Jack Mercybright (The Apple Tree Saga Book 2), page 1
Jack Mercybright
The Apple Tree Saga Book 2
Mary E. Pearce
Copyright © 2018 The Estate of Mary E. Pearce
This edition first published 2018 by Wyndham Books
(Wyndham Media Ltd)
27, Old Gloucester Street, London WC1N 3AX
First published 1974
www.wyndhambooks.com/mary-e-pearce
The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
With the exception of where actual historical events and people are described, this book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover artwork images: © Period Images / artjazz/Jeanette Dietl (Shutterstock)
Cover design: © Wyndham Media Ltd
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The Apple Tree Saga
from Wyndham Books
Apple Tree Lean Down
Jack Mercybright
The Sorrowing Wind
The Land Endures
Seedtime and Harvest
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Preview: The Sorrowing Wind by Mary E. Pearce
Preview: Wyndham Books
No, I’m a man, I’m full a man;
You beat my manhood, if you can.
You’ll be a man if you can take
All states that household life do make:
The love-tossed child, a croodlèn loud,
The boy a-screamèn wild in play,
The tall grown youth a-steppèn proud,
The father staid, the house’s stay.
No; I can boast, if others can,
I’m full a man.
William Barnes
Chapter One
On cold wet mornings his knee still gave him trouble, and climbing the ladder to cut hay from the stack was a slow, painful business. He was half way down, with the heavy truss balanced on his head, when he saw that the farmer was watching from below. But he took no notice, sensing from past experience that Dennery was in a bad temper.
‘What’s wrong with you ‒ creeping paralysis?’ Dennery asked, following Jack as he limped across the yard to the cow-pens. ‘You’re supposed to be loading mangolds in the clamp-yard.’
‘I shall get there, don’t you worry.’
‘Your old war-wound playing you up? Is that your excuse for swinging the lead? By God, I’ve seen old women move faster than you do!’
Jack said nothing, but moved from crib to crib, shedding the hay out as he went.
‘Mercybright? ‒ I’m talking to you!’ Dennery shouted. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that leg’s still dicky after all these years ’cos I don’t believe it!’
‘Then don’t,’ Jack said. ‘It’s no odds to me.’
‘Not exactly a hero’s wound, neither, was it, eh? The way you got hit? Breaking into your own stores?’
‘Did I tell you that?’ Jack said, surprised, and remembered an evening spent with Dennery at The Drum and Monkey in Aston Charmer. ‘I must’ve had more than a few that night, if I told you that story.’
‘It’ll teach you a lesson not to get drunk, won’t it?’
‘It’ll teach me to be a lot more fussy who I get drunk with, more likely.’
‘Not a Boer bullet!’ Dennery said. ‘Oh, no! An English bullet, that’s what gave you that crooked leg, warnt it, eh? That’s what you told me. Ent that so?’
‘Boer or English, a bullet has pretty much the same effect on a man’s knee, all in all. Except that the Boers would’ve got me in the guts, I reckon, ’cos the way they shoot, they can pick the pip from a cherry without even stopping to take aim.’
‘The hero of Majuba!’ Dennery said. ‘Something to be proud of evermore! I bet they gave you a medal for that, didn’t they? I bet they gave you the bloody V.C.!’
‘No, they gave me a month in the cells,’ Jack said, and returned to the stack for more hay.
While he was up on the ladder, Dennery was called away into the house by his wife, and Bob Franks, the cowman, having been listening in the milking-sheds, came out to the yard to speak to Jack.
‘What makes men behave like pigs, I wonder?’
‘I dunno. Worry, perhaps. The times is pretty bad for farmers.’
‘Hah! He don’t go short of nothing, does he? Nor his missus neither. It’s the likes of you and me that suffers. Dud Dennery don’t go short of nothing. Oh, no, not he! Yet he don’t even fork out to pay for his pleasures.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘My cousin Peggy, skivvy to the Dennerys this twelvemonth past, that’s what I mean. Don’t tell me you hadn’t heard?’
‘I know the Dennerys turned her out, and I know Peggy’s got a baby, but are you telling me Dennery’s its father?’
‘Bible oath!’ Bob said. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die! And although Peggy Smith is no better than she should be, I reckon a man ought to pay for the trouble he brings on a woman, don’t you?’
‘Why don’t her father see about it?’
‘What, my Uncle Sydney? He wouldn’t ask you to tell him the time! And what’d Dennery likely do? He’d laugh in Syd’s face just as surely as pigs see wind.’
‘Ah, he’s a mean bastard,’ Jack agreed. ‘There’s no better side to his nature.’
And he walked away, wondering why a young girl like Peggy, pretty enough to take her pick among the young men of Aston Charmer, should have let a middle-aged sot like Dennery get near her.
When he got to the clamp-yard he found that the farm-boy, Noah Dingle, had already filled the cart with mangolds and was trying to urge the old horse, Shiner, up the steep track towards the pasture.
‘Can’t budge him!’ he said. ‘I been trying a good ten minutes but he won’t budge no more’n a fraction!’
‘Your load’s too heavy,’ Jack said. ‘Poor old Shiner will never pull that.’ He climbed onto the load of mangolds high in the tip-cart and began pushing at them with the pitchfork, so that they rumbled out onto the cobblestones below. ‘How would you like to have to pull a load the size of this lot here?’ he asked.
‘Mr Dennery said pile ’em up well. He said to save on too many journeys.’
‘You don’t save much if you kill the horse.’
Jack had the cart about half emptied when the farmer came into the yard from the dairy and began shouting at the top of his voice.
‘What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing? I told that boy to fill to the cratches and when I give an order I want it obeying!’
Jack took no notice, but went on forking out the mangolds. A few of them rolled to Dennery’s feet and he had to skip smartly out of the way.
‘Do you hear me, blast you, or are you deaf as well as idle?’
‘I hear you,’ Jack said, ‘but I only listen when you talk some sense and you ent talking much sense this morning, master. Shiner’s too old to pull big cartloads. He ent got the strength nor the breath neither so why break his heart?’
‘Christ Almighty!’ Dennery said. ‘We’ll see if he’s got the strength or not! I shall soon shift him ‒ just you watch me!’
He went to the horse, took hold of its tail with both hands, and twisted it sideways. Shiner gave a loud whinny of pain and danced a little on the cobbles, but, being a prisoner between the shafts, could not escape his tormentor’s hands.
‘Another bit more?’ Dennery shouted. ‘Will another twist shift you, you lazy brute, ’cos there’s plenty more if that’s how you want it!’
Jack got down from the back of the tip-cart and caught hold of Dennery by the arm, swinging him round in a wide circle. Then he hit him full in the face and sent him sprawling against the cart.
‘If you want to twist someone’s tail,’ he said, ‘go ahead with twisting mine ‒ I’ve got used to it these past two years.’
‘By God, that does it!’ Dennery said, wiping a smear of blood from his nostrils. ‘That flaming well does it, believe you me! You’ve done for yourself this time, I can tell you, and no two bloody ways about it!’
‘I was thinking the same thing myself,’ Jack said, ‘almost to the very words.’
‘You’re sacked off this farm! As from this m inute! You can drop what you’re doing and get moving without delay!’
‘Suits me. I dunno why I ent gone sooner.’
‘Then get off my land, you useless limping swine, you!’
‘I’m going, don’t worry.’
‘Then what are you standing gawping for?’
‘I was wondering if I’d fetch you another clout, that’s all, before I got moving.’
‘You touch me again and I’ll have you up for assault, man, and Dingle here shall be my witness.’
‘It’s all right. You can breathe easy. It ent worth scraping the skin off my knuckles for. But ent you got a sleeve to wipe your nose on? You’re getting blood all over your waistcoat.’
Jack went to the cart and began unharnessing the horse, Shiner. He undid the traces and let the cart-shafts fall to the ground. Then he took off collar, pad, and mullen, and gave them to the boy Noah Dingle, who stood with eyes and mouth wide open.
‘What do you think you’re doing with that there horse?’ Dennery demanded.
‘I’m taking him with me,’ Jack said.
‘Oh no you’re not! I’ll see you burning in hell first!’
‘Oh yes I am. I’m buying him off you for ten pounds.’
‘Ten pounds? Don’t make me laugh! Where would you get ten pounds?’
‘I’ve got it right enough and it’s money just as good as the next man’s.’
‘I should want to see it, though, before I let you take that horse off this farm.’
‘You won’t never see it ’cos I’m paying it over to Peggy Smith. You know the whys and wherefores, so don’t ask awkward questions or the boy here will learn a bit about your private business. If he don’t know all about it already.’
‘I’ll have the law on you, Mercybright, for stealing that horse from off my farm!’
‘Do,’ Jack said, ‘and maybe the law’ll be interested to know about Peggy’s misfortunes at the same time.’
Dennery glared. He was swearing quietly under his breath.
‘What’s your interest in her?’ he asked, sneering. ‘The same as most men’s?’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I’ve got enough weaknesses one way and another but women ent one of ’em, thank God.’
He took a hold of Shiner’s halter and led him round towards the gateway.
‘You’re not going to get away with this!’ Dennery shouted, following half way across the yard. ‘I’ll fix you good and proper, you lopsided swine, you, and you’ll be sorry for today’s doings, believe you me! I’m pretty well known in these parts, remember, and I’ll see to it you never get work on none of the other farms around here, not if you try from now till Domesday!’
Jack did not stop. He merely glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Then I’ll have to try farther afield, shan’t I?’ he said, shrugging.
He went to his lodgings at Jim Lowell’s cottage, put his few clothes into his old canvas satchel, and took his savings from under the mattress. Mattie Lowell saw him off at the door.
‘Off again, wandering?’ she said to him. ‘It’s time you was settled, a man your age, instead of always on the move. ‒ Settled and married to a sensible wife.’
‘I shall have to keep my eyes open,’ he said, and kissed her fat cheek. ‘If I find one like you, I’ll snap her up straight away.’
When he called at the Smiths’ cottage, Peggy was alone there, except for the big ungainly lurcher bitch, Moll, and the month-old baby boy, Martin, asleep in a clothes-basket on the settle. The kitchen was steamy and smelt of hot bread.
‘Ten pounds?’ Peggy said, suspiciously. ‘How come Dennery sends me ten pounds?’
‘I’ve walked off with Shiner,’ Jack said, ‘and I’m paying for him by paying you.’ He dropped the money into her pocket. ‘It’s all quite genuine, every coin.’
‘I don’t want Dud Dennery’s money! Nor yours neither!’
‘It ent a question of what you want. You think of your baby for a change. That’s money put by for him when you need it.’
‘Him!’ Peggy said. ‘Little mullocking nuisance!’ But her sullenness melted as she looked at the baby in its cot. ‘Money for him, the trouble he’s brought me!’
‘You’ve brought him as much. More, maybe.’
‘Oh, is that so? And what does he know of trouble, I wonder? All he ever does is eat and sleep!’
‘He’ll know it soon enough, the start you’ve given him.’
‘And what about me? Who’ll marry me now, saddled with Sonny there all my days?’
‘Some chap will marry you, sooner or later.’
‘Not you, I don’t suppose?’
‘I’ve just bought a horse. I can’t afford a wife as well. Besides which, I’m on the move.’
‘And where are you heading for, looking for work?’
‘I dunno. Wherever the fancy happens to lead me. Then it just depends what offers.’
‘That won’t be much at this time of year, but I wish you luck of it all the same. Is there anything I can do for you before you go, Jack Mercybright?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can give me one of them hot new loaves and a tidy hunk of cheese to go with it. I shall be fammelled by the time I’ve walked a mile or two.’
‘Why walk, for goodness’ sake? Can’t you ride Shiner?’
‘Ah. So I can. That’s a good idea.’
People stared at him, sitting up on the old grey’s back, going at a walking pace through the village, and one or two even nodded a greeting. But nobody spoke to him. Aston Charmer was that sort of place. He had come to it only two years before and now, leaving it, he was still a stranger.
At Charmer’s Cross he had a choice of six roads. He took the one going due southwards. And as he went he turned up his collar against the cold rain blowing behind him.
A dozen times during the day he stopped at farms to ask for work, but it was a bad time of year and he met with refusals everywhere. So he travelled on, along the narrow winding lanes, between dripping hedgerows, looking out over the wintry landscape, featureless under the wet hanging greyness.
At about dusk, he came to an old derelict cottage, lonely beside a bend in the road, and decided to shelter there for the night. The garden was a wilderness and beyond it, through a little rickety gate, was an old orchard of perry pear trees, planted on steeply rising ground. He let Shiner into the orchard, then he entered the cottage and lit a fire on the open hearth-place.
There was plenty of wood about the place and he built a good blaze, sitting before it, on the floor, eating a portion of Peggy Smith’s bread and cheese and drinking beer he had bought along the way. And gradually, as his clothes dried, the heat of the fire worked through his body, thawing him out and easing his cold, stiff, aching muscles. Once warm, he buttoned himself into his jacket and lay down full length on a bed of straw, heaped against the driest wall. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
Some small sound awoke him: light footsteps crossing the threshold; hands fumbling against the door-post. He raised his head and saw, dark against the open doorway, the shape of a girl dressed in a long hooded cape.
‘Bevil?’ she whispered, and then, a little louder: ‘Bevil? Are you there?’
Lying perfectly still, Jack heard her soft exclamation of anger, with a little sob of disappointment in it that told him she was very young. For a moment she stood there, peering all round into the darkness, and tapping her foot on the stone step. Then, with another angry exclamation, she turned and swept out again, her cape brushing the briars at the doorway.
Jack turned over and went back to sleep, only to waken a little later as another step crossed the threshold. This time a youth stood framed in the doorway: small, slim, with a shock of untidy light-coloured hair.
‘Nenna?’ he said, and even at a distance of ten feet or so, Jack caught a strong smell of drink on the air. ‘Nenna, are you there?’
And, receiving no answer, he also departed from the cottage. But whereas the girl had gone away angry and disappointed, the young man went out with his hands in his pockets, singing aloud as he sauntered down the lane.
‘Oh, Mary had her hair down;
It reached her knee below;
For she was afraid, this pure young maid,
Her nakedness to show …’
The voice faded and died in the distance; silence came back to the ruined cottage; and Jack settled down again as before.
