Читать книгу Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting - Страница 7

My arrival was a cause of great celebration not only at the manor but also in the surrounding community. There had been no secret that Elizabeth and Charles had been trying for some time to produce an heir. Amongst the villagers it had been offered that their long awaited success was only due to the visiting of Mistress Magda Williams. She was reputed to be dabbling in secret herbal remedies and held the reputation of being our local unofficial healing woman. The rumours continued that Mistress Magda had an allegiance with a coven of witches that met clandestinely in Warwickshire forest. These witches were members who lived in their very own town but used magic to maintain their anonymity. These whispers were mere murmurings as the Fentons were regarded highly and no one dared to face Mr Fenton’s wrath if he were to hear them. He was particularly prickly on the subject of Magda. Having said that, I was reminded often when I grew older, how he was a good employer who had kept many of them from starving through the winter times when food was scarce. But you wouldn’t cross him.

One of the more ancient workers remembered a time when Joshua the kitchen hand had been caught stealing sausages. He recalled that Mr Fenton was told of the fact and demanded the boy be sent to him immediately. They dragged the trembling lad up to the office of Mr Fenton, who then told them to close the door. They waited outside the door keenly listening but could hear nothing much to their disgust. After what seemed an age, the door opened and Joshua walked out with tears streaming down his face and refusing to say a word to anyone. Mr Fenton was equally silent, though his grim face spoke a thousand words. Apparently the boy and his family packed up that very same day and left the village never to be seen again. They only took what they could carry. It was heard that they ended up at a work-house, rambling that no one would help them because of Mr Fenton. Oh yes, he was a generous man when he wanted to be, but once you were found out you were damned for good. He had connections across the country that one did – powerful connections.

So the staff at the Fenton Manor worked doubly hard to make sure that I, Charles Augustus Fenton Junior, was kept in a manner according to my birthright. My nursery was bright, airy and warm. During the night my wet nurse would feed me and during the day my mother would insist on not only feeding me but bathing me as well. With such a bountiful supply of milk I had no choice but to grow fat and cherubic. I took to the breast with enthusiasm and vivacity and sucked them both dry. It was only the cook’s constant supply of rich beef broth and milk puddings that kept them in good health. My mother grew to despise the milk puddings and once I was weaned, she refused to touch them ever again, but whilst she was lactating she swallowed the offensive pap night and day.

With such love and devotion, it was a great shock to both of my parents when I turned ill at the age of three.