Ivanhoe Mill , livre ebook

Ivanhoe Mill
Alan Charles Harrison
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-11-30
Ivanhoe Mill About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgment Chapter One Cawston Manor Chapter Two The Forge Chapter Three The Acorn Inn Chapter Four Joe Grommit Chapter Five The Market Chapter Six The Storm Chapter Seven The Boat Trip Chapter Eight Discussions at Cawston Manor Chapter Nine The Boisterous Acorn Inn Chapter Ten Friends on the River Chapter Eleven Katie Returns to Cawston Manor
The author, Alan Charles Harrison, has written six books over a three-year period from the age of seventy to eighty years. He has been an artist and musician all his life. Family life and his children were at the heart of his hobbies.
Beginning an apprenticeship at British Rail and working as a craftsman over forty years was foremost in bringing up his family. His artistic life and musical career spans over sixty years. Even at present age of eighty-one, he is still active with a singing partner as a duo entertaining. He had a dormant period when his wife died on his seventieth birthday. This went on for five years. His singing partner eventually lit the spark that invigorated his musical and artistic life. It was during this period from his seventy-seventh year to his eightieth that his paint brush changed to the pen, finding a way to forward his creation so he turned to Austin Macauley.
I would like to give my sincere thanks to my granddaughter, Hayley Louise Harrison, for typing the text from my longhand writing. Without her constant encouragement, I would never have brought this book to a conclusion.
Copyright Information ©
Alan Charles Harrison (2020)
The right of Alan Charles Harrison to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528975063 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528975087 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
To my dear friend, Brenda Thread Gold, for the constant encouragement as my writings progressed.
Chapter One

Cawston Manor
A fresh covering of snow emptied its contents from the early morning sky, giving the landscape a look of beauty. James Sanderson walked through the virgin snow. His boots imprinting a track between two parallel rows of beech trees which led to the big house at the top of the hill on the estate of Cawston Manor.
The beech trees were accepting the falling snow on their overhanging branches, which formed a tangled framework of eeriness. Their shapes made him shudder a little inside as he imagined the mass of branches to be a giant black spider’s web that would drop down on him. His young body would be devoured by eight legged monsters that hung above. The snow-covered impregnated network above him had fired his imagination. He scolded himself for letting his train of thought disturb his mind. He must preserve himself for the task he had been sent to do by his father Rusty Sanderson, the village blacksmith at Ivanhoe Forge.
James was being made responsible for a task of work he had been sent to do at Cawston Manor. Feeling rather nervous as he made his way to the big house, he stopped beside the large black trunk of a beech tree. Placing his bag of tools on the snow-covered ground, he rubbed his frozen hands feverishly. Stamping his feet with vigour, trying to get some life into his frozen extremities, he unbuttoned his breeches with difficulty and relieved himself at the side of the big tree. He watched with relief as the riverlet of steaming urine threaded its way down the rough bark and formed a steamy pool at the feet of James.
James arranged his clothing appropriately picking up his heavy bag and slinging it deftly over his shoulder. He walked up the hill towards the big house. James reached the end of the parallel row of trees and walked a short way to the side entrance of Cawston Manor. James looked nervously at the large heavily panelled door, a fine iron knocker, and solidly fastened to the door was the tool James had to use to indicate his presence and purpose of his visit.
James slung his heavy bag from his shoulder and sighed with relief as he placed it on the snow-covered porch. He looked at the large door knocker which seemed to be telling him to do the job it was there for. He chastised himself for feeling so inadequate. “Pull yourself together,” he said to himself under his breath, “You are nowt but a wimp, show some spunk you’ve been sent to do a job of work, there’s nowt can harm thee, your dad would be having a rate laugh if he could see you quivering like a jelly, go on get on with it, there’s nowt to be fabled about.”
James plucked up courage to use the knocker, “I will knock hard, I will show you, you’re only a big lump of iron, I will be your master.” James reached out with his cold frosted hand and held the equally cold lump of iron in his grasp. “I will thump this big door; I will show you that I am your master!” Two solid knocks were struck on the large panelled door. “There, I’ve struck the first blow!” James took a step back, making a space between him and the door. He now waited nervously for an occupant inside the manor to open the door. He would state his presence and hope that he will be accepted with kindness.
Rusty, James’ father, had primed James with a few handling tips to cope with any awkwardness that was levelled at him. “Just let your words speak your way, keep thee head, do as tha’s told to suit their orders and that’ll be alreet.” After another knock, James did three bangs after a feeling of being ignored. He started getting a bit uppity with himself. “I have not come all this way like a looney to be left like a beggar, I have come to do a job of work,” he said under his breath.
James was now getting agitated; he was about to have another go at the lump of iron in front of him when the door slowly creaked open. His heart started to pound. The door opened just enough to expose the shape of a large figure looking sternly at him from the confines of the entrance of the manor. The door opened more, fully exposing a most fearsome, robust and large woman. Her rounded face and small penetrating eyes looked sternly at the nervous young man on the wet porch. “What’s your business at this early hour?” The aggressive, frightening figure barked in a nasty manner at James.
The door was now fully open, her large figure filled the door entrance. Her scowling attitude to James had taken him aback. He had now passed the shock of this unpleasant bully who stood before him. He wanted now to retaliate and compete with her aggression. Thinking what his father had warned him about, he tempered his thoughts down to a submissive level of confrontation.
“Well?” The big woman snarled, “State your presence or be off with you.” She stood facing James, her large, fat arms folded across her chest supporting the heaviness of her breasts.
“I excuse any inconvenience I have caused, Ma’am. I have been sent by my father, Rusty Sanderson, to do a job of work at the Manor. I am at your service if you please.”
The big lady dropped her arms from across her chest and said, “Wait here,” and closed the door on James.
He waited for his acceptance to do his job of work. After what seemed forever, the woman was back. The big door was swiftly opened and the now agitated James was ordered into the manor.
James picked up his bag of tools and went through the opened door.
“Hat off young man,” she scowled again with aggression. She looked at poor James as he took off his sodden hat as instructed.
“I am James Sanderson; Ma’am I am here at the command of Mr Cawston to do certain duties. This paper tells you what I am here to do.” James offered the grubby note to the woman. “Don’t bother me with bits of paper!” she snapped. “It’s out of my business, I have more important tasks to keep me occupied, follow me and be sharp about it.”
James followed the large woman as she went down the dull, dimly lit corridor. The big woman stopped at a large panelled door. She knocked sharply, cocked her head, listening for the command from within. James was standing behind the big woman, his bag of tools weighing heavily on his shoulder. A reply came from the room beyond the closed door, “Enter!” a broad sounding command was heard, the large brass door knob was turned by the woman and the door was pushed open exposing a luxurious layout of splendour. “This is James Sanderson, sire. I leave him in your care, sire. I have much work to do, if you require anything further for me to do, I am at your disposal.”
She spoke with an air of importance but the Lord of the Manor was not impressed by her sarcastic attitude. He tolerated her only for her usefulness at keeping check on his staff. He needed her powers of observation to keep him informed of discrepancies and misdeeds that may occur in the manor. “That will be all, Emily,” she turned smartly with a nod of her head and with an icy look at James, closed the door behind her.
James felt quite alone and nervous at being face to face with the Lord of the Manor. “Relax young man, you have nothing to fear