She must finish her task here, whatever the cost. It shocked her to realise how much she wanted to complete it, to make this a library fit for a gentleman. No, to make it fit for Dominic Coale. She also wanted to see how the seasons played out on this terrace, once the gardeners had tamed the overgrown plants and removed the grass and weeds that invaded the cracked paving.
She clenched her fists.
‘I’ll show you, Major Coale. I am no poor, bullied soldier to be frightened by your bluster and ill humour.’
With renewed determination she applied herself to her work and returned to West Barton that evening tired, dusty but content.
She tried to be pleased when she heard the next day that Major Coale had gone off on business, but she missed his visits to the library, even when he was being odiously difficult. Now that most of the books were on the shelves, she was working her way through each section, recording, cross-referencing, enjoying the experience of being surrounded by so much knowledge. Her father, she knew, would relish such a wide-ranging collection and in her regular letters to her parents she always included details of her progress at Rooks Tower. It helped her to reinforce her growing sense of pride in her achievement.
‘I thought I might accompany Reginald to Lesserton today, for the hearing. I would be very glad of your company.’
Maria was pouring coffee at the breakfast table as she made this request. Zelah glanced at her brother-in-law.
‘I have told her it is not necessary, but she insists,’ he replied jovially, but Zelah noted the slight shaking of his hand as he took the proffered cup. His was an easy-going nature and she knew he did not relish any sort of confrontation.
‘Of course Maria will want to support you,’ said Zelah stoutly. ‘I shall come with you. Major Coale can spare me for one day, I am sure.’
They travelled to Lesserton in the carriage, Reginald in his best coat of olive superfine and the ladies suitably veiled. The hearing was to take place in the long room at the White Hart, the same room that had been used for the assembly, but now it looked very different, stripped of its garlands and the space filled with desks and benches. The room was already full to overflowing and Maria observed that the whole of Lesserton was represented.
‘Which is not surprising,’ agreed Reginald, ‘since they have all been accustomed to grazing their animals on the land Sir Oswald is claiming.’ He looked around the crowded room. ‘My dear, I think after all I would prefer you to wait downstairs for me. The proceedings could become boisterous. Come, I will bespeak a private room for you.’
Maria protested, but Zelah could see her objections were half-hearted. They made their way downstairs to a private parlour overlooking the street, where Reginald left them and went to talk to the farmers gathered in a little knot around a tall, saturnine gentleman in a black frock coat and bagwig.
‘That is Mr Summerson, the lawyer from London,’ whispered Maria, drawing Zelah to the window. ‘Reginald was closeted with him for hours yesterday. He has obtained copies of the charters filed with the Crown—’ She broke off as another carriage pulled up at the door. She gave a little snort. ‘And here is Sir Oswald himself. The rat-faced little man with him is his lawyer. Look how he follows, bowing and scraping. Ugh, quite repulsive.’
Soon everyone had gone upstairs and the ladies settled down to wait. The landlord sent in coffee and they sat in silence, listening to the tread of feet above them and the occasional rumble as the crowd muttered or protested over something that had been said.
An hour had gone by, two, and still the hearing had continued. There was a cheer at one point, and Maria had looked up hopefully, but it was another full hour before the thunder of movement above them told them that the hearing was over. They waited impatiently, listening to the clatter of feet on the stairs and watching the villagers pour out onto the street.
‘They do not look particularly elated,’ Zelah observed, not knowing how to interpret the expressions of the crowd.
She turned expectantly towards the door as her brother-in-law came in. Maria ran to him.
‘Well?’
He took her outstretched hands and forced a smile. ‘All is not lost.’
He guided the ladies back to the table as a servant came in with more coffee and a jug of ale and they sat down, waiting in silence until they were alone once more.
‘It was going very well. Mr Summerson brought a charter that describes the common land and mentions the stream that forms the westernmost boundary. The description fits the Lightwater, which runs down from Rooks Ford and to the west of Prickett Wood. I thought we had it then, until Evanshaw’s man pointed out that it could just as easily refer to the ditch that runs along the edge of the bluebell wood.’ Reginald shook his head. ‘Evanshaw then produced a map, which clearly shows the ditch as the boundary.’
Maria snorted.
‘A forgery!’
‘Very likely, my dear, but with that and the charter, Sir Arthur is minded to agree that Prickett Wood and the hill grazing does belong to Sir Oswald.’ He sighed. ‘Some of the older villagers claim their parents told them of a boundary stone, but it hasn’t been seen in living memory, and Sir Oswald’s man claims it will have been removed when the lane at the edge of bluebell wood was widened.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Zelah. ‘Then the villagers have lost their fight. No wonder they were looking so downcast.’
‘Well, not quite. Sir Arthur is not wholly convinced, and he has given us until the end of June to find more evidence to prove our case.’
‘And must Sir Oswald allow the villagers access until then?’
‘I’m afraid not. Evanshaw’s lawyer argued most successfully against it. However, Sir Arthur has ordered that he remove the mantraps, but he has conceded that Evanshaw has the right to shoot any deer that wander into the wood, since they damage his valuable woodland.’
‘It would seem Sir Arthur is well nigh convinced the land belongs to Lydcombe Park,’ sighed Zelah.
‘If that is the case, can we afford to fight it?’ asked Maria. ‘I know how hard it was for everyone to find the money to pay for the lawyer to come down for just this one visit.’
‘You can perhaps find someone local,’ suggested Zelah.
Maria looked doubtful. ‘Perhaps, but it will still be costly.’
Reginald took his wife’s hands. ‘Perhaps I should have discussed this with you first, my love, but I have pledged that I will bear the costs for the next hearing. If we win then the farmers and villagers will pay me back, if we lose... I know that would leave us sadly short,’ he said quickly, seeing the dismay in her face, ‘but we shall come about, with a little economy. We have to try.’
‘What is the alternative?’ asked Zelah. ‘What will happen if the villagers lose the hill grazing and the right to forage in Prickett Wood?’
Reginald shrugged. ‘Many of them will not be able to survive. Some of them are our tenants and if they cannot pay their rents then that will affect us, too.’
‘Then of course we must do what we can to avoid that,’ said Maria. She glanced at the little bracket clock on the shelf. ‘Pray order more refreshments, Reginald. If we wait another hour, we can collect Nicky from Mr Netherby’s on our way home.’
When Dominic walked into the taproom of the White Hart that evening he found the mood distinctly sombre. He was on his way back from Exeter and had made good time, but the warm weather had left him parched and he decided to slake his thirst in Lesserton before the final stage of his journey.
He entered the inn, his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled down to shade the left side of his face, as was his habit, but several of the locals recognised him and nodded. Giles Grundy was sitting at one end of the bench beside the long central table and he shifted up to make room. Dominic hesitated, but he knew it would be churlish to ignore this small sign of friendship so he went over to join him, saying as he sat down, ‘How went the hearing today?’