by Rose Meddon
‘Respect?’ What gave her sister the right to lecture her about Luke?
‘There,’ Edith said, placing her two vases on the runner on the sideboard and acting as though she hadn’t even raised the subject. ‘Mrs Channer usually puts one at each end of here, and one on each of those side tables.’
Still speechless, Kate shook her head. ‘I do know where the flowers go.’
‘Seriously, Kate,’ Edith once again lowered her voice to add, ‘men like Luke don’t come along every day of the week.’
Removing one of the vases to the nearest side table, Kate wondered what on earth she had to do to stop Edith interfering. It wasn’t even as though where men were concerned, her sister was in a position to judge – something she decided to make plain. ‘Not that you’d know.’
Edith, though, wasn’t giving up. ‘Happen I’m in a better position than you think.’
‘You? Huh.’ Returning to the sideboard, Kate shook her head crossly: on top of everything else, her sister was deluded.
‘Scoff all you like,’ Edith replied. ‘But it’s true.’
About to deride her sister’s claim further, Kate checked herself; someone was coming towards the drawing room, their purposeful footsteps echoing around the hallway. Desperate to avoid further trouble, she held back her riposte; it would keep until whoever it was had moved on. The footsteps, though, stopped and, sensing that someone was looking in through the open doorway at them, Kate drew herself smartly upright and proceeded to fuss with the stems of the antirrhinums – anything rather than appear as though she was nobbling and newsing. She wondered whether it might be Ned – it would be typical of her bad luck to have him come looking for her and find her with Edith. In case it was him, she turned very slowly to check. But, silhouetted against the brightness of the doorway was a portly figure, who, by the time she had turned more fully in its direction, was already walking away.
‘Who was that?’ she whispered. Turning back for her sister’s answer, she was shocked to see that Edith’s face had lost all of its colour. She reached for her arm. ‘Edie? You all right? You’ve gone all pale.’ Grasping for the sideboard, Edith lowered her head. ‘Truly, Edie, your face is whiter than milk. Ought you to sit down a while?’
‘I’m fine,’ Edith murmured. ‘I just came over… dizzyheaded for a moment.’
‘Dizzyheaded? Saw a ghost, more like. Come over here and sit down a mo’. Come on, I’m worried you’ll fall elsewise.’
Raising herself upright again, Edith appeared to try and pull herself together. ‘I’ll do no such thing – and certainly not in here, of all places.’
‘But Edie,’ Kate persisted, ‘even your hands are trembling. Look at them. Come on, surely you can see something ain’t right. If you won’t sit down here, at least let me help you back downstairs. Mrs Russell’s menus will keep a moment longer.’
Edith, though, was not to be persuaded. ‘For the last time, Kate, there’s nothing wrong with me. I just had a funny turn. And I’ll thank you to leave it at that.’
In response to her sister’s dismissiveness, Kate shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I was only trying to help.’
‘Just stop your fussing and get these vases put out. And another thing, try and stay on the right side of Ma for once. Keep your head down and get on with your work like the rest of us. And just sort things out with Luke, too. Far too long you’ve been leading him a merry dance—’
Unable to help herself, Kate rounded on her sister. ‘Patient saints, Edith, stop telling me what to do! Truly, stop it. I’ve had my fill of you and Ma keep poking your noses into my business. Luke is my matter to see to, not yours.’
‘Well, I’ve had my fill of you keep rocking the boat,’ Edith hissed back. ‘What you overlook is that with Mr Latimer back here, he’s well-situated to learn of your transgressions first-hand. Try remembering that next time you’re minded to open your mouth and speak out of turn. Give him grounds to throw us out on our ears and we’re done for. Be quick enough traipse up the aisle with Luke Channer then, wouldn’t you?’
‘For God’s sake, Edith, whether I wed Luke or whether I don’t has nothing to do with you. And quite why you’d think I’d take advice from a lonely old spinster is beyond me anyway.’
‘You take that back, Kate Bratton.’
‘Take what back? The truth? Ain’t my fault it’s hard to hear. Tell you what, if you’re so fond of Luke Channer – if you think him such a good catch – you marry him! Marry him with my blessing.’
What had come over her sister all of a sudden, Kate wondered as she lifted the remaining vase from the sideboard. Crossing the rug and plonking it down on one of the occasional tables, she purposely didn’t turn back to look at her. Instead, she stood, teeth gritted, tweaking the stems of the blooms as though caring how they looked until eventually, hearing her sister heading away, she let her arms drop to her sides and gave a long and weary sigh.
Her sister was right about one thing: some matters did need sorting out. For a start, Luke needed to stop naysaying how she felt; he needed to respect her feelings and be in no doubt about where he stood. She had a plan to further and it didn’t involve him. Furthermore, to bring it about, she was going to need a clear head. So, yes, where Luke was concerned, on this occasion, Edith was right: the time had come to sort things out. Once and for all.
* * *
She had to go through with this. Despite feeling sickened by the prospect, she had to see it through.
It was later that same morning and, having somehow made it all the way to the far side of the stable yard without caving in to second thoughts, Kate found herself standing a few feet from the door to the workshop, trying to summon the courage to go inside. Whoever was in there was sawing wood – she could hear the saw rasping back and forth. Having worked herself into a state of high anxiety, all she could do was hope that it was Luke.
Drawing a deep breath and taking the last few steps to the partly open door, she peered around it. The air was thick with sawdust, a single shaft of brightness from the roof light illuminating him bent over the sawing-horse. From across the dusty room, he looked so manly and purposeful that her legs wanted to carry her away to save her from doing something foolish. But, coming just as vividly to her mind was a picture of Ned, trying to splash her with sea water. One or the other, she reminded herself: Ned or Luke – you can’t have both.
If she was honest, she was still struggling to believe how easily she had reached this point – two supposedly separate matters having somehow collided to present her with the most incredible of opportunities. So, why the hesitation? Her desire to leave Woodicombe was unchanged; she only had to recall the fate of poor Liddy Tucker to reassure herself on that point. That she had fallen for Ned Russell and his lovely attentions was also beyond dispute. The problem lay with what was required of her next: that she break Luke’s heart.
Feeling how parched her throat felt, she swallowed uneasily. Yes, it was going to be awful, but there was no way around it.
‘Luke?’ she called tentatively across to him.
Straightening up, he wiped a hand across his brow. ‘Kate.’
Briefly, she looked down. Then she forced herself to look back up. This has to be done. You have to go through with it. ‘Spare me a minute… to talk?’
Setting the quivering saw on top of the length of timber he’d been cutting, Luke brushed his hands down the front of his overalls. ‘‘Course. What brings you out here?’
Trust your instincts had been Diana Lloyd’s advice. Easy for her to say; she wasn’t about to break the heart of an innocent man – a good man. But, as she kept reminding herself, anything less would amount to treachery. You don’t want to marry him. And he has to know that.
‘I’ve decided I don’t want to stay in Woodicombe.’ There. She’d said it. Sort of.
The look he gave her was a weary one. ‘Kate, we’ve been through this—’
‘Aye, I know I’ve said it afore. But, lately, I’ve been thinking about i
t proper. Long and hard, I mean. And it’s not what I want. I’ve not come to ask you to go with me because I know you don’t want to. All I’ve come to say is that I’m going to London. And so you can stop going on about getting wed.’
To her relief, he didn’t try to approach her. In fact, he didn’t move.
‘You’re going to London.’ In response to his statement, she gave a single nod. ‘On your own.’
Wishing she felt able to meet his eyes, she nodded again. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve got work there.’
‘I have.’ More lies. ‘Someone I know there is seeing to it.’
Still he didn’t move. ‘You know someone in London. Since when?’
Now what did she say? She hadn’t expected him to challenge her – at least, not to challenge the details. ‘Well, I don’t actually know them but—’
‘Kate, don’t lie to me. After all this time, I deserve better than to be lied to. It’s the Russells, ain’t it? You’re going to London with the Russells. That girl – your Miss Naomi – she’s spoken for you somewhere, hasn’t she?’
At least that was something she could deny with a clear conscience. ‘No. It’s got nothing to do with Miss Naomi.’ In a way, it might have been easier if it had.
‘Well it’s not her mother speaking for you, that much I do know. There’s no love lost there. It must be him, then – the son.’ With his expression suddenly changing to one of sickly recognition, Kate felt something in her stomach knotting tightly. ‘Christ, Kate, it’s him, ain’t it? You’re going to London with him.’
‘Huh, if you think he’d take me to London with him, you’re more mazed than I had you down for.’
‘Christ. That’s it. I’ve seen you talking to him, you know.’
She shuddered. How had he? And when? Without knowing what he’d seen or heard, she’d have to be careful about what she said next. ‘Well, yes, I’ve spoken to him, of course I have. He’s Miss Naomi’s brother. He’s often… about. We even saw him that day in Westward Quay.’
‘Handy.’
‘Chance. Truly. Ask Miss Naomi. Even she didn’t know he was going to be there.’
‘Huh.’
‘For the last time, Luke, I am not going to London with N— Mr Edwin.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do.’
‘Go with whoever you like Kate, I can’t stop you. But, if we’re no longer to be wed, then I’d best be getting back to my work. Ain’t nobody going to find me a job elsewhere.’
Feeling utterly wretched, Kate stared down at her shoes. Then, with seemingly nothing more to be said, she turned away. Having expected to feel light-hearted and relieved – her problem dealt with – she was surprised to realize that what she actually felt was an overwhelming sadness. There, in that dusty old workshop, all their years of friendship, and of mischief and laughter, had come to an end – seemingly without so much as a bat of an eyelid from either of them.
Bewildered – and not that far from tears – she stepped back out into the daylight. By rights, she ought to feel relieved that he had made it easy for her and yet, in truth, she felt distraught by the recognition that he hadn’t tried to get her to change her mind – hadn’t begged her to reconsider. Well, the fact was, he hadn’t: with no more than a few cross words passing between them, she had got what she wanted.
Unable to think what else to do, she made her way slowly back to the scullery. But, upon nearing the back door and thinking she might be sick, she doubled over. She pressed a hand to her chest. What had she done? What had she done? What she had done, she reminded herself, reaching to the doorframe for support, was take a step closer to realizing her dream. Now, with Luke no longer misunderstanding the situation between them, she was free to bring about the life she craved. Carefully, she stood up. As Diana Lloyd had so clearly advised, and as Sybil the seer had somewhat more vaguely intimated, she was bringing about the future she wanted. And, once she stopped feeling so guilty, she would appreciate what an incredibly brave thing she had just done.
Beginning to feel a little less sick, she forced herself to draw several long breaths. Of course, now, she had to hope that Luke didn’t stir himself into a fit of jealousy and decide to confront Ned. Or, equally disastrously, decide to join forces with Edith and Ma and hatch some sort of plot to get back at her for jilting him; it wasn’t altogether impossible. She sighed heavily. No, Luke wouldn’t do that. Not to her, he wouldn’t. It was like Edith had said earlier: Luke Channer was a good man. Always had been. And, despite what she had just done to him, always would be.
* * *
‘Truly? She’s willing to do that? For me?’
In response to Kate’s question, Ned nodded. ‘That’s what she said in her letter – that she would be happy to see what she could find out.’
It was a couple of days later – Monday the third of August – and, having earlier seen Ned heading away over the lawns with the attitude and apparel of someone setting off for a walk, she had tried to gauge when he would return. To her astonishment, she had guessed correctly, slipping out of the house and down to the cove with unbelievably perfect timing. And now, in the bright afternoon sunshine, the two of them were seated on what she had come to think of as their boulder, holding a conversation that felt neither uncomfortable nor inappropriate. That he had heard from his cousin was a relief; that this unknown woman was prepared to make enquiries about permanent positions for her, thrilling.
‘It sounds better than I could have hoped,’ she said, almost afraid of jinxing the way this was turning out.
‘It’s certainly encouraging,’ he agreed. ‘If Cousin Elizabeth didn’t think there was a chance of finding something for you, she wouldn’t have offered to talk to her friend. As soon as she writes again, I shall of course let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, still struggling to believe her good fortune.
‘Now we just need to wait and see how events over these next few days turn out.’
She knew, of course, that he was referring to the likelihood of war. Sitting there so peaceably, it was something she would rather not think about. The trouble was, her plans were inextricably linked to its coming; without it, there would be less need for the very people whose ranks she was hoping to join. Without a war, she had next-to-no chance of escaping from Woodicombe.
Distractedly, she traced a finger backwards and forwards over the surface of the rock while, a few yards in front of them, the tide lapped lazily at the smaller pebbles, barely bothering to disturb them from their slumber.
Unwittingly, she sighed. ‘Is war certain now, do you think? Is there nothing to be done to prevent it?’ More than anything, she wanted things to stay just as they were at that very moment: the sunshine warm; his company easy; real life suspended. In other words, perfect.
‘All the while the government can’t decide what to do, there is still some hope, I suppose.’
In disbelief, Kate shook her head. ‘Can’t decide? About going to war? But that’s madness. Not being able to decide whether to put pickles on your bread and cheese is one thing. Not being able to decide whether to go to war seems plain preposterous.’
He laughed. ‘Preposterous. I like that. But yes, it does rather, doesn’t it? In the newspaper this morning, it said that the Cabinet met yesterday – on a Sunday, no less – but that they are still split between those in favour and those against, with many ministers threatening to resign if the other side gets its way. Apparently, even in the streets, there are as many people demonstrating in support of war as there are attending peace meetings.’
‘So, what will decide it – whether or not there’s a war, I mean?’
‘Events beyond our control, I’m afraid. If Belgium resists Germany’s ultimatum to allow them to move forces onto their territory – supposedly to prevent a French attack – then to my mind, war becomes inevitable. If Belgium agrees, however, then the threat might recede – for now, at least. No doubt tomorrow morning’s newspapers will tell us mor
e.’
With that, he slid from the boulder and bent to reach for his duffle bag. Following suit, Kate, too, slipped back down to the sand.
‘Would you mind if I ask you tomorrow what that news is?’ she said, watching him wipe a hand over his trousers. If nothing else, it seemed a good way to keep herself at the front of his thoughts – especially if there was a chance he might need to depart without much warning.
‘No, of course I don’t mind. It’s good that you wish to keep abreast of things.’
Since opportunities to see him were so few and far between, she knew that more definite arrangements were called for. To that end, she said, ‘Oftentimes, I can get away for a few minutes once upstairs breakfast has been cleared away.’ Trust your instincts. ‘I could go to the stables and wait, you know, on the off-chance.’
He slung his duffle over his shoulder, his movements loose and relaxed. ‘All right. I’ll try and remember. Just don’t think badly of me if I forget.’
She smiled warmly. And, as she watched him picking his way between the giant boulders towards the path up through the trees, under her breath, she murmured, ‘There’s nothing you could do that would make me think badly of you.’
* * *
For Kate, the next morning couldn’t come soon enough. And, when it did, she darted about the kitchen, trying to do things before she was asked: she kept watch over the fillets of smoked haddock for the kedgeree to ensure that they simmered rather than boiled; she upturned the timer for the eggs rather than guess at how long they had been cooking; instead of wiping her hands down her apron, she washed them under running water and ensured that they were properly dry. Her only disappointment was that, unusually for her, Edith didn’t seem to notice. Ordinarily quick to comment upon her sluggishness; today, her sister didn’t even seem aware that she was there.