Chapter 18: Bigots and Scoundrels

December, 1812

One drawback of having the tenants reception on a Sunday after church was that Thomas had to go to church. He had been very busy the days before going over the records and the estate ledger with Mr. Conway, setting goals and allocating funds. He also took Mirabel into Guildford to have her measured for more clothes and other accessories which she would need. Mirabel of course protested against the expenses, but Thomas overruled her. If Mirabel was staying in Gibraltar, she would stay there in style, and that meant expanding her wardrobe.

He had also sent a messenger to Portsmouth to post a letter for Mrs. Benning, telling her of his parents’ sudden death and of his need to find accommodations for his cousin. He asked her to identify possible boarding opportunities in respectable houses, secretly hoping that she would instead offer her own hospitality. In his letter he made references to the hidden and open resentments that Mirabel faced due to her pedigree, not wishing to deceive Mrs. Benning. He hoped that her return letter would reach him before he and Mirabel would leave England.

Now he was sitting in one of the front pews in the old estate chapel where Mr. Caplan, the curate, was leading the service. He was an older man, approaching sixty, who deemed his parishioners his subjects. Thomas on the other hand was used to being treated as a superior by his ship’s chaplain, and the haughty demeanor of the old fool grated on his nerves. The sermon of the day was about ‘accepting one’s station in life and showing the right deference to one’s betters’. That should have meshed well with Royal Navy doctrine, but Caplan gave Mirabel one or two pointy looks whilst extolling on his theme. Mirabel must have noticed for she blushed deeply and looked downward for the rest of the service.

Once the service ended, the tenants and their dependants stood and waited for the squire to exit. Thomas offered his arm to Mirabel.

“Stand tall and proud, Mirabel! That pompous fool counts for nothing!” he whispered quickly.

Indeed, Mirabel walked tall along the aisle at his side. At the open door, Caplan stood waiting, fixating Thomas and Mirabel with a sour look. Thomas had enough. Eschewing the usual bow he gave Caplan a disdainful look.

“Mr. Caplan, you had better refrain from staring at my ward. It is an impolite and unseemly behaviour for a man of your age and stand, and it does not meet with my approval!”

Caplan’s face reddened with anger. “There are those who find that your ward should not sit...”

“Well, those had better mind their own affairs,” Thomas hotly interrupted the curate. “Those better mind their station on my lands. I shall not have anybody second-guess the decisions made by my father of which, I may add, I approve wholeheartedly. Anybody living on my lands better decide quickly whether to accept this or leave the estate!”

Caplan nearly choked on his anger.

“Here in my church...” he started, but again, Thomas interrupted him immediately.

“You are the curate here, Mr. Caplan, and this chapel stands on my lands, was in fact built by my grandfather and is my property. It would well behove you to remember this. You will also address me properly as ‘Sir’ or ‘Captain Grey’, Mr. Caplan, and my ward as ‘Miss Goodwin’. Kindly remember this too.”

Leading Mirabel past the curate, Thomas could physically feel the ill will of the man towards the young woman, and he chalked it up as another reason for taking her away from the lands.

As it was, Thomas and Mirabel were leading a small procession up the lane and to the manor house. Here, in front of the big barn, food and drink had been laid out for the tenants. When he thought that all had arrived, he stood in front of the assembled men.

“As you can see, there will be food and drink, but let us first speak about the matters of the estate. As you all know, my father left the estate to me in its entirety, with certain provisions for Miss Goodwin. Mr. Chalk, whom many of you have met, was helpful enough to assume temporary stewardship after my parents’ demise, and he will continue to act for me in his capacity as my solicitor.

“I have also appointed a caretaker for the estate. Mr. Conway served as Sir Joseph’s caretaker for many years, and he agreed to oversee my estate during my absence and beyond. Needless to say that during my absence, Mr. Conway will make all the necessary decisions. He will also collect the rents and the tithes and direct the repair and land clearing efforts.

“Unfortunately, some of you have neglected your duties towards the estate. I will deal with this issue myself. Firstly, all along Guildford Lane and Church Lane, the trees will be inspected and pruned where necessary. There will be no more accidents due to rotten branches. Secondly, rents are due at the end of each quarter year unless I grant an extension. William Poole?”

“Yes, Captain?” came the apprehensive reply. Poole was a man of thirty years who looked haggard.

“I hear that you lost your wife this year. Sit with Mr. Conway to see how you can get on your feet again. James Jenkins?”

A disheveled looking man swaggered to the front whose Sunday’s best was showing stains and wear. He was unshaven and not too steady on his feet. He gave Thomas an insolent look.

“Aye, Cap’n?”

“You’re two quarters behind with the rent. You let the trees along Guildford Lane rot away, and one of those killed my parents. You mouthed off to Mr. Chalk and to Miss Goodwin who were both acting for me in my absence. You have two weeks to leave my lands.”

Thomas had no way of knowing what Jenkins had expected, but being terminated had clearly not been his expectation. His smirk gave way to open-mouthed incredulity.

“Mr. Conway will inspect cottage, stables and barn for damages. The owed rent will be paid from the sales of your stock. The rest is yours, of course. Now go! You’re not my tenant anymore.”

Incredulity made place for anger. “Ye can’t drive me off the lands! I’ve got a lease on the land.”

Here, Mr. Chalk interceded. “The lease contract is void for the reasons listed by Captain Grey. You missed two rent payments without valid excuse, you neglected your tenant’s duties, and you were disrespectful to the Captain’s representatives.”

“I don’t take orders from Niggers!” Jenkins spat.

Thomas’s right hand went to where his sword hilt usually was. Mr. Chalk moved between them to prevent any altercation and lifted his hand. Two bailiffs moved forward with their staffs and one of them touched Jenkins with the end of the staff.

“Ye owe monies, Jenkins,” he said gleefully. “It’s the prison for ye ‘till ye can pay.”

In spite of his seemingly drunk state, Jenkins moved, quick as a snake, too quick for the bailiffs. A knife flashed in his hand and he lunged at the closer of the two court officers, missing his belly but cutting his arm. The other bailiff swung his staff, but missed Jenkins’s head. Jenkins attacked him too, but suddenly he stood stock-still whilst the heft of a sailor’s knife protruded from his back, the blade sunk entirely into his flesh. He tottered for two more steps and then fell on his face.

George Hanson stepped forward. “Guess I’ll have to face the jury for that,” he said calmly.

The wounded bailiff shook his head. “Don’t you worry none, George Hanson. Me’n Henry will testify for you. Jenkins might’ve killed us hadn’t it been for you.”

Thomas took charge now. Three long steps brought him to Jenkins’s side. Stepping firmly on the hand that held the bloody knife, he turned the man over. Empty eyes stared up at him.

“Mr. Chalk, may I trouble you to record the events as they happened? I shall of course testify for the bailiffs and for Mr. Hanson should that prove necessary. Patterson, ride the buggy into town and bring the surgeon. You men, lift him up on that cart and bring him into the barn for now!”

This ended the tenants’ reception. Mr. Conway seemed a bit shocked at the sight of the dead Jenkins being wheeled into the barn.

“Good Lord! He was going to stab the bailiffs!”

“And a good thing it was that Old George was here. I was not armed at all,” Thomas admitted. “A nasty character, Jenkins was.”

Conway nodded. “In all my years as a caretaker...”

Thomas shrugged. It was not the first knife fight he had witnessed, and not the most gruesome either.

“He’s no threat anymore. Let us hope that the poor bailiff will recover from the wound. That knife was grimy.” He looked around. The other tenants were still standing around, shocked and insecure. “You men and womenfolk! We shall have another reception next Sunday, as I am certain that none of us is in the mood for more talk. I ask you though to take whatever food you want with you, for you and your families, so that it will not go to waste.”

Thomas then went over to where George Hanson stood with his son.

“Thank you, Mr. Hanson. That could have turned ugly.”

“I had a feeling, Sir. I didn’t trust him.”

“And a good thing it was, Mr. Hanson. I shall testify for you. You’ll have nothing to fear.”

“Thank you, Sir. I know I can count on you, Sir.”

Retiring to the house, Thomas found Mirabel a bit shaken.

“That man ... I knew he was dangerous!”

“You were right to avoid him,” Thomas answered. “Well, that threat is now gone, and that pompous fool Caplan will tread lightly now.”

“Thank you for standing up for me, Thomas. Nevertheless, I shall be happy to visit Gibraltar for a while.”

“It will take things off your mind. We’ll also see more of each other.”

Her answering smile warmed his heart. “It is strange how close I feel to you given how little we ever saw of each other.”

“Well, you were raised by the same parents who raised me, and you favour my mother with some of your mannerisms. Perhaps the same is true for me.”

She shook her head, letting her curly hair dance. “I felt close to you before Father and Mother decided to raise me as their daughter.”

An inquest was held on the Tuesday after the aborted tenants’ reception, and Thomas gave his testimony along with Mr. Chalk, Mr. Conway, the two bailiffs and George Hanson. The surgeon had examined Jenkins’s corpse, and his conclusion was that he had died from a knife wound in his left back, consistent with the various testimonies.