Knox filled a pot with water and placed it over the flames. When it had boiled he poured a cup of Indian corn into the water and gave it a stir. His mind drifted back to a time — two summers earlier — when Martha had been expecting and he had fattened her up on a diet of buttermilk and potatoes, unaware that the first blight lay just around the corner. The corn kept them from starvation but it was a poor substitute for milk and potatoes, and Knox fantasised about the creaminess of this mix on his tongue. One morning in October, he’d stepped out into the garden. The stink had hit him first, even before he’d realised that the crop had turned black. About a month later James had been born.
After breakfast, Knox would go into Cashel, pay the rent and use whatever was left to buy more corn. Perhaps he would also make a few discreet enquiries about the possibility of finding work. As he watched the corn bubbling, he started to feel guilty again, the fact that he was sneaking around the cottage, not wanting his wife to ask where his uniform was and why he wasn’t wearing it.
Knox didn’t imagine that he would be affected by the public shame of losing his post but as soon as he entered the town and people noticed him out of uniform he immediately felt self-conscious, as if everyone knew that he had been dismissed. At the bottom of Main Street, he hurried past the entrance to the police barracks and continued up the busy thoroughfare, past the Palace and Town Hall, as far as Friars Street, where the office of the agent for the Brittas family — Mr Warburton — was located.
Knox usually paid his rent on a Friday but he didn’t imagine the agent would mind getting his money a day early. He waited on the other side of the street for Warburton to arrive and gave the man a few minutes before entering the office.
The same age as Knox, Warburton was about as fair a man as you were likely to find in his position. He sat behind a cheap wooden desk, hunched over a stack of paper. When Knox entered, he looked up, startled.
‘Knox.’
‘I’ve come to pay the rent.’ Knox shoved ten shillings on to the desk and took a step back.
Warburton nodded, as though he’d been expecting Knox to say this. ‘Sit down,’ he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. ‘Please.’
Knox did as he was told but he could tell that something wasn’t right.
‘I don’t know how to put this, Knox, so I’ll come straight out with it.’ He tried to smile. ‘I’ve always liked you as a tenant. You’ve never missed a week and you’re always polite.’
‘What is it you have to tell me, Mr Warburton?’ Knox could feel the bile rising in his throat.
‘Last night, I was visited by Mr Brittas himself. He instructed me personally on this matter.’
‘What matter?’
‘I’m afraid you will have to vacate Mr Brittas’s property and land by the end of the week.’ Warburton couldn’t bring himself to look at Knox.
‘The end of this week?’ When the agent just nodded, he said, ‘But it’s already Thursday.’
‘I put this point to Mr Brittas and he told me to inform you that you would be able to stay until Saturday morning, but you must be gone by midday.’
‘Go where? That’s our home. We’ve lived there all of our married life.’
‘I’m sorry, Knox. You’re a good man and I have no idea what you’ve done to anger Mr Brittas, but I’m afraid to say it’s none of my business.’
‘I’ve paid my rent on time every week, never missed a week in five years, not even once.’
‘I’m just a humble messenger, sir. But Mr Brittas did want me to emphasise that his decision is final.’
‘I have a wife and a young child. I’ve just lost my position at the constabulary and I’ve nowhere else to go. If you could just talk to Mr Brittas, remind him that I’ve always been a good friend to his father. His father is nearly blind and I read to him whenever I can.’
‘I’m sure Mr Brittas’s father is grateful, and maybe he could speak on your behalf, but I can do no more.’
‘But why? What have I done?’
Warburton said nothing but stood up and walked slowly to the door.
Knox had never dreamt that Cornwallis’s influence extended this far but he didn’t doubt that the aristocrat was behind this latest indignity. He was amazed that Cornwallis could be so vindictive or that he cared so much about what Knox had done, but then the man had always had a mean streak and Knox had gone behind his back and done the very thing he had been instructed not to do.
‘Saturday lunchtime, then.’
Knox nodded silently and left the office.
Jeremy Brittas was sitting, as usual, in his worn armchair, staring listlessly into the fireplace. Having let himself into the lodge and announced his arrival from the doorway, Knox stepped into the room.
‘I thought you’d come running to me as soon as you heard the news.’ Brittas seemed to be relishing the situation.
‘So you knew?’
‘My son came here to tell me. He knows you sometimes visit me, though you’ve not been here in the last week, I’ve noticed.’
‘He wants to evict us from our home. I thought you could talk to him, persuade him to let us stay.’
‘His mind’s made up. He made that very clear to me. He warned me against trying to help you.’
‘Did he say why?’ Knox was desperate.
Brittas rearranged the few strands of white hair on his liver-spotted head. ‘Let me tell you something about my son. At bottom, he’s a weak, capricious man who has mismanaged this estate and allowed it to fall into disrepair. I can say all this because he is my son and I love him none the less. But I do know he has been troubled by his creditors. It’s my understanding that some of these debts have been cleared, on the proviso that he deals with your situation quickly and ruthlessly.’ Brittas paused. ‘It would appear you’ve upset some fairly important people, young man.’
‘Lord Cornwallis asked me to perform a small service for him. I didn’t do as I was told.’
‘Cornwallis, eh?’ This time Brittas’s expression was serious. ‘A nasty one, and that’s no lie.’
‘I lost my position in the constabulary yesterday.’
He considered this, rubbing his bony, bristly chin. ‘Martha know?’
‘Not yet.’
‘If you want my advice, you’ll go home now and tell her everything. No good has ever come from keeping secrets.’
‘And tell her what? That we’re to be forced out of our home the day after tomorrow? That we have nowhere to go?’
‘You’ll find somewhere.’
‘Will I? I have about two pounds to my name and no likelihood of employment. If Cornwallis has bullied your father into banging his drum, he’ll do his best to spike my chances with anyone else I go to.’
‘Look, if you and your family need somewhere to put your heads down for the next few days, you can stay here with me.’
Knox looked at the old man. ‘But your son has made it clear you’re to have nothing to do with me.’
‘Let me deal with my son.’
Farther along the lane, almost in front of their cottage, was a lacquered brougham attended by liveried footmen. The four horses that drew it were stationary, snorting in the breeze. As Knox approached the brougham, the door swung open and Cornwallis leant out of the shadows. He beckoned Knox to join him.
The interior smelled of damp clothes and pipe tobacco. There was a layer of hay on the floor. Cornwallis was wearing riding boots, tan breeches and a black velvet frock-coat.
‘I’m sorely disappointed in you, boy. Sorely disappointed. I thought that you and I had an understanding.’
Knox stared down at the wet hay. He knew that whatever he said would only make a bad situation worse.
‘Well, what’s done is done and now we’ll all have to live with the consequences of your stupidity.’
‘I’ve lost my position at the constabulary and I’m to be evicted from my home.’ Knox looked up at the aristocrat. ‘How does your predicament compare to that?’
‘I’ll not be spoken to in such an impudent manner, boy. Nor do I have to justify my decisions to someone of your station.’