The Merry Devils

'Oh!' she said. 'You startled me!'

'I came to find you, Jane.'

'How did you know I was here, master?'

'I saw you from below,' he explained. 'I was in the garden when you opened the window up here. It was an opportunity I could not miss.'

He smiled broadly and took a few steps towards her. Jane backed away and pulled up a sheet in front of her chest as if trying to ward him off. Shaking with fear, she squealed her protest.

'Do not come any closer, please!'

'If that is what you wish,' he said, stopping.

'I will scream if you touch me, sir.'

'But I came here to apologise.'

'Did you?'

'Why else? Do you take me for such a complete ogre?'

'No, master,' she said cautiously.

'Put down your sheet, Jane,' he told her. 'You are in no danger here, girl. I am sorry for what took place the other day. I was hot with wine and my behaviour was ungentlemanly. Will you accept my apology?'

'Well...yes, sir.'

'It is honestly given. As you see, I am quite sober now."

She nodded. 'May I go, master?'

'I am not stopping you,' he said, crossing to open the door wide. 'It is not my purpose to disturb you when you have duties to perform. I know that you are a conscientious girl.'

'I try to be, master.'

'Then carry on with your work. Goodbye.'

'Oh'

His departure was as abrupt as his arrival. He marched out of the room and left her bewildered. Instead of a second assault, she had been accorded respect and even kindness. It soothed her instantly and she went back to the bed. She was just finishing her task when Jordan sauntered up to the door again and tapped on it with his knuckles.

'May I come in, Jane?'

'If you wish, master.'

The chambermaid was surprised but not intimidated this time.

'I forgot to tell you something,' he said.

'Yes, sir?'

'It was wrong of me to jump on you like that because ir was an insult to you. I see that now. You're a fine-looking girl, Jane Skinner. You deserve more than a brief tumble like that.'

'Thank you, sir,' she said, misunderstanding him.

'A young woman like you should get her full due.'

'Should I, master?'

'Come to me for a whole night.'

His casual manner reinforced the impact of his order. Jane Skinner reeled as if from a heavy blow. To be grabbed and groped by him was ordeal enough but this was far worse. Her heart constricted as she viewed the prospect ahead of her. Francis Jordan was the master of Parkbrook House. His word was law within its walls. If she did not comply, she would be dismissed from his service.

Appraising her frankly, he gave her a thin smile.

'I will send for you some time in the near future, Jane. I'll expect you to answer my summons.'

She bit her lip in distress and her mind was a furnace.

'This is a matter between the two of us,' he said. 'I would not have it discussed elsewhere. Besides, there is nobody to whom you can turn. My word is everything at Parkbrook.'

He strolled across to her and lifted her chin with his finger. Jane was petrified. His touch was like a red-hot needle. He ran his eyes over her once more then nodded his approval. Turning on his heel, he went slowly out of the room.

The chambermaid was horror-stricken. She was caught like an animal in a trap and could see no means of escape. Life at Parkbrook had held no such fears under the old master but those days had clearly gone. To defy Francis Jordan seemed impossible yet to obey him would be to surrender everything she valued in her life. It was unthinkable. As a deep panic coursed through her, she felt the need to turn to somebody. Glanville would offer her sympathy even if he could not actually save her. With a little cry of anguish, Jane ran off to find him. She felt hurt, molested and thoroughly abused.

The long journey down to the ground floor left her breathless and she had to pause for a while to gather her strength. Then she was off again, searching every room and corridor with panting urgency, asking anyone she met if they knew where Glanville was. But there was no sign of the steward. At a time when she needed him most, he was simply not there. Despair gnawed at her. It was one of the carpenters at work in the Great Hall who gave her a faint hope.

'I think he be up in his room, mistress.'

She gabbled her thanks and took to her heels again.

Joseph Glanville had apartments on the first floor in the west wing. The correct way to approach them was to go up the main staircase and along the landings. But the steward also had a private staircase, a narrow, circular affair that corkscrewed upwards at the extreme end of the west wing. It was a mark of status and nobody else was allowed to use it except Glanville but the chambermaid forgot about that rule. Needing the quickest route to a source of help, she dashed along the corridor and clambered up the oak treads of the private staircase. Her shoes echoed and her breathing became more laboured.

When she reached the door, she pounded on it with both fists.

'Master Glanville! Master Glanville!' Who is it?' called a stern voice from within.

'Jane Skinner, sir.'

A bolt was drawn back, a key turned in the lock and the door was flung open. Jane had no opportunity to blurt out her story. The steward glared down at her with smouldering eyes.

'Did you come up that staircase?' he demanded.

'Yes, sir. I wanted to see you about--'

'It is for my personal use! You have no right, Jane Skinner.'

'No, sir.'

'How dare you flout my privilege!'

'But I needed to--'

'It is quite inexcusable,' he said angrily. 'You have no business coming to my apartments. Nothing is so important that it cannot wait until I am available. You must never come here again, Jane. Do you understand that?

'Yes, master.'

'And you must never use that staircase again. I forbid it!'

Glanville withdrew and closed the door in her face. She heard the key turn in the lock. Jane was totally shattered. A man who had always shown her consideration in the past was now openly hostile. The one person who might stand between her and Francis Jordan had let her down in the most signal way. Her position was worse than ever.

*

The hut had been built on rising ground and it nestled in a hollow. Used by shepherds in earlier days, it had fallen into decay now that the land had been put under the plough. The roof was full of holes, the door hung off its hinges and the timbers of one wall had rotted through, but it still offered a degree of comfort. Bare and inhospitable though it was, the hut was an improvement on sleeping rough along the way. He helped his wife down from the cart then carried her over to their dwelling for that night. When he had cleared a space for her in one corner, he lay her gently down on some sacking.

Jack Harsnett was consumed with bitterness and grief. His wife had a short enough time to live. The least he had hoped was that she might pass away in the comfort and dignity of her own home. But that small consolation was rudely taken from them by the new master of Parkbrook. Shelter in a dilapidated hut was the best that they could manage now. It was a warm afternoon and the place had a quaint charm in the sunlight but it would be different in the long reaches of the night. That was when they would miss their old cottage.