Maggie Prince - North Side of the Tree

It is a shock to see him, all the more so because he looks absurdly pale and sober and clean, in comparison with the rest of us. I see how we must look to him, red-faced and rowdy. It dawns on me how unsuitable a match I would be for John, or indeed for any decent and respectable person outside the family. “Good day.” He looks round and addresses everyone, then turns to my father. “May I speak to you privately, Squire Garth?”

He is beautiful, beautiful and solemn. I am starting to remember what it was like this morning. He hasn’t seen me yet.

“You can talk to me here, lad. No one’s going to be eavesdropping,” my father answers. Everyone turns away and pretends to be busy doing something else. “We’re all celebrating being alive.” Father waves his arms. “Even you can understand that, I daresay. You’ll take a cup of elder?”

“Thank you.” John smiles at my mother, who is already reaching down another goblet. “It’s worth the journey here just for your elder wine, Columbine,” he says. Mother nods – she obviously realises why he is here – and his attempt to soothe the atmosphere hangs awkwardly in the air. He turns back to my father. “Sir, it is important that I speak to you alone, upstairs in your rooms please, about a matter of great importance.”

Everyone is listening. Germaine stands idly chipping flakes of dried food from the knife marks on the table with her fingernail. Kate studies her pie. The henchmen nod meaninglessly to each other, in a pretence of conversation. Suddenly Aunt Juniper rises from the chimney corner and marches towards John. “Young man, I cannot imagine how you permitted this to happen,” she snaps. Silence falls across the kitchen.

“Juniper…” Mother tries to hustle her away. “It’s better if we talk about this in private.”

“Nonsense. Do you imagine you can keep this disgraceful secret for even a moment, Columbine? My niece was in your care, Parson Becker…” She stands before him, clearly almost speechless with fury, and shakes her finger in his face. Mother hurries round her and takes hold of my father’s arm.

“Come, Husband. The parson wishes to speak to us privately.”

My father brings his fist down on the table with a terrifying thump. “ What is this? What brings you here, parson?”

John swings his gaze from my father to Aunt Juniper. “This happened before Verity was in my care, madam, indeed it happened whilst she was supposedly in the care of your two Barrowbeck households. Now please excuse me.” He turns back to my father. “I have already said that I wish to speak to you privately, sir.” He gestures towards the stairway. “Now, will you kindly accompany me?”

My father is silent for a moment. He releases his arm from Mother’s grip, steadies himself and brushes crumbs from the front of his doublet. Then he says, “I had assumed you had come to do the job you’re paid for, parson, to bless the dead. There have been murders here today. We shall find the murderer, you can count on it, and then you will have the opportunity to lead that lost soul to repentance, afore we hang him. These are the jobs you’re paid to do, sir, and not, I think, to decide where and when your betters should speak to you.”

John gives a brief sigh of vexation. “Very well then, Squire Garth, let’s go and bless the dead. Perhaps you would be so good as to accompany me?”

My father nods graciously, and leads the way towards the wood cellar, followed by John and my mother. Everyone watches in silence as they go. Aunt Juniper is in tears. I put my arms round her.

“Did you know about this, Beatrice?” she asks. I nod. She sinks on to the bench and covers her face with her hands. Hugh and Gerald hurry over to her, whilst Uncle Juniper watches nervously from a distance, fidgeting from one foot to the other.

“What’s happened?” Hugh asks me, and since everyone will soon know anyway, I answer, “Verity and James are expecting a baby.”

Kate splutters over her pie. “James Sorrell? Yon farm lad? Nay, never!”

I turn on her. “That’s enough, Kate.”

She tightens her lips in outrage, marches to the hearth, flings her pie into the baking oven and slams the heavy iron door shut with a clang that echoes round the walls.

Aunt Juniper rises to her feet and sweeps out of the kitchen, saying tersely to William, “Saddle our horses, please.” Her husband and sons follow her.

People are starting to take in the news. There is a shocked murmuring across the kitchen, and a growing feeling of apprehension as we wait for my father’s reaction. It does not come. Instead, when he returns alone to the kitchen, he seats himself calmly at the head of the table and says, “My friends, we have found our murderer. I want four men to come with me to Low Back Farm at once, to arrest James Sorrell.” He points over people’s heads to William and three other henchmen standing by the gatehouse arch.

“No!” My mother has followed him up the slope from the wood cellar. “This is madness, Husband. James can’t possibly have killed anyone.”

“Silence!” my father shouts. “We have a witness.” He beckons to Michael, a new henchman who joined us last Lady Day, a tall, sly man who never looks anyone in the eye. “Michael, you witnessed this murder, did you not?”

A look of complete bafflement crosses Michael’s stupid face for a moment, then he nods vigorously. “Aye, master.”

“Say what you saw.”

“It was Master Sorrell as did it, master.”

“And you’ll bear witness to that, before the magistrate?”

“Aye master.”

“Then we shall see Master James Sorrell locked in Lancaster Castle before this week is out, to await the assizes and the hangman’s noose.”

I feel cold, as if there were no fire, no heat. I stand up and climb on to the oak settle. People look at me. I call out, “Father?”

He scowls. “What are you doing, girl? Get down.”

“Father, these injuries… look at them.” I hold out my arms, touch my fingers to my swollen mouth. “I didn’t fall in the forest, Father. Those two men are dead because they attacked me. They tried to hurt me. I lashed out at them, and I must have accidentally…”

My father gapes. Suddenly all his drunkenness is gone. He moves with startling speed and before I know what is happening, he has pulled me off the settle, pinioned my arms behind me and is half-carrying me out of the room. I scream and struggle. People rush forward. I think to myself, where is John, where is Hugh, where are they when you need them?

My father is very strong. My ankles knock painfully against the edges of the stone stairs as he hauls me up the spiral staircase. I can hear my mother pattering behind, crying out, “Be careful, Francis! You’re going to hurt her worse than ever.” Voices from the kitchen, raised and incredulous, fade away behind us.

When we reach my room Father drags me inside and slams the door, and both my parents stand with their backs against it. I try to get past them and escape, but my father pushes me away.

“Father, this is ridiculous. Let me…”

“You’ll stay there until you get this idea out of your head,” he interrupts me. His voice is surprisingly mild. “You’ve had a knock on the head and it’s turned you daft, girl.”

“Mother…” I appeal.

She comes forward and puts her arms round me. “Sweeting, for once your father is right.” She glances at him sternly to neutralise any effect this unusual state of agreement might have. “You’ve had more ale and wine than is good for you, and a knock on the head too. It’s addled your brains. You don’t want to be saying anything which people might misinterpret. Now we all know you didn’t kill those men. However, I think there are things here that you’re not telling us, Beatrice. So do as your father says and stay here for the time being. You can decide in your own time when to tell us the truth. I’ll send Kate up with some barley broth.” My parents bow to each other politely and walk out of the room.