Three Round Towers (21 page)

The hours passed slowly until I was marched towards Southease Church. Jeremiah haltingly led Beth who was prattling merrily all the way; together they had the same turn of speed.

The priest was dressed in black and the pews were filled with a motley band of smugglers who were all there under order from Tilly to see the fun.

My groom was at the altar waiting and joking with his friend who held the ring. There was a ring, a solid gold ring apparently torn from the finger of a dying woman – a wrecker's prize. I had learned so much about this family when I was supposedly asleep. I would discard it as soon as I could.

Jeremiah and I stood waiting for the church to quiet. He walked slowly and I was partly holding him up instead of the other way round. We arrived at the altar and the priest began.

He knew his service and intoned the phrases that are so familiar. My heart grew colder with each word but suddenly, when we got to the bit where he asked if anyone knew of a reason not to marry the couple before him there was a great shout from the rear of the church. I turned, stunned, as I saw Wilf, alone and unarmed in the centre of the aisle. Not a soul moved. It was as if we were all stupefied. He shouted again:

‘Stop! This marriage is unlawful for she is married already.' My mouth dropped open in shock even as I saw Beth tottering toward Wilf. There was uproar and I took the opportunity to run as best as I was able towards him scooping Beth up as I went. ‘Don't listen!' It was Tilly standing on a pew. ‘It's a trick, she b'aint married at all!' I looked back and saw her raise a pistol.

I wasn't going to stop – I kept running. A shot was fired and I still kept going. He grabbed us and together we flew out of the door as the gang realised we were escaping and fell over themselves trying to get out of the narrow pews to get to us. Wilf slammed the great oak door and twisted the handle putting a crook of metal into the ring. We turned sharp into the yew bush that was alongside the church and then he helped me climb into an open table top tomb. He dragged me down to the floor with Beth under us. The top was lowered onto us and it was only then I realised that people had come to rescue us. The slab was wedged open with a flint through which we could see what was happening outside. Later I was to realise that this very tomb was one of the hidey-holes that the gang used to stash their loot.

‘Quiet,' he whispered urgently in my ear. I put my hand over Beth's mouth. ‘The soldiers are waiting, the place is surrounded. We just need to lie low until they are rounded up.'

The oak door was sprung open as the combined might of so many ruthless men forced the hinges off the wood. They burst out, all reaching for what few weapons they had. Most had left their knives, cutlasses and guns behind at the house and with their horses for who needed weapons in a church at a wedding? It was a fatal error and cost many of the smugglers their lives. They were cut down in a hail of weaponry wielded by vengeful soldiers who had been made fools of too many times in the past. We were safe: clearly Wilf had indicated where we would hide and no one came near us.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Jeremiah was shot in the back and died instantly. Sam was cut down by a sword wielded by a giant of a soldier who swung the blade round his head before bringing it down on Sam's. I covered Beth's eyes. I didn't see the taking of Tilly but she was taken and forced into a cart with her wrists tied to the side rail.

Of all the men in the church, probably nearing one hundred, thirty were killed, and forty five wounded, the remainder escaped, melting into the background. When we clambered out of our hiding place we were rushed by Farmer Elwood, Billy-alone and Dr Grieve; my friends who had once again come to my rescue. I collapsed to the ground weeping tears of fear, pain, joy, I don't know what.

Beth and I were taken back to South Farm where we had a bath and sank into our lovely beds. I slept the sleep of my life with Cilla coming to take Beth as soon as she awoke but before she started shouting for attention.

When I eventually made my way downstairs to the kitchen it was late morning and I was unprepared for the crowds who were there. Everyone I knew had come to greet me and before I knew it I had heard the whole story.

Mrs Jenkins had been disturbed by Sam's visit and told both Wilf and Dr Grieve that something was untoward. Billy-alone and Wilf had gone to Southease to spy on the household and on their way there they met the youngest Coad boy who warned them that Beth and I were being held against our will and that there was to be a forced marriage in a few days. Dr Grieve had extracted the date of the marriage from the terrified priest by threatening him with excommunication, prison, or stringing-up by a Lewes mob. He had given in quite quickly, perhaps glad to get rid of some of his troublesome parishioners. Farmer Elwood had enlisted the military through his contacts and got everyone down to Southease in total secrecy. Wilf's ruse about me being married was of course untrue but it had worked brilliantly shocking the congregation for long enough for us to escape.

I hugged everyone and was completely overcome with the love that was showered upon us. Billy-alone was thoroughly enjoying his role in the rescue and Cilla's eyes shone with pride as she watched him. Farmer Elwood was thankful to see me safe, he had dreaded having to tell Cecilia that I had been kidnapped, married against my will or worse. Mrs Fisher and Cilla were feeding cakes and drinks to everyone who crowded in. Mrs Makepiece and Miss Wardle arrived mid-tale with Beth's grandpa and the story had to be told again. There were two people missing: Dr Grieve, who had his hands full with mending broken bones and cuts – injuries sustained in the attack, and Wilf.

I had to see him and so I went out of the door to look for him. Cilla caught me and said he was in the stable.

‘Wilf.' He turned to look at me and I took in the strong arms that had pulled me from the nightmare at Southease, his broad frame and his kind eyes. ‘How can I ever thank you Wilf?' I held out my arms and he came into them and put his arms round me. ‘Well, I told everyone you were already married, perhaps you should be. To me.'

I reached up to kiss him. ‘I never wanted anything more.'

We had to endure the trials of the gang members or free traders as they preferred to be called. Of my family only Aunt Tilly survived, her father having died whilst she was imprisoned at Lewes. Sam and Jeremiah were buried in paupers' graves though it was rumoured that great riches were buried in or around Southease. Tilly was undoubtedly the ringleader but there was little evidence and she had no previous counts against her. She certainly was the brains behind an extensive operation and it was her brains that had kept her from public notice. The court case was distressing as I had to give the evidence that would convict her.

Once again I sat in that court but this time I was called and led through my story by the public prosecutor. The room was packed as it had been for all those sent to trial. In general, sentences had been light as was often the case with smugglers who had links to sections of society who had the power to free them or arrange minor sentences. Aunt Tilly's position was worsened by her disreputable family history and mostly because of what she had tried to do to me, her sister's child. My own notoriety in Lewes lent me some sympathy but in the end it came down to my word against hers. On the last day of her trial the prosecutors produced a witness who supported my tale. In exchange for freedom from prosecution for this and earlier events, my companion in the cellar, Digger, stepped forward. Some effort had been made to tidy his wolfish looks up and when I saw him I smiled my thanks that he had finally turned away from the gang's crimes.

Aunt Tilly was sentenced to deportation and I hoped never to see her again. That she deserved such a lenient sentence I am far from sure but that was what was handed down.

The event that had saved me from marriage to Sam was never brought to light: the intervention of the youngest Coad. I do not suppose he told his family of his talk with Wilf and Billy-alone, nor do I suppose that he would have gone out of his way to call at the doctor's house so it was entirely fateful that they had crossed paths and he had felt able to act. That he had acted honourably by his half-sister was commendable in my eyes.

It was a good many weeks since Aunt Tilly's sentence had been handed down for her part in the crimes of the smuggling gang, but still she was in Lewes prison, awaiting the boat that would transport her to the colonies. Her proximity to me was disturbing and I fretted constantly to be rid of what I felt to be a malign presence.

Every day began with the same thought: I won't let Aunt Tilly's presence spoil my day. Every day I failed in this desire. Somehow she was always in my mind, hiding behind thoughts, sneaking out when I least expected it, infecting me with her malice.

One day I woke particularly early. The dawn had barely begun its climb to dispel the darkness. I padded barefoot to the window and watched as fingers of opaque light threaded through night clouds; a pale shred of sunlight gently lifted the shadows until the light was full and vibrant. Gradually the birds began their songs and chirrups until the sky was full of exuberance and hectic activity. I might have been the only human on earth for nobody else stirred.

Beth turned in her truckle bed and I watched as she began to fidget: yawning, stretching and finally blinking rapidly before she opened her eyes fully. I motioned her to the window and she scrambled out of the pile of bedding and together we watched the morning arrive. It was going to be a lovely day and we held hands together to welcome it.

Our day proceeded as normal, breakfast, working in the doctor's study, seeing patients and preparing medicants. Today Dr Grieve was due to sit in the coroner's court and we started our lunch without him. His hours on such days were unpredictable so Mrs Jenkins plated up some cold meats, bread and cheese. I spent several hours with Beth who was learning her alphabet. We used some chalk to practice letters on a slate. Beth was two and a half, as she proudly declared to everyone she met, and she absorbed all the experiences of her daily life like Mrs Jenkins' mop.

I heard the door slam as the doctor arrived. Mrs Jenkins scurried to meet him and he shouted for me, ‘Esther, Esther, come and join me.'

We sat at the dining table and he began eating, all the while looking at me with concerned eyes.

‘What is it?' I whispered, suddenly afraid.

‘It's your aunt, she has asked to see you. Can you face it? You are not obliged but it might help you to put this all behind you.'

‘Have you heard about the boat?'

‘Yes, she is to be taken to Tilbury tomorrow where she will be put upon a vessel bound for the Australias.'

‘Tomorrow?'

‘Aye, tomorrow. If you want to see her before she leaves you must go now, before dark. There will be no opportunity tomorrow. Esther, my dear, I know you are troubled by her and I think it might be an opportunity to lance the boil.'

I smiled at his use of a medical term but inside my heart was pounding at the thought of meeting her again. The last time we had met we were in court and she had watched me with anger in her eyes as I told the story of my abduction, imprisonment and almost marriage to her son, Sam, my cousin. During the trial I was asked, at great length, about my relationship to the Kempe family.

I tried to think why she would want to see me. It was my testimony that damned her.

In the end I decided to go, if only to satisfy myself, again, that she was indeed a very wicked woman and deserved no quarter from decent people.

Dr Grieve accompanied me to the doors of the house of correction but I declined his offer to escort me inside. I was admitted by a young man who was new to the job and much kinder to me than the gaoler who had previously incarcerated me in the very same cell as my aunt. I looked through the bars to see her crouched on a three legged stool looking very unkempt. ‘You wanted to see me, aunt?'

Unkempt she might be but her eyes were as clear as ever and her look was withering.

‘You asked us, girl, to be a family to you and you wanted to know about your mother. Well I am going to tell you. You might not wish to hear all that I say but it is your right to know.'

She spat into the corner of the room as she called for the gaoler. ‘Bring the girl a stool, boy, can't you see she be crippled?'

I gasped. I didn't see myself as a cripple.

The lad brought a chair and I sat, waiting. I hid my hands in my cloak, I didn't want her to see that I was nervous.

‘Your ma, Sarah, was my older sister and she were a bright spark. Our grandmother Meg took a liking to her and taught her everything she did know about her craft. She didn't bother with me.'

‘Craft?'

‘Aye, craft. Meg were known as a wise woman.' She looked up at me nastily. ‘Or, in some circles, a witch. You be shocked girl, but there is not much difference ‘tween the two. People think that a wise woman be for the good, and a witch for the bad; your great-grandmother Meg would be a bit of both, according to who she were treating. My mother was her daughter, and she were a weakly sort so it were a spell that bound our father to her, a spell cast by Meg.'

She paused in her tale before saying, ‘Meddlin' in such things be dangerous and with all her knowledge and herbal skills she bound they two together as should never have been. Pa didn't want her but he sired Sarah then me, then ma died of the effort. It suited Meg to keep him tied to the family while she brought us up an' he took out his frustrations in smuggling. He led a gang of 'em, including many local lads who were looking to earn more than the few pennies they got legally. It weren't all about money – the drink and the excitement were heady payment and outwitting the law was part of the thrill.' She was looking into the distance as she said this and I could sense that she missed the life they had led, pitting their wits and cunning against authority.

‘Our whole life revolved round the trade and your ma was as much a part of it as the rest of us. She were a bright girl and comely; our dad used her to deliver messages and keep the local constabulary sweet. She just crooked her little finger and sweet-talked them into befuddlement. She had learned well from Grandma Meg.'

‘It were a bad day for us when Sarah met a young man, a stranger to our parts. She should have been acting as a lookout but she got flustered by this good-looking fella who stopped to ask the way. Because she took her eye off the game, two young lads were caught and one of they were later hanged; he were a bonny lad. Sarah were beaten as a punishment, as was the way with those that flouted our rules.'

‘Who beat her?' I asked.

‘Why, her dad, who do you think? He loved her, more an' me, but she nearly got us all caught.'

‘Didn't her grandmother protect her?'

‘You're not listenin' are you girl? We was all in it together and that was her punishment.'

Aunt Tilly spat on the ground again and continued.

‘Some months later Meg took sick and died. ‘T'were very sudden and with her death the spells broke. Our pa went looking for a new woman. Sarah, your mother, left us soon after, but not afore he had satisfied hisself.'

‘No.'

‘You'm not daft girl, your ma was useful in that way to your grandfather. He took her as he later took me. Who knows how many childer he got roundabouts.' She looked at me and laughed. ‘D'you know how long it were before she got herself hitched to your dad?'

I felt sick and struggled for breath as I gasped, ‘No, it's not true, you are just saying all this to get back at me. You're an evil woman and I wish you were hanged, just as you deserve.'

‘Aye, maybe I do deserve hanging but you'm come from our seed girl and you'll never know whether the badness is in you. Your grandfather might be your father – he might not, but you'll never know and if you have childer they might be born idiots as some of mine were. They'm all dead now – two died after they was born, they were afflicted and one were a cripple–' she was looking at my lipsy leg ‘–and their dying was a blessed relief, but my two strong boys Sam and Jeremiah, there were now't wrong with they, but you got them killed.' She looked at me, accusing, accusing.

‘Is this why you wanted to see me, just to tell lies? Well, I don't believe you and I won't let you destroy my memories of my parents. They were good people and they loved each other. I don't believe you. I don't believe you and I won't believe you. I won't!'

My cries had brought the guard running and I was let out of that hateful place. I ran, as best as I was able, all the way back to Dr Grieve's house and flung myself on my bed. Oh, how I cried.