The Rufford Rose Read online

  ‘Do you know anything of his family, where he comes from?’

  ‘Not really. He’s been with Abel a while now, apprenticed to him for years but I don’t think the lad’s heart is in the work. He wants an easy life and hints that he would have one, if …’

  ‘If what?’

  ‘Well, there’s the question. Nobody knows the full story but he’s always hinting things, implying he’s better than we are, but we don’t know any more and, believe me, people have asked often enough, but he always clams up. He’s probably making it all up anyway, just in his nature to make up stories. Whatever it is, it is not good for the girls. Thank you for seeing them home.’

  ‘I wanted to see you anyway. Do you have any pear wood, by any chance?’

  ‘Pear wood? Now there’s a fine wood for carving.’ He looked sideways at Cuthbert. ‘Something special planned?’

  ‘Just an idea. I don’t want to say more in case it doesn’t work.’

  ‘I’ll look some out for you, let you have it tomorrow. How much do you want?’

  ‘Only a small piece. An off-cut will do.’ Cuthbert indicated with his hands the size he needed.

  Ezekial smiled again, the same glorious smile that his eldest daughter had bestowed on Cuthbert earlier.

  ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ he said, solemnly, as Cuthbert turned and walked away. Nice young man, he thought as he watched him go. Nice young man.

  It was a couple of days before Ezekial sought out Cuthbert, carrying a piece of wood in his hands. He was in the shelter where the carpenters were busy making furniture for the house, helping Alfric to fit together a meal ark to hold the precious oatmeal for the dry store. Alfric was screwing the lid in place whilst Cuthbert held the hinges at the required angle.

  ‘No decoration needed on that then,’ remarked Ezekial, watching quietly, not wanting to disturb their concentration until the job was done. Cuthbert lowered the lid and checked that it was closed firmly to keep out any insects or other pests. He looked over his shoulder at Ezekial.

  ‘I may put the date on it, if asked,’ he said, running his hands over the smoothly planed wood of the little chest. ‘It is a workaday item which I scarcely think the cooks and kitchen scullions will notice that much, just another food store.’

  ‘I’ve brought some pear wood for you,’ said Ezekial, holding out the wood. Cuthbert took it and ran his hands over it lovingly. He sniffed it.

  ‘Don’t you love the scent of fruit woods?’ he breathed. ‘I love it when apple logs are burning on the fire, they give off such a fruity smell, and this,’ he breathed in deeply, ‘I can smell the fruit it has borne.’

  Ezekial couldn’t help smiling and cast a sideways glance at Alfric who was grinning at him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘He won’t actually eat it.’ They laughed and Cuthbert gave them a quizzical look.

  ‘What? Can’t I enjoy the wood I work with?’

  ‘Of course you can, lad,’ laughed Ezekial. ‘It’s a joy to watch somebody who takes such a pride in his work and such pleasure in his tools. You sniff away all you wish, no one is going to stop you.’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’d be interested to see what you make of that though. It’s not every day I’m asked for pear wood, such a fine grained piece too.’

  ‘You will only see it if my idea works,’ stated Cuthbert, firmly. ‘Otherwise it will be going on the fire.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Will was not content with his life or his work. Restless, unsettled and constantly seeking for something, he tried to work out what had changed to make him feel this way, why he was no longer prepared to wait until Abel retired and he could take over his work and his team. Was it because he was getting impatient, wanting more of the rewards without putting in the effort? No, for a long time now he had been prepared to wait but as he got older he saw other apprentices reach the end of their apprenticeship and move on whilst he felt as though he had come to a standstill. He never saw it as his fault that he hadn’t progressed beyond a barely competent apprentice. He didn’t know that Abel had been paid to take him on as a young boy and was not able to release him once his apprenticeship was complete. An agreement had been signed which could not be broken except by the death of Abel.

  He pushed his way among the scrubby bushes along the edge of the Mere. This had become his own place, somewhere he could disappear when he didn’t feel like working or wanted to avoid someone. Increasingly he was becoming disillusioned, dwelling on the might-have-been and not accepting what had become his lot. He found the spot where he had woven the branches into a sort of shelter and pushed his way inside. It was reasonably dry due to the dense foliage all around him and he had created a dry seat from dead branches where he now threw himself down and gave himself up to thinking of his past.

  Why had he become an apprentice? The couple who had brought him up from birth were not his real parents but he hadn’t discovered that until he was ten years old. An honest, hard-working yeoman farmer, he and his wife were childless and when they had been approached about taking an orphan boy they had accepted that his parents were dead and they were to be the only ones he knew. For some this would have been seen as cheap labour once the boy was old enough to work on the farm, but in Will’s case he had been raised as the son of the household and to help on the farm when he was older. A tutor had been engaged to educate him in the basics needed for running the farm when he was older, how to keep account of what they sold at market, what they could afford to buy for the farm and the household, how to read. At quite an early age he had shown some talent for drawing but it wasn’t until he overheard some of the village boys talking about him that he realised that he was different.

  It was harvest time in his tenth year. Everyone was busy in the fields gathering in the crop and they had stopped to eat and drink in the middle of the day. Everyone gathered under the trees at the side of the field where it was shady, the younger members of the group tending to sit together. Having eaten his portion of bread and cheese Will had lain down against the bank and closed his eyes. He hadn’t intended to sleep but the others must have thought he was dozing and were talking more freely than they would have normally. When he heard his name mentioned he pricked up his ears but did not open his eyes.

  ‘Of course, they’re not Will’s real parents,’ stated a voice he recognised as belonging to one of the older boys, Arnet. ‘They were paid to take him in when he was a baby.’

  ‘Who by?’ asked another.

  ‘Dunno, but it was all arranged secretly.’

  ‘Does Will know?’

  ‘Don’t think so. He’s never said anything, but would you, if it was you who had been palmed off on strangers?’

  ‘How do you know then?’

  ‘I overheard some of the men talking when I was ratting in the barn. They said it was something to do with a rich boy and a servant girl and it had to be hushed up. No one must ever know, so don’t you go saying anything, especially to Will.’

  ‘Right everyone, back to work,’ called Will’s father, getting to his feet further along the field and beckoning everyone to start again.

  Will stood up and joined the others but his mind was no longer on the work. Not his real parents? A rich boy and a servant girl? Who were they? How could he find out? Who would know? Did his parents, or the couple he thought of as his parents, know where he came from, who his real parents were? Why had he been sent away? It was all too much for a ten-year-old to understand. Would his parents tell him anything? Should he ask?

  Over the coming days he went over the conversation time and again trying to understand what it meant for him. Who was he really? Where did he come from? Why was it necessary to send him away? The more he thought about it the more he saw how different he was from his ma and dada. They were both blonde haired whilst he had jet black hair. They had blue eyes where his were dark brown. Although he was only ten he was already showing signs of being tall and lean whereas they were quite short and stocky.
r />   Suddenly his whole world had been turned upside down. He started going off on his own, not completing the tasks he had been set, defying the tutor and being generally disobedient. After a third beating from his father for not feeding the chickens again, his father stormed at him in fury.

  ‘What has got into you, lad? You’ve never been disobedient before. What has happened, ’cos it has got to stop. As long as you live here you work, pull your weight, do as I say. We can’t run the farm without you doing your share.’

  ‘Why should I?’ yelled back Will, rubbing his stinging backside where the leather belt had beaten him. ‘I’m not your son. I don’t belong here. Why should I work for you?’

  His father had stared at him, thunderstruck.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course you’re our son. Why wouldn’t you be?’

  ‘I heard some of the others talking. You were paid to bring me up as your son even though I’m not.’

  ‘Why would we do that?’

  ‘Because you were paid to,’ yelled Will.

  His father sat down suddenly on the bench behind him.

  ‘Who has been telling you these lies?’

  ‘They’re not lies. My real father was a rich boy and my real mother was a servant girl. You were paid so that I could be got rid of. I was a bastard but you have made out I am a true son, a son of yours.’

  ‘You are a true son,’ said his father. ‘Why else would we have given you a good education, fed you and clothed you for ten years? Have we not loved you?’

  Will could not deny that until now they had done all that and more, but it still rankled with him that they had all been living a lie.

  ‘When were you going to tell me the truth? Or was I going to live my whole life never knowing? Who were my real parents?’

  The man put his head in his hands. What was he to do? He had promised to say nothing but what was he to do now the boy had found out? Would he be punished, the money taken back? He pushed himself upright and sighed deeply.

  ‘I do not know who your real parents were, we were told they had died, you were an orphan.’

  ‘Didn’t they have any other family? Have I got grandparents, or do you mean they didn’t want me either?’

  ‘I don’t know about that but I do know we were asked to adopt you and bring you up as our own. We couldn’t have any children of our own.’

  ‘So you were bought. Raise me, call me son and all would be well!’ Will stamped his foot in frustration and unwanted tears welled in his eyes. ‘A bastard and a bastard nobody wanted. That’s what I am. Unwanted.’

  He flung out of the room, slamming the door behind him and ran and ran and ran. He didn’t know where to and cared even less. Unwanted, unwanted, unwanted. The word drilled into his brain, tears blinded his eyes, the pain of the beating paled in comparison to this. He didn’t know who he was, where he came from. But worst of all nobody wanted him and that was what hurt most. That a new-born baby could be sold to strangers because nobody wanted him.

  He ran until he could go no further. His legs gave way and he fell to the ground, lungs on fire for want of air, a stitch in his side like a knife thrust. He cried until no more tears would come then lay still, his head in a whirl. Eventually he fell asleep, exhausted.

  When he woke the light was fading. Night must be approaching. He sat up. He was in a wood but he didn’t recognise it. He was lost but nobody would care because nobody wanted him. Slowly he curled up in a ball on a bed of dead leaves and cried himself softly to sleep.

  From that day he was a changed boy. The men searched for him all night and eventually found him as dawn was breaking, curled up under a tree in the woods many miles from home. They carried him home and his mother fussed over him, putting him to bed in his own room and sitting by his bedside until he woke again. She called for her husband and they talked to him but Will remained silent. For three days he lay on his bed, refusing all food and drink, staring at the wall. They called the village priest but Will wouldn’t listen, putting his fingers in his ears and turning away.

  When at last he came out of his room he sat silently at the table and ate a little bread.

  ‘I want to find out who I am?’ he said quietly.

  ‘What good will that do?’ said his mother. ‘You can’t turn back time. If you ask questions people will just clam up. If they didn’t want you ten years ago they aren’t going to welcome you back now, are they?’

  Will thought about it. She was right. If these parents hadn’t known where he was from all that time ago they weren’t likely to find anything out now. He would have been forgotten, gone from the lives of those who fathered and bore him. A nobody.

  ‘I want to go away from here,’ he said.

  ‘Where would you go, lad?’ asked his father. ‘You’re only ten years old. What could you do? Where would you go?’

  ‘I could work on a farm.’

  ‘You can do that here.’

  ‘I don’t want to be here.’

  The couple looked at each other. What was to be done? They cursed the person who had told Will about his background, but who else had known and talked? Who could they ask now? The man who had approached them ten years ago had been unknown to them but he had sounded so convincing and they were so desperate for a child that they had accepted whatever he said. And the money. What fools they had been.

  They talked about it long into the night. Something must be done as Will was clearly never going to be happy with them now. Could they apprentice him to somebody as farming was not in his blood and he would never settle to it. They would talk to the village priest, he, at least, would be discreet.

  So it was that next day they found themselves setting the problem before the priest who promised to think about what would be best for the boy. A few days later he called at the farm and said he had found a possible solution. Did they think Will would be willing to be apprenticed to a joiner and woodcarver?

  ‘A woodcarver? Why?’ asked the farmer.

  ‘I understand Will has some talent in drawing and has shown some skill with tools around the farm. Could that not be used to give him a trade in a useful skill? People will always need good joiners.’

  ‘It may work, but what do we tell his master? We have no information about his real parents or where he came from.’

  ‘Ah, there is where my job may be useful. I may have an idea as to his origins which I cannot divulge to you but which I could use to persuade the man I have in mind to take him on. No names need be mentioned but perhaps a little money may be useful and we could draw up a legal paper stating that once he has completed his apprenticeship he has to stay with the same man for life.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To prevent the man dispensing with him later. It would give Will a job for his life with a master who would agree to pay him, feed him, clothe him, no questions asked.’

  ‘It all sounds rather strange,’ commented the farmer’s wife. ‘Why would anyone agree to this?’

  ‘I cannot tell you that but the man I have in mind would rather do what I suggest than that I should reveal certain things about his own background which he has confessed to me.’

  ‘You would be breaking the sanctity of the confessional!’ cried the farmer, appalled.

  ‘Then let me do this and I won’t be. For a consideration.’ He smiled. He named a figure which was nearly as much as they had been paid to take him as a baby.

  ‘Let us think about it,’ said the farmer, eventually.

  The couple talked it all over late into the night. It seemed the only way to go. Will would never settle with them now but he was too young to set out on his own. At least if he was apprenticed he would learn a trade and be fed and clothed in the meanwhile. They did wonder what secret the priest had which would help him persuade the joiner to take a boy who was, after all, rather young to be an apprentice. Would Will accept this solution? If he was determined to find his real parents would he stay with a stranger, albeit one who would do so much for him? He must be ma
de to understand that, for now, he needed to be with someone older and if not them, then some other adult. If he was really determined in his quest then he must leave it until he was older. Nobody would answer the questions of a child but when he was an adult he may have more chance even though more years would have passed.

  Thus it was that he had gone to live with Abel Carter but not as an apprentice for the first three years but as a young helper to his new master. Abel had a wife in those days and she took to the boy immediately, let him help her with the work of the house and garden but most importantly, encouraging him with his drawing and number work. Abel never revealed, even to his wife, that he had been paid to take the boy or that he was not allowed to release him from his apprenticeship once he had completed it. He would deal with that when the time came. As it happened he never had to tell because his wife died just before Will was due to complete his time and Abel vowed never to say a word to a living soul about it.

  Will had found that he settled to his new life and actually enjoyed it most of the time. He was prepared to wait. He would have the rest of his life to discover his roots and if nothing came of it he could carry on when Abel died and reap the rewards he saw his new master now had. After the death of his wife Abel had become forgetful although he was still capable of leading a team of men in the building of a house. It was his personal life that suffered. There was no one to wash his clothes or cook his food, clean the house or tend the garden where his wife had grown many of the vegetables and fruit they ate, no one to light the fire on cold nights or warm his bed. He became short-tempered, easily picking a fight over some trivial lapse. His men learnt to keep out of his way when he was in a black mood but still worked for him as his skills and reputation were still there if he concentrated. Will learnt how to calm the worst of his moods and keep him clear of the ale house when he was in a bad mood as drink caused more trouble. Without a wife to tell him when to stop he was likely to take too much.

  When the request came for Abel to build the hall for the new Lord Hesketh at Rufford, Abel saw a last chance to shine as he knew his days were numbered. He was getting too old for this hard labour, let him finish with the best he had ever done. Will had watched him draw up the plans for the house using all his experience over many years. Left alone to build it, as he was used to doing, everything would have been fine but this new lord had his own ideas which didn’t fit with Abel’s and the two had clashed repeatedly, not only over the fireplace but the size and shape of internal rooms, the large number of windows and, most recently, over the decoration to be used to embellish the building. Will could see Abel getting more and more frustrated. He tried to see it from Abel’s point of view. He was the master builder, free to employ whoever he wanted and build in the way he always had done yet here was some young unknown upstart who was being foisted on him, forced to find work for him when he neither wanted or needed him, Cuthbert. Abel hadn’t liked him from the beginning. He used his own men, who, in turn, used his ideas. Now not only was this Cuthbert putting forward ideas Abel disapproved of but he had the support of a lord who insisted Cuthbert’s ideas were used and Cuthbert should produce them himself.