The de Wolfe of Wharf Street Read online

  She nodded her head in acknowledgment at the three men and turned to follow her cousin. Still, she could not resist one look back at Gabriel. His eyes might be an icy blue, but something in them warmed her from within.

  Chapter Five

  They waited until the vicar’s wife and cousin left the yard. Gabriel watched as the two women disappeared through the gate and into the almshouses.

  Michael couldn’t contain his laughter. “Did the reverend’s wife say her cousin’s name was Pe… Per… Pers, what was it? Percy?”

  Gabriel scorched him with a look. “Her name is Perspicacity.”

  Michael sniggered again. “That’s a strange name.”

  “Her parents named her for one of the virtues,” said Gabriel. He knew he sounded defensive, and he also knew that it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Raphael either.

  “Which one?” his middle brother asked.

  Gabriel didn’t know. And he felt too embarrassed to admit his lack of knowledge, so he simply shrugged.

  “More to the point, how did you know why her parents gave her that name?” Raphael pressed.

  Michael grinned as though struck by a great revelation. “It’s because our dear brother has met the fair Perspicacity prior to this morn.”

  Raphael wore an expression of mock horror and joined Michael, leaving Gabriel alone on the other side of the workbench. “And failed to tell us about her! Do you not feel slighted, dear brother?”

  Gabriel gave the performance a slow clap; disdainful as his brothers had been. “Mummery at its finest to be sure, but since you asked, I will tell you. I first met Mistress Glenwood last night at the Wharf Street Tavern. She’s newly arrived in Barnstaple.”

  Raphael picked up a set square. “Then I suppose we’d better get back to work before Reverend Williams returns and chastises us for being lazy, good-for-nothing gypsies.”

  On that, Gabriel could readily agree. He picked up a chisel and hammer to begin cutting a mortise for another bed frame as he listened to Raphael give instructions to Michael on a better technique with the handsaw.

  Gabriel had to admit, Raphael had a good eye for what needed to be done. He’d proved himself to be a very deft woodworker. He didn’t even know how Raphael acquired such skills. Perhaps the father he had never known had been a carpenter and such skills ran through the blood.

  They’d been in Barnstaple for four months, the longest they’d ever stayed in one place for at least ten years. And that had been thanks to the chance to act as caretakers in the warehouse they called home.

  During that time, when the weather was too wet to practice outside, Raphael built vaulting horses, uneven bars and balance beams on which they practiced their acrobatic tricks, using little more than scraps.

  As winter drew to a close, the thought of moving on once again lacked the excitement it once had. Yet, without family or even a real trade to earn a living – apart from their performing – Gabriel knew, as his brothers did, that they would always be regarded with suspicion whether they stayed in the one place or moved on.

  Vagrancy was a crime they’d been found guilty of a couple of times – the punishment was a night in the watch house and a meal the next day. He smiled inwardly. As far as punishments went, it wasn’t a bad one.

  Still, no matter where they went – villages and towns from southern Wales to the farthest tip of Cornwall – it was all the same. For one half-hour, four times a day, every day except Sunday, they would be lauded and admired as acrobats. The rest of the time, they were shunned by the very people who were in awe of their skill just a short time before.

  Finding themselves coming to the attention of Reverend Williams was the first piece of luck which had gone their way in a while.

  Gabriel examined his handiwork with satisfaction and picked up another length of timber to begin fashioning another mortise.

  There comes a time in a man’s life when he must “put away childish things”. Until now, Gabriel had never considered beyond what the day would bring. But now, faint imaginings – a home of his own, an occupation, a wife – began to appear, and yet it was faint, indistinct, like a ship coming over the horizon on a clear day where the glare on the ocean made it difficult to see.

  Gabriel laid down the chisel and wiped his brow, glancing over to his brothers hard at work. Did they feel the same? They’d made a vow to stay together through thick and thin.

  And so it would be, until all of them agreed to put down roots.

  Cassie wiped a hand across her brow and looked at her handiwork. With the help of Mathilda, the school room walls had been completely whitewashed. Even as the end of the day approached, the bright white walls still reflected plenty of light.

  She had sent everyone home while she remained to mop the timber floors and was happy to have time alone – a peace and quiet, a time for contemplation.

  Such a pity that all of her thoughts returned to Gabriel Hardacre.

  After their parting the night before last, Cassie had been certain in her conviction she would not see that interesting man again – that he’d be as good as his word and disappear into the night, never to return.

  And to see him yesterday, in the broad light of day with his brothers, made her ponder whether he’d had a change of heart. Yet when she and Mathilda visited the workshop, he’d said nothing above the commonplace.

  Was she making a fool of herself as she did over Hugh Bestwick those many years past? She ought to be much wiser than that. What was it about this stranger that attracted her so?

  At the sound of a rap on the door jamb, Cassie turned. Gabriel Hardacre filled the frame, a timber rule and a slate in his hands.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mistress Glenwood,” he said politely, formally… disappointingly.

  “No, not at all,” she said and pointed to the bucket and mop just inside the door. “I’ve just finished mopping the floors. Just make sure you’ve wiped your feet.”

  Gabriel nodded and dutifully wiped his feet before taking tentative steps inside the room.

  “I’ve come to do some measuring,” he said. “Then we’ll cut the timber for your benches and make up one of the desks to ensure you’re happy with it before we make the others.”

  Was it her imagination or was his voice more friendly than a moment before?

  “When we met, you called me Cassie.”

  It sounded like an accusation. She hadn’t realized how much it did so until she heard Gabriel’s intake of breath.

  She looked up at him to find his eyes flickering across her form before they reached her face.

  “That was different. I thought we wouldn’t see each other again,” he said.

  “And that makes such a different to you now that we are to be working together?”

  “It would to your cousin, and no doubt to the good folk of the parish. My brothers and I are not the sort of men welcome in many places.”

  “Ought I not be the judge of that for myself?”

  Gabriel let out a long sigh and held up the rule and slate.

  “I’ve come to measure up for your school furniture. Should we begin?”

  The finality of the conversation could not be more plain. Cassie pushed down her irritation and picked her way across the floor.

  “Here is where I want a board so I can write my lessons in chalk for my students to copy, and this wall for a bookcase.”

  She felt Gabriel’s presence at her shoulder. Where previously she welcomed his closeness, now it irritated her.

  “Cassie.”

  He said her name softly and something touched her.

  She turned to face him and he placed the twelve by six-inch tile of slate in her hand. Then his hand covered hers. “I thought about you last night, too.”

  Gabriel leaned forward as though he might kiss her on the cheek, but he appeared to have second thoughts. He handed her a piece of chalk and turned away to examine the wall she’d indicated.

  “Mistress Glenwood,” he announced theatrically, as
though speaking to an audience beyond the two of them, “may I trouble you to write down the numbers as I give them to you.”

  They spent the next little while going about the room, Cassie describing what she required, Gabriel using his carpenter’s rule to plot out the dimensions. They debated the merits of making a bookshelf double the width and whether including a center aisle was better than putting all the desks in rows.

  Conversation flowed between them easily as though they had known each other for years and not just newly acquainted.

  “Hmmm…” Cassie paused and gave him an exaggeratedly thoughtful stare while he measured out a gap between the rows. “I’m trying to imagine what you must have been like as a schoolboy.”

  “Imagine away, my dear, because I have never been a schoolboy,” Gabriel answered breezily, jumping to his feet.

  “What? Never? You jest.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to teach me how to read,” he said, raising his eyebrows in a provocative fashion.

  “You jest.”

  “You already said that.”

  “You mean it? You don’t know how to read?”

  “Please, do continue. Make me feel lower than I already am.”

  Despite the light tone in his voice, it was clear she had offended him. How could she make amends?

  “Do you mean it?” she whispered. “Do you want to learn how to read?”

  The silence stretched on for an age. The answer, when it came, was a whisper.

  “Yes, I mean it.”

  “Cassie! There you are!” Uriah Makepeace entered the schoolroom, startling her. “I thought you went home with Mathilda hours ago. I’m glad to see your enthusiasm for the school. Master Beaple was most impressed with your plans.”

  The reverend paused to acknowledge the other person in the room.

  “Ah, you must be one of the Hardacre brothers. Reverend Williams has told me you’ve been doing excellent work on the furniture.”

  Gabriel nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir. We hope to furnish Mistress Glenwood’s school furniture before too long.”

  “Excellent! That is good news, indeed. But surely, you’re not going to work too much longer, you’re nearly out of light.”

  “I believe we have finished for today,” said Gabriel. He turned to her and bowed before holding his hand out for the piece of slate with the measurements on it. “We will start work tomorrow, Mistress Glenwood. Good evening, Reverend Makepeace.”

  She watched him walk out the door and his return to formality unsettled her once again. Who was the real Gabriel Hardacre? The man who bantered with her as they planned the school? Or the one who addressed her cousin?

  And why did any of that matter in the first place?

  “Edgar tells me the Hardacre brothers are traveling acrobats and entertainers,” said Uriah. “Did you know that?”

  Cassie shook her head. “Mathilda mentioned they were travelers and that was all.”

  “Well, she has suggested that, after we have our dedication service for the Penrose Almshouses, we have a small fete,” Uriah continued “I thought it a grand idea. I’ve just today written to the Bishop of Exeter. I wonder if the Hardacres would like to put on a little performance for us in the courtyard?”

  Cassie shook herself from her introspection.

  “I think that would be a wonderful idea, Cousin,” she answered. “A celebration to be sure.”

  She half-listened to her cousin as they walked back to the rectory.

  The Hardacres were traveling entertainers… that explained their charming manner and the juggling, Cassie thought. It also explained how Gabriel Hardacre could detach himself so quickly. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to take too much interest in another man who could be gone on the morrow.

  Chapter Six

  April, 1627

  Gabriel regarded the warehouse wall four yards in front of him, took a deep breath, and ran straight at it. He leapt at the last moment, planted one foot firmly against the masonry, and instantly drove himself upwards to grab the wooden sill of a window fifteen feet above the floor. Rapidly, he brought his trailing foot up and hung there, catlike.

  “Isn’t it time we thought of moving on?” said Michael, vaulting over their makeshift horse further in the warehouse. “I’ve heard Anatole Zagorsky’s traveling players are passing within a few miles on the way to Taunton. He was impressed by our routine last time.”

  “But not enough to hire us,” answered Raphael who was practicing his overhand grips on the high horizontal bar. “We’d have to put together one hell of a show before he’d include us in his troupe.”

  “But what an opportunity,” the younger man reasoned. “To perform in London and go across the sea to France, the Netherlands – even as far as Bohemia! We’d work something out. We always do.”

  “Taunton is more than fifty miles from here,” said Raphael. “It would take us the better part of two days to walk it.”

  “We’d have to think about this equipment you made,” said Michael. “It would be a shame to leave it here.”

  Gabriel listened to the echoing conversation from his place on the wall, his entire body supported by his fingertips. “Do we have enough saved for a cart?” asked Raphael. He performed a somersault dismount and reached for a rag to wipe away the sweat from his face.

  Gabriel decided to enter the conversation. “A cart is one thing.” He tensed, pushed hard with his feet and backward somersaulted to a squat and stand on the floor. “Being able to afford a horse is another.”

  “He’s right,” said Michael. “To care for a horse properly takes more funds than we could spare. We’d end up spending more on ostlers than we would on lodgings for ourselves.”

  “Or we decide to stay here and make Barnstaple our home,” Gabriel suggested.

  “Where do you propose we live?” Raphael shot back. “We can’t stay here. And if we can’t afford a horse and cart, then we certainly can’t afford a house to live in.”

  “We would if we have regular work,” Gabriel retorted.

  “Who would hire us? You know as well as I do, we would have left this place months ago, if not for the work at the almshouses.”

  Gabriel shook his head. Raphael was certainly in a contrary mood.

  “There’s work on the wharves if we want it.”

  “Perhaps there is another reason why our dear brother is so of a mind to settle down,” said Michael, performing a final dismount from the vaulting horse.

  “Indeed, this is true,” Raphael chimed in with exaggerated humor. “We know you’re rather keen on Mistress Perspicacity Glenwood.”

  The middle brother pitched his voice high. “‘I’m just going to measure for the blackboard’, ‘I was just helping Mistress Glenwood collect some books’…”

  Michael sniggered.

  Gabriel strolled over to them.

  “Well, I suppose I’d better make a clean breast of it and tell you the truth,” he said. “While you two have been playing ducks and drakes, Mistress Glenwood has been teaching me to read.”

  He met his brothers’ surprised stares directly. He even lifted his chin in defiance. Well, defensiveness, if he was honest. Gabriel waited for the scornful laughter, but it didn’t come.

  “I… I think that’s great,” said Raphael with none of his customary mockery. He shook his head and let out a half-laugh. “Look, if we’re laying our cards on the table, I must make a confession, too. I’ve been thinking of life beyond that of an itinerant performer. I’ve really enjoyed doing the woodwork at the almshouses. You know… the satisfaction of being able to point to something you’ve made with your own two hands?”

  Raphael nodded to himself as he said the words, having spoken them aloud for the very first time.

  “If you’re thinking of setting down roots, Gabriel, then you have my vote in favor.”

  Gabriel and Raphael turned to Michael. He scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand, clearly uncomfortable with having such scrutiny put on him.


  “We’ve never had a house before – not a proper one, at any rate,” he answered. “I do like the idea of having somewhere to call our own, a place no man could take from us.”

  “Then we’re all agreed,” Raphael swiftly concluded.

  “Except,” Michael interjected, “we don’t have enough money for a house. But, if we join Zagorsky’s troupe, do a full season, and we’re careful with our expenses, we might be able afford to buy a small cottage someplace where someone is in need of a woodworker and a couple of laborers.”

  Gabriel knew Michael was careful with their earnings – even to the point of being parsimonious on occasion. For him to volunteer such a suggestion had meant he’d already given it more than just passing consideration.

  “It sounds like we are all of one mind, then,” said Gabriel. The silence that followed was answer enough. “This will be our last season as traveling entertainers.”

  Although it was not halfway through spring, a touch of summer came early to Barnstaple.

  The sun glowed on the bright stone work as people filed in to the Penrose Almshouses chapel for its dedication. Richard Beaple was there with his youngest daughter, the Widow Penrose, along with the members of the mercantile corporation who had added funds of their own to the charitable endeavor.

  Despite the sorrow of a man twice widowed, and who’d had to bury his young son-in-law, Master Beaple still appeared much younger than his age. His only concession to the advancing years was the grey of his hair but, still, he carried all the vanity of a man who could afford to indulge it.

  The cut of his clothes befitted a man who was thrice mayor of Barnstaple, his trimmed moustache and pointed beard the height of fashion. And yet he was, indeed, a man of great charity as well as enterprise.

  Cassie was dressed in the finest gown she owned, a woolen gown the hue of mulled wine, the underskirt decorated with sprigs of flowers in an ochre silk, the overskirt in darker shades of russet. Mathilda declared it brought out the color of her hair which was now dressed, pinned, and hidden under a lace trimmed veil.