(Charles Huntingdon has just been elected Memeber of Parliament for Bereton, alongside his neighbour Sir James Wilbrahim)
I remained at the Priory for several weeks
after the election, during which time I was able to observe Sir James at work as
Justice of the Peace. He advised me to attend the Petty Sessions, saying that I
would undoubtedly be appointed a magistrate myself ere long. I discovered there
was a vast amount of work to do; supervising the work of the parish constables,
the surveyors of highways and the overseers of the poor, who were not
infrequently negligent in their duties, listening to complaints of nuisance
caused by the effluvia from various noxious trades like the tanners of the
town, and sitting in judgement on various lesser criminals. I soon came to
realise that Sir James knew everyone in the town and the surrounding villages,
and his judgements were generally supported by local opinion. For the
offenders, he generally inclined on the side of leniency, except for poachers.
My respect for him increased.
By contrast, my own self-esteem suffered a severe blow at the Bereton Lammastide Fair. This was an ancient tradition which attracted
visitors from all over the county. Every year Sir James Wilbrahim would be
there, talking to everyone as equals, praising the entertainments and spending
considerable sums of money at the stalls; but this year an attack of gout
confined him to his house, and I undertook the role as best I could. At first
all went well: I bought a number of small objects I did not need, paying without
complaint what I presumed to be grossly inflated prices; I laughed at the
clowns and applauded the dancers, agreeing that they were every bit as good as
anything I had seen in London, and provided drinks for a large number of people
who proclaimed their support for me at the election. A train of urchins
followed me around, hoping for pennies for sweetmeats, with which I duly
rewarded them.
My attention was suddenly attracted by the sound of
voices raised in anger and a woman wailing. Pushing my way to the front I found
a large tent selling beer, outside which sat or stood half-a-dozen soldiers,
resplendent in their uniforms. One of them had his hand on the shoulder of a
farm lad, while Ned Timmis was arguing with the sergeant. A girl was kneeling
on the ground, weeping. Most of the bystanders appeared hostile. I came forward
to discover what was happening.
I did not know the girl, but she must have
recognised me, for she grabbed me by the hem of my coat. “Oh, sir!” she sobbed,
“They’re taking my Jimmy away, and I’ll never see him no more!” She would not
release her grasp, and continued to wail that her lover “had better gone to the
gallows!” Thus encumbered, I attempted to intervene in the dispute.
“It’s these here redcoats!” exclaimed
Timmis, who was very red in the face himself. “They say young Jimmy Thatcher
here has taken the King’s shilling and volunteered for the army! And I say they
lured him in and got him drunk, so he didna know what he’s doing; and I’m not
having it! Him one of my best farm workers, with haymaking just coming on and
all! And him soon to be married to poor Nan here! Tell ‘em to let him go, sir!”
I turned to the sergeant: a hard-faced man
with a dark jaw and a scar down his left cheek, and asked whether young Jimmy
Thatcher could have his volunteering cancelled, since he had acted hastily and
probably under the influence of drink. The sergeant, perceiving that I was a
gentleman, answered me with formal politeness, though without any excess of
deference; a delicate balance that was a skill I suspected he had long practised.
He explained that in normal circumstances the payment of a guinea would
suffice; but as I reached in my purse to extract one, he added that since the
recruit in question had kissed a Bible and sworn the oath, this remedy could
not now be effected. I wondered whether this was an attempt to extort more money
from me. It seemed that some in the crowd thought the same way, for there were
more angry mutterings.
A young captain now appeared, strutting
like a peacock in his flawless costume, and the sergeant briefly outlined the
situation to him. He then turned to me and in an arrogant manner enquired who I
might be.
Attempting to conceal my annoyance, I
introduced myself as the newly elected Member of Parliament for the borough of
Bereton.
“Oh, a politician?” he answered, uttering
the word with heavy contempt in his voice. “And I am Captain Darnwell, at your
service”, he continued, his tone making it clear that he did not regard himself
as being at my service at all. Perhaps he did not believe my claim, or, if he
did, then he affected to despise all politicians. I accordingly changed tack
and asked him if he was by any chance related to Henry Darnwell, a gentleman
who was an old friend of mine.
“Yes, sir; he is my cousin. A
wastrel, is he not?” he replied.
The conversation was not going well. But at
this point, young Thatcher, who had been in conversation with Timmis, suddenly
intervened to announce that it was entirely his wish to join the army.
“I’ve had enough of this here place! I want
to go and see the world!” said he, swaying slightly on his feet. “Fare thee
well, Bereton, and fare thee well, Nan!” he proclaimed, with an expansive
gesture worthy of a rustic David Garrick.
“That’s a brave boy!” exclaimed Captain
Darnwell, “Together we’ll overthrow the King’s enemies and then drink the
King’s health with the King’s silver! And every town we march through, you’ll
find a new sweetheart! Tell me, my lad: can you ride? Can you manage horses?”
“That I can, sir!” replied Thatcher proudly.
“Then you’ll make a fine soldier indeed!
Come: let’s away!”
There seemed little more could be done. The
crowd began to disperse, many of them still muttering. Poor Nan had let go of my coat
and was now sobbing in the arms of an older woman, presumably her mother. The
guinea I had taken from my purse I now quietly put into the sergeant’s hand, saying
that I hoped he would drink my health and also watch over young Thatcher and
treat him well.
Not surprisingly, he became suddenly much
more respectful and saluted me smartly. “I shall do that, sir!” he replied. No
doubt my first request would be complied with, but as for the second I could no
more than trust his honesty.
Timmis was still fuming with anger after
the soldiers had marched off. “There’s been times when the soldiers wouldn’t
have dared show their faces here!” he grumbled, “When they was billeted here
after the rebellion, any redcoat caught out on the streets at night on his own
would be asking for trouble. Why; over in Mulchester a bunch of lads caught one
coming out of a tavern the worse for drink and beat him near to death, and they
was brought before Quarter Sessions where they was acquitted, and all the town
cheered the verdict and drank the justices’ health! But now, after the war with
the French, they redcoats is all heroes! I canna understand it!”
But then he returned to more particular
matters. “What am I gonna do with my haymaking now? I’m a man short, thanks to
them cursed redcoats!”
The
episode made me aware that my supposed new authority might serve
me well enough in Bereton, but might be but of limited value on the national
stage.
I decided to return to London. To my friends in Bereton I pleaded that I had new duties there that needed my attention, but in truth I was becoming weary of country life, with its endless small doings. Also, I wanted to see Elizabeth Newstead again to claim my promised rights as a victorious candidate. Louisa Wibrahim said she was very sorry to see me leave so soon, and as we parted, gave me her hand to be kissed. Once again I looked into her eyes, and for a moment I felt myself torn between town and country. I promised to write frequently, with full descriptions of the sights and pleasures of the capital.
I did not intend to tell her about Elizabeth Newstead.
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