The Rufford Rose Read online

  ‘It is truly a thing of beauty,’ Jethro had said. ‘This is where your future must lie. I have seen few who could better this. It is a rare talent but not always appreciated. People think that just because I can make a door or a window shutter or a milking stool I can also carve the wood like this. I can but not as well as this. You have a special talent, an eye for the detail that brings everything alive. Look at that butterfly. I can imagine it flying away any moment. I only hope that Father Anselm also appreciates it.’

  It was Father Anselm who came to them now with another monk who Cuthbert did not recognise. The distinguished looking monk greeted Mildred kindly and accepted refreshment from her on behalf of himself and his visitor. Cuthbert greeted them and then turned to leave them, thinking that it was Mildred that they had come to see.

  ‘Wait, Cuthbert,’ said Father Anselm, gently. ‘It is you that we have come to see.’

  Surprised, Cuthbert turned back to the group.

  ‘Cuthbert, this is one of our brothers from the Abbey at Whalley in the valley of the Ribble.’

  ‘I have heard of your house,’ said Cuthbert, wondering what they could possibly want with him.

  ‘My name is Brother John,’ said the second monk, so quietly that Cuthbert had to strain to catch the name. ‘I have been visiting our Benedictine brothers here at Chester and during that time I could not fail to notice a chest in the Abbey library, a chest so beautiful that it seems to be made from the living creatures which adorn it. The relics within are truly held in a thing of great beauty. Father Anselm tells me that it is you who created such a wondrous piece.’

  ‘I carved the decoration, yes, but my late master built the chest itself. I only adorned it in a way I felt fitting for its place in the Abbey’s great library.’ Cuthbert found himself speaking as quietly as Brother John. ‘I am glad that it gives you such pleasure.’

  ‘It does indeed,’ nodded Brother John. ‘Father Anselm also tells me that your master departed this life only recently and that you are now seeking your future. I may be able to help you. At Whalley we try to create works of great beauty with which to adorn our Holy church. Would you be willing to travel to our Cistercian house at Whalley with me and meet Abbot Paslew, our Holy Father, for whom we seek out only the best of craftsmen to work to the Glory of God? When I tell him of your work here I am sure he will be eager to employ your great skill in our Abbey.’

  Cuthbert was taken aback. Was this meant to be? Could this be the beginning of his work and life away from the town of Chester? It would certainly be the answer to his problem of where to go to seek work and if the life suited him and his work was accepted, it could lead to even greater things. He looked across at Mildred who was smiling broadly at him, her eyes alight and eager. She gave him a quiet nod.

  ‘I thank you, Brother John,’ he said, smiling. ‘It would give me great pleasure to accompany you.’

  When the brothers had departed Cuthbert sought out Old Ned, his father’s and Jethro’s most trusted fellow carpenter. He knew that the older man had worked at Whalley many years ago before coming to Chester and he was eager to hear what he knew of the Abbey at Whalley.

  ‘Whalley?’ said the old man, rubbing his bristly chin. ‘A fine place, by the river, a Cistercian house if I remember correctly. Abbot Paslew keeps a good house there, renowned for its wealth. There were many craftsmen of note employed in the great buildings and none more so than in the Church. I never saw such stone carving and woodwork, the floor tiles themselves must have cost a pretty penny, and the screen and altars, why, they were beautiful. There seemed to be no expense spared for the beautification of the whole building. It was a joy to behold, that it was.’

  ‘Do you think there would be work there for me?’ asked Cuthbert.

  ‘Why yes, there would. But why do you think of there? There are many other places where your work would be valued. Under this king there are many of the noble families who look to better themselves, and one way is to build finer and finer houses. There is plenty of work if you know where to look for it.’

  ‘I have been asked to go with one of the brothers to meet this Abbot Paslew. He thinks there may be work for me there, in the Abbey church. It could be a new start for me, a chance to visit other places. I have never travelled far from Chester. Perhaps it is time to widen my horizons, see more of the world.’

  ‘Then seize the opportunity,’ said Ned. ‘Perhaps it is a sign that God’s will is for you to serve Him in His place at Whalley.’

  So it was that a few days later, his work completed in this great town of Chester, Cuthbert set out with the gentle monk, carrying a few of the tools he now owned in a stout leather satchel. There were too many to carry them all but at least the basic few would help him in his new work, that and the fact that he had been apprentice to Jethro Milton. There were tearful farewells from Mildred and Nell and wishes of good luck from the men he had worked with under Jethro’s eye, and as he passed the graveyard where Jethro rested, he said a silent prayer of thanks for all the old man had done for him. He turned his face to the north, taking the road to the river and his future.

  Cuthbert was a fine looking young man. Twenty-three years of age, tall and lean, but strong. As a child he had often accompanied his father to the various buildings where he was a master carver, one of the best in the country. At his father’s side he had learned the basic skills of the trade he was to follow. By the time he was ten it was recognised that the boy had a real feel for the wood; he could see the finished piece in his head when he looked at a piece of rough timber, imagining the curves and shapes as he carved it. He was a quick learner too; his mother had taught him to read his letters from an early age for unlike most people of the time, she saw the value of it. Her mother had been a maid to a rich widow who had encouraged her servants to read, recognising it as an advantage to them and not a threat to their masters as many saw it. It was not unknown for a master to flog a servant he discovered could read, or dismiss them to find other work. His father had shown him how to measure and calculate for the work he was doing. Accuracy was needed to construct the framework of the wooden buildings he helped to design and build. Only by measuring to the tiniest quarter inch could a strong building be built that would last for generations. Cuthbert used to make little models of the buildings they worked on, using discarded odds and ends he found. That way he had learned what his father was always telling him, only perfection will last.

  Then tragedy struck. His mother fell ill with a fever and died within a few days. Cuthbert was just short of his twelfth birthday. His father had been devastated, distraught over the loss of his only love and his work began to suffer. He made mistakes, he could not concentrate, he neglected himself and his son, until one day he walked under a beam that was being hoisted into position, something he was always telling Cuthbert he must never do. The ropes slipped and the beam fell, pinning his father to the ground. When the men lifted it from him it was found his back was broken and he was paralysed from the chest down. He lived a mere three weeks, dying slowly and leaving a bewildered child without a home or means of support. If it hadn’t been for Jethro Milton taking him in he would have been destitute. Jethro and his wife, Mildred, had no family of their own and they had been close friends of Cuthbert’s parents. Jethro also saw the huge potential in the boy so he apprenticed him as soon as he was able and taught him everything he knew. It was to be a legacy he would value for the rest of his life and something he must draw on now as he set out alone.

  As he walked north he at first enjoyed his freedom but he soon realised that work was what he needed to sustain the basic essentials of life. Even the simplest of food cost money and he did not want to have to beg for it. The few coins he carried at his belt would not last for ever.

  He and Brother John were sitting in a roadside tavern enjoying a meal of fresh baked bread and a wedge of cheese when the landlord started to chat to them. The tavern was quiet and the man was of a garrulous nature so he was soon questioning Cuth
bert about his work and where he was travelling from and why. Cuthbert gave him the bare essentials, not wishing to divulge personal matters.

  ‘A worker in wood, eh?’ said the landlord, scratching his beard as if in thought. ‘The blacksmith was looking for a bit of an ’and with some of his work. He might be able to put a bit of work your way. Why don’t you go and ask him?’

  ‘I am travelling with Brother John here to Whalley Abbey where work awaits me,’ explained Cuthbert.

  ‘It would only take a day or two to do what the blacksmith needs,’ said the landlord. ‘Surely Brother John, and God, could spare you for that to help a good Christian man.’

  Cuthbert looked at the monk who nodded slowly and smiled.

  ‘There is no reason for us to hasten. I have been many days on my journey already. A few more will not matter and the Good Book tells us to help those who need our aid.’ Brother John put the last of the cheese into his mouth. ‘Besides,’ he said round the mouthful, ‘with victuals as good as this it will be no hardship.’

  Cuthbert laughed. In the few days he had known Brother John he had noticed how much he appreciated the simple but good food they had found along the way. His gentle manner endeared the monk to those they met and he had carried out several simple tasks for fellow travellers or those in the humble lodgings they had used. There was something very endearing about the man that made people like him instantly. He finished his own meal before standing up and asking,

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘Carry on the way you were going. The forge is at the end of the village. Can’t miss it. P’raps I’ll see you back here later.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Cuthbert, ‘and thank you.’

  ‘I shall visit the church over there and say a prayer for both of us,’ said Brother John.

  The village street ran in a slight curve down the gently sloping hill to the stream at the bottom. Just before the ford a low building on the left came into view, a plume of smoke drifting from the chimney at one side. The sound of hammering on metal could be clearly heard as he approached and the distinct smell of hot metal and burning hoof could be detected. To one side of the building was an open-sided shelter with a thatched roof, under which stood a patient horse. A man emerged from the inner building holding a horseshoe in tongs. He went to the animal and lifted a rear leg, holding it between his knees as he fitted the shoe to the hoof. Noting adjustments he let go of the leg again, patted the horse and disappeared inside once more. Cuthbert followed him and watched as the smith thrust the shoe into the fire again, sparks flying. A boy stood to one side working the bellows.

  ‘What do you want?’ shouted the smith above the roar of the fire.

  ‘The landlord at the inn said you were in need of a worker of wood. I am a carpenter and carver.’

  The smith drew out the glowing horseshoe and laid it on his anvil, took up his hammer and began to beat the hot metal. Cuthbert wondered whether he had heard his answer and was about to repeat it when the smith plunged the horseshoe into a bucket of water and above the sizzle and steam replied,

  ‘Worker in wood, eh? Can tha make wood handles?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cuthbert, following him out to the horse again. The smith lifted the animal’s foot again and held it between his knees.

  ‘Nails,’ he shouted and the boy came running with a handful of nails. The smith selected what he needed and put them between his lips as he adjusted the shoe to fit the hoof.

  ‘Village woodman broke ’is leg a while back,’ he said through his lips. ‘I got more shovels and ploughs as I knows what to do with there in back o’ forge. People’s waiting for them tools and needs ’em. If tha can fettle ’em I’d be grateful.’

  Cuthbert translated the mumbled words with relief. It was a simple enough job and would only take a short while. He did not want to impose on Brother John’s generosity too much.

  The smith let the horse’s foot down and the beast stamped it, feeling the new weight on his hoof as strange and heavy, then shook his mane and nuzzled the man.

  ‘Get away with you!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t you go casting another shoe so quick.’ He slapped the horse on its rump and untied the halter, leading it back outside. A man was walking down the hill from the inn, took the rope from the smith and with a gruff nod of thanks led it away. ‘In here,’ said the smith, and took Cuthbert into the forge. In a dark corner was a heap of perhaps half a dozen spades of various sizes waiting for handles to be fitted. Some were clearly old ones repaired but at least two were newly made. Next to them was a small simple plough that a man would use on his strip of land. The smith pointed to a stack of wood in another corner. ‘Can you do ‘em?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly,’ replied Cuthbert picking up a spade and feeling the weight of it in his hands. It was a strong sturdy tool and would need a strong handle. He turned to the wood stacked in another part of the building, looking for exactly the right piece. It needed to be long and straight, without any knots or splits that may weaken it, not too light either as it would be needed to work the ground whether it was wet and heavy, or dry and hard. At last he found a suitable piece and took it outside to work on it. Sitting in the sun he turned the wood over again and again as he examined it more closely then measured it against his own height. Too long and it would be unwieldy, too short and the user would have to bend over and gain an aching back if he worked for long. Cuthbert reached into his leather bag and brought out the tools he needed, then started to shape the handle, smoothing it so that there would be no splinters to catch in the hands, shaping one end to fit the spade blade and the other to accept a handle. When he was satisfied he took it back into the forge.

  The blacksmith put his hammer down and took the wood from him turning it over and over in his big hands. He took the spade from Cuthbert’s hand and fitted the handle to it.

  ‘Well, I’ll be …!’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen a better fit, and it’s just right length for Jacob. He’s about your height and you’ve got it perfect. Now, I just need to fix it in firmly.’ He turned to a box on the bench nearby, selected a nail and banged it in to hold the handle in place. Holding the finished tool up he grinned at Cuthbert. ‘Tha’s done a grand job, a grand job, lad. As good a job as ever I saw.’ He clapped Cuthbert on the back. ‘Will tha do them others for me?’

  ‘Willingly,’ said a relieved Cuthbert, ‘but can you tell me something about their owners, so as I’ll get them right too?’

  ‘Of course. I can see tha’s done this work afore,’ said the blacksmith, selecting a smaller spade from the pile. ‘Now, this ’un belongs to William down at the end cottage. He’s only short is William so he don’t need a long handle.’ He handed the spade to Cuthbert, nodded and went back to his work.

  Over the next two days Cuthbert continued working for the blacksmith, fitting new handles to the spades in the corner, mending or replacing damaged ones, repairing a good wooden stool with a new leg, fixing a squeaky door into the smith’s house. Seeing him working outside, farmers who brought their horses in for shoeing watched him at his work and suggested other small jobs they needed doing. Cuthbert was worried that he was taking work away from the injured woodsman but the smith assured him that was not the case.

  ‘There’s always work to be done around the village,’ he said. ‘When he gets back to working he’ll be glad to see there ain’t more work than he can cope with. He’ll be able to start afresh. Don’t you worry you’re taking his job. He knows abaht it any road. I told him what you was doing and ’e thanks yer.’

  Cuthbert was glad to be earning a few coins for his work. At least he could pay for his food and a decent bed at the end of the day, but at last it was time to be moving on and he and Brother John carried on their northward journey towards Whalley.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Great Harwood

  1523

  The funeral was over. Thomas Hesketh had been laid to rest and money had been given to the monks to say masses for his soul. His family had gathered, su
ng his praises, uttered the words expected of them, smiled at Thomas’s tenants, and looked hungrily over the belongings in the Hesketh family home. With no surviving legitimate children, his three sisters and their families had come to look over the spoils. Margery, Dowsabel and Maud had all married well and could look forward to comfortable lives with their respective husbands, apart from Maud whose husband had left her a widow three years before. The three women couldn’t wait for the funeral party to depart so that they could divide up the Hesketh fortune between them.

  At the back of the church had sat Thomas’s mistress, Alice Haward with their three children, Robert, Charles and Ellen. She dared not sit in a more prominent position as she knew of the animosity towards her from the Heskeths. But she also knew that her eldest son, Robert was Thomas’s heir. Thomas had explained it all to her in the months before he died. He felt no duty to his sisters, his two wives had produced no legitimate heirs and he felt no ties to their wider families. His first wife, Elizabeth, had been married to him when he was six years old, a convenient alliance arranged between the two families which neither of the young people wanted when they grew to adulthood and their divorce sixteen years later was amicable, Elizabeth already about to bear the child of another man. His second wife, whom he married in 1492, was a great heiress, Grace, the daughter of Sir Richard Towneley of Towneley, not far from the Hesketh manor at Great Harwood. Their one and only child, William, had died in infancy and Grace herself had died after eighteen years of marriage. He had therefore felt no guilt when he took a mistress, Alice, whom he loved dearly, especially when she gave him the longed for sons. He had raised Robert to be his heir and taken care that Alice and her other two children would want for nothing. But Alice knew that Robert would not have an easy time of it.

  As people drifted away from the gathering Alice hung back hoping to see at least one of the sisters privately. Margery saw her lurking, as she thought, and marched over to her.