Free Return to Rhonan by Katy Walters Page A

without condemnation from the Ton. But, how could he leave the tenants to their fate? Even though he and a group of loyal volunteers could not help them all, at least some would not starve. Others, however, would survive only by pawning clothes and bedding. At least if he stayed, he could make sure they didn’t starve on the coast.
    Kelping was a dangerous trade, cutting the seaweed under the rocks, in waist-high  water. The kelpers crofts were a few miles inland, so it meant fathers and sons sheltering in tarpaulin tents on the beach, or sleeping in wet clothes out in the open, suffering all manner of ills and often death. However, he could ensure they had enough to eat and adequate shelter inland.  Duncan hurried past the stables to the small group waiting at the Orangery. Except for the glow of lanterns, it was almost pitch black. He nodded to the second footman and groom already seated whilst the kennel man sat in the back with Muriall and his sister, Meg. As they set off the night shadows darkened around the old stables.
    Muriall shook her head; she had hardly slept the night before, tossing and turning, she schemed how she could procure more victuals for the peasants. The Earl had forbidden them to raid the larders for food, but stealthily with the aid of the servants; they managed to pile the cart high with fresh food, clothes and bedding. 
    The small cavalcade moved forward with Duncan’s youngest brother Guy, riding behind, whilst half a dozen deer hounds ran ahead. After travelling a mile or so, the thatch of the huts loomed dark against the night sky. Wordlessly, they split up into pairs each going to different huts.  Muriall was glad of her breeches, as she walked through mud towards the hut.
    Only a small peat fire lit the gloomy interior. She saw her friends of childhood, Robert and Alice, rise to their feet, whilst six children, their skeletal bodies covered with rags, crouched around the peat fire. Hastily, Muriall took off the linen cover, showing them the basket of fresh food. Kneeling, she spread a red and white check cloth on the floor, laying out slices of mutton, ham and freshly churned butter. 
    After wiping their small hands, Muriall gave them white rolls, which they pushed into their mouths, their eyes and cheeks bulging as they tried to chew.
    Pulling clothes from the sack, warm flannel shirts for the little boys and dresses for the girls, she said, ‘ The ladies of the district are sewing as fast as they can. ’ Turning to Robert, her childhood playmate, she handed him a pair of warm cloth trousers with a shabby coat. To Alice she gave a cotton chemise and wool dress.  Muriall  tried  to cheer her, saying the blue would suit her eyes and hair – hair once so beautiful, falling in sun-kissed waves down her back, now a dirty blonde and dull.
    It was then she felt small arms creep around her neck, a soft kiss on her cheek. Turning her head, Muriall looked into the sea green eyes of little Bonny, only four years old grinning as she chewed on some ham.  Slipping on a flannel chemise over the child’s mud caked body, followed by a pink flannel dress; she tried not to wince as she felt the child’s bones.
    Little Patrick who would soon be six, squealed, ‘Trousers  Mammy, and would you believe it, socks for me feet.’
    Speaking in low tones, Alice asked if they had any news.  Were they to be evicted or were they to be allowed to stay on their tiny farm. It was a hard patch of land, but on it, they managed to grow corn, raise chickens, and sustain a cow.  Lowering her eyes, Muriall shook her head. ‘We are still arguing Alice, but it is not good news. It seems the Earl is intent on clearing the land, all the land for the sheep.  The Duke of Glennard opposes his view and intends to keep his tenant farmers, but here on Rhonan. I am afraid it is dire news.’
    Alice gave a little cry holding her fists to her head whilst Robert drew her close into his arms as if to shield her from the