They took Joseph Howard into Bristol to stand trial for murder. He went in chains, heavily guarded like a wild animal. He never saw Sarah again. He knew she might try to come and see him so he sent a message to her, ordering her to stay away. He did not want her to see him chained. She understood. Sarah also wanted to remember him as in the past.
He never stood his trial. Joseph Howard contracted the common gaol fever and, having no further wish to live, allowed himself to die. They took his wasted body out and buried it hastily in an unmarked grave, glad to be saved the expense of legal proceedings. He died unmourned.
James Mayo felt cheated. He had not bargained for this. He had wanted to see his son’s murderer hang. There would have been satisfaction. As it was, the whole event had a hollow ring which certainly failed to appease his blood lust.
Young John! Dead two months already! It seemed impossible. All the time James Mayo kept thinking he’d see his boy again. Mayo’s was lost without that young, carefree spirit.
There was perpetual gloom in the house itself. Would life never revert back to normality? He would always miss John—and Mary had been affected far worse than he had, at first, thought possible.
There was nothing wrong with her physically. For the first time in many years she was carrying her unborn child superbly. Her morning sickness had stopped abruptly. Ceasing indeed on the day of John’s death. James Mayo puzzled about this, failing to see the obvious.
Mary knew she was now the most important person in miles. After many years of being a second-class citizen in her own home she had, at last, attained the status of a queen. Her husband watched her well-being down to the last detail. Nothing was too good for her.
Mary had quickly understood. With her age this would most likely be the last chance to conceive. She was carrying the one and only—legal—heir to the great farm.
She thrived, enjoying every minute of this pregnancy, and while she thrived she planned for the future. No more second place for her. She was a queen! Her husband no longer aroused fear and awe in her. She was as good as him if not better. He could not produce an heir!
Mary even started to talk to and argue with her man. James, still shocked after his son’s death, had no heart to dominate her. Encouraged and emboldened Mary meticulously planned and schemed.
James had always planned and ordered. It was her husband who had seen to John’s education and life. She had never once been consulted.
‘But things will be different, this time!’ Mary promised herself firmly.
Gradually she was getting her husband under her thumb. James was the type of person who respected someone strong enough to stand up to him. Anyone who gave in was despised and brow-beaten.
‘I’ve been a fool. A muddle-headed idiot. I’ve wasted many years of life but I’ll make up for them now. I’ll bring this boy up. I’ll decide his education and just let James argue!’ she told herself grimly.
It never occurred to her she might have a daughter.
What did present itself to her though was the fact that she was hopelessly ignorant of everyday matters. After her education as a girl she had learned nothing about world affairs. So now she started to pay very close attention to what went on in the world. Regularly James attended the market at Chipping Sodbury. He usually brought home a newspaper, always grumbling though about the stamp tax on them but nevertheless glad to devour the news. He was also an avid listener at the inns and taverns which he visited on Market Days with other farmers and even the gentry.
When Mary gently and cunningly started questioning her husband she found that he was a mine of general and fascinating information.
They started to hold animated evenings together, sitting up late by their country standards. James holding forth on some particular subject; Mary listening intently and storing all her newly-acquired information away to turn over and devour again the next day.
It was this that puzzled and, to some extent, alarmed James Mayo. This need of Mary’s for talk and news was so out of character that he worried about her mind.
She was big and clumsy with the child now. So different to the past that, more than once, he found he was a tiny bit in awe of her. Such an alien feeling shocked him.
‘What has come over Mary?’ he asked himself for the hundredth time. ‘Why this thirst for information? A woman’s place is running the home. Men decide world affairs,’ he told himself, frowning, trying to understand and being too masculine and obtuse to realise that his strong spirit had a rival now.
Mary thought about many things apart from what James told her. She considered the Howards. As she pondered about this family and past events she started to change. A latent fire fanned into flame. She learned how to hate.
Quiet, gentle, spiritless Mary Mayo grew up but with her sudden maturity her character altered—for the worse.
‘It’s all their fault. That girl led John on. She killed him as much as his father. They’re rotten, all of them. I’ll make sure this son learns who to trust and who to fight!’ she stormed silently.
Even patient Martha puzzled over her mistress but, being female, and also very logical, she came to understand and accept that John’s death had a far deeper mental affect on Mary than any of them had considered possible. Not that Martha minded some of the changes. She was glad to see the mistress standing up to her husband now. She liked the spirit and fire which the big-bellied woman could produce.
‘It’s long overdue that. It’s high time someone stood up to you, Master. You’re a good man, but a hard one. You’ve had your own way for too long in this life,’ she thought in ironical amusement.
Outside the house their master’s change was not so obvious. Only Barker, close and faithful, had some inkling of events in the big house. He was friendly with Martha. They exchanged many views and secrets but their loyalty to the family made their lips seal elsewhere. James Mayo did not realize how lucky he was with his workers.
All he now thought and sweated about was the birth to be. Boy or girl? Live or die? Healthy or abnormal? Dear God, what if Mayo’s were left without an heir? So worked up did he become about this major event that he never once considered Betty Howard and his grandchild.
The weeks seemed to pass so slowly. The winter was of extreme severity and food became scarce. Already the potato crop had been lost in the wet autumn and thousands of sheep died from rot. Corn was scarce and if they suffered another bad summer heaven knew what would happen to the country James had told Mary during one of their evening talks.
‘Things are worse in the towns. There’s thousands out of work with no food or money. They should bring out the troops. I don’t know what we pay our taxes for,’ he grumbled.
‘Is this what you call a depression?’ Mary had asked him, knowing perfectly well that it was but wanting to keep James talking on this theme so that she could learn more.
‘It was the war that did it. Most expensive we’ve ever had! And where’s it got us?’
‘But what about rioters? Will they come here?’
James snorted. ‘If they do they die! They’ve hanged five and transported others for life. They should hang them all. Men should know their place in life. All this complaining because the common land has gone. Saying they can’t gather traditional fuels—that’s no reason to rampage through the land.’
In the spring it rained again, repeating the devastation of the terrible autumn. Floods developed and summer threatened even more bad weather.
Mary went into labour so suddenly that everyone was taken by surprise. Her pains started in the middle of one appalling stormy night and there was no time for outside assistance to be fetched. James Mayo was thrown into a sweat of panic, stomping backward and forward in the kitchen while Martha attended to her mistress.
It was a quick, almost effortless birth, the healthy boy being born with almost indecent haste and the farmer’s relief knew no bounds. Mayo’s had its heir again. A fine, strapping boy with well-developed lungs.
He felt great tenderness and affection to his wife as he sat with her all of the next day. Mary marvelled at her baby. So perfect and healthy. If only dear John could see him.
‘Shall we call him George?’ she asked the equally proud father. ‘George John?’
James nodded as he smiled down at her. He was almost happy again, at last. John would never be forgotten, but once again he had an heir. He also had this wonderful refound feeling for his wife.
James thought about the other child, also very newly born. Barker had kept him informed in the last month of events in that direction.
‘The other was a boy, too,’ he told Mary.
She stiffened as she thought about this. So she had a grandson, did she, but she had no feeling for this other child. That slut of a girl. Iron entered Mary’s heart again. It was a cold feeling which would have astonished James if he had known. Mary of old had been so pliant that, even now, James could not accept her complete alteration.
‘George will know what those Howards are like. I’ll teach him. I’ll warn him, right from the start!’ she vowed to herself. Mary would never rant or rave. Her gentle methods though would be far more insidious and effective than Sarah’s tempestuous outbursts.
‘The girl died,’ he told Mary one evening.
Mary sniffed. A sniff which was more eloquent than words. ‘And Sarah is going to bring the boy up,’ James continued, watching his wife for some reaction.
‘She’s welcome!’
James considered his next words carefully before uttering them.
‘The boy is our grandson.’
‘He’s a bastard and nothing to do with us!’ Mary snapped. ‘And who says he’s any connection with the Mayos? That slut would go with anyone wearing breeches. I don’t want to hear anything about that brat!’
James was staggered at the venom in her tone. Shocked, he regarded her, mouth slightly agape.
‘But he must be John’s child!’
‘Rot! Prove it?’ Mary challenged him.
‘But!’
‘No buts, James. John is dead and gone forever. George is our son. There is no other child in our family now, or at any time!’ she said ferociously, daring him to rise and fight her back.
The old James would have done this. The old Mary would not have provoked such action in the first place.
He stood up and looked out into the black of the night before drawing the curtain.
‘She’s right, really. George comes first,’ he muttered to himself.
Yet even then he decided to try and keep an eye on this boy. He must know whether John was the father. Every thought, on that line, would have to be discretion itself. Barker must do the necessary. James Mayo must know.
The next morning he was out early to catch his headman.
‘Barker, I want to know everything possible about the Howard child, but you must be discreet. Never let old Sarah know that you are enquiring for me. Do you understand?’
Barker eyed his master and frowned. This he did not like at all. He had a sneaking feeling that he was doing the master’s dirty work. For what reason? Martha and he had been making a few guesses along certain directions but they too lacked proof.
He liked old Sarah. She’d had a raw deal in life. What right had the master to snoop? He made up his mind. Cost him what it might, he had to speak. He lifted his grizzled head, faced up to the farmer and stared deep into his eyes.
‘No, master, I don’t understand,’ he said flatly.
Mayo’s brows lifted with astonishment. He had given an order—and were his commands being questioned? What the devil was coming over everyone?
He scowled in anger. ‘Are you going to disobey me?’
Barker stuck out his jaw. ‘No, master! You know better than that but I reckon I’ve a right to know why you’re so interested in a bastard. What you’re asking me to do is spy on the Howards. I’ll not do that for you, master, begging your pardon.’
James was speechless at this. His brows came together and he glared at his man. It wouldn’t take much to get rid of him and get a more subservient hand. But James knew he could never do this. Also, his conscience had been bothering him about this quest, too.
‘I think that bastard is dead John’s boy but I don’t know for sure; that’s why I’m interested.’
Barker nodded his head slowly. So he and Martha had been right! Well, this was a nice kettle of fish!
‘So now you know why you must be discreet. Don’t whatever you do, let the mistress know but I must find out whether that child is my grandson or not. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, master. I do indeed. Don’t you worry. I’ll find out what I can though it might take a while. Old Sarah’s tongue is pretty rough nowadays.’
Barker took his time. Asked careful questions. Suitably admired the new baby and thus slowly acquired the information Mayo wanted.
‘Sarah’s called the boy Joseph, but he’ll be known as Jos. She says your John was the father—and I believe her, master. She’d have no reason to lie, would she?’
The talks Sarah held with Barker though were not all one-sided. For all his loyalty Barker was not a very quick-thinking man. Sarah also wanted information and she played Barker with the skill of a fisherman after trout.
Often Sarah puzzled the not so sharp witted Barker. He would be happily chatting to her when she would frown and withdraw into herself. When this happened, Barker had soon learned to leave, shaking his head in mystification. It never occurred to him that Sarah’s mood only ever changed when the Mayo baby was mentioned.
Sarah bitterly resented this new Mayo heir. Why had Betty died? Why did everything happen to the Howards? It was all so grossly unfair!
She made a vow. This child, her Jos, must learn in great detail exactly who he was and his position in life. He must grow up strong and hard to be able to deal with the Mayos. He must develop into a man with a will of iron so that none might trample him underfoot. He must grow up to claim his birthright. His mission must be to win back the Howard land and to damn the Mayos for all eternity.
With her age, responsibilities and worry, Sarah also changed. She became bitter and twisted. At night, when the child slept, Sarah sat in a chair thinking deep thoughts always about the land which should belong to the Howards. The land and the power which always went with land.
And so young Johnnie Mayo’s action, even though his intentions may have been the best, had started something when he rode out on his grey mare. Something which would be implacable in its age and intensity.