Kate Sedley - The Lammas Feast

‘It’s a miracle, sweetheart,’ he said, and his eyes mocked us. ‘Now, Jane my love, do exactly as I tell you or else the baby will be taken away from you by one of these wicked people here. Do you understand?’ She nodded, clutching Adam so tightly that he began to grizzle bad-temperedly. John Overbecks continued, ‘Move back very slowly, step by step, to the door. No, don’t turn round. I’ll guide you. No one will stop us, not if they’ve any sense.’

He raised his right hand slightly and it was then that I realized he had not been disarmed. When Jack Gload and Peter Littleman had pinioned him, they had, in their usual slack fashion, allowed him to retain his hold on the knife. Guiding Jane with his left hand, John Overbecks lowered the knife point with his right to within an inch of the baby’s head.

‘For God’s sake, somebody do something,’ begged Adela, her voice cracked with terror.

The baker laughed. ‘The minute anyone tries to do anything, Mistress Chapman, the blade of this knife slices into your little son’s head. I’ve been a father, you see, as your husband will tell you, and I know all about that soft spot in young babies’ skulls.’

I thought Adela was going to faint, but I should have known she was made of sterner stuff. All the same, I could see her shaking from where I stood.

Richard Manifold cleared his throat and tried what bluster could do.

‘Let the child and your wife go, Overbecks. It’s no good. You can’t esape the law for ever. You’re gallows meat.’

I could have told him that threats were useless. This was a desperate felon who couldn’t see beyond the next few minutes of his forfeited life. For John Overbecks any chance, however slim, was worth the taking. By now, he and Jane were close to the open door, their awkward, backward-shuffling gait and the proximity of their feet almost causing them to trip up once or twice. But on each occasion, they were saved by John Overbecks’s steadiness and unwavering sense of purpose.

‘We’re nearly there, sweetheart,’ he said after a fleeting glance over his shoulder. ‘When we get outside, take my hand and run like the wind. But whatever you do, don’t drop the child.’

Jane shook her head. It was obvious she was puzzled by what was happening, but she trusted her husband completely. He had warned her that one of us might try to take Adam away from her, and that was enough to make us all her enemies.

Jack Gload was standing by the table nearest the ovens, and I saw his hand inch its way, very cautiously, towards the pele that lay on top of it. Its flat, oar-shaped end would make an admirable weapon, but even if he reached it without the baker noticing, he was too far away for it to be of any use. .

Out of the corner of one eye, I caught a sudden movement in the open doorway. The sound of a shrill, indignant yapping assailed our ears as Jane Overbecks’s little black and white dog hurtled in, in search of his mistress. He had no doubt been on a private foraging expedition of his own, but had now returned home to be petted and adored and assured he had been missed. Instead, the person who should have been giving him her undivided attention, was lavishing it, instead, on one of those pink and squalling human puppies that he so despised and detested.

To add insult to injury, John Overbecks kicked out at him, yelling at him to get out of the way. The dog didn’t hesitate, but sank his teeth into the well-muscled calf of the offending leg and held on. The baker let out a yell that was an immediate challenge to Adam, who began to scream at the top of his powerful lungs. Jack Gload seized the pele, stepped forward and swung it in a vicious arc, catching John Overbecks across the side of his head. Adela saw her opportunity and wrestled our furious son from Jane Overbecks’s grasp. Richard Manifold was roaring instructions to Peter Littleman, who, in his turn, was shouting at all and sundry, simply carried away by the excitement of the moment. I was trying to assist Adela and getting under everybody’s feet.

Jane Overbecks gave vent to an unearthly wail and fled through the open door, where she pushed aside a white-faced, frantic Margaret Walker, who had just arrived with Elizabeth and Nicholas in pursuit of the baby brother they had given away.

In short, everything descended into chaos and confusion, but with the happy conclusion that we had Adam back safely, while John Overbecks lay prostrate on the bakery floor, Jack Gload and Peter Littleman sitting triumphantly on top of him.

I was then the one who disgraced myself by fainting.

John Overbecks had been dragged off to the Bridewell, and I was home and propped up against the pillows in my own bed.

Margaret, who had accompanied us back to Lewin’s Mead, was sitting at the table drinking a restorative cup of Adela’s fermented blackberry cordial (a deceptively potent brew that could lift the top off your skull if you drank more than half a mazer); Adam was asleep, having been fed and his ruffled dignity soothed; Hercules was sulking in a corner because he was being ignored; and two very chastened children were standing by the mattress, looking down at me, waiting to hear their fate.

‘I ought to whip the pair of you,’ I said sternly. ‘You know, don’t you, that what you did was very wrong?’

‘But it was you who said why didn’t Master Overbecks give Mistress Overbecks a child!’ Nicholas protested sulkily. ‘So we thought we’d give her Adam. He makes too much noise.’

‘And he smells,’ Elizabeth added fastidiously, wrinkling her pert little nose.’

‘I only left them for. . coupla minutes,’ Margaret excused herself, the blackberry cordial already beginning to have an effect on her speech. ‘Had to. . go and draw water from the well. Must’ve been longer than I thought.’

‘No one’s blaming you, mother-in-law,’ I reassured her, although I suspected she had met a neighbour and stayed gossiping. But if you’re poor and can’t afford servants, there’s no way you can keep your eye on children, even the smallest, all the time. ‘It’s these two who are to blame.’

‘But you said-’ Nicholas was beginning again.

‘ Stop saying that !’ I roared at him, then looked despairingly at Adela as he burst into tears.

‘You’re right. They both need a good whipping,’ she murmured uncertainly.

But whereas most parents wouldn’t have hesitated to take the birch to both of them, beating them until they couldn’t sit down for a week, neither Adela nor I could bring ourselves to do it. I said, as I always did, ‘I’ll leave your punishment to your mother.’ And Adela said, as she always did, ‘Your father will deal with you.’

So it was left to Margaret Walker, once the effects of the blackberry cordial had worn off, to try to instil in them some sense of the enormity of what they had done. Maybe she succeeded or maybe some innate sense of right and wrong prompted them, I don’t know; but certainly they were very subdued for the rest of the day and all the following day, speaking only when spoken to, and then very respectfully, and being helpful around the house. It was only when Saturday, the first of August, dawned, bright and hot, and their eyes began to sparkle in anticipation of the Lammas Day celebrations that I suspected another reason for their good behaviour; fear of being excluded from the Lammas Feast. On the other hand, young as they were, perhaps they knew instinctively that we would never do that. We were too anxious to be a part of it ourselves.

The streets of Bristol were packed to suffocation for the processions of the city’s guildsmen as they walked to their various churches in different quarters of the town. Everyone who could afford them wore his or her Sunday clothes, and even those who could not had managed to pin a flower or a ribbon somewhere about their persons. Carpets and tapestries hung from the windows of the rich, while the poor simply took the opportunity to air their torn and mended sheets. And if they didn’t possess sheets, they simply leaned out themselves, yelling until they were hoarse. But then, everyone was doing that, except for the time they were in church.