For the rest of his life James Mayo was to remember the horror of that October day. Not until evening when it started to get dark did he begin to wonder. His son, after seeing to his mount, always came in to find his father and talk with him. It was odd that John was so late. Perhaps he was fussing with the mare. James Mayo debated whether to walk out and find him but the fire was comfortable.
He awoke with a start. It was quite dark and he pulled his large turnip watch from his breeches pocket. Where was John? He wondered if he had gone upstairs to see his mother first. Puzzled, he stood and went into the kitchen.
‘Have you seen Master John, Martha?’ he asked the cook as she skilfully turned the meat.
Fat, red-cheeked and hot from her work, Martha wanted no interruption at this crucial stage of her cooking.
‘No, master. Maybe he’s out in the stables still,’ she suggested, knowing John’s love for the horses.
Like all the workers she had a soft spot for the boy and even some regard for his father which, though, she never showed. She had come to Mayos as a serving wench when the master himself was but a boy. They had grown up together and she understood him more than most other people. She also admired him. Martha was a sharp woman. She knew how things stood between the master and his wife. And she had a good idea why Betty Howard had suddenly departed.
James Mayo grunted to himself. Most likely the boy was in the stables. He would go and see for himself. Then the door had opened and one of the older grooms stood looking up at him, anxious and scared.
‘Master, the grey mare isn’t back yet with Master John!’
‘Not back yet!’ snapped James Mayo, feeling a prickling at the back of his neck. The pair had been gone for hours now. They should have been back long ago. There must have been an accident. John was hurt.
‘Go get the men. Saddle my cob! We must look for my son. Martha, say nothing of this to the mistress,’ he warned, mindful of the latest pregnancy.
He hurried into thick clothing. The rain was streaming down again. He whistled to the house dog; a large brute of indeterminate breeding whose teeth and scenting capabilities he respected. For the first time in years he felt fear dab at his heart.
John was far too good a horseman to be thrown easily and the mare was a gentle ride. She had never thrown a buck in her life. Yet John must be lying injured somewhere—and on a night like this!
It suddenly occurred to him that he did not know where to look. He bit his lip, thinking quickly. The best thing would be to split into parties unless he could guess where John might have ridden.
He thought back to their last meeting, going over their talk. Betty Howard! Would John have ridden to see her? No, why should he—but—a doubt lingered. Young blood was still hot blood even on a day like this.
He hurried outside and sniffed up at the sky, trying to gauge the rain’s mood. Would this downpour last long? The lanterns were lit. He mounted his cob, issued terse instructions to his men and rode out into the night still busy with his thoughts.
John would have ridden through the trees in the woods. That was the quickest way to the Howards and also the best riding turf. He headed purposefully to the left, his men clomping after him.
They did not have to search for long but in that weather they tired quickly. The men had strung out in a long line, their lanterns dancing blobs of yellow in the rain. James halted the cob when the voice knifed through the air slightly ahead of him and to one side. A yellow light moved from left to right and he trotted in that direction.
They had been found at last! Relief caught in his throat. He saw it was Barker, his cowman.
‘You’ve found them both? They’re all right?’
Barker looked up at his master. His face ashen with shock. The words caught in his throat. He could not speak. ‘Well, answer me man!’
‘Yes, master, we’ve found them all right. Deep in the woods,’ and Barker’s voice dried up again.
James Mayo felt acute apprehension. ‘What is it? Confound you man, have you lost your tongue!’ he roared in worry.
‘The boy’s dead and so is the mare!’
James Mayo stared down at him, uncomprehending. His mind reeled with shock. Dead? John dead? What fool talk was this? Then he closely studied Barker’s face. The white cheeks and trembling lips. Even the suspicion of moisture in his eyes. Everyone had loved his son. The hand holding the lantern was trembling strongly.
A horrible doubt rose in the pit of his stomach to gag in his throat. There had to be some stupid mistake. Other lanterns were visible now, clustered together as if a group of people were frozen.
He heeled the cob forward. His men looked up at him not daring to speak, too horrified by their find. One pointed with his hand and led the way with his lantern. The others followed in a silent group at the cob’s heels. James Mayo’s heart thumped with terror. Dear God, what were they going to show him?
The ride narrowed. The lantern stabbed the gloom like a yellow knife. The rain lashed down, beating on the leaves. The wind had started to moan through the branches. It was eerie, enough to frighten any man.
He stopped as he saw them. The shock hit him in the guts. Then like a robot, he dismounted.
James Mayo walked forward and slowly knelt by the body. Stone cold, wet and quite grotesque with thick, swollen tongue and distended eyes. He picked up the cold hands in turn, noting the split knuckles and gashed skin. At least his son had gone down fighting. A Mayo to the bitter end. He would have marked his murderer.
Dear John, what a way to go! And at his young age! Lying here in the mud and filth waiting for his father to find his body. Waiting for his father to come and avenge his premature death. His beloved son dead! He bent his head forward, a groan tearing from his lips. Tears burst down his face. Who, when and why?
Slowly, he controlled himself. He looked towards the mare. Something was wrong. That queer angle of her neck.
‘Broken!’ he muttered.
A hand touched his arm gently. So strung were his nerves he actually jumped.
‘Master! Look! Some twine was tied to that tree. Someone hid behind this one,’ Barker informed him, pointing with his free hand.
James Mayo nodded to himself. It had all been so diabolically simple, but who and why? An uneasy thought nudged at him. A pregnant girl, the daughter of a man who hated him. Surely not even Howard would take such a revenge against a mere boy? But the thought started to harden. His face changed. Fire blazed in his eyes. His lips and jaw froze and his neck muscles stood out in iron bands. His men watched in awe. They did not really like him but they certainly respected their master. This murder of his son was too much for them to stomach. To a man they were behind him.
‘Make a litter and take him home,’ he told them.
Mary! How to break such news to her?
‘One of you go over to the Squire’s and tell him what’s happened. Barker, I’ll want a fresh horse as soon as dawn comes. The rest of you men go home and rest. We go out again in the morning.’
‘Master, who?’ and Barker stopped nervously.
‘I don’t know for sure but I’ll soon find out. Look, Barker, go over to the Howard’s place and see who is there. Don’t say what you’ve found here to start with then come straight back to me. Talk to no one else!’ he warned him.
At fifty years of age Barker was his senior and most reliable worker, having been on Mayo’s as long as Martha. He was both loyal and close-mouthed.
Barker nodded quietly, turned and vanished, his thoughts whirling. He did not like this errand but his personal fancies were of no concern where murder was concerned. The young master dead! It was horrible.
The trouble was Barker also liked the Howards. He remembered back to the good old days when they were well-to-do farmers in their own right. If Joseph were involved—and his heart quailed. He could be mean could Joseph and coupled with his natural Howard bitterness he could turn ugly.
Was there more to this than he knew? He shook his head, ill at ease, afraid of what he was to learn.
The other farm hands made a crude litter for the body. James Mayo watched them, choking with grief and cold fury. Someone was going to pay dearly for this day’s work if it took the rest of his life to catch him. He walked round the mare, studying where she lay, then he back-tracked up the ride. Squatting he read the story. A flat-out gallop, his son probably laughing with fun, then sudden, unexpected death. He noted the mare’s last tracks, the skid mark from her hind hooves. So she had sensed danger at the last and tried to save herself.
He rode back slowly, the cob quiet as if sensing his mood. He sat rigid and straight in the saddle. Shoulders square, head high, brain churning, his grief gradually giving way to an implacable rage. It had to be Howard—but he knew he must wait for Barker’s return.
The farmhouse was ablaze with lights as he rode into the yard and dismounted. They had taken his son inside. He found the body lying on a couch, gently covered with a clean, white tablecloth. Martha stood at the boy’s head, tears streaming silently down her face.
They looked at each other. Master and servant. And suddenly their gulf in class had gone.
‘You haven’t told her?’ James asked, nodding upstairs.
Martha shook her head. ‘I thought it had better come from you. Who?’ and she nodded to the body.
‘I’m not sure yet,’ James Mayo told her slowly.
Mary. Now she had to be told. With heavy heart and slow tread he walked towards their bedroom. Outside, by the door, he paused trying to marshal his thoughts. Just how did one break such news to any mother—let alone one expecting another child?
Mary lifted herself up on the pillows as he entered the room. Her heart stopped beating, of that she was quite positive. She had never seen such an expression on her husband’s face. She knew with maternal instinct.
‘It’s John!’ she cried. She saw rage on his face, weariness and anguish.
‘James!’
He turned to her. However he put the news she would receive a shock. She must have this baby safely now.
‘John’s dead!’
Mary stared at him, frowning, her lips parting slightly, her eyes widening. Turning she flopped back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, coldness stole over her heart.
Her dear boy dead!
‘How?’ she whispered watching him.
She saw his brows knit and the rage flash in his eyes.
Slowly, choosing his words with great care, James Mayo told her what he thought she should know. He omitted the more horrific details. He watched her like a hunting hawk. What would this shock do to the baby? Mary was too old to be sure of conceiving again. This child must live! Mayo had to have an heir.
‘But who—and why?’ she asked him, falteringly.
James paused. There had been friendship of a sorts between Mary and Sarah in the old days.
‘I don’t know,’ he told her truthfully. ‘But I’ll find him and he’ll hang for this day’s work. Mary, don’t you fret now. This is my job to clean up. You must think of the baby.’
Mary flashed him a sharp look. Of course, the baby! The unborn child was of double importance now! Was she nothing but a brood mare? Sudden resentment surged through her. As if she cared about the baby when her dear boy lay dead downstairs.
Johnnie dead! Dear, sweet Johnnie, who had been everything a mother could wish for in a son. Kind, considerate and gay. A wonderful spirit in the home. Tears started to flow in two silent rivers down her cheeks as her heart swelled with grief.
‘I want to see him,’ she said, sitting up again.
‘No!’ he snapped too quickly. She must not see that ugly body.
‘Why not? He’s my son, too. I bore him—not you!’ Mary cried, as for the first time in her life her spirit rose against him.
‘I want to see him! I will see him!’ and now her voice had risen high into a hysterical scream.
He held her shoulders. ‘No, Mary! You must stay here!’
‘But why? Why. Why?’ she cried, struggling against his powerful grip until his fingers were pinching her shoulders through her flannel nightgown.
‘Why don’t you want me to see him? What does he look like then? What has happened? You’ve not told me everything and I am his mother!’ she accused.
He bowed his head and sighed. She did indeed have the mother’s right to know all. Slowly, he told her every detail even including his suspicions about Joseph Howard.
Mary listened to him quietly. Her hysteria abated as an inner strength she was unaware she possessed took control of her mind. This was the truth. Every foul and sordid detail of John’s last day on earth.
With unusual tenderness he put his great arms around her slight shoulders. She stiffened and held back for a second, unaccustomed to such a gesture, then love flared. Feeling which she had thought long dead returned to her as their eyes met and locked. For the first time in many years Mary saw the James who had courted her so long ago. The hard, cruel look was gone. It had been banished by grief. He wanted her now. No one but her! With flaring instinct Mary knew that their positions were irrevocably reversed.
John! she cried out silently, but only James was there. And love flared again.
They were closer now than they had been in years.
‘Why does this have to be?’ Mary thought.
James sensed her feelings on identical tracks to his. He could not last remember when he had felt so genuinely affectionate towards his wife. He held her at arm’s length, looking at her face and studying her eyes. She returned his look then wanly smiled up at him.
‘Oh, James! What happened to us?’
‘Whatever it was won’t happen again!’ he told her firmly, meaning every word. He stood, one hand holding hers. ‘You stay here, wife. This is man’s work now.’
‘Are you sure it was Joseph Howard?’
He sighed. ‘If it wasn’t him, then God only knows who killed John or why. I’ve sent Barker to find out what he can. I’ll be leaving at first light with the men. Whoever it was won’t get far.’
‘And his child yet to be born!’ Mary remarked thoughtfully. ‘From what that girl told me it will be born about the same time as ours.’
‘What a stinking, foul mess! I never thought my first grandchild would arrive like this. A bastard and his father murdered! He or she will have no claim on Mayo’s though. Our own comes first, Mary,’ he said grimly.
‘There, I think I hear Barker. Try not to fret too much. I’ll send Martha up with a toddy.’
He left her reluctantly. Barker looked up as he came into the kitchen.
‘Well?’
‘I’ve not much to tell, Master. Joseph Howard isn’t there. But the girl and her mother are. They’ve both been crying a lot. Sarah wouldn’t tell me anything and she wouldn’t let me speak to the girl either. She just sat there, looking right through me as if I was the devil himself.’
‘I see!’ and James rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘We’ll set out at first light. Take all the dogs in a pack. Go back to the woods and try to pick up some kind of a trail. I want you men armed though. Remember, I want this killer alive. I want to see a hanging!’ he spat deliberately.
* * *
They left at first light, James Mayo mounted on a big, angular bay mare with a fretful eye and a humped back. The men followed his lead, on foot and mounted, the dogs snarling around the horses’ hooves, making them rear and snort. Every man had a cudgel.
The wind had dropped a little but was still fresh, blowing straight down from the Cotswolds and the North. It was cold, stabbing into the men’s clothes. They shivered with it and the anticipation of the hunt to come. This was something that would be talked about for generations.
The farmer led his men to edge of the woods and loosened the dogs. They bayed in and around a circle, not sure of their quarry. Something caught one hound’s nose. He sniffed, showing keen curiosity, howled with excitement and ran forward eagerly. The rest followed in a noisy bunch.
The men brought up the rear, careful not to go ahead and foul the fragile line of scent. The dogs stopped frequently to cast around and once Barker shouted, pointing to a muddy footprint. James Mayo nodded as he studied it. Whoever made that track had been in a hurry. They found other prints here and there. It became obvious, after a while, that the track’s owner was tiring. His trail became erratic and though the dogs frequently lost the poor scent the men had no trouble in following the trail.
James shouted to Barker, who was riding a thick-set pony. ‘He’s heading towards Bristol, cross-country!’
The dogs had started to lope ahead quickly now, barking eagerly. Their blood was up and, in full daylight now, they passed a farm and headed for some woods.
The leading dog burst among the trees, the pack at his heels. The riders slowed their horses to a walk. The woods echoed with noise as the dogs set up a frantic row.
‘They’ve found him!’ Barker shouted in excitement.
The dogs milled around the large tree, two of them stood on their hind legs, pawing at the trunk. The men gathered round in a circle, dismounting with the exception of James Mayo.
‘Treed!’ the farmer murmured to himself, then he turned to Barker.
‘Whoever it is up there—get him down. Call off those dogs. The rest of you men be ready to hold him. It might not be who we want,’ he added, but a rapid surge of blood crimsoned his forehead. This was the killer. With this knowledge he also knew instinctively it would be Howard.
Barker disappeared up into the tree. There was some kind of a tussle then rapidly a man came slithering down to drop on the ground. He trembled as if he had the ague. The dogs howled, eager to bound forward but three of the men beat them back. The rest stood around in stony silence, waiting a cue from their master.
James sat square in his saddle, unable to remove his eyes from Joseph Howard. He took in the bloody face and torn hands. The man on the ground looked back up at him, lips bared in a defiant snarl.
He felt hands dragging him roughly to his feet. Men he had known all his life; men whom he had numbered as friends, but now he saw their open hostility. He was beyond the pale. They stood with the farmer.
Staggering a little, he faced James Mayo, eyes burning with hatred. Saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth. He faced the farmer in cold rage, holding his eyes.
‘I made one mistake only, Mayo. Just one mistake! It should have been you and not that whoring brat of yours!’ he snarled, then spat. All the evil of the world was in that gesture.
James Mayo waved one hand. ‘Take him!’ he said in a low, cold voice. Without more ado he turned and rode back through the trees to his home. His mind was a racing whirlpool of thoughts. How exactly had such hatred been incurred? Surely not the land? He had only been astute! Howard could have done the same.
He thought of the girl and her mother. James Mayo was no coward but he flinched at telling Sarah. She would have to know though, and the better such news came from him.
What would be the outcome of all this?
Betty he thoroughly disliked. He had seen too much of her father in her. She had always made him uneasy when at Mayo’s.
* * *
He halted and dismounted, holding the reins in one hand. The hovel was as silent as the grave. To his annoyance he felt fear touching his heart. Swallowing hastily, he called:
‘Sarah!’
He waited, then slowly the sacking was pushed aside and Sarah Howard faced him. She was white-faced and haggard, but her head was high, jaw tilted, gaze steady.
He hesitated, not knowing how to begin. She stood still, not moving an eyelid, eyes unblinking. This silence further unnerved him. He blurted out words, forgetting the little speech he had been carefully rehearsing.
‘We’ve found your man. He killed my John. He’ll be taken into Bristol and hanged.’
Her expression changed. The flicker of hope in her eyes died. Her shoulders sagged and her mouth twisted.
‘James Mayo! You’ve done a bad morning’s work! No! You’ll hear me out this once, then forever keep out of my way. I curse you and yours. I curse you now for generations to come. This—all this—is your doing. You hounded my man. When times were bad you could have helped. My man in turn tried to help those worse off than us. Did you? No, all you thought about was getting the land while it was cheap. The land and the power that goes with it! You were richer than us, Mayo. You could have lent us money to tide us over. You could easily have ignored what we owed. You drove us down to this!’ and she spat the words out, pointing to the hovel. ‘Then, not satisfied, your boy takes my girl. I thought, at least, you’d have the decency to protect her under your roof. But you don’t care. You’re as randy as that brat of yours. Oh, yes, I know all about your meanderings and other women. Your poor wife! And where’s it got you? Where do you stand with your lust for money, land and those grey horses? Well, I hope you’re satisfied now! You’ve still got your money—and the land, too! But you’ve no mare, no son—and your wife’s a bad breeder. I hate you, Mayo. Do you realize just how much?’
A trickle of ice had encased his spine while his face had turned scarlet. No living person had ever dared speak to him like this.
‘But Sarah, I’ll help you and the girl. I’ve nothing against either of you and she’s carrying my grandson!’ he remonstrated hurriedly.
‘Your grandson!’ Sarah stormed, advancing towards him. ‘What right do you think you’ll ever have to a grandson? I’ll see that the child knows who you are and what you are. I’ll teach hatred that will make you turn in your grave if ever you get that far and don’t burn in hell, where you belong!’ she raged up at him.
‘But woman—!’
‘You are evil, James Mayo! There’s a bad line in your blood somewhere. I’ll make sure I’ll stamp it out in this child. Your grandchild indeed!’ Sarah laughed hysterically.
‘Think about that! Imagine, a child brought up to hate its grandfather. How does that feel?’ she jeered at him.
He flinched, averting her gaze. His face white. He could actually feel her aura of hatred.
‘But you have no money. I’ll—’
‘You’ll what? Give charity? Oh, we’re not much nowadays, Mayo, I grant you that. But I think we might still have some real friends left. Friends who don’t make war against women. I’ll tell you something else, Mayo. You’d better guard that precious land of yours. Guard it and hold it tightly because I’ll do everything I can to take it from you. If I can’t do it then I’ll teach the child so that he can teach his children. And when you lose the land think—it will be coming back to its rightful owners. Your land and your precious horses. Everything comes to him who waits and the Howards will wait for what is rightfully theirs! I hope I live to see that day. If I don’t, some Howard, sometime, somewhere, will take back what is rightfully ours. I loathe you, Mayo. I hate your name and everything it stands for. You are evil and dirt. My Joe had his faults but he never ground another man beneath his boots. He’s dead—oh, no—I don’t mean really dead because you’ll see to that, won’t you? You’ll want your fun at a hanging. To me and my girl though he is dead right now. You can do nothing more to him or me. What is done in the future will be on you and yours. Now get away from me!’ and lifting her head she spat up at him.
James Mayo felt his anger rising. She was making a fool of him when he had only come with the world’s best intentions.
Flustered, undignified, he scrambled into his saddle, turned, opened his mouth to speak, saw the look in her eyes and decided to depart.
He left, feeling two icy eyes boring into his back. What a fool he had been to come. He should have left the job to Barker. He had allowed that woman to say things to him no one else had ever dared. To hell with the Howards. Let her bring the bastard up against him. What did she think she could do? He was James Mayo of Mayo’s, powerful, strong and quite unassailable. Mustering his shredded dignity he rode home.