Where Jos walked that evening was always afterwards a complete blank. He was mentally shattered. He had been cruelly hurt not just by Maud’s rejection but by what she had said at the end. For the first time he was acutely aware of his murky past. He wondered about his father. What might not have happened if he had lived. Would he have married his mother? If so, he would now be a Mayo. Maud would marry him then!
‘But I am a bastard!’ he shouted, ‘a dog without a proper name!’
For the first time he was also acutely aware of Joseph Howard, his other grandfather. Now he knew exactly what he had felt. Sarah, too, what she had been telling him for years about the Mayos, was so very right. They took all if and when it suited their plans. No one could stand up to them. The debt owing the Howards was incalculable.
‘I’m a Howard, through and through,’ he thought, ‘a dash of Mayo blood in me has done me no good.’
He lingered as he thought about James Mayo. His living grandfather. An old man who had showed him some affection. He had casually tossed him a gold coin.
‘Patronizing me,’ he thought bitterly. ‘The gold coins he has should be mine my rights. My father was the first son. All Mayo’s should belong to me!’
He pictured George Mayo’s handsome face and cunning eyes. In the past he had fought him with happy indifference. Now he loomed as a spectre demolishing his life. Jos ground his teeth together in frustration. There would be a reckoning for all this.
In the morning he came down, limp, wan and quiet. Sarah looked at him, lifted her eyebrows and said nothing. Something was up. That much was obvious but, for once, she held her tongue and waited patiently. Jos was in an ugly mood. He sat on the stool regarding his hands, the fingers curled into hard fists, his eyes were narrow spots of flint. He made no attempt to get ready for work. He just sat, hour after hour, until noon. Even Sarah began to feel alarm.
She stirred the iron pot from which wafted the smell of soup and hesitantly she poured some. She held it to him and looked steadily at his face.
Jos came back to the present. The soup stirred his gastric juices. Slowly he took the bowl and wooden spoon and began to sip. Then he paused, and looked at Sarah with a smile. A wicked smile which twisted his lips into a leer.
‘I’ve been and made a fool of myself,’ he told her quietly. ‘I fell in love with Maud Gordon. Last night she threw me over. I wasn’t good enough for her. She’s going to wed George Mayo. It will unite the land into one big tract. Her son will be just about the biggest landowner in this area!’
Sarah nodded to herself. The news did not surprise her too much. In a way, she was pleased that he had lost to a Mayo.
‘Now you can see the Mayos for what they really are,’ she said.
Perhaps Jos would stir himself at last and do something. What this something could be she had no idea. Her only pleasure was that, at long last, Jos must surely follow her reasoning. He must hate with a venom of the deepest destruction.
* * *
It was a miserable morning for Jos and a happy day for Sarah.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked him quietly.
Jos shrugged. ‘I don’t know. What can I do? I can’t make her marry me, can I?’ and he sighed deeply.
‘But George Mayo!’ Sarah said cunningly, bringing his name into the open.
Jos stiffened. Yes, George Mayo indeed. He suddenly realized he loathed the name of Mayo. As he thought a hardness entered his heart. He knew that he must do something physical. He felt ready to burst with frustrated anger.
Jos stood up slowly, unaware of Sarah watching him with bated breath. Like a robot he walked from the cottage, over their patch of garden and across the field. He must find George Mayo. He would never rest again until he had things out with him.
He was unaware of the Squire riding back from Mayo’s, where he had just drunk a glass of port. The Squire felt mightily pleased with himself. He knew both Mayos were. The younger had unbent to show his most charming side. He had listened respectfully to all the Squire had said, called him ‘Sir!’ and generally made himself agreeable. The Squire had been happy to give official permission for George to call. The engagement date would be announced in a month’s time with the wedding next year. Old James Mayo had not said much. Indeed, at one stage, he appeared to have been thinking about something else.
The Squire would not have been unduly perturbed even had he known what was in James Mayo’s mind. James was pleased for his son. The girl was a suitable match. He was highly delighted that, at long last, the final parcel of land should come into their family. No! James was thinking uneasily about Jos. He too had not failed to hear of his grandson’s crazy infatuation for the Squire’s daughter. In the country there are few, if any, secrets, and James was worried.
Jos was, after all, half a Mayo. James knew what his reactions would have been had someone taken his girl. Blood would have flowed. He eyed George who seemed blissfully ignorant of possible repercussions.
Long ago James had thought there might be bad blood between George and Jos. Long ago he had envisaged this when he had entailed Mayo’s for his heirs and successors. On that day he had carefully set aside a small plot of land for young Jos. Twenty acres of grazing and two Mayo’s greys, a filly and colt. That was the very least he could do for poor John’s boy.
He had kept this from George and his solicitor had tied up the bequest so securely that George would never be able to touch or break it.
Life held so many complications. He also felt old when faced with problems. He stole a quick glance at George, noted his almost subservient attitude to the Squire and frowned. If only George was frank and open—like Jos! He turned and looked out of the window. All of a sudden, the room stank of trouble. He was frightened.
The Squire had sensed none of this. It would have taken a far more astute man than Philip Gordon to guess another’s worries. On his ride back he was too happy for himself to bother over old Mayo’s queer silences.
He was sufficiently in touch with reality however to slow his horse to a halt as he came upon Jos. He watched the young man, puzzled, realizing Jos did not see him. He turned in the saddle and watched the lad walk past without even batting an eyelid.
‘Well!’ he thought, ‘old Sarah always said he day-dreamed. Now I believe her!’ He shook his head whimsically. ‘I don’t believe he had the faintest idea I was sitting here!’
Jos strode on, remorselessly hunting George Mayo. Jos had seen the Squire.
‘Obviously riding back from Mayo’s,’ he thought bitterly, ‘no doubt there’s been celebrations!’
It stood to reason that George would shortly be taking himself out to call formally on his future bride. There was only one way to do that. Mounted, over the fields, then turn to ride up the narrow lane which led to the manor house.
Jos set his jaw. He would wait for George. He would wait all day if necessary. He lounged against a gate, eyes staring down the lane in sombre mood. It occurred to him that old Joseph Howard had also waited for a Mayo to come riding. It was an eerie thought. A repetition of history.
The horse’s head bobbed into view as it cantered easily over the field, then up the long lane. It was a Mayo’s grey. Jos recognized George’s stance in the saddle.
His heart started to beat more easily. He shook the tingles from his fingers and, throwing a quick glance around, was relieved to see they would be alone. The fields were deserted. The Squire had vanished. It would be just him and a Mayo all over again.
As George neared he saw the waiting figure and instinctively drew rein, slowing his horse back to a trot and then a walk while he stared frowning. As he recognized Jos he glowered, then grinned maliciously. His first impulse was to heel into a canter and ride past. He laughed as he approached the waiting figure. He knew what was affecting that bastard. Jealousy! This was too good to be true. He halted his horse six yards away and stared down, supercilious, arrogant and reeking with triumph.
Jos moved and walked into the lane’s centre, blocking it unless George chose to ride him down. Jos stared up at the rider, eyes small and hard, jaw set, fists clenched, silent and waiting.
The rider eyed his stance. He was dressed in his best breeches and coat as befitted a man going to call on a lady. He did not really want to fight and get his clothes messed up, but he knew he could not ride away without a coward’s label being applied.
George respected Jos as a fighter. Though, in the past they had neither of them decisively beaten the other. George now reckoned he should definitely have the edge. He had the weight and the strength. His morale was peak high. Nothing could topple him today!
He dismounted slowly and tied the reins to a tree.
‘I’m ready when you are,’ George told him proudly. He squared up, fists raised, feet apart, knees bent. Jos copied and slowly advanced. The horse snorted and backed to the extremity of the reins.
They sparred for a minute, beginning to get each other’s reach. George danced forward, fists whipping in and out in a rapid blur of speed. Two red welts were left on Jos’s face. Jos ignored them, fascinated by the good looks facing him.
‘I wonder what Maud would think of her prince if he was cut up?’ he asked himself.
Not that Jos wanted her now. His pride had been hurt far too badly.
He stepped forward, long arms flailing, fists cracking down on George’s face. Frantically George tried to cover and duck but Jos was everywhere at once. Jos was beside himself. A savage exultation filled his soul as he rained merciless blows down on his opponent’s face. The blood spurted from a fractured nose, slit lip and cut eye. Jos hammered on.
Frantically George ducked, twisted and weaved to no avail. His feet moved to right and left but no matter where he turned the fists still kept hitting. All the time blows smashed down on his face, cutting between his shielding arms and fists. He tried to punch in return. He landed some blows but they had no power behind them. His eyes swelled and filled with blood. He only knew Jos was still there by hearing his heavy breathing and feeling the welter of pain crash down. It was a never-ending curtain of agony. His feet slipped and he fell. He rolled on the ground and instinctively tried to scramble erect again. One leg braced, his muscles heaved and he stood, swaying gently.
Jos eyed him, drew back his right and let it fly straight for George’s unprotected jaw. It connected square and true. George’s eyes glazed and he crumpled into an unconscious heap while the horse half-reared in fright, tugged at the reins and endeavoured to free itself.
Jos stood, feet apart, looking down at George. He tried to understand how he felt now his urge was satisfied. George’s face was quite unrecognizable. Blood streamed from forehead to neck in tiny rivulets. More than one tooth had gone. A great flap of skin hung down from one eyebrow. He breathed through his mouth, the nasal cartilages horribly mangled.
Jos was satisfied. George Mayo would never look the same again. He did not yet know enough about females to realize that, ever contrarywise, Maud would become even more tender to her injured fiancé.
What would George do now? It had been a mutual fight. Jos had lost his girl; George had lost his looks. All things were equal again.
He turned and walked slowly back to Sarah. Apart from two red welts on his cheeks he was unmarked, though the skin was split and bloody around the knuckles of both hands and one thumb had started to swell in a strain.
‘George’s blood!’ Jos said aloud in satisfaction as he studied his great hands.
Sarah raised her eyebrows as he entered the cottage. She took one quick look at him and stood, hands clasped together, waiting.
‘I’ve just carved George Mayo up so that his own mother won’t know him!’
Sarah’s eyes burned with pride. She took his hands and, fetching water, bathed them while he sat wearily.
‘You’ve really hurt him?’ she asked.
Jos nodded. ‘I have!’ he told her grimly.
‘And now what, Jos?’
He thought for a minute. ‘I think I’ll now have to go.’
‘But where will you go?’
‘I’ll go to the Midlands. To Leicestershire. That’s where the good hunting is. I’ve always wanted to work with horses.’
‘When?’
‘Not yet. Not for a few days. I don’t want people to think I’m running away. If I could get work here Gran I’d stay with you but we both know that’s out of the question now.’
‘But the land, Jos! Our land!’
Jos shook his head impatiently. ‘I know Gran, but what can I do about it? Land costs money. We don’t have any and, if we had, do you think the Mayos would sell to us now? They’d see us in hell first! God knows what things will be like here when George inherits too! No, Gran! Everything you’ve said over the years has been right. The Mayos are rotten. I’ll never forget and neither will those who come after me—but right now, there’s not a thing I can do about getting our land back. I’ve got to get money. Get good work. I can do that in the Shires.’
‘But Jos, oh, how I’ll miss you! We’ve always been together! You’re all I have!’ she told him wistfully, and for the first time in Jos’s memory tears trickled down Sarah’s withered old cheeks.
‘Gran! Gran! Don’t take on so. I have to go. You must understand!’ he told her urgently.
Sarah acknowledged his wisdom but sorrow swept over her. She was to be left alone without even a chance of seeing the Howard land returned in her lifetime.
‘You’ll come back—someday?’ she asked him hesitantly.
Jos nodded firmly. ‘I’ll be back—and I’ll take what’s ours!’
* * *
Jos hung around the cottage for two days, not attempting to hide. He knew who would come eventually. He kept taking little walks away from the cottage and Sarah’s sad eyes.
On the second day the stallion appeared cantering over the fields in the exact place he had first seen a grey horse as a boy. He watched James Mayo ride up, slumped in the saddle. Jos’s feelings were mixed. He loathed the Mayos yet he did not dislike this old man.
Jos stood, legs astride, firm as a young oak, face expressionless as James rode up and slowly dismounted.
‘Well, Jos, I must say you don’t do things by half measures, do you?’
Jos said nothing.
‘You know that you’ve marked my son for life. You’ve branded him!’
‘Just as your first son branded me for life—as a bastard!’ Jos retorted coldly.
Old James flinched at this harsh truth. His shoulders slumped wearily. Mary had thrown a fit of wild hysterics when they brought George home. Even the doctor had been sufficiently shocked to bite his lips with worry. The Squire had been too appalled to do anything but freeze while Maud had done what any well-bred young lady did in such circumstances. She had calmly fainted with the shock.
‘By God!’ James Mayo told himself. ‘He is a man!’ as he looked up at Jos. ‘But what’s going to happen when I’m gone and George runs Mayo’s?’
Jos read him. ‘I’ll be going soon,’ he said flatly, ‘but don’t think I’m running away from you or anyone. I’m only going because I know there’ll be no work for me from now on.’
‘Where?’
‘Leicestershire.’
‘Have you any money?’
Jos grinned ruefully. ‘The half-sovereign you gave me as a lad and a few shillings I’ve managed to save.’
Old James felt in his breeches pocket, fingering the coins there. He only had a few sovereigns with him. Small change to him. A fortune to Jos. He took them out and handed them over.
‘Take them! Go on! This is nothing to do with anyone but me and you. Whatever has happened in the past and no matter what comes in the future, you are my blood grandson, Jos Howard. Just you remember that!’ he told him firmly.
Jos looked down into tired eyes. He saw genuine warmth. Quite suddenly, he felt for this old man. Instinctively he understood that the man did not care for his own heir.
‘Things won’t be easy for you when I’m gone, boy. No harm will come to old Sarah. I’ll see to that,’ James promised Jos, ‘but when George inherits things might be bad for you around here.’
Jos frowned. What was coming now?
‘I’ve left you some land, Jos. Not much. Twenty acres. It’s rough but you could lick it into shape if you’d a mind to. I’ve tied it up so George can’t touch it. There’ll also be two Mayo’s greys for you. I’d like to have done more but George—and my wife—,’ he ended lamely, shrugging his shoulders while his eyes appealed to Jos for commiseration.
‘That’s all right, Grandpa! I didn’t expect anything at all!’ Jos replied softly.
The old man was all right when you got to know him! It wasn’t his fault that things had turned out the way they had. At least, he had thought enough to try and make reparation. Twenty acres was little enough compared to the mighty Mayo’s but it was land. Twenty acres! Land of his own one day! Now he had a real incentive to go and try to acquire capital. And two Mayo’s greys!
Jos’s heart swelled. Surely this would please old Sarah? Old James warmed at Jos’s term. Stepping forward he gave his hand which Jos took in a firm grip.
‘Look after yourself, my boy. When you return, and especially if I’m gone, watch George. Don’t trust him. He’s a bad one,’ he warned his grandson carefully. ‘You’ll want some clothes and travelling money. I’m going to send these to you. Barker can bring them over. Old Sarah doesn’t mind him. They’re both so old now they can natter over the past. God go with you, Jos!’
Turning, he quickly mounted and, without a backward glance, rode away.
Jos watched him disappear, a choking feeling catching his throat. His grandfather really cared for him. He preferred him to his own son! The knowledge hit Joe like a hammer blow.
He chinked the gold coins in his hand. He had some money. He would travel in style now. He would coach up like the gentry and eat well at the overnight taverns. No cheap rushes for lights. He would have an expensive candle.
‘I’ve always been poor. Now I’ll just see what the gentry’s life is like,’ he told himself. ‘I’ll try it and if I like it—which I think I will—then I’ll make sure I get enough money to live like them always. I’ve had enough of being poor. I’m well-bred even though a bastard. I’ll be a landowner one day and I’ll have more than twenty acres too. I’m going to be a man of means.’