The Favoured Child. Philippa Gregory
shrugged. ‘They called it after me in the village today,’ he said. ‘I paid no heed. I never pay any heed to them.’
Mama put out a gentle hand to touch his face. ‘It will get better,’ she said gently. ‘When your papa comes home, it will be better.’
Richard caught her hand and kissed it, as graceful as a courtier. ‘I don’t mind him being away,’ he said. ‘I like it just as we are.’
I said nothing then, I said nothing later. But when he came home one day with his collar torn and face white, I knew it was getting worse.
I don’t know why I thought I might be able to help, but I did not fear Acre like the two of them. I was at home on Wideacre and at odds with no part of it, not even the worst village in Sussex. I knew with such certainty that I belonged on the land, and that included Acre. And I had a clear memory of Ned Smith’s half-smile, and of Mrs Green giving Richard her most precious phial of laudanum.
I used that phial as my excuse, and told Mama that I should return it to the mill. I would walk to Acre with Richard, go on to the mill and meet him from his lessons after my visit.
I had a little grin from Richard as a reward for that, and a surprised glance from Mama.
‘Walking through Acre?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Why not?’ I said boldly. ‘I’ll just call on Mrs Green and then I’ll sit with Dr Pearce’s housekeeper until Richard is ready to come home.’
‘Very well,’ she said. There was a world of reservation behind those level tones. I guessed that she did not want to make me afraid of Acre, and I think she saw also something she did not understand, something she had seen before: the Lacey confidence in the people of Acre. I ran to fetch my coat and bonnet, for Richard was ready to leave.
It was last winter’s coat, and I saw Mama frown as she looked at it. It was too short and uncomfortably tight under the arms and across the back. The sleeves ended too high, and there was a little gap between my gloves and the cuff where my wrist showed bony and cold.
‘I am sorry, Mama,’ I said, making a joke of it. ‘I cannot help growing!’
‘Well, I wish you would stop!’ she said, her face lightening. Then Richard and I were off and Mama waved to us from the parlour window as we walked down the drive and turned left down the lane towards Acre.
As soon as we approached the village, I felt Richard’s unease. He was afraid for us both. He transferred his bundle of books to the other arm and felt for my hand. Hand-clasped, we walked steadily down the chalk-dirt track and past the cottage windows, which seemed to eye us as if they did not much like what they saw.
On our left was the cobbler, still sitting idle in his bow-window. Next to him was the carter’s cottage with the wagon they had used to take Scheherazade away. He had sold his horses long ago, but he had managed to keep his wagon. He still waited on in Acre for times to get better. There was nowhere else he could go. If he left the parish, neither he nor his family of six scruffy children could claim the poor rate. If he stayed, he had only a cold house, a dead fireplace and a wagon outside the door with nothing to carry and no horse to pull it.
Next to him was the blacksmith’s yard, the forge still unlit. For who would want horseshoes in a hurry in Acre where no one owned a horse? As we walked along the lane, I peered at every cottage, wondering that so many people could stay alive at all in such a desolate little village. They could eat the game from the Wideacre woods and the rabbits from the common. But they had no seeds to plant for vegetables, and they must need money for clothing, for tools. I was so absorbed in wondering how people survived with no money – no money at all – that I did not notice we were being followed.
There was a little group of ragged urchins trailing along behind us. Not many – about a dozen of them – but a frightening enough mob for Richard and me. They followed us like a half-starved wolf-pack, and they looked at Richard’s books and my shabby coat as though they were unimaginable luxuries.
Richard hardly drew breath until we reached the vicar’s front porch. ‘Don’t go back out, Julia,’ he said in an urgent undertone while we waited for the housekeeper to answer the bell. ‘Wait here until I have finished my lessons. The children will look at you oddly, and they might say something to you.’
I gave him a little smile to hide the fact that my knees were trembling. ‘They’re only little children,’ I said dismissively, ‘and I have to see Mrs Green. I shan’t be long. If they are rude, I shall just run. I bet I can run faster than any of them.’
Richard nodded at that. He knew I was as fleet as a courser. The barefoot hungry children would never be able to catch me, not even running in a pack. ‘I’d rather you waited,’ he said.
‘No, I can go,’ I said decisively, and the door opened. He did not give me a kiss in front of the housekeeper and the watching children but the hand which still held mine gave me a warm squeeze which mattered very much to me. Just that one gesture, that touch of his palm against mine, gave me the courage to turn and face the children, Richard’s tormentors, and walk down the path towards them.
I stopped at the gate and eyed them over it. I was taller than all but the three biggest: two boys and a girl with her hair down her back in a lank plait. All their faces were closed, sullen; but she had her eyes on me. She was examining every stitch of my old dress and my too tight coat as if I were a princess dressed for a ball. I pushed my hands into my pockets and calmly surveyed her. Then, taking my time, I stepped towards the garden gate and opened it, and walked out into the lane.
That surprised them. I think they had thought I would stay in the shelter of the garden and they melted away as I walked through them. But then they fell into step behind me and I led the way down the bridle-path to the common and the new mill with the motley band behind me. When the silence of the wood closed around us, they grew loud and started jeering. Then I heard the older girl’s voice start a chant: ‘Julia Lacey! Julia Lacey! Hasn’t got a carriage! Hasn’t got a carriage!’ Over and over.
I set my teeth and schooled myself to walk at the same pace while the insulting singsong went on – louder and more fearless. Then the big girl changed it: ‘Julia Lacey! Julia Lacey! Hasn’t got a horse! Hasn’t got a horse!’
At the mention of Scheherazade my temper rose a few more notches, but I walked on with my head up as if I were alone.
She started another chant: ‘Julia Lacey! Julia Lacey! Hasn’t got a father! Hasn’t got a father!’
‘He died of fright!’ said another voice and there was a ripple of laughter from them; I flinched at the abuse of my papa and the insult to the Laceys.
I was a little afraid. I was afraid, like Richard, that I might be badly hurt in a scrap with them, or that they might surround and bully me. But I knew, as Richard, with all his charm and cleverness, did not, that the children must be faced and fought or we would never be able to walk through Acre. Richard might dream of clearing the land of them, he might plan for a future where every insult was revenged a hundred times over. But I wanted to live in peace on my land with the families who had been here as long as the Laceys. I did not want to clear Acre village, I wanted to set things right. Whether Uncle John came home with a fortune or as poor as when he left, I wanted to be able to walk in Acre, without apologizing. And feel no fear.
I walked on past the mill. At the end of this track there was a great hollow in the ground where they say there was once a grand oak tree uprooted by Beatrice when she turned everywhere into wheatfields like the one behind it which was sprawled all over now with rust-coloured bracken and mauve with heather. But still the odd head of wheat blew spindly-yellow in the wind. I led my tormentors there and at the lip of the hollow where the oak tree had stood I turned and faced them. They fell back like a pack of hungry dogs baiting a badger.
‘What’s your name?’ I said, picking on the girl. She looked at me with sharp black eyes.
‘Clary Dench,’ she said. She would be Dench’s niece, I thought.