the scholar' sweetheart 9

 I completed this last night so I am feeling pleased with myself. 

Chapter 9

 

Meanwhile, Woodlock and Cornelius walked Shuri home in an amity few might have expected.

“I can feel more charity towards that horrid man, knowing that he was taken in royally and at such a vulnerable time by one of our kind,” said Shuri. “Poor little boy!”

“I wish I had noticed,” said Cornelius. “But he was so much older than me, I would not have easily even recognised something was wrong, let alone been able to help him. I wish he had gone to Papa about it.”

Woodlock grunted.

“It’s shame,” he said. “Shit! Whose vardos are those?”

Half a dozen wagons with green-painted canvas covers were setting up camp in the field next to the current gypsy camp.

“There’s Crowy Heron,” said Shuri, in dismay. “The man my father wanted me to marry.”

“Play along with me,” said Cornelius. “It will not alter our agreement, Woodlock, that Shuri shall choose, but if he thinks her engaged to a Giorgio, and you ready to be chief in her stead, it may make him back off.”

“I hear you, brother,” said Woodlock.

Crowy Heron strode up to Shuri.

“I’ve come to claim you and your tribe,” he said, without preamble, reaching for her.

“Take your hands of my betrothed wife, Heron,” said Cornelius, coldly.

Crowy Heron regarded him.

“And who the hell are you, you little ponce?” he demanded.

Cornelius permitted one eyebrow to lift, an expression he had copied from Evelyn.

“I’m the liaison between the gypsies and the marquis,” he said. “My name’s Reckitt. The rules to camp on the marquis’s land are simple enough; take all the firewood you need, take rabbit, hedgepig, squirrel, or birds, split any deer half and half with the Hall, and keep your camp tidy.  No stealing from the Hall or from the village, and if you cause trouble, including fighting with the group already here, you’ll be thrown out.”

“And why should I abide by your rules?” demanded Crowy Heron.

“Because if you don’t, our people will hand you over to the Marquis as a troublemaker for risking losing us a good and cushy camp,” said Woodlock.

“Well, I’m trembling,” sneered Crowy. “Let yourself be pushed aside by a little boy you should have been able to break in half, did you? Gone soft, you have. We’ll take what we want, same as usual.”

“Then you have twenty-four hours notice to be off his lordship’s lands,” said Cornelius, evenly. “Because a refusal to abide by his lordship’s very generous rules means he will not feel in any way obliged to be accommodating.”

Crowy took a swing at Cornelius, who was expecting this. Cornelius blocked the blow on a forearm hardened by the noble art of pugilism, feinted with his left in a jab towards the face, disengaged his right arm and plunged it unopposed into Crowy’s solar plexus.

Crowy went down, coughing.

“Take your people and get the hell out,” said Cornelius, walking past him. “I’ll have some men come down to give you backup, Woodlock, for I suspect they may try something tonight.”

Woodlock nodded, grimly.

“Fowk wanted to join Crowy Heron’s tribe, and Shuri was to be the price of joining.”

“I take it that you do not want to join the tribe.”

“We’re Lovells; and there are enough of us to be a tribe without having to join others,” said Woodlock. “Fowk reckoned he could intimidate Crowy and lead both, and I say he couldn’t, but we’ll never know now as her ladyship did what was needful, and drove Fowk to death.”

Cornelius sniggered at this prosaic description of Imogen running Fowk down in her phaeton. He left Shuri at her tent, kissing her hand.

“I don’t do that fuss,” said Woodlock, sounding unsure.

“You have your own ways,” said Cornelius. “I was raised to kiss a lady’s hand on greeting or leaving her.  It’s not better, or worse, it’s my lifestyle. It’s not done to impress Shuri but because I would feel uncomfortable behaving any other way.”

“Aye, and I’ve seen you do it to old mother Lementina. I didn’t scoff. Well, not really. I was afraid fancy ways would win her over.”

“If you think Shuri is shallow enough to be won by a display of parlour manners, you aren’t man enough for her,” said Cornelius.

“Quite right,” said Shuri, hands on her hips. “I’ll choose the man, not his manners, and if I’ve a preference, I’ll not act on it until I’m certain of my own heart. And with that, boys, you will have to be content.”

Woodlock bowed his head, and Cornelius made a leg.

“I’ll go round up some gamekeepers and poachers to add to your men,” said Cornelius, and strode off to do so. He reflected that he had grown up in the time he had been teaching Jasper, going from a rather diffident youth to a man who could speak confidently for Evelyn, who was now a definite friend.

He wandered into the village inn.

“There’s a guinea for any man who can manage to camp with the gypsies without fighting with them to add to their forces against the new gypsies, who aren’t particular about who they steal from,” he said. He had their attention right away.

“And for how long?” asked Walter Hanes, the village ne’er do well.

“I gave Crowy Heron and his band a day round to get out,” said Cornelius. “If they don’t shift, you’ll be assisting our gypsies to throw them out.”

Walter spat on the floor.

“Crowy Heron’s bad business,” he said. “He’s a damned thief, and his band as bad,” he added. “He’s as like Fowk as if Fowk sired him.”

“And he’s trying to take over the tribe by forcing Shuri to marry him,” said Cornelius.

“Ain’t you sweet on her, Mister Reckitt?” asked Walter.

“Well, yes, as it happens,” said Cornelius. “And I am on good terms with her other true suitor, so don’t go pulling caps with Woodlock, he’s a good man. But I was the one who had the pleasure of knocking Crowy Heron down,” he added, with some satisfaction. This brought a murmur of approval from his audience.

Half a dozen villagers accepted Cornelius’s guineas to become gypsies for a day; it was a holiday, pay for a novelty, and those who could afford to leave businesses in the hands of their wives, or shut up shop for a good vail went willingly to find out about sleeping under canvas.

Cornelius went next to alert the bailiff to have his men and any useful poachers – except Walter Hanes who was already at the camp – to keep an eye on Crowy Heron and his band overnight. Then he returned to the hall.

Evelyn greeted him with a raised eyebrow.

“Potential trouble,” said Cornelius, laconically.  “Crowy Heron turned up with some men, and I’ve given him notice to quit.”

Evelyn frowned.

“I am happy to accommodate gypsies if they behave themselves,” he said.

“Yes, and so I told him and he did not see why he should change his habits. So, I gave him twenty-four hours to get out. He has intent of claiming Shuri, according to Fowk’s wishes, and forcibly take over the tribe.”

“The hell he does! You did right, Corny. I take back my reservations. Have you alerted the bailiff?”

“Yes, and hired half a dozen of villagers to add to the numbers at the camp. I thought I might go down with Jasper to sleep there overnight, specifically guarding Shuri.”

“I’ve no objection to Phebe sleeping in her tent for a treat, with Moppy,” said Evelyn.

“What a good idea!” said Cornelius.

 

Cornelius took a basket of the sort of dainties gypsies did not usually get to eat when he went down with Jasper, Phebe, Moppy, and their bed rolls.

“I brought pies, to add to the food, so you might feed us too,” he said. “And some of Mrs. Hudson’s cider.”

“That’ll be appreciated,” said Woodlock. “You ain’t sleeping in Shuri’s tent; you and Jasper can come into mine.”

“As I hoped,” said Cornelius. “Moppy is a good guard dog.”

“She’s a good size, now, too,” said Phebe. “Hello, Mama Shuri, we won’t let Crowy Heron take you.”

“Bless you, child,” said Shuri. “I am lucky to have an extra half-daughter as you might say.”

“It’s lovely to have lots of family,” said Phebe. “I went from having a jailor and a rather distant father whom I had to appease and was coached in what to say with lots of pinches and slaps, to having a father who cared more than I realised, and a brother, and a mama, and Jasper says I may share his ma and his tribe too, so it’s all very satisfactory.”

“And Evergreen and Silas are your brothers, and Hesilla is your sister,” said Jasper, firmly.

Cornelius shot him a look, and read that Jasper was happy for his friends to be family, but that Jasper did not want Phebe getting any romantic ideas about gypsies. He agreed. Lifting Shuri out of the environment to be his wife was a long way from a gently-reared girl having to live like a gypsy, and going from being ‘Miss Phebe’ to being reviled by most people. It was a good way to make sure that she was not about to be dazzled by any romantic notions, and he nodded approval to his charge. Hesilla might marry up, but Evergreen and Silas would have to do something like take settled jobs before they might consider non-gypsy brides. And there would be jobs here for them if they wanted. And for any of the tribe.  Evelyn had made an offhand comment about building cottages for the elderly, which could be communal and if they wanted to cook outside, that was fine, but with their own spaces inside as well. That way, the tribe did not have to worry about the infirm, who would be Evelyn’s pensioners. Cornelius could see a day when the tribe actually settled, on the whole, perhaps with occasional excursions to horse fairs rather than travelling continuously.

 

A little before sunset, it was plain that Crowy Heron’s people, some dozen in five carts, were packing up to go.

“No fight, then,” said Walter Haynes, disappointed.

“If they keep on going and don’t slip back during the night,” said Cornelius. “It’s hard to suppose he’s giving up without a fight, but I suspect he’s planning something sneaky.”

Walter sucked his teeth.

“You’m the expert on gyppos, master,” he said.

“I’m not an expert, but I do talk to people,” said Cornelius. “You might try it, sometimes; it might contribute to saving you from ending up in the lockup for your hasty tongue and fists.”

Walter grunted

He had to admit, though, that the vicar’s son wasn’t exactly sermonising. No, no vicar would be sarcastic.

Cornelius left it to Woodlock to set watches; the man knew his people, and probably had a shrewd idea about the village volunteers too. The children sat an early watch and went to bed; but all awoke when there was a sharp bark from Moppy. The faithful pup lay flat to the ground, growling as those sleeping leaped up to surround Shuri’s tent, and Evergreen gave a shout, pointing, as someone leaped the stile into the field, in hot retreat.

“Let him go,” said Woodlock. “We won’t catch a canny man like Crowy Heron with a start; but he knows that Shuri is protected.”

“I won’t be allowed to stay out with Moppy more than one night,” said Phebe. “And Moppy won’t stay without me. Can’t Ma Shuri stay at the Hall until he gets the idea?”

“I confess, I would be happier,” said Cornelius.

“My place is with my people until or unless I choose to become a Giorgio,” said Shuri. “I will not skulk in safety away from my family.”

 “Would it help if I put on your nightgown and slept in your tent whilst you shared with another woman?” asked Cornelius.

Woodlock sniggered.

“You’re pretty enough to be a woman, but Shuri doesn’t look like an escaped cupid,” he said. “Crowy would see those golden curls shining in the dark.”

“I, howeffer, look like my mother as well as my father, whateffer,” said Jasper.

“You don’t sound like her, with your grandmother’s Welsh accent,” said Cornelius.

“Diw! If I am sleeping in her bed with a long dark wig, I won’t be saying a thing, look you,” said Jasper.

Cornelius took Jasper’s chin in his hand, and examined his face, glancing back and forth to Shuri.

“He’ll have his father’s nose when he’s full grown, but it’s delicate enough as yet to look feminine,” he said. “And his angry shrugs and the toss of his head, that’s all you, Shuri. The looking down his nose, raised eyebrow, sneer, that’s all Evelyn. It can be done, and he only has to look enough like Shuri to be a decoy long enough for Crowy to try to enter the tent, and then he can scream blue murder.”

Woodlock nodded. “He’ll make a pretty girl, and where he isn’t identical in height, once lying down with a bedroll, he’ll do well enough.”

“Good, that’s settled,” said Jasper. “Mother, you will sleep with other women, and wear a headscarf and hide your air of authority; and I will skive my lessons to sleep during the day to be fresh at night.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” Shuri put her fists on her hips.

“Yes, mother,” said Jasper. “Because until you choose either Woodlock or Cornelius, as your son, I am head of the family.”

“When did you suddenly get so confident?” asked Woodlock.

“When Papa and Ma Imogen taught me that I am Jasper, a valuable person in my own right, not ‘The didekoi,’ not ‘The gypsy,’ not ‘The bastard whelp,’ not ‘Finchbury’s natural,’ but Jasper Finch, a man.” He folded his arms, tossed his head, and looked down his nose.

“I think we obey the man,” said Cornelius, quietly. “He is one, this day.”

 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 8

 

Chapter 8

 

It was fortunate for Eusebius that the next day was the day Evelyn set aside to hear local cases within his jurisdiction; or so he thought, not wanting to linger in the village lockup longer than necessary, especially as he shared the space with sundry others smelling of stale beer.

Most cases were quickly disposed of; Gaffer Selkirk, for getting drunk and urinating through the vicarage window whilst making improper suggestions in what passed for song about what Eusebius Reckitt did with lady choristers was sentenced to scrub all the vicarage floors under the eye of Anna, the maid of all work.

Theo Reckitt had taken a note of the lyrics of the Gaffer’s improbable saga for Evelyn’s and his own delectation.

“Such a fine level of scatology cannot go unrewarded so I am letting you off a fine as well,” said Evelyn to the gaffer.

“Can’t I pay a fine and be let off scrubbing?” asked the gaffer, plaintively.

“No,” said Evelyn. “Next!”

Next involved a brawl between Moelo the gypsy and Sam Scroggins, who worked in the saddler.  Evelyn sentenced them to work together to repair the cobbles they had pulled up to throw at each other, manacled together so they had to co-operate. Evelyn’s solutions to such social problems may not have been according to the statute books, but on the whole they were considered fair by those under his dominion, and few ever complained. As Evelyn’s solutions were usually more lenient than the law dictated, if more demeaning and cogent, the idea of complaining and bringing down worse judicial wrath was not considered a good idea.

It so happened that the next case to be brought was by Sir Humphrey of Little Trimmington, who usually acted as magistrate in his own district.

“Humphrey? What brings you here?” asked Evelyn.

“I have a beggar caught selling certain trinkets like a gold snuffbox, and I thought you should hear his story,” said Sir Humphrey.

“Does it have a scene with dogs on it?” asked Evelyn.

“It does,” said Sir Humphrey. “You sent a list of items stolen around various parishes, and I believe we have them all.”

“Well, that’s splendid, but how did this beggar come to have them?” asked Evelyn.

“Tell his lordship what you told me,” said Sir Humphrey, to the beggar.

“I didn’t steal nut’n,” said the beggar, sullenly. “I seen this maid in liv’ry buryin’ the geegaws under an oak tree. Nice little arse swayin’ as she done it, an’ I thought, maybe I’ll try my luck wiv her, but then I seen what she ’as, and it weren’t worf my while to cause no trouble tryin’ arter a tumble wiv ’er. So I says to mesel’, ‘Neddy,’ I says, “You stay quiet an’ out o’ sight, an’ when she goes, you can dig up them geegaws an’ prig em right an’ proper.’ So I did, s’welp me an’ no theft, but finders keepers.”

“Well, I suspect the finder’s fee will be more useful to you than what you could fence them for,” said Evelyn. “None of them is particularly valuable, but some have sentimental attachment, so you will go on your way with twenty guineas, and so, Sir Humphrey, will whoever turned them in. I am happy to pay out twice for the solving of a mystery. Mrs. Hudson?”

Mrs. Hudson had come to testify about the damage to Larkin but she had screeched and threw her apron over her face.

“Oh, sir! That little idiot, Mary Manning had earth on her apron and knee marks, and to think I thought she was involved in some lewd activity!”

“Call her in,” said Evelyn.

 

Mrs. Hudson had to virtually drag Mary in screeching that she hadn’t done nuthin’, she hadn’t, and that she was a good girl.

“Mary,” said Evelyn, “Did you bury these items? Tell me the truth.”

Mary looked at them.

“Yes, I did, to take away the taint of evil,” she said.

“Excuse me? What taint of evil?” asked Evelyn.

“Your father was a lewd man, so I had to find items of value to bury, so that the evil of his presence was lifted from the house. It wasn’t stealing, it was saving you and the mistress, and oh! Now you’ve dug them up before they translate into church plate, the evil will come back!” she sobbed.

“None of these items ever belonged to my father,” said Evelyn. “I got rid of everything that did when I took up residence. Surely you remember the great clear-out? I already removed any taint of his presence including that residing in the former Turkish salon by re-decorating. So, where did you get this idea?”

“Reverend Reckitt telled me, an’ he telled me what to do,” said Mary. “And a churchman ought to know,” she added, severely.

“Are you telling me this was the Rector’s idea?” asked Evelyn, bemused.

“Oh, no, sir, the other Reverend Reckitt, him what has city learning,” said Mary, earnestly.

“My lord, may I speak?” said Shuri, who had come to see how Evelyn ran his court.

“Certainly, Mistress Lovel,” said Evelyn, formally.

“It’s based on a gypsy trick sometimes used by the unscrupulous,” said Shuri. “Someone who wants to consult the gypsy medium on bad luck is told to bring an egg, which is palmed and exchanged for one with a chicken foetus in which has had black ink injected into the egg to dye it black. This is broken and declared to be a manifestation of bad luck. The victim is told that their savings are causing them to concentrate too much on filthy lucre, not on spiritual matters, and they are told to put it all in a box and bury it by a certain tree and not to dig it up for at least three months. Needless to say, by then, the gypsies and the money are both gone. It’s a game for the deeply credulous and superstitious.”

“I see; thank you for telling the court this,” said Evelyn. “So, Mary, you have heard that this is a trick to make you believe that stealing was a good act; what have you to say?”

Mary stared.

“But he’s a Churchman,” she said. “They aren’t allowed to lie!”

“Mary, do you believe in God and say your prayers?” asked Evelyn, gently.

“Of course, my lord,” said Mary, earnestly.

“Do you ask God to make you good?”

“Oh, yes, my lord.”

“Why do you need to do that?”

“Because I thought black thoughts about Mrs. Hudson, who thought I was doing things with a man to get my skirt muddy,” said Mary.

“What you mean, I think, is that you are a sinner?” asked Evelyn.

“Well... yes,” said Mary.

“And do you think any man or woman is above being a sinner?” asked Evelyn.

“Oh, no, my lord, only One was without sin, our Lord in heaven.”

“Then, is it so far to stretch to believe that a clergyman can also sin? Surely you have heard by now that Eusebius Reckitt showed the deadly sin of anger and in doing so, hurt poor Mr. Larkin cruelly, and tried to attack my wife?”

“Oh, my lord! I am so muddled!” sobbed Mary.

Evelyn muttered a prayer of thanks that she had managed to get far enough to be muddled, not convinced.

“Eusebius Reckitt is a sick man,” said Evelyn. “I don’t know what he thinks or believes, but it is something maybe a doctor can help with.”

“She’s lying! And there’s nothing wrong with me!” screamed Eusebius, where he was waiting to be heard. “You heard that gypsy whore declare it was a gypsy trick! They used my seeming appearance to steal!”

Evelyn got up, picked up the carafe of iced water he had on his desk, walked over to Eusebius, and poured the lot inside the front of his cassock.

“Don’t use filthy words like that about the mother of my son,” he said. He went back to sit down, ignoring the thin falsetto shriek as the ice reached down Eusebius’s body.  “Mary! Technically you stole. But I understand that you were convinced to do so,  by one who should have known better. I am going to hope that you are not a thief in the common way, but you shall not be turned off. If the other servants guard their possessions with more care and let you know it, that, I fear, is the consequence of letting another persuade you into what truly is theft.  After all, is not the silver thimble what my mother bought for my wife? And my wife’s earrings were given to her by her mother. You must realise that such things had never had anything to do with my father, even if you thought I had inherited the snuffbox. My father’s snuffbox is somewhere in the midden; I threw it onto the kitchen fire and let it melt. You see, my own superstition and anger at his cruelty and bad behaviour was much the same. But I had a right to do it, as it was then my possession. Do you understand?”

“I fink so, me lord,” said the lachrymose Mary.

“Good; you may go about your business,” said Evelyn. “Bring Eusebius Reckitt before the bench, for more crimes than I was anticipating trying him for.”

“You have no right to try me! You, a sinner, son of that black sinner who sired you! You are evil and the Lord will strike you down!” cried Eusebius.

“You know what? I don’t believe I do have the right to try you,” said Evelyn. Eusebius smirked. Evelyn went on, “Take him back to the lock-up whilst I write to the bishop. I fear you will be unfrocked for the cold-blooded and evil manipulation of an ill-educated, gullible, and unintelligent girl, who might have been turned off at best, or hanged for theft of articles worth more than five and twenty guineas at worst, which to my mind would have been murder by proxy. I have, however, the deposition of Mrs. Hudson that the girl is stupid, not dishonest. Taking advantage of such a girl is a despicable as anything my father or his cronies did, because whilst they hurt bodies, you have hurt that poor girl’s soul. But for this having come out, I had been going to fine you to pay for Larkin’s pension for five years, for his loss of his job, and pay for his nurse, and let you go on your own recognisances. But this was low.”

Eusebius gasped, and his eyes widened.

“But you would not believe that the gypsies are bad!” he cried.

“Some gypsies are bad, but you will not gain trust until you give trust,” said Evelyn. “Shuri Lovel had a father as evil as mine, and my dear bride drove her phaeton over him when he attacked her. Mine died in an accident, and good riddance to him. I have reason to hate him and his friends, so you do not have to convince me that he was evil. And it is my intent to be nothing like him, so if you have a grudge against him, continuing to hold it against me is fruitless.”

“Two of his friends stripped me, and made me do unspeakable things with them!” sobbed Eusebius. “It hurt so much, and I was humiliated, and they laughed at me, and said that if I complained, Papa would lose his living! And... and then I went to a gypsy who promised to take away sin, and he used that trick on me! And I had stolen from Papa to bring all he asked, it was just after Mama died, and oh! It was the worst year of my life, and Emilius asked me who had dragged me through a hedge backwards, and I hated him for that!”

Evelyn went forward again and took the somewhat pudgy hands of the choir master.

“Eusebius, I hear you. My father and his friends made game of me... not quite in the same way, but similar. So, I understand. I really do. But it has made you sick and you need help.  The bishop will ensure that you get help, and I will be frank with him. But I cannot do this without an ecclesiastical court.” He looked at Adam Parkin. “Take him back to the lockup. I will write to the bishop immediately.”

 

Evelyn changed his mind, and rode over to see the bishop, planning to put up in an inn overnight. He bared his own soul, about how his father had made one of his paphians make Evelyn perform for the amusement of the jaded rakes who were his friends, and how that had made him despise women, giving it as excuse for Eusebius. He had believed he had cried all the tears there were to shed for the abused and humiliated little boy, when he sobbed out the story knelt before Imogen, who held him, and miraculously still loved him; but as he told the story he sobbed again, and found himself choking out that Eusebius had been even lonelier than he had been, having just lost his mother.

“But he cannot continue as a clergyman,” he said. “He is not spiritually whole, however musical he may be. He needs an alienist and to be comfortably confined somewhere.  It was unforgiveable to involve my maid, but I think somewhere his conscience lost itself and he came to believe that the ends justified the means.”

“A dangerous path,” sighed the bishop. “Sometimes it is a shame we have no more monasteries for such people.”

“I imagine his father, his brothers, and of course, I, will contribute towards a good secure place where he may have a small organ to sooth his troubled spirit, and perhaps he may heal,” said Evelyn.

“The church will take care of it,” said the bishop. “And his savings will pay his fine for your unfortunate butler. He is paid well and is not extravagant.”

Evelyn bowed.

It was not about the money, it was about Eusebius taking responsibility for his actions.

He said so.

“And that is what the church court is for,” said the bishop. “It is not solely to punish transgressions, but to understand and draw repentance from transgressors. I will pray for you both.”

“Thank you,” said Evelyn.

“You know who has been playing tricks on him, don’t you?” said the bishop.

“I can guess,” said Evelyn. “But then, if anyone miscalled my mother, I would have done the same, so do not ask me to condemn such tricks.”

“I wonder,” said the bishop, “If any such pranks were responsible for bringing Eusebius to a point where he might be brought to realise he needs help, and to accept it. I have known for a while that his temper is... intemperate, and he has been rough with some of his charges. I do not think he likes children, but his skills are... well, there are other musical people.  He must be unfrocked, of course, but we take care of our own when they need us.”

Evelyn returned home, comforted, and went to see Eusebius in the lock-up on his way home.

“Be frank with the ecclesiastical court, and be ready to work with them,” he said.

Eusebius was back to his truculent self.

“Go to hell,” he said.

“Do try not to be an idiot for once,” said Evelyn. “And let your prayers guide you.”

“Get out, filth,” spat Eusebius.

Evelyn shrugged.

He had tried.

Perhaps the bishop could make a breakthrough to build on what had come out; perhaps Eusebius might find help.

Evelyn sighed.

Perhaps the resentments, which had become resentment for its own sake, the causes long forgotten or suppressed, would be healed. Or perhaps not.

Still, miracles did occur.

 

 

the scholar's sweetheart 7

 sorry all, I was up late writing

Chapter 7

 

Larkin shuffled to the door to open it. Eusebius, impatient, shoved the door hard, and Larkin fell with a cry.

Imogen, coming out to see what the noise was about, picked up one of the chairs in the vestibule and hit Eusebius over the head with it, felling him under her fury, and breaking the spindly French chair.

 “Larkin!” she cried. “What has that wicked man done?”  she raised her voice. “Help! Help! Assault and battery! A defenceless woman in danger!”

George had already come running.

 

In the schoolroom, Cornelius barked, “SIT down!” to his charges. “There are adequate men to help and before God, Jasper, whatever you and Evergreen did to Eusebius, let us not compound it.”

“Us, sir?” said Jasper. “Or do I mean ‘We?’”

“You,” said Cornelius. “I heard you preparing to plot and decided that I did not want to know. I still don’t want to know, so pipe down, and sit down, and get back to work. Your ma is more than equal to handling Eusebius and your pa will be there presently.”

His charges shuffled, but got back to work.

 

George advanced on Eusebius, who untangled himself from the chair, got up, and came at George fists flying. George put up his fists in the approved manner to deflect blows primarily.

“You can leave him to me, George,” said Evelyn. “I saw him charge my wife and attempt to endanger my succession, and as she is tending to Larkin, I can only assume a case of actual bodily harm.”

Eusebius backed off, holding up his palms to fend off a vengeful young sportsman who took pugilism seriously enough to be able to take on a local champion, if not a pet of the fancy.

“Don’t hurt me, my lord!” he cried. “I have no quarrel with you, only with my brother, who has done something monstrous!”

“You’re a bloody liar,” said Evelyn. “I know exactly where Cornelius has been all day, save for the ten minutes or so he was visiting your esteemed father, and by the time he had walked to the church and back, he would not have had time to do anything, monstrous or otherwise, even if I believed such aky-fi nonsense!” He glanced over at Imogen. “Is Larkin badly hurt, my love?”

“His leg is broken,” said Imogen. “And I’m not sure it will ever heal fully. You’ll have to provide him with a male nurse.”

“As magistrate, I order that this fellow will pay for it,” said Evelyn, in a low, angry voice.

“I did not mean to hurt your servant!” squealed Eusebius.

“Nevertheless, you did hurt him,” said Evelyn, in the soft, dangerous tone which made Eusebius’s bowels turn to water. “And I saw you advancing on my wife with your hands outstretched. I can only assume you meant her harm.”

“I... I did not see who it was! I did not mean to be denied seeing my brother to remonstrate!” squealed Eusebius.

At that moment, the rector almost fell in the open door.

“Dear God! What has happened?” he panted.

“Your son attacked my butler, and gave him an injury which could be life-threatening, and will certainly curtail his career,” said Evelyn, his voice steady and cold. “And then he advanced in a threatening way upon my wife, who had the presence of mind to seize a chair to fend him off, as one does with a wild animal, and which his violence has broken apart. I am not a fan of Louis Quinze furniture but even so, it seems an intemperate level of artistic criticism.”

Eusebius opened his mouth to say that the marchioness had smashed the chair on him, and shut it again. He had a horrible feeling that he would not be believed.

“Ladies underwear! Corsetry!” he sobbed. “He sent me the sort of things whores wear! I... I... he insulted me in the worst possible way!”

“Eusebius received a parcel from a shop, which had a receipt with it, signed for in what looked like his own writing,” said Augustus Reckitt. “It contained certain items usually only worn by women, and rather... sketchy and.... frilly. It spilled over when Eusebius opened it.”

“Diw! Well, if you did not want people to see it, why did you not open it when you were alone?” asked Evelyn, who detected his son’s hand in this, having seen the boy set off into town the day before. Jasper would never forgive any man who had bestowed such names as Eusebius Reckitt had done upon his mother.

“I did not send for it!” yammered Eusebius.

“My poor son’s mind has been slipping,” said Augustus, apologetically. “He... he imagined that the organ sounded bad, and he sees things... he saw a goat in his room which was not there...”

“It was there! And the organ made horrible noises!” yelled Eusebius. “Only my brother could have the knowledge to do that, and to dismantle the damage! He was the author of making me look a fool with the dancing dogs!”

“A gentle rebuke to teach you not to be such a sanctimonious fool,” said Evelyn. “But even if Cornelius had sent you underwear of an inappropriate nature, that does not give you the right to barge into my house, half killing my butler, and trying to drive my wife to miscarry my putative heir. If I chose to pursue that to the full rigour of the law, sirrah, you could be hanged!”

Eusebius paled.

“I... I had no intent....”

“And yet, you barged violently into my house where it might be supposed that a gently-reared lady, recently married, might be in a delicate condition, and possibly subject to damaging hysterics even if not attacked in her own vestibule,” said Evelyn.

“I told you, I did not even realise who she was!” yapped Eusebius.

“Well, who do you think would be here, the Queen of Sheba?” barked Evelyn.

In truth, Eusebius had been so blinded by rage that he could not have told if Imogen was male or female, or what she was wearing.

“I... I thought she was a servant sent to stop me,” he muttered.

“Diw! I do not think many servants wear a round gown of lavender lutestring trimmed with blonde lace and beaded on the bodice,” said Evelyn. “Overdressed, my lady, for a morning gown?”

“New evening gown which I was trying on when I heard Larkin cry out, and ran out to see what was wrong, and that fellow advanced on me, hands held out as if he meant to grab me and do who knows what,” said Imogen. “So I picked up a chair to discourage him and screamed, and George came, and you came.”

“And even if you had been a servant, dear God! A man supposedly of the cloth assaulting one of my maidservants? It’s beyond belief!” said Evelyn.

Eusebius sat down heavily on the floor and began sobbing.

“George,” said Evelyn, “Have a couple of grooms put him in the village lockup overnight. I’ll hold court tomorrow.”

“Is... is that really necessary?” asked the rector. Evelyn rounded on him.

“He hass broken the leg of an old man, whateffer, and you know how often such things turn to pneumonia and brings on death!  If Larkin dies inside a year and a day, I will have him before the Salisbury assizes for murder, look you, and also if my lady miscarries! Yess, it is necessary!” He hissed his s’s as his Welsh accent intensified. “He needs to realise that actions have consequences!”

“I... I believe that he has lost all ability to reason,” said the rector, mopping his brow.

“I will hear that given in excuse for his actions, but how would you take it if I charged into your house, knocking over your man of all work and advancing on your maid as if I planned to tear her limb from limb?” growled Evelyn.

“I... quite so, my lord, I understand,” said Reckitt, bowing his head. “I will pray for him.”

“He will need much,” said Evelyn, grimly. 

“May I talk to Cornelius?” asked the rector, as two burly grooms dragged Eusebius away.

“No, you may not!” said Evelyn.  “He is my employee and he is currently in the schoolroom undertaking lessons to my son and some of his friends. In half an hour they will come down to breakfast, and if you were not in the habit of sending peremptory notes to my employee summoning him when he is about his work, I would invite you to join us all at breakfast, but as it is, if he has time to come and speak to you after he has broken his fast and before lessons resume, then he may do so, but I doubt he will have time. I consider that your pandering to your firstborn – yes, I remember growing up with his cruelty to Corny and his attempts to get me into trouble with my father – has made his behaviour worse. It is a shame that you were blinkered in assuming that one son could not lie and that the rest were inveterate liars, otherwise a good judicial spanking applied at a more impressionable age might have cured Eusebius of his holier-than-thou sanctimony, bearing of false witness, and cruel glee at getting others into trouble.”

The rector bent his head.

“A just rebuke, my lord,” he said, softly. He left the house quietly.

 

The gong went for breakfast, and the schoolroom party trooped down, agog to find out what had happened. Imogen had splinted Larkin’s leg as best she might, and he was being carried to the butler’s pantry.

“What has happened?” cried Jasper, horrified.

“That fellow, Eusebius, pushed Larkin over in barging in the door and broke his leg,” said Imogen, grimly. “So, was it you who sent underwear to him?”

Jasper was staring at Larkin in horror.

He turned to Evelyn.

“Sir, will you whip me now, or defer punishment until later?” he asked. “I sent the underwear. I thought it would be funny.”

“Well, son, at least you have the good sense and firm moral compass to recognise that actions have consequences,” said Evelyn. “I’m not going to whip you, but you will spend every spare moment, until I can get a nurse, in caring for Larkin, waiting on him, settling him upon the utensil when he needs it, and giving him laudanum at need, sleeping on a truckle bed in his room. I think the amount of pain he is in will do more to remind you of consequences than bearing pain yourself.”

Jasper went white, and bowed.

“Yes, pa,” he whispered.

“Your friends will continue with their lessons, and Cornelius will set you work to complete whilst you sit with Larkin,” said Evelyn. “Now go to breakfast.”

 

Evelyn intended to drive into Salisbury to seek a nurse, perhaps an old sailor, as soon as breakfast was over; but a couple of days having to see the old man’s pain would impress on Jasper the law of unintended consequences, and would drive the point home.

Of course, it was more the fault of Eusebius than Jasper, both in his extreme reaction and in his violence of entry to the hall, but that was something to discuss with Jasper after punishment, about reading the reaction of someone being pranked. Jasper did not know that it was rumoured that Eusebius held alternative preferences, and as such, the sending of female undergarments was a little more pointed than just a laugh over him being shocked that such things existed.

“Underwear?” said Cornelius to Evelyn.

“My son has a rather individualistic sense of humour, but I am certain he was mocking Eusebius for getting uptight about relationships between men and women, not for having... feelings best not spoken about,” said Evelyn. “He’s a good lad, and would not torment someone for being different.”

“I agree,” said Cornelius. “I’d give a monkey to have seen Seeby’s face, though.”

“Me too,” said Evelyn. “But then, I think of poor Larkin.”

“Seeby has never thought of others when he lashes out in anger,” said Cornelius. “I remember once when I said something that angered him, and he pushed me down the stairs, and I knocked into the maid, and her arm was badly scalded by the pot of hot tea she was carrying.  I was blamed, of course, for larking about on the stairs, according to Eusebius’s word to papa. The maid knew, and when she healed, she did her best to shield me, but she was too badly hurt to tell papa what had really happened.”

“You know, though I suspect Jasper of being the author of his other vicissitudes, I cannot bring myself to stop your father having him confined as a lunatic,” said Evelyn. “Set Jasper some work so he can sit with Larkin.”

“Yes, I will,” said Cornelius. “Well, the other three will have to put up with doing their chores without his aid, which is how I acquired their attendance.”

“I’m sure Phebe will help out,” said Evelyn. “As she won’t be able to play with Jasper for a couple of days.”

“If they get on well enough, I’ll have her in the class as well,” said Cornelius. “I have no doubt she’s ahead of the others.”

“Yes, but only if they don’t resent her,” said Evelyn.

He called for his gig to be prepared, and laid a hand on Jasper’s shoulder in approval as Jasper organised a truckle bed to be erected in the butler’s pantry.