The wind was blowing from the north, and in spite of his great-coat, Knox could feel the chill in his bones. The ground was frozen and the cold air stung his cheeks. Dispirited and exhausted, and with no food in his stomach, Knox thought about the inn in Dundrum and decided to call in on his family, perhaps even scrounge a little food from his mother. He set off at a brisk pace, enlivened by the prospect of a meal, but started to flag after a mile or two. The wind picked up and fat drops of rain slapped against his face. Eventually a horse and cart drew up next to him and Knox hopped up next to the driver. The man was making a delivery to the old hall. After a few initial pleasantries, they didn’t exchange another word.
After about an hour the delivery man dropped him by the gates to Dundrum House but when he asked for his mother in the kitchens he was told that she was at home. No other explanation was offered and Knox started to worry that one of his family might be ill. Peter perhaps. Or maybe even his mother. Unlike most of the servants, his mother had been permitted to live away from the main house, perhaps because of the length of time she had served Cornwallis. The family cabin lay a few hundred yards from the gates on the edge of a parcel of land known as Fishpond Field. None of his memories there was a happy one, Knox realised as he made his way up the familiar track. Even the trees seemed gloomy and oppressive. After rounding the last bend, he saw an unfamiliar figure stooped over a wooden tub.
‘I’m looking for Sarah and John Knox.’
The woman rose and stretched her back. She regarded him indifferently, taking in his uniform, then wiped her hands on her apron. ‘They moved.’
Knox dug his hands into his pockets and glanced at the cabin. He was really worried now. His mother hadn’t mentioned moving on his last visit. ‘Where to?’
‘Quarry Field. The new houses.’
Knox knew the cottages she had mentioned: they were airy, spacious and even had an outdoor privy.
It was a fifteen-minute walk, and when he entered the open door, Knox found his mother standing over the range. A pot of water was boiling and a line of clothes was hanging diagonally across the room. Peter, his youngest brother, was snoozing on a chair. As soon as she saw him, Sarah Knox rushed to greet her son, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek. Breathlessly, she explained that Cornwallis’s agent had offered them this cottage for the same rent they’d been paying on their old place.
‘I told you he wasn’t such a bad man.’ Her expression was both kind and defiant. ‘He even gave me a day’s holiday to move in.’
Peter had stirred from his slumber and as soon as he saw Knox he leapt up to greet him. This only augmented Knox’s guilt, the fact that he hadn’t visited his brother for such a long time. Peter was a frail boy with a thin face and droopy eyes that never quite focused on the person he was looking at. Knox ruffled his hair and let the boy hug him. He didn’t look his fifteen years and he certainly didn’t act them. Not for the first time, Knox wondered what would happen to his brother if and when their mother passed away, for he was quite sure it was her love — unconditional as it was — that had kept the lad going.
Peter knew how to talk but he rarely, if ever, spoke. Instead he would coo and murmur and gargle and their mother would interpret for him. This time he was silent and, having let go of Knox’s midriff, he retreated back to his chair next to the fire. Knox thought about his other brother, Matthew, big as an ox, a labourer on the estate like their father, and wondered how they had all turned out so different. He tried to push from his mind thoughts about his brothers and the guilt he hadn’t made more of an effort to get to know them. He had his own family to worry about now.
‘So did his Lordship give you any reason for this unexpected turn of events?’ he asked.
‘He told me that it was a reward for loyalty.’ His mother looked approvingly around the room. ‘Your father did a little jig when he saw the bed next door. He’s never even slept on a mattress before.’
Knox hadn’t seen his father in more than three months and he wondered whether his mother knew that he tried to time his visits to Dundrum to avoid having to converse with the man. He knew it was cowardly, simply avoiding his father, but he hadn’t been able to put memories of his youth out of his head, times when his father would return home drunk and full of rage and take it out on him with a leather strap. It had always been a surprise to him that the man treated Peter and Matthew with affection and Knox had never been able to reconcile this difference; the coldness of the man towards him with the warmth of his dealings with his younger children. It had bothered Knox for a long time — bothered him more than he had ever admitted to anyone, even his wife — but now too much water had passed under that particular bridge.
‘Is that all Cornwallis said?’
His mother went over to join Peter by the fire. She patted the lad’s head and smiled as his neck and back arched towards her, like a cat wanting to be stroked. Finally she turned back towards Knox. ‘If truth be told, I got the feeling that it had something to do with you.’
‘Why me?’
‘The agent said something about his Lordship being… pleased with you. I didn’t ask what he meant.’
‘And he didn’t say anything else?’
‘I can’t remember. I was excited. He just said you were a good fellow. And loyal. He called you loyal.’
Knox looked around the large, well-appointed room. It was dry, clean and warm — the kind of place in which his mother had always dreamt of living. And it would be a better home for Peter. ‘I’m pleased for you, Mam.’ Knox tried to smile. ‘You deserve something good for a change.’
She gave him another hug and showed him around the rest of the cottage. Afterwards, she prepared a meal of corn, and while he ate, she told him what Matthew had been doing. Matthew was seventeen, only two years older than Peter. Knox had never asked why there had been such an age gap between him and his brothers but suspected it had something to do with their father’s drinking. He had never understood why his mother hadn’t walked out on his father; why she had remained loyal to him even when he vented his anger by striking her with his fists.
Knox scooped out the last of the corn with his finger. ‘Cornwallis may be our friend today but what happens if he turns against us tomorrow?’
His mother put her hands into her apron. ‘Why would he turn against us?’ A note of caution entered her voice.
‘I don’t know.’
But Knox had never been able to hide anything from her. When she sat down on the bench next to him and pulled his face towards her, he tried to look away.
‘Why, son?’
‘Why do you think? He’s a vain, capricious man who does things arbitrarily to suit his whims.’
‘He’d have to have a reason to turn against us, Michael.’
‘He’s cruel, Mam. He likes to hurt people.’
‘Don’t talk nonsense. He’s been good to us, hasn’t he?’
Knox thought about his investigation. ‘But for how long?’
His mother stared at him and sighed. ‘I can see you’re thinking about this errand his Lordship has given you. You think all of this is an inducement not to rock the boat.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Knox could see the confusion in her eyes but this time he waited for her to speak. ‘I always brought you up to do the right thing so I can hardly ask you to do any different now.’
‘But?’