Ladygrove. John Burke
the Norman invasion; he had built himself a small castle above the bend of the river, incorporating a well-appointed chapel. During a succession of baronial squabbles, the castle and its defences had been slighted, and ultimately demolished by royal decree; but the chapel survived as the village church.
To this church came a young anchoress.
In the Middle Ages many a parish acquired its resident holy man or woman. A cell would be built into the outer wall of church or chapel, with a squint through which the recluse could devoutly follow the Mass without being observed by any other member of the congregation. In return for the anchorite’s unceasing prayers, food and drink and gifts were laid outside the cell, usually in such quantities that the priest or his bishop would acquire a large share as well as basking in the prestige of having their house of worship enhanced by the presence of such a holy hermit. The church of Mockblane in the Brobury demesne was blessed with the care of a young woman called to her vocation at the age of sixteen, her name coming down through later generations as Matilda of Mockblane. There were no records of miracles, little about Matilda’s life or the date of her death, and no suggestion of later beatification.
‘But my mother,’ said David dourly, ‘has chosen to start up a little local cult of her own. Whether she started it before my father died or afterwards—or before Goswell came or after—I don’t know. But that Goswell chap certainly connives at it.’
It must have been shortly after the anchoress’s death that a new church was built on the other side of the valley, closer to the village. The old chapel and its hallowed cell were offered by the Broburys; to a strict sisterhood of Carmelites who maintained a small priory on the slope and declared themselves spiritual guardians of the memory of Matilda. There they remained until driven out by Henry VIII’s purge of religious houses. The property was returned to the Broburys, who had diplomatically opted to edge away from the old faith and support Henry in his dispute with Rome. The nuns were cursorily evicted, and reputedly the Brobury of the time behaved with especial callousness to the Mother Superior of the Order. It was she who, driven mockingly out into the turmoil of a world from which she had so long been secluded, was said to have laid the curse upon the family.
‘“Offered back”,’ mused Caspian. ‘Offered back in what sense, and to whom?’
‘That’s another of the puzzles. Earlier members of the family thought that if they could solve that, they’d be able to avert the consequences of the malediction. In recent times we’ve paid little attention.’
‘And hoped it would pay no attention to you, either?’
David laughed wryly. ‘If one refuses to see a curse working in everyday incidents or misfortunes, does it in fact work?’
‘You’ll have to quote a few examples before I’d risk an opinion on that.’
‘Well, looked at in a certain light…if one’s in a gullible frame of mind…there have been some events uncomfortably close to the prophecy. I mean, if you’re determined to see such a closeness.…’
The first Brobury son to be born in the Tudor house built on the convent foundations married young and soon found his marriage turning sour. After bearing him a son, his wife had the child secretly christened as a Catholic and then, when power came into the hands of Bloody Mary, contrived to have her husband handed over as a heretic and burnt at the stake. Was this the offering demanded by the curse? Or could the dedication of the son to the Church of Rome be taken as that offering back? But that same son managed in Queen Elizabeth’s time to fall foul of his wife, who with her lover engineered his being sent to the block for treason. For a while the lands were confiscated by the Crown; and during that time the surviving children and their children, living elsewhere, were untroubled.
Later the property was restored to the penitent, Protestant Broburys. The next two cases of firstborn children delivered on the premises were of daughters, unaffected by the malediction. One of the girls, of devout turn of mind, also secretly returned to the Catholic faith and vowed herself to the life of a recluse, half hoping that such voluntary dedication might lift the cloud from the family. But the next time a son was born into the household the pattern had a grim familiarity: happy marriage turning to disaster, crazed wife ruining her husband and bringing about his early death.
At last the family quit Ladygrove Manor and left it in the hands of a bailiff, building for themselves a Queen Anne mansion on the farthest extremity of their estate. Here they suffered no more tragedies. Until, early in this present century, the house was gutted by fire and, newly married and unable to afford rebuilding, Sir Mortimer’s father moved back into the old home. He had not been born at Ladygrove himself— ‘And so,’ observed David Brobnry, ‘seems to have been immune. But my father was born here.’
Caspian framed a dozen questions, each stumbling more provocatively over the last. He could not tell whether David’s coolly dismissive telling of the history was genuine or whether it hid some unadmitted apprehension. He chose his words with care. ‘“Strife ’twixt man and wife”,’ he quoted. ‘Was there a lot of disagreement between your father and mother?’
‘Not that I remember. The usual domestic squabbles, I suppose—and mother did tend to harp on the fact that she was rushed away just before I was born—but on the whole I think they got on amicably enough. There were no great upheavals: certainly not when I was around.’
‘And your own child is going to be born here?’
David hesitated. ‘There’s no good reason why not, but.…’
‘You see no reason why not,’ Caspian probed.
‘I wasn’t born here, so my wife won’t turn on me.’
‘So you do to some extent believe in the family curse.’
‘I only meant that if there were such a thing, and it sticks to its pattern, I have nothing to fear.’
‘And what about your son, in later life? If the child should be a son, that is.’
David’s eyes were evasive. ‘Now you sound like Judith.’
‘Judith doesn’t like the idea?’
‘You know how women get at this stage. Or so I’m told. This is our first time. But they do indulge in all kinds of fancies, don’t they?’
‘Some fancies deserve to be humoured.’
‘In fact, I’ve more or less promised to take her away and look after her in London. I still have a lot of business to settle in town, and could be there with her. Though I’d still prefer an heir born under this roof.’
‘If she will feel more confident in London—‘
‘But why shouldn’t she feel confident here? It’s our home.’
‘Yours,’ said Caspian gently. ‘Not yet hers. You must be patient.’
David gave a rueful nod. ‘Yes, yes, I’m afraid you’re right. The trouble is, I’ve had to deal with so many things at once. Taking over the estate and learning the ropes, and at the same time winding up the practice in London—and then there’s my mother, and Judith in the state she is.’
‘Which is the most important?’
‘Judith.’
‘Quite so.’
‘It’s good to talk to you, Alex.’
‘I only state the obvious.’
‘When one gets tired and confused, the obvious often gets lost.’
They sat for a moment in companionable silence. Then Caspian said: ‘You haven’t been putting ideas into Judith’s head? I mean, worrying her with too many jokes about the family curse?’
‘She’d never take such stuff seriously.’
‘She may be more susceptible than you think. People can be coaxed, or can coax themselves once given the initial tug, into believing many a strange fancy to be real.’
‘These