows but did not quit the garden. Harry, who had been silent and watchful throughout Silas’s chatter, did not refer to the match, and, arms folded, waited for me to begin.
‘I think we have the same aim, Kenton,’ I began. ‘We both want to see Maggie’s seducer brought to book. When you and she parted company, did she indicate who might have replaced you in her affections?’
‘It was that … It was that Mrs Faulkner who stopped me walking out with her, that’s who.’ He was about to spit, but clearly thought better of it. He looked at me almost appraisingly. ‘Sorry, gaffer.’
‘It is not to me that you should apologize, but to Mrs Faulkner, who was in fact so concerned for the girl’s welfare that it was she who set in train the search for her. There must be no more disrespectful behaviour towards Mrs Faulkner, Kenton, understand that. And understand what the consequences would be if you do ever behave in any way and at any time without absolute politeness.’
He nodded, but did not otherwise acknowledge what I had said. Indeed, his next words might have seemed like a justification of his resentment. ‘I loved Maggie. She was as loyal and true to me as I was – still am – to her. And I treated her like one of them china cups, delicate-like, so she was still a true maid, believe me.’
‘I do, man – of course I do. But it seems she did … like … someone else. Why else should she leave the safety of the House and—’
‘Maybe because the House wasn’t safe!’ he shouted, turning on his heel and striding off into the dusk.
Mrs Kenton materialized. ‘Mr Rowsley, sir – he’s not in his right mind just now. He’s a good, gentle man, mostly.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ I assured her, not quite truthfully, and not failing to notice the word at the end of her sentence. ‘And I truly hope he continues to behave himself.’ Then I smiled. ‘Now, Mrs Kenton – how’s the latest addition to your family? Flourishing, I hope?’
‘He’s doing very well, sir. Sir, we were hoping, Silas and me, that you might sponsor him at his christening. And that you might let him be called Matthew, sir.’
‘I would be honoured, Mrs Kenton, both by the choice of name and by the chance to be a godparent – so long as one of my duties is to help his father teach him how to handle bat and ball.’ I would also make sure I opened a Post Office savings account for him, the contents of which he could not reach till he was of age.
She curtsied again. ‘Like those you had sent for the others, sir? That was so kind, so generous.’ When I waved away her thanks, she continued, ‘Look – you can see where they’ve been playing …’
I delayed my supper by no longer than it took to sluice myself down under the pump in my yard. Evening clothes would clearly be out of place, but, just as Mrs Faulkner had looked neat as a pin, so I chose a good summer suit – a wise decision because Mrs Arden had had the table laid in the Room, where she was sitting opposite our hostess, with a glass of port to hand. For me was a tankard of ale, a clear nod to my afternoon of sport. Sensing, however, that another rodomontade about my prowess would cause either pain or amusement, I told them that I was to become a godparent.
There was no doubting the look that passed between them.
Mrs Arden openly chuckled. ‘Well, Mr Rowsley, I know you are a good Christian man with a true Biblical name …’
I blushed. ‘Do you spy a trace of veniality? I tried to suppress the notion, I do admit.’
‘And it is kind of you that you did,’ Mrs Arden concluded quickly. ‘They are a good, hard-working couple.’
‘And Harry?’ I asked dryly.
‘He once threatened to kill me,’ Mrs Faulkner said with apparent calm.
‘He …! Do you want me to dismiss him?’ I was far from calm. ‘I rebuked him firmly tonight when all he did was speak of you with anger, but such a threat is truly unpardonable.’
‘It was a while ago. It’s clear he still hasn’t forgiven me for what he perceives as my part in his broken romance, but he is polite enough when our paths cross.’
‘So I should hope! But you didn’t answer my question, so I will put it another way – would you feel safer if he were not on the estate?’ She wandered around it freely – protecting her would be well-nigh impossible.
‘If you had asked me that six months ago I might have said yes. But recently I have felt able to resume my unaccompanied walks without feeling any fear.’
Mrs Arden put down her glass with unwonted firmness and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Remember, my dear, that some say that revenge is a dish best eaten cold.’