Free Chords and Discords by Roz Southey Page A

answer. No. I wouldn’t give William so much of my attention. Try that wife of his. She’s distinctly odd.
I’d not want to take her to bed.”
    Strolger’s own wife is a pretty young thing, and remarkably so because she has borne nine children in six years. And the fellow is known for his uxorious temperament, indulging her with
gifts and treats almost every week.
    “Apart from Mrs Bairstowe,” I said doggedly, “did you see anyone else?”
    “Plenty of fellows.” He shook his head at me. “You’re on a fool’s errand, Patterson. Half the town hates William Bairstowe – he never does his work, he never
pays his bills and he’s the rudest man in the county! Try finding someone without a grudge against him.”
    I thought of Claudius Heron. “That kind of dislike rarely leads to threats.”
    “Perhaps someone merely wants to frighten him?”
    “Whoever it was, they killed a boy.”
    “An accident,” he said firmly. “The wind took the wood. Stick to music, Patterson. Much less fuss.” He lifted his head at a call from below and hurried out to hang
alarmingly over the gallery rail. I followed him. A boy of not more than five years old stood below and shrieked up that dinner was ready. Strolger abandoned the ale and scampered down the stairs;
I saw him scoop up the boy and carry him laughing down the length of the nave to the door where an older boy waited solemnly to take his father’s hand.
    There is nothing so insidious as envy.

9
    We hear that last Sunday the Revd Mr Ellison, afternoon lecturer at St Nicholas’s Church, preached a sermon on the sanctity of the matrimonial bond. Nothing is so
     pleasing to God, he remarked, than the care taken by a good husband for his wife, and nothing more beautiful the duty and obedience shown by a good wife to her husband.
[Newcastle Courant, 23 August 1735]
    I hesitated outside the church, surprised by bright sunshine. The churchyard was deserted, except for a single figure sitting on one of the benches by the gate. I put my
tricorne on my head then whipped it off again as the figure rose up and turned to face me. Esther Jerdoun.
    We looked at each other for a moment then I was brought back to my senses by some noise in the street. I bowed; she inclined her head and smiled. My heart turned over.
    “I like to see a devout man, Mr Patterson,” she said – a mischievous comment for she knows my views on church-going.
    “I thought you attended St Nicholas’s church, madam.”
    “Indeed I do. I have just come from there. The spirit in the church porch asked after you for me, and said you were here.”
    It seemed she had sought me out; I was both pleased and humbled.
    “You are walking up into town, are you not?” she said. “I would be glad of your company.” That faint smile again. “A woman is never quite safe alone.”
    I would like to see anyone tackle Esther Jerdoun. I fancy they would have a shock.
    I bowed my assent and opened the gate for her. As befitted a Sunday, the street was quiet. The chaplain hurried towards his rooms; a well-dressed couple in middle-age, a tradesman and his wife,
strolled arm in arm up the street in pleasurable and comfortable conversation.
    We hesitated at the gate. I was acutely conscious of the difference between us; I was dressed in drab brown with buff facings; the lady was delicate in pale blue embroidered with flowers of
white, with a fall of lace at neck and sleeves. Her cloak was of velvet and she pulled it more closely about her.
    “I have, as you know, sir, been much from home of late.”
    “You have had a great deal to occupy you.”
    “This wretched legal business.” She sighed. “Still, I have reason to believe the worst of it is over, at least for the time being. I am determined to stay at home the next
several months at least.”
    “You will be glad to be settled,” I said, somewhat at random, distracted by her closeness. We took a step or two up the street; the warmth of the sun was unexpectedly