13

The Earl of Harrogate

A Feeling Not to Be Denied

Three letters sat on the silver salver awaiting his attention. One the Earl knew the contents of, as it was a formality that he had been expecting, but he still felt a tinge of delight as he looked at the royal crest sealing the envelope. With him now formally in place as the Earl of Harrogate, it was customary for Queen Victoria to ask him to attend an audience with her. It was a way of introducing him to the court.

Thrilled, he began to plan in his head how the event would go. He would have Katrina by his side, and Mother, of course – now so much better and almost back to her old self. The Queen would glide over to them, and he would be introduced as the new Earl of Harrogate, and Katrina as his intended; and Mother would be greeted and might even be singled out for a chat with the Queen, as she had always been a favourite in those circles. It would be a magnificent occasion.

Leaving the royal letter till last, when he could savour the moment, he picked up one of the two stamped as having come from Blackburn. The one he opened first was from Katrina. The contents had him reeling between anger at Lord Bellinger and sympathy for Katrina. His anger wasn’t all directed at the way Simon had treated Katrina, as some of it concerned Amy. Katrina told him about Bellinger kicking Amy out. What must her life be like now? How could Simon go against his word and not keep Amy in his care, as he promised to do until I returned, when I would have taken her in and given her a job? Did Bellinger even take her to her brothers before they left? Or at least tell her that I had been successful in arranging for them to go to Parkhurst on the Isle of Wight, in the first instance?

It had been very satisfactory for him to know that the boys would, once they eventually sailed to Australia, be assigned an apprenticeship, rather than going to a penal colony – a special arrangement in place for boys from Parkhurst Prison. Further to that, he intended to contact the Governor in Australia and make sure that the boys were given his address, for them to write to their sisters. That’s if they were able to, but he assumed the boys would be schooled in the art of reading and writing as part of learning a trade.

Something told him that Bellinger wouldn’t have taken Amy to her brothers. Simon had been very disapproving of Frederick’s involvement with the family, as it was, and particularly of him thinking of taking care of them and looking for Ruth. Oh, Ruth, what made you run away? And why do you haunt my thoughts? Oh God, it’s an impossible situation – the more so because I know I can answer that question, and the one posed by Katrina. The answer doesn’t sit well with me, but I am in love with Ruth. She is in my very blood, and I can’t rid myself of her . . . Never! I must find her. Mentally he scolded himself; Stop being so bloody ridiculous.

The reality was that he was going to marry Katrina, and should try to put Ruth out of his mind. But now, to his horror, that bloody Simon Bellinger had undone things for him by telling Katrina of his infatuation, for that must surely be what it was. What was Bellinger playing at? Did he want Katrina for himself? If he did, then he’d shown no signs of any feeling for her, and he didn’t need her money. So why then – why?

Lord Bellinger’s letter threw Frederick into confusion, giving a very different side to the tale and an altogether more believable one, for some reason. But he must remain loyal to Katrina. She was his intended and he should not doubt her. It would be disastrous to do so. Besides, he’d been friends with Bellinger for long enough to know his ways. And many times he had wanted to break ties with him, but that wasn’t an easy thing to do in society. One had to tolerate certain traits amongst one’s acquaintances or risk becoming ostracized by many, or finding oneself among those small groups of people who were laughed at, as they disapproved of all that wasn’t Christian or godly. That wouldn’t have suited at all.

Frederick recognized that he needed the Bellingers of this world to keep himself afloat, even though he knew Bellinger’s cunning and how he would play every dirty trick in the book. But that wasn’t so any longer, now that Frederick was a lord and was going to be rich in his own right.

It beggared belief, but Bellinger had almost admitted to his own cunning and conniving when he said that he had landed a good prize out of the unfortunate happenings – more like he’d been offered a fatter fish, and needed to put a different light on things to assuage his future father-in-law. Good God, the man was despicable – Bellinger himself said that he now felt Katrina wouldn’t be accepted in some quarters, and was only tolerated because of who she was to marry. The words appalled Frederick as he read them through again:

If, dear Frederick, you go ahead with the marriage after this, you will need your head examining. She will drag you down with her. You won’t be accepted in certain circles. After all, Lord Parvoil has already said he won’t attend the wedding, and that could mean the event is a social disaster.

The man was downright wicked – that was, if he was to believe Katrina’s story, which had become the one he felt sure he could set more store by. It looked to him as though not only had Bellinger tried to compromise her, but when he couldn’t get his own way he’d ruined her slim chances of being fully accepted and had turned them into a near-impossibility.

Seething, he went through to his office. He’d deal with the matter immediately. He would send a letter to the Lord Parvoil. He must stop this getting out of hand.

‘Frederick? Is everything all right?’

‘Oh, good morning, Mama. How are you, dear?’

‘I am fine. I slept very well and am refreshed. Thank you for inviting me back here. I rest well in my own bed, but it is something we must discuss.’

‘No. I am not having it any other way. This is your home, Mama. I won’t hear of you living in the dower-house. I argued with Bertram over him putting you there.’

‘I know. But when you bring Katrina here—’

‘If.’

‘Oh?’

In the telling of it all to his mother, any wisps of doubt that he still harboured were dispelled, along with a firming of his resolve to clear Katrina’s name. And as he listened to her, confidence built in him that he could achieve this.

‘I am sure Parvoil will retract his decision, Frederick. You have a good reason to expect a favour from him. I don’t think he thought this through or considered you or me – or the standing our family has at court – when he said he would not attend your wedding. Look at how soon the Queen has invited you. Oh, I dare say when you open her letter you will find that she has allowed the proper amount of time for mourning. And when you answer, you will have to inform her of your forthcoming marriage. But it does show that she is eager to welcome you. Parvoil has never had such standing, even though he is popular with her – and would dearly love to have it. You could extend an invitation to him to the informal after-party. After all, Queen Victoria may drop in on that. And another possibility that you could mention in passing is that she might ask for an invitation to your wedding. If she does, and Parvoil has caused the most influential people to refuse to come, it will look very bad for him and Lord Bellinger, because I will personally inform her that they are responsible for smearing Katrina’s reputation. Katrina is a darling girl and is incapable of the behaviour Lord Bellinger has accused her of. I will speak to his uncle. I am very cross with the boy. He is the vilest of creatures!’

Sitting back after penning his letter, Frederick felt better. Lord Parvoil had conceded a massive loss at the card table to Frederick a few years back and had written a promissory note to cover his debt. It had included shares in his business portfolio, but, not taking it up immediately, Frederick had eventually let the man off, even though he’d needed the money – an action he’d often regretted, as the shares had gone on to restore Lord Parvoil’s wealth and re-establish his standing. Now it was time to remind Parvoil of that good deed and inform him of all Mother had said might happen, regarding the Queen.

This task achieved satisfactorily – and, he hoped, with a successful outcome to follow – Frederick penned a further three letters, one accepting the Queen’s gracious invitation, and the other two to Katrina and Lord Bellinger; in Bellinger’s he threatened to expose him fully to Lord Parvoil, whom he knew would accept his account – or, rather, Katrina’s account – if it came to it.

So, please do not force my hand. I have approached Lord Parvoil and given him a way of retracting his earlier statement about not attending my wedding. I want you to put it around that it was all a misunderstanding. And, as much as it is abhorrent to me now, I want you to continue to consent to be my best man!

This last stuck in his throat, as what had seemed a natural progression of their friendship was now distasteful to him, but it would seal the whole thing as being an episode to forget and would give Katrina a chance. That was something he had to make sure of: she must be accepted! She had to be. She would be his wife, for God’s sake.

He had worried as to whether the Queen would accept Katrina, but his mother had put his mind at rest. ‘Of course she will. Katrina is the daughter of a very well-connected and high-born family.’

‘But what of Arkwright?’

‘Darling, the Queen has a great deal of respect for those who are contributing in such a huge way to the wealth of her country, and she understands the need for some of us aristocrats to marry into that wealth. Besides, not knowing that Bertram was to offer for Katrina’s hand, the Queen will assume that you have a mutual affection for each other and have made a very good arrangement. And don’t forget, I will help in that quarter, my dear, so please don’t worry about it. You have a formidable weapon in me, my darling son. French by birth I may be, but I have English society in the palm of my hands. Always have had.’

Frederick laughed at this, but knew that she was right and that neither the Lords Parvoil nor Bellinger were a match for Mama, when it came to who would be accepted in society – and the sooner they realized this, the better.

Turning his attention to his letter to Katrina, Frederick sat for a moment unsure how to begin. But then it occurred to him to make sure she knew from the outset that he believed her:

My Dear Katrina,

I beg your forgiveness for the way my friend Bellinger has treated you. I assure you that I have written to him in the strongest terms.

From that beginning, the rest flowed, assuring Katrina that she would be treated with the utmost respect in future. He also qualified his involvement with Ruth and her siblings as stemming from his gratitude to them for saving his dear mother:

I have no feelings for them other than pity. And I ask you, when deciding whether to believe me or not, to consider Lord Bellinger’s behaviour towards you, his cunning and the way he manipulates a situation.

This, he was sure, would put to bed Bellinger’s vile attempt at discrediting him in Katrina’s eyes.

Sitting back, his mind took up the thread it hadn’t wanted to leave earlier. He desperately wanted to know if Ruth and her sister were safe.

It would take days to get a letter back from Katrina, and he had nothing pressing to do. The estate, such as it was, was ticking over, and some of the farmers were beginning to pay their rents again. They’d never catch up, and he wouldn’t press them to.

So he could see no reason why he shouldn’t make a visit to Pradley and make some enquiries about Ruth. In the meantime, he hoped Katrina would write and that she would be receptive to him visiting her. He needed to get his affairs in order, and that meant the wedding must be sooner rather than later. He couldn’t arrange such an event by letter. Once all was organized, he would invite her here to stay with his mother for a few days, giving Katrina the freedom to explore her new home and a free hand in how she would make it her own. He didn’t doubt that such a determined lady as Katrina was proving to be would want to take the reins and make the place reflect her own taste. He was looking forward to it. It would be good to see new life breathed into this beautiful place.

Pradley buzzed with activity in the market lining its one main street. The noise of traders calling out the price of their wares, of folk chatting with neighbours and of children racing around, gave an atmosphere of joviality that lifted Frederick’s spirits. His journey had taken him a couple of hours – some of it over some fairly rough terrain.

Stretching his stiff legs, he wandered over to a stall selling hot drinks and sugared doughnuts. One sip of the tea he purchased had him asking for a doughnut – he needed it to take away the smoky, over-brewed taste of the tea, which had been made from water simmering on an open brazier. Fascinated, he watched the stallholder drop a lump of dough into a vat of hot melted lard, then take an iron rod and poke it through the middle of the dough. The resulting puffed-up ring took on a coat of sugar and ended up wrapped in a square of brown paper, before being handed to him. Burning his tongue, but not caring, he savoured the delicious taste and had to wipe crusts of the sugar from around his mouth more than once.

‘Hey, boy, what say you have a doughnut at my expense, eh?’ Frederick had spotted a lad crouched on the pavement with an empty begging bowl in front of him – his body bony, his clothes ragged and inadequate against the harsh bite of cold in the air. Blackened teeth, and not many of them, showed as the lad grinned and nodded his head. Shouting his order for another two doughnuts – he’d a mind to have a second one himself – Frederick lowered himself to sit next to the lad. ‘So, what do you know? Oh, by the way, I’m Frederick, Earl of Harrogate. What’s your name, boy?’

He’d never seen eyes open as wide as this boy’s did, his astonishment seeming to render him speechless.

‘Oh, don’t worry, lad. I’m no different from you, as I beg, too. I had to ask a girl to marry me just because she’s rich, and so that I can have her money. That’s begging, is it not?’

Again the grin. The lips that framed it looked as red as those of the miners did against their blackened faces, as this lad was as dirty as they were after they came up from a shift.

‘Me name’s Finwil. Martin Finwil, but everyone just calls me Fin.’

‘Right-o. Oh, here’s our doughnuts. Careful, now. I gave my tongue a blister by biting into it before it had cooled a little.’

Savouring the sugary taste once more, Frederick watched in awe as the lad scoffed his without much of a to-do, and without taking any heed of the doughnut’s heat. ‘Tell me, lad, why are you not at your lessons?’

‘I ain’t never been ter no school, Mister. But that don’t mean as I don’t know a thing or two.’

This caused Frederick a pang of guilt. Worried as he was about his monetary affairs, he was never likely to suffer the fate of this poor lad. Maybe there would be something he could do to lighten the load of such poor people in the future. In the meantime, this lad might well be able to give him some information. ‘I expect you do. You look as if you have survived thus far on your wits and, to do so, you must know most of what occurs in these parts. I wonder if you could help me? Have you any knowledge of a girl with a twisted foot? I believe she came from here.’

‘You mean that cripple of a witch, Ruth Dovecote, don’t yer? Well, her family are gone from these parts, and good riddance. Not that the rest of them were bad, but that Ruth had powers. She made a lad sick till he nearly died.’

‘Good God, what did she do?’

‘She cursed him and he took with a fever. Folk say she should be strung up, or burned, up on Pendle Hill!’

Shock held Frederick quiet for a moment. The hate the lad felt for Ruth was tangible, but worse than that, doubt stirred in his own mind. It seemed that wherever Ruth went, someone suffered. His own brother . . . No, he was being ridiculous! It was all just coincidence. Besides, uneducated people were always setting store by myths and were led by what they perceived, rather than by what was logical.

All the same, a chill went through him. It wasn’t connected to Ruth’s supposed powers, but to his fears for her. This lad spoke with the kind of venom that, if it became widespread, could cause a feral hunt for her, if she was known to be nearby. He must find her first. ‘So I take it she hasn’t been around this town since her family left?’

‘Naw, and she’d do well not to. Folk are scared of her, and I reckon as she wouldn’t last long if she came round here again.’

‘Have you any idea where she might be?’

‘I told yer, she took off with her ma.’

‘Yes, you did. But . . .’

The lad listened to his tale, then made him regret telling it.

‘Eeh, naw. We thought as the town were rid of her. The McNaughts won’t like to hear she could come back. It were their lad as she cursed.’

‘That’s all nonsense. She was born deformed; it wasn’t her fault. When something like that happens to a person, they must make the best of it. That can’t have been easy, with the attitude of the people around here, by what you’re saying. It sounds as though they hounded her, and I suspect you did yourself. Well, anyone’s patience is going to give out under that constant barrage. It was coincidence that she turned on the lad and then he became ill, and nothing else.’

‘Aye, well, we know what we know.’

‘Very well, I’ll be on my way. But mark my words, if she does come back and any of you hurt her, I’ll make it my business to have you all strung up. Do you understand?’

‘What’s it to you, anyroad, toff?’ With this, the lad was up and scarpered before Frederick could do anything. Despite the supposed insult, he had to laugh. ‘Toff’ indeed!

The laugh didn’t dispel his worry. He wished he could find Ruth and take her to safety. Maybe, when his finances were in a better shape, he could hire someone to look for her. But then what? Have her as his mistress? No, he couldn’t do that . . . he told himself, but this didn’t help, because every part of him longed for her. And all that after only a chance meeting, which put him in her company for not much more than an hour or so!

‘Fresh sprouts and salted beef at the right price, Sir, and I can deliver up to ten miles by morning.’

‘Your wares look good. Tell me, where is your farm?’

‘I’m up on the edge of the Bowland Hills, Sir. I market here and in Blackburn – doesn’t matter to me. Me position is such that I can service both. Me main business is in meat and vegetables, but I have some dairy and am hoping to increase it. If you’re looking for a regular supply to your kitchens, I’m your man, Sir.’

‘Lord – Lord Rollinson, Earl of Harrogate. And you are?’

‘I – I, I’m sorry, M’Lord . . . I didn’t realize. Me name’s Josh. Josh Bottomless.’

‘There’s no need to be nervous, my good man. I’m the same person you hailed to your stall a few minutes ago. Just because you now know my title doesn’t mean you have to treat me differently. Tell me, have you ever come across a young woman afflicted with a club foot, on your travels? She’d be about seventeen, long dark hair.’

‘I – I, naw, M’Lord. I’ve not seen anyone like that.’

Something didn’t ring true about this. The man had a sweat on him, beads of it trickling down his face. ‘I don’t mean any harm to the girl. I just want to help her. Our paths crossed, under tragic circumstances. She ran off in fear, but she had no need to. She could have trusted me.’ With the feeling Frederick had about this man knowing more than he’d let on, he felt he had to maintain a link. ‘Do you read and write, Josh?’

‘Aye, I do, M’Lord.’

‘Well then, be so kind as to take my calling card. Contact me by letter or telegram if you do hear anything, or see her anywhere; or, indeed, her sister, who is younger and has fairer, curly hair. Very slight and thin.’

‘I – I have no knowledge of them, I’ve only just started to come as far as this side of the hills.’

‘Very well, but I’d be grateful if you kept an eye out for them. I will drop by here again sometime. I’ll not need deliveries, though. Sorry, but I have some excellent tenant farmers who keep us well supplied. However, I wish you well. An enterprising man like yourself deserves to flourish.’

Walking away, Frederick felt certain that the man knew of Ruth. His whole manner gave off an air of someone hiding something. But what could he do? I can’t force him to tell. And what if I’m wrong? But he had made his mind up: he would hire somebody to look for Ruth, and he’d tell him to begin with Mr Josh Bottomless.

‘Hey, Mister, did that toff ask you about that Ruth Dovecote? What’s he want with her? He asked me an’ all.’

‘Mind your own business.’ Josh, still reeling from the shock of having the Earl asking after Ruth and finding out that he didn’t know where Ruth’s sister was, regretted the way he snapped at the lad, the moment he did so. Young Martin Finwil meant no harm. He were just one of many living off their wits. He’d make it up to him. ‘Here, lad, if you wants to earn a couple of pennies, give me a hand to pack me cart.’

Market wasn’t finished by a long shot, but the encounter had knocked the wind out of Josh and he wanted away, before the Earl thought to return to question him some more. He felt sure he hadn’t believed him, and wouldn’t blame the Earl if he hadn’t. The man had caught him off his guard.

Working at a surprising rate for a bony, half-starved individual, Fin amazed Josh with his strength and agility.

‘I’m a good worker, Mister, as you can see. Have you any work I could do up at your place? I know where you live and it’s harsh up there. I could be a help to you.’

Josh had no doubt that he would, and if it hadn’t been for Ruth’s presence, he’d take him on. He needed help, that was for sure. Maybe if he kept Fin to the lower fields? He could have him see to the clearing of the ground for the spring sowing, and then help with the planting and the hoeing. There was plenty that he could keep Fin going at and it wasn’t possible to see the house, or any of the activity around it, from down there. But then where would the boy sleep, because he couldn’t travel there, not daily he couldn’t. Although there was the barn.

‘Look, lad, I do need help, but can only offer a couple of days at a time, now and again, and it’s a good trek to mine.’

‘I can walk that, easy. I’d do it in an hour, and I’d set off early. Please, Mister, me mam and me sister are starving. Me dad drinks all he earns. I’d do a good job and be no trouble.’

‘Reet, lad. Here’s what I can do. I can take you back with me and you can work a couple of days picking the last of the Brussels sprouts and packing them into boxes for me trip to Blackburn next week. You can stop in the barn overnight. I’ll bring your snap down to you, and there’s a brazier in there which stays lit for hours; and there’s dry straw to bed on and I’ll bring you a blanket. Now, here’s the deal. You come nowhere near to me house. You stays down at the lower-field level. Me ma gets spooked with visitors, she ain’t used to them . . . and she ain’t well.’ The lad didn’t seem to bother about this or show any curiosity. ‘If that suits you, I’ll pay you a day rate and make sure as your family has supplies. We’ll go that way when I’m done here, and I’ll drop off one of these sides of salted beef and some tatties and sprouts.’

‘Eeh, Mister, ta. I won’t let you down. I’ll not do owt you don’t want me to. And I’ll work hard at what you tell me to do.’

‘Right-o, let’s get on with packing up.’

The fact that the lad showed no interest in why Josh wanted to leave early, which was an unusual event, boded well. The lad seemed to know where his nosy-parkering wasn’t wanted, and Josh felt sure he wouldn’t come snooping around the house. Yes, it would work out well. God knows he needed the help, and Ruth would remain safe – of that he felt sure.