Kevin pulled a mock-sorrowful face as he looked at the photo. ‘Such a shame…’
Chapter Fifteen
16th April 1827, St Clements Church, Hastings, Sussex
The fleecy wisps of white cloud that lingered indifferently above the coast did nothing to reduce the intensity of the midday sun. St Clements Church, nestled in the lee of the cliff, greedily drank the heat through its thick sandstone skin.
In the cooler shadow of the adjacent churchyard, a faint smile appeared on Richard’s face. He was standing in front of the grave of Joseph Lovekin. He read the freshly chiselled lettering on the headstone and his smile turned to contempt. Sacred to the memory of Joseph Lovekin who departed this life 29th March 1827 aged 45 years, leaving an affectionate widow and three daughters viz: Harriet, Keziah and Ann.
The family, like the Priory Ground community, was falling apart.
It was the beginning of the end.
His green eyes narrowed at the void left below Joseph’s name. Space for his dear wife, Eliza, to be added.
Not long, Richard thought, as he turned and sauntered from the graveyard onto the bustling High Street. He cut a striking figure in his sand-coloured buckskin trousers, navy tailcoat, cream silk cravat and black bicorn hat. He strolled through the locals going about their daily lives—fishermen barrowing their freshly caught wares, washerwomen with baskets of laundry under their arms, labourers hurrying to a job, young children playing in the street—until he reached the Town Hall.
He entered the building, closed the street door and walked a narrow corridor to his office. It was a small, windowless and permanently chilly room at the back of the building, which he had fought to secure when he had gained employment as a junior clerk. The office was sparsely furnished—just a desk, two chairs and a bureau. It wasn’t much, but it was sufficient.
Richard removed his hat, lit the oil lamp on his desk and then began to pore over the stack of paperwork that he had been working on: documents to present at the inquest into the rightful ownership of the Priory Ground. It was the moment that he had been preparing for ever since his father had first informed him that a vacancy had arisen at the corporation. The job had made no mention of the Priory Ground, indeed the position offered to him had nothing to do with it; Richard’s charm, hard work and powers of persuasion had played well with senior officials and his request to scrutinise—in his own time and at his own expense—the legalities of the settlement of the Priory Ground had been granted.
Thumbing carefully through the papers, he stopped at the duplicate copy of the letter, which he had had sent to Widow Elphick, informing her that she was not legally entitled to sell her house. It was he who had forwarded the case to the Corporation Law Officers, who had then sent the case to the Commissioners for Woods, Forests and Land Revenues.
There was a light, almost imperceptible knock on his door.
Richard looked up curiously, not expecting any visitors. ‘Enter.’
The door opened and he was surprised by who was standing there.
He stood, slightly awkwardly and smiled. ‘Come in.’
He wasn’t prepared for this and he surreptitiously rearranged what papers he could reach to obscure any vital information.
Harriet Lovekin entered his office.
‘Please, sit down,’ he said, pointing to the chair opposite his desk.
She sat timidly, barely able to look him in the eyes. Her face was flushed and she had evidently been crying. Still in full mourning, she wore a black poke bonnet and a simple black dress.
‘I’m surprised to see you here, Harriet,’ Richard said. ‘Pleasantly surprised, that is.’ His playful smile was unexpectedly met with a detached look. ‘Is everything alright?’
Harriet nodded and glanced around the room. ‘I be here about the inquest,’ she mumbled, finally meeting his gaze. ‘Is there anything you can be a-doing to help us? We might be losing our homes and livelihoods. Blame me, everyone on the America Ground be as worried as I ever did see them.’
Richard suppressed his deep longing to sneer; instead he placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. ‘My dear Harriet, I wish there were something I could do, but it’s nothing to do with me. The inquest is being undertaken by the Crown Commissioners—I have absolutely no authority.’
Harriet turned to look at him; the subdued glow from the oil lamp giving her face a haunting, ethereal look. ‘Do you be a-going to the inquest yourself?’
‘Yes, I shall be there.’
‘And what will you be saying?’ she asked.
‘The truth, Harriet,’ he answered. ‘And here’s another truth’ – he crouched down beside her and stroked her thigh – ‘you’re a very beautiful young girl.’
Harriet stiffened and brushed off his hand. ‘Why do you be acting so nice toward me now? And bringing my shawl back on such a terrible night as was? I been thinking on it and it don’t be a-making much sense; the time before that, you was trying to have me thrown into the watch house as a draggle-tail.’
Richard smiled. ‘It was a ploy—an act—I wanted to see you. Do you not remember the first moments that we saw each other? First at the Priory Stream then again in the Black Horse. Do you not remember?’
Harriet nodded.
‘I couldn’t take my eyes off away from you,’ Richard laughed. ‘I’m such a fool, going about it in the way that I did—I deserved
