Dark Sovereigns

Copyright © 2013 by David Jones.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/23/2013

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I would like to thank Debbie and Rayner Ash for all their help in achieving my goal and getting my first book published and to my family for their patience during this project.

W ooler lies south-west of Berwick in Northumberland, England. It was on the main route of travel between London and Edinburgh. It was mainly remembered as a postal station; it would take four days to get from London to Edinburgh by coach and horses. Wooler’s part in this was run from the Tankerville Arms with other changing points for fresh horses along the route, like the Black Bull in Morpeth, the Hermitage in Warkworth, and the White Swan in Alnwick. Woolerton lay about two miles south-east of Wooler, just off the river Till that runs into the Tweed.

The year of 1816 was well into summer, which was a real scorcher, the grass turning from green in to a rusty brown except in sheltered places.

Woolerton seemed particularly hot on the first Sunday of August, the heat shimmering on the land and river so much so, you could not look at it.

Woolerton at the time was nothing more than a collection of houses spread out along the river Tweed: some quite respectable, many run-down and ram shackled. The main industry was cattle and sheep farming along with crop growing and, in a small way, fishing. A mile from Woolerton stood Delgaurde Hall, owned by Lord and Lady Astbury, who had two children, Donald Sinton and Charlotte Anne Astbury.

The land was tenanted out to a farmer by the name of Naylor McLoud (bachelor), a real nasty man who thought nothing of dismissing anyone for really very little.

Times were extremely hard, and the average working day was twelve hours, starting at the crack of dawn.

Local people were mainly used by Naylor McLoud to do his bidding and the lord’s gardens, for a handful of nowt.

It was into this setting that John Dark was about to start his youth and life.

The sky looked ominously dark as the forked lightning rent the air followed by the ear-splitting rolls of thunder, which gave cause for alarm for Bill Dark as he and his family waited for the arrival of his fourth child.

The reason for concern was that Doctor Knott had not arrived as Rodney, the eldest, had told him, after running two miles to ask the doctor at Hillside house, two miles from Wooler. Bill Dark looked all in. The beads of sweat on his brow as he cradled the youngest, Alan, in his strong arms as he looked down on his lovely wife Rita, not knowing what to do.

His wife whispered weakly, ‘We will have to send the youngins out now, Bill.’ ‘Oh, Bill, Bill…’ she said, her voice reaching a higher pitch as pains wracked her.

‘Be quick, let’s be having you,’ Bill shouted to both the eldest children Rodney and Brian. ‘Take the bairn with you and stay in the front room, and if I hear one squeak from you, you’re in for it!’

Quietly they obeyed their father and left the room with Alan in the wicker basket and sat beside the old-fashioned stove, which was glowing red with bits of wood and sea coal.

Rita could hold back no longer and as her fingernails bit deep into the bedding, she screamed and screamed, ‘Bill, help me! Bill, oh, Bill’ tears rolling down her reddening face as the head of the child started to appear between her raised thighs.

Bill let go of her hand and hurried into the kitchen, quickly filling a pan to boil water in and went through to where the children were crying and placed the cast iron pot on the stove.

‘Rodney. I’m depending on you, Son, look after your brothers. I’m just going to look for the doctor a minute, and keep off the fire.’

Bill opened the front door and was met by the full force of the gale and torrential rain, which soaked him in seconds; he instantly turned back into the house, put his shoulder against the door and forced it shut. ‘Damn the doctor,’ Bill shouted and strode to the bedroom to help his wife. He need not have worried, for the child was born and lying between her legs, a little bloody, but really all right. ‘Oh God, thank you, thank you.’ The tears welled as he gently stroked his wife’s sweat-soaked hair. ‘Oh you lovely, lovely lass, you’re a little brick.’

He turned and quickly returned to the fire to retrieve the boiling water almost tripping over the clique mat which covered the lino. ‘Your mam’s had the bairn, and she’s all right,’ he said to the youngins.

He was about to lift the pot when the door flew open and Doctor Knott stood there dripping from head to toe. ‘Where’s she at, Bill? Is she OK?’ said the doctor, quickly taking off his saturated overcoat and bowler hat.

‘In here,’ said Bill, leading the way to the bedroom with the doctor’s bag.

‘Get the water, Bill,’ said the doctor, ‘and something clean to wipe the child and make sharp, Rita’s had a bad time on it!’

Bill’s stomach was in knots by now, and it showed as he passed the doctor’s request to him with shaking hands. ‘Right, Bill, see to the children and I’ll clean up in here and if you look in my inside pocket, you will find some Pomfret cakes for the children and a drop of brandy for yourself. Leave a drop for me, now go on, Bill.’

Bill hugged the children and mentally thanked God that the doctor had arrived in time to help him. ‘Here, kids, some sweets from the doctor as he handed the rain-soaked pack with shaking hands.

‘Is mam all right?’ said Rodney, his lips slightly trembling, ‘Is she?’

‘Yes,’ said Bill, ‘and you’ve a little brother I think,’ as he lifted the silver hip flask to his lips and drank deeply.

The two eldest climbed on to his knee, and he thought how lucky he was to have such kids. ‘We love you, Dad,’ they said in unison, and his large hands ruffled their hair with tenderness that can only come from a loving father.

Time simply flew, and as it did, the sun spread long fingers of gold that glinted on the river, like dancing elves; the bedroom door opened, and Doctor Knott beckoned Bill with his head, which was slightly down, which made Bill hurry to see him. ‘She’s had a rough passage, Bill, so let her rest, as sleep is the best medicine for her now, and congratulations on your new son, who’s fine. I have to go now, but I’ll be back in a couple of days.’

It sounded to Bill like the joke about the good news and the bad in reverse, but just for a second, his large hands pumped the doctor’s hand, and he blurted out what seemed like a thousand thanks as he opened the door for him.

The young ones were in two minds what to do, either look at the doctor’s horse and gig or see their mother, but Bill made up their minds with a few words, ‘See you help Doctor Knott, now there’s good lads.’ After one more thanks, Bill entered the bedroom quietly, looking with apprehension at his wife, who lay quite still and white against the coloured bed covers; his child lay cradled in her arms, and although she had been through a rough time, a slight smile was on her pale lips. ‘How are you, love,’ Bill whispered, which brought only a slight response from her right hand, which he held gently.

Although no answer passed to Bill, he still kept on talking in a whisper, hoping above hope that she’d be all right and telling her of the love he had for her. Five minutes passed, and Bill heeded the doctor’s word, gently kissing her and lifting the child into the prepared crib, a handmade effort, made years before. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he went to see the young ones who were entering the front door at the same time, a bit clarty, but laughing. ‘Good old doc, he’s lifted them a bit,’ thought Bill, which in a funny way lifted him. ‘Right, lads, let’s be having you, who’s first for the tub and then some supper?’ He need not have asked as Rodney was not only the eldest but the example to his brothers.

After a quick top and tail, they had supper which consisted of rabbit stew and crusty bread followed by a drink of Adam’s ale.

‘Off to bed now, lads, you’ll see the bairn in the morning. Sleep tight and God bless,’ said Bill rather sharply as he was starting to think about his future: working the rounds a bit, hedging, harvesting, driving the cattle and sheep, almost anything, but how could he manage now?

He passed an uneasy night listening for the slightest noise which sounded in his mind louder than it was which made him check his wife and the bairn all night until around five his head lolled and he slept.

Bill woke with a start, thoughts jumbled as the noise on the snecked door seemed loud.

It was Mrs Jarvis from down the road, a portly woman with six of her own who, with a jovial smile, asked in a hushed voice, ‘How’s Rita, I bet she’s all in.’

‘I haven’t been to the bed yet, Mrs Jarvis, and I’m rather tired, but Rita’s as well as can be expected,’ said Bill, hoping the shortness of explanation would dismiss her the nosy hussy.

‘I’ve brung a mashin of tea, a couple of eggs, and some bread, just in case you’re short, Bill. Bill, here you are and tell Rita we’re all asking about her.’ Bill felt rotten as he had accepted the gift of food, never knowing that Mrs Jarvis the nosy hussy had another side to her kindness. ‘Thanks, hinny, I’ll not forget this.’

‘Away wi you,’ replied Mrs Jarvis. ‘I’ll no be keeping you,’ and retreated down the cobbled road.

Bill went to the cesspit, relieved himself, washed in cold water and came inside again, crossing the room to see how his wife was doing. The look of joy radiated from his face as his wife Rita was propped up. With a look of happiness on his face, he turned as she looked lovingly from the child to Bill and asked, ‘Is there any tea, Bill? You’ll have to see to the youngins before me and don’t worry, I’m all right.’

‘We’re in luck, hinny. Mrs Jarvis called with a few things and what we’ve got, we’ll manage. Give me a kiss, love, and I’ll see to the bairns and you,’ which he promptly did, lighting the stove, preparing a roughish but edible breakfast, and getting the kids up. The youngins hugged their mother for a few minutes, but Bill said, ‘Come on, now, give her a chance to get her breakfast. Now here’s yours.’ The plates were soon emptied and washed down with tea, a luxury in them days for the poor. ‘Now out and play while I feed young Alan, no fighting with the gypsy kids.’

After feeding and changing Alan, he placed him in his cot next to the fire, threw a few logs on, and topped up the teapot, not to waste any; taking two mugs from the makeshift shelf, he filled them and took them through to the bedroom and handed one to Rita, who was propped up in bed, feeding the newborn on her ample bosom considering her small stature.

‘Thanks, Bill, I needed that.’ After they had drunk their tea, black but very welcome, while listening to the baby guzzling on Rita’s nipple, Bill said, ‘Look, love, I’m having a couple of days off from the hedge laying to look after you and the youngins.’ Rita laid her hand gently on Bill’s arm and looking him full in the eyes, replied, ‘Bill, you’re a good man, and I don’t like putting on to you, so don’t worry, as I know you do. As long as we can eat, we’re OK. I’ll be up and about in no time, and by the way, this is Johnny. I’ll have to tell old Ned Buglass that I will not be able to help tomorrow, but all being well, Thursday will do.’ He kissed her gently, gave her a hug, and called Rodney to watch his brother Alan who was sleeping now. ‘I’m off, love, see you later.’ And vaulting the stone wall, which ran next to the house, he was off quickly, walking over the grass field, and disappeared through a small copse.

‘Are you there, Bill,’ came a voice through the door, which gave Rita a start. ‘See who’s at the door, Rodney,’ she shouted in a lowered voice, for you had to be careful in those days. Rodney duly did what he was asked, shouting, ‘Who is it and what do you want?’

‘It’s me, Mrs Jarvis. Is your dad in?’

‘Mam, its Mrs Jarvis, asking if Dad’s in,’ said Rodney, who was at his mother’s bedside.

‘Well, let her in, Rodney, make sharp and put them mugs away.’

Mrs Jarvis entered, asking where Rodney’s mother was