The Westmere Legacy. Mary Nichols

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      The grey mare was sturdy rather than elegant but she was game and, because in the last few days the weather had been too inclement to go far, she was in need of exercise. Set to gallop, she responded immediately. As the horse took her across the park, Bella’s thoughts went round and round in her head in time with the thundering hooves, but they always came back to the same thing. Her grandfather’s ultimatum. He must surely have his own preferences about whom he would like to succeed him, but the choice had been left to her. It was an onerous burden she did not want. Was her happiness not to be considered at all? It just wasn’t fair!

      Beyond the park, the landscape was completely flat, broken only by an isolated house here and there, a few willow trees and some slowly turning windmills which were used to take the water off the fields and tip it into the dykes that criss-crossed the land. Because of the almost incessant rain since the snow had melted, very little ploughing had been done. Instead of the new green shoots of winter corn making an appearance, the ground was black and soggy and the windmills were kept busy, making sure the ground did not revert to marsh and mere.

      She brought Misty back to a trot when she came to the Ely road. Ely was the nearest town of any size and until recently had been a thriving centre of commerce, its roads full of carriages and carts and stagecoaches which called at the several inns in the town, and its quayside busy with wherries and barges bringing in all manner of goods and taking out the produce of the area—grain, fish, vegetables, osiers. But now much of the produce rotted before it found a buyer.

      In Ely, there were men loafing in idleness on almost every street corner. Two of them she recognised as coming from one of the farms on her grandfather’s estate. They had wives and children to support but they laughed when she dismounted and asked them if they wanted two or three days’ work in the house. ‘We ain’t bowin’ and scrapin’ for you nor no one,’ they said, and turned away from her.

      It was then she realised that there were more people about than usual and they were all making in the same direction, towards the market-place. Curious, she joined them, leading her horse. The open space was crowded with men and women, young and old, gathered around round a tall weather-beaten man with a shock of white hair who was standing on a flat cart, addressing them. It did not take a genius to surmise that this was a seditious meeting and Bella felt a frisson of fear, almost a premonition.

      With the price of corn so high, the hungry labourers, unable to afford bread, together with soldiers and sailors who had been discharged without so much as a thank you for their part in the fight against Napoleon, were at the end of their tether. Already there had been disturbances—ricks and barns had been set on fire, mills and bakeries surrounded by mobs shouting, ‘Bread or blood!’

      ‘It would never have happened in my young day,’ her grandfather had grumbled. ‘The people knew their place and they kept to it, just as the landowners knew their responsibilities towards their tenants. Cobbett’s right there—the new breed of landowners with money made from industry are only interested in the status their new possessions give them. They have no idea how to go on.’

      Bella stopped to listen.

      ‘You may shrug your shoulders and say, “This is nothing to do with me’,” the man was saying. ‘But we are all brethren together. If the labourer in the country goes down, then the town labourer will be next, the workers in the manufactories, the dockers and heavers of coal, all those who do not have a voice because Parliament denies it to them.’

      The crowd was silent, listening intently as he went on, ‘When the time comes, all men must rally to the cause against the despots who think property gives them rights over those whose only asset is the sweat of their brow and their strong right arm.’ He paused as a rumble of assent went through his listeners. ‘But those assets are of inestimable value, my friends. The country cannot exist without them. Are you ready to insist on your voice being heard?’

      ‘Yes.’ A roar went up and they looked from one to another, their eyes gleaming. ‘Fair wages! Votes for the workers! Bread or blood!’

      Bella knew she ought to leave, but she was fascinated and edged forward to hear more. And she wasn’t the only outsider in the crowd. Not a dozen paces from her was a tall young man who was obviously not a labourer. He was wearing a riding coat of Bath cloth and fine leather breeches tucked into shining riding boots. His hair beneath his tall hat was dark and curled about his ears in the latest Windswept style. There was no doubt he was a gentleman, one of the hated upper classes. Almost as if he sensed her scrutiny, he turned towards her, shocking her into putting her gloved hand to her open mouth. It was her cousin Robert.

      His dark brow lifted in surprise. ‘Bella, what are you doing here?’

      He was even taller and broader than she remembered him, more ruggedly handsome, though his expression, as he pushed his way through to her and stood looking down into her upturned face, was difficult to fathom. She thought it might be annoyance. But what right had he to be annoyed with her? And two could play at that game. ‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she retorted, refusing to acknowledge the swift beating of her heart and the flutter in the pit of her stomach as anything more than surprise at seeing him.

      ‘You may ask, but that’s not to say I will answer.’

      She looked beyond him to the other men, some of whom had turned to watch the encounter with deep interest. Did they know who she was? Did they know who Robert was? ‘No, because you should not be listening to sedition—that’s as good as condoning it. What do you think Grandfather would say to that?’

      ‘He may say whatever he wishes.’

      ‘You are supposed to be on your way to Westmere.’

      He grinned suddenly. ‘Am I? I wonder why?’

      She could tell him, she could tell him her grandfather’s plan, warn him what to expect, but decided against it. His lordship wanted all the men to hear it together and he would be angry if she pre-empted that. ‘If you want to know, you’ll have to come, won’t you?’

      ‘No doubt it has something to do with the inheritance, and as I have no expectations in that direction I see no point to my presence.’

      ‘It would be very discourteous of you to refuse…’

      ‘Discourteous!’ He laughed. ‘And I suppose “requested and required” are terms of the utmost courtesy.’

      ‘Oh, that’s just Grandpapa’s way, you should know that.’ She paused. ‘Why are you in Ely if not to see him?’

      ‘I could say I came to see you.’

      She was taken aback. ‘Why?’

      ‘Do I have to have a reason to visit a pretty young cousin?’

      Bella laughed shakily at the compliment. ‘Now you are bamming me.’

      ‘Not at all. I was curious about that letter. The handwriting was not up to your usual standard and the paper was blotched. I detected a tear or two and was afraid his lordship must be about to hand in his accounts. Is he?’

      She was slightly mollified to know that his concern had been for her and not the inheritance. ‘Not at all. His gout troubles him, but that is all…’

      ‘Then why?’

      ‘He will tell you.’

      ‘If I come,’ СКАЧАТЬ