The Rufford Rose Page 2

  Cuthbert looked up at the faces around him.

  ‘What happened? How did he fall?’ he demanded.

  ‘No one saw,’ said one of the group. ‘We heard the thud as he landed, nothing more.’

  ‘What was he doing?’ asked another, and a cold hand gripped Cuthbert’s heart.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all my fault. We were fixing the carvings in place at the top of the wall and we couldn’t quite reach. I told him to wait while I fetched a longer ladder but I met Thomas and talked to him instead of coming straight back. He must have got tired of waiting for me and tried to do it himself. If I had come he would not have fallen. It’s my fault he’s dead, all my fault.’

  ‘Nay, lad,’ said Ned, the old man who had first pronounced Jethro dead. ‘I saw you go and it’s not above a few minutes since. Jethro was not one to try to do something like that himself; he’d have waited for you. How do you think he reached the age he has if he took risks like that? He was always known for being careful particularly when he was working up high. What did he always teach you, lad? Be careful, especially up them ladders. No, summat else caused him to fall and we may never know what it was. All I can say is he died doing what he loved above all else. He said he’d work until his dying day and he’s got his wish. You must never take the blame on your shoulders, lad.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from those gathered round but Cuthbert still felt the loss like a physical pain.

  ‘There is summat he would have wanted you to do though,’ went on Ned, quietly. ‘Go and tell his Mildred what’s happened. He’d have wanted her to hear from your lips alone.’

  Cuthbert looked at him, horrified.

  ‘No! What do I say?’ he said. ‘I cannot find the words.’

  ‘You will, lad, you will, but you must go now before someone breaks the news to her sudden like.’

  Cuthbert got shakily to his feet. All he wanted to do was get away from this dreadful scene of death, somewhere where he would not see that broken body, the blood, the waste that was imprinted on his eye for ever. But Ned was right. He had to go. He had to be the one to tell her. It was what Jethro would have expected of him.

  He turned away, brushing his rough sleeve across his eyes. He would not cry. He was a man, not a child. He had cried bitter tears when his parents died and had vowed he would not do so again, but it was so hard. He went out into the sunlight, stepping over the fallen ladder which he had dropped when he entered just minutes ago. To his surprise the sun was still shining, people were walking about in the street, talking and laughing, unaware of the tragedy that had just occurred only yards away from them. A huge lump grew in his throat, threatening to choke him but he swallowed it down. He would not cry, he would not cry. He must be strong. He must be brave and go and do the hardest thing in his life so far. He had lost one set of parents; was he losing another couple who had become their substitute and whom he loved with all his heart?

  Cuthbert made his way with heavy footsteps and a heavier heart to the modest house just off the main street of the town of Chester that had been his home since Jethro and Mildred had taken him in. How was he to tell the woman who had been like a second mother to him that her husband was dead? How was she going to survive now? He knew a little of their personal affairs and he knew that Jethro worked hard and was well respected. They lived a comfortable life with few luxuries. They were never hungry or cold in the winter, their clothing, though plain was of good quality and Mildred kept it in good condition. The house was well furnished because he and Jethro made whatever was needed themselves, but could he and Mildred live on what he could earn? He had completed his apprenticeship but there was still so much to learn. The thought never crossed his mind that he may have to leave Mildred alone whilst he sought work.

  He turned the corner by the church and stopped to look across the street, unwilling to take the few steps across to the house and break the dreadful news. He imagined Mildred in the house, working with the young girl, Nell, who was her maid but was treated more like a granddaughter by the couple. What would happen to her now the master was dead? Was another life to be blighted by the tragedy?

  Cuthbert took a deep breath, wiped his sleeve across his eyes again, squared his shoulders and crossed the broad street, his heart pounding in his chest. He pushed open the heavy street door which he and Jethro had made together and only hung last winter to replace the old, broken one. It fitted snugly in its frame and swung open on well-oiled hinges. In the narrow passageway beyond he paused again until he heard the murmur of voices coming from the kitchen at the back of the house. Mildred was instructing Nell in the making of pastry, passing on her culinary skills to the girl and for some strange reason he envisaged them standing behind a market stall selling pies and bread to make a living. Jethro would never have permitted it but it may be a course she would have to take.

  He stood in the kitchen doorway for several minutes watching the two females. Mildred, a short, well-built woman in her late fifties, her thick grey hair pulled back into a coiled plait on the back of her head, and Nell, the slim thirteen-year-old girl with raven black hair that hung in a thick plait down her back. Mildred was showing the girl how to shape the pastry for the pies, how to put the meat and rich gravy into the shells and cap them before transferring them to the bread oven to bake. A domestic scene he had witnessed many times and which he loved for its peaceful tranquillity, something he was about to shatter for ever.

  Mildred suddenly became aware of his presence and turned with a beaming smile on her face, wiping her hands down the piece of sacking she wore about her ample waist to serve as an apron.

  ‘Cuthbert! What a surprise! I did not expect to see you at this hour. Have you forgotten something? A tool or a piece of timber?’

  Then she saw Cuthbert’s stricken face and paled, clutching the edge of the wooden table with one hand, the other going to her heart, as though the action itself would stop the sudden fear that clutched at it.

  ‘What has happened?’ she whispered. ‘It’s Jethro, isn’t it? What’s happened?’

  Cuthbert moved to her side and held her arms firmly.

  ‘Sit down, Mildred, here, on this stool,’ he said, pulling one out from under the table with his foot. ‘Nell, a cup of water for your mistress. Quickly!’ The white faced girl snatched a wooden cup from the shelf and ran to the bucket of water in the corner. Her hands were shaking as she carried it carefully back to Cuthbert.

  ‘It’s bad news, isn’t it?’ said Mildred. ‘Tell me, my boy, tell me quickly. Best that way. Say it quickly.’

  Cuthbert knelt on the hard floor and took both her gnarled hands in his and forced the words out through trembling lips.

  ‘There was an accident,’ he said. ‘Jethro was up the ladder fixing the carving at the top of the wall. He couldn’t quite reach so I said I’d fetch the big ladder and help him. I told him to come down, to wait until I came back, but he didn’t. He must have tried to do it on his own again and … and … he fell. I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t there. Nobody saw. He didn’t cry out, the ladder must have shifted or … or he leaned too far, and … he fell. There was nothing anyone could do.’

  He felt a wetness on their joined hands and realised that tears were falling unbidden from his eyes. Mildred released one of her hands and laid it on his cheek, wiping the tears away with her thumb with a gentleness he had experienced once before, on the night his father died.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ she said, gently. ‘You know Jethro, always feels he can do a job better himself. He wouldn’t blame you, it’s not your fault.’

  ‘But … he’s dead,’ stuttered Cuthbert, fighting for control. There was a tightening of the hand still holding his and a long pause before Mildred said,

  ‘I thought as much. You wouldn’t be so upset if he was only hurt. It is God’s will, hard though that is to understand. It was his time, he would have said.’ She smiled. ‘It’s the way he would have wanted it. Quickly,
no suffering, doing the job he loved. It was quick, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ gulped Cuthbert. ‘Old Ned was there, said he broke his neck in the fall, it would have been quick.’

  ‘It wasn’t the fall that killed him,’ said Mildred, unexpectedly, and Cuthbert looked up in surprise. ‘No, lad. My Jethro knew he hadn’t got long for this world. It was the pains, you see, the pains in his chest. They had been getting much worse recently and he said to me only last week, ‘I’m not long for this world, my love. Soon it will be over.”

  ‘He never said anything to me.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. You see, he didn’t want you to worry, to fuss over him. He wanted to carry on as usual for as long as he could. His old father died the same way, pains in the chest for months beforehand, gradually getting worse and more frequent until one day he dropped down dead in the street. Jethro has been having the same pains for nearly a year now, but he hid them from everyone but me, I knew. He had a bad one last night, in bed, and he said he couldn’t take many more like it. Well, it seems he didn’t have to. It was his heart that killed him, not the fall. I reckon he was probably dead before he fell.’

  ‘That’s why he didn’t cry out!’ Cuthbert had wondered how that could be. It was the natural thing to do for a man in peril, to shout out. Knowing that was what had happened did not help the pain of grief though and he bowed his head over Mildred’s hand as the tears came again. Nell was standing by the table still, sobbing quietly and it was Mildred who seemed the strongest of them all. She laid her hand on Cuthbert’s head and stroked his hair as he wept, murmuring soft, comforting words.

  When his first grief was spent Cuthbert pulled himself upright and looked up at her as she sat quietly and calmly on the stool.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak clearly. ‘If there was anything I could have done, anything …’

  ‘There was nothing you could have done to save him but there is plenty to do now,’ said Mildred. ‘We must send for the priest and arrange for Jethro to be laid to his rest. The monks will prepare his body.’

  ‘Somebody went to fetch him,’ said Cuthbert, ‘before I came here. He will be with him now.’

  ‘Then come with me now, Cuthbert.’

  Mildred pushed herself to her feet and took off the sacking apron. She reached for the shawl on the peg behind the door and threw it around her shoulders before going to Nell and taking the child in her arms and comforting her. ‘Now, come on lass. No need to take on so. You stay here and mind the pies. Don’t let them burn, will you? We won’t be long. Meanwhile, you clear up all these things, make all nice and tidy, just the way we like it, right? That’s it, wipe your eyes. Good girl. We’ll talk when I come back.’ With a motherly squeeze she left the girl and followed Cuthbert out of the house, closing the door quietly behind her.

  They reached the hall just as Jethro’s body was about to be laid on a board to be carried to the church. The priest had brought four of the lay brothers with him to carry him and he told them to wait when he saw Mildred and Cuthbert enter. He rose from his knees beside the body and went immediately to Mildred.

  ‘What happened here was a terrible accident,’ the priest said.

  ‘Aye, an accident,’ repeated Ned, ‘nowt more. An accident.’

  ‘It was his heart,’ said Mildred, quietly. ‘Just like his father. He knew it was bad. Pains, bad pains, but only I knew of them. He must have had them again up the ladder. No one’s to blame.’

  The priest took Mildred’s hands in his and bowed his head to utter a quiet prayer. All those standing by crossed themselves at the familiar words, their heads also bared and bowed in respect.

  ‘Have no fear for him, mistress. We will bear his body to the abbey and prepare him for burial. I will send for you when all is ready and he is fit for you to see again.’

  Mildred nodded her head in thanks, unable to speak as she watched the lay brothers gently lift the twisted and broken body of her husband onto the board they had brought with them. Slowly they carried him away and Mildred turned to Ned, whom she had known all her life.

  ‘He was a good man,’ he muttered, ‘a good man.’

  ‘As you are, Ned. At least he was among friends at the end. He would have liked that.’ She turned to Cuthbert. ‘Come back to the house when you are ready. You must finish the tasks Jethro was doing. He would not like any job to be unfinished because of him. No, lad,’ she hurried on when she saw him about to protest, ‘you must do it. For Jethro.’ She squeezed his arm and smiled encouragingly at him, then turned to leave. Cuthbert watched her walk firmly out of the hall, back straight, head up, proudly, he felt, for proud of her husband and his work she had been all the time he had known her. She would grieve in private, as was her way.

  Completing the work they had been engaged in was the hardest task Cuthbert had ever been asked to do. Jethro had been a perfectionist never satisfied until the last piece of work was in place and of the highest quality he could produce. It was something that he had always instilled in Cuthbert. ‘Never accept shoddy work,’ he used to say. ‘If it is not of your best, you are letting yourself down above anything else. Only the best should ever be allowed for we work to God’s glory and praise. Even a simple wooden peg must be worked to perfection for the whole piece could rely on it in the end, just as God relies on every one of us and our place in His great plan. Who knows what the consequences might be if a peg should fail and the joint it holds fall apart. So must we live our lives for we are all part of the lives of those around us and if one fails, we all suffer. No, lad, never ever accept second best, even if it means starting again to get it right.’

  As Cuthbert worked with a heavy heart over the following days, those words echoed in his mind time and again. They had worked together for so long now that he knew exactly what Jethro would be saying to him as he completed the carved frieze they had made for the upper walls. Even though it was barely visible from the floor of the hall Jethro would say ‘God knows it’s here,’ and would treat it in the same way he did every job. Somehow Cuthbert got through those difficult early days, the work filling his mind and his time but the day after Jethro was laid to rest he realised he finally had to face up to his future.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘You must go,’ said Mildred, emphatically. ‘I will be perfectly all right. Jethro had plenty of money put aside for just such a time as this. Nell will stay with me and we will manage well enough. I have my health, this house and many friends. No, you must think of yourself now. You are young and have your future before you. You must not feel tied to me or to this place. It is time for you to set out on your journey and make your own way in life, but always remember this. If things do not work out there will always be a place for you here.’

  It was the same argument that Mildred had been putting forward for several days now, trying to persuade Cuthbert to go and seek work on his own, but she knew that he was torn between leaving her and staying. He felt a strong responsibility for this simple woman who had brought him up and meant so much to him. On the other hand he had heard that woodcarvers were being sought for new buildings being constructed in many parts of neighbouring shires and he was tempted. He was a craftsman after all.

  ‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘It was always Jethro’s intention that you should have his tools. I have no use for them and other craftsmen have their own. You must take what you will need. If there are more than you can carry, then leave them here, they will be perfectly safe until you either return for them, or send for them to be sent on to you, wherever you are.’

  Cuthbert was overwhelmed at this generosity. He knew that many of the best tools had belonged to Jethro’s father before him and were of the finest quality, as befitted a master craftsman. There was no great monetary value to them but there was incalculable sentimental value for both Jethro and for him. Just handling the fine wooden handles and imagining the hands that had held and worked them gave Cuthbert the greatest pleasure and he was eter
nally grateful to Jethro for his generosity.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘Tools are made to be used, not stored away in old boxes. Jethro recognised that you had a great talent. He said that one day you would make great things with them, you have a gift that must not be wasted, so take them. We had no son to follow in Jethro’s place but you are like a son to us and always will be. Take them. They are yours.’

  Cuthbert accepted the generous gift gratefully but was still undecided as to where he was going to go when two days later some visitors brought an offer that seemed too good to refuse. The year before Jethro had been asked to make a chest for the Abbey at Chester in which they could store certain precious relics. It had not been very large but he had lavished all his usual care to its making and had asked Cuthbert to decorate it, the wood carving being his special talent. Cuthbert had spent many hours at the work, carving the date onto the front along with the name of the saint in whose church it would be used, then covering the lid and sides with wonderful crisp images of trees and flowers intertwined with small animals and insects, the things of nature that he loved to observe whenever he could. Even Jethro had agreed that it was the best work he had ever done and people who saw it agreed.