by Diane Allen
‘Whatever you wish, ma’am. Jethro has brought a good supply of holly and ivy from out of the wood, and he’s already bashed the stems of the holly to make it last longer, once inside the house. And Mazy has taken the candles and their holders out of the cupboard, ready for the erection of the tree. Is Jethro taking you to see Mrs Batty?’ Thomson held the door open for his mistress and watched as she stepped out into the icy morning.
‘No, I’ll walk and take the path down by the river, by cutting down through the park. It’s a pleasant morning and the fresh air will do me good.’ Charlotte hung the basket on her arm and walked away from the manor, making her way over the icy silver grassland of the surrounding park, until she came to the path that followed the river down to the weir and locks that fed the millpond; this brought her out to the small rows of cottages that had been built years back, for the mill’s workforce. She caught her breath; no matter how hard she tried, every time she walked along the cobbles between the rows of workers’ cottages she remembered how Joseph did the same walk, visiting his lover, Betsy Foster. Now she was even visiting Betsy’s old cottage, to see Mrs Batty. It was unfortunate that hers had been the only cottage available for occupation at the time of her need.
She opened the wicket gate and knocked on the red-painted door, the same door that she had knocked on the day her husband had been in bed above, while she had sympathetically given Betsy a loaf of bread to make up for lost hours in the mill. He must have heard every word she said and then laughed about her ignorance of the games he was playing, before returning to lie in his lover’s arms. She looked up at the bedroom window and fought back the tears as she heard Mrs Batty making her way to the door.
‘Give me a minute, I’m coming.’ Mrs Batty yelled from behind the closed door before opening it. ‘Oh, ma’am, what are you doing down here on this cold morning? Come on in, I’ve just lit the fire, and you must have known the kettle was nearly on the boil.’ Mrs Batty shuffled forward and urged Charlotte to close the door behind her. ‘I don’t get up that early, these days – I’m making the most of my new life. After all the years of getting up at five to prepare breakfast and get the kitchen up and running for the day, I’m enjoying my leisure. Besides, the days are so long now. I’ve hardly anybody to talk to.’
‘I don’t blame you, Mrs Batty. But I thought you had Mrs Potts next door for company, and Ruby tells me she calls in on a regular basis.’ Charlotte rested her basket on the kitchen table and quickly looked around the cottage that belonged to her, but which she had never been in before, because of its dark history. The cottage was basic: a two up and two down, with a lavvy outside, down at the bottom of the garden. A picture of Queen Victoria hung on the wall of the small front room and various knick-knacks, collected over the years, made it home for the ageing cook.
‘Oh, aye, but it’s not the same as all the comings and goings of Windfell’s kitchen. You’d always have someone coming or going, and something to do. The days are so long now, especially at this time of the year. There’s only me and Gertie down here that doesn’t work at your mill, so it is quiet through the day; and then it’s dark by four of an evening and everyone’s closed their doors to the night.’ Mrs Batty placed two cups and saucers onto the table, her hands shaking as she did so.
‘Can I help?’ Charlotte took the milk jug from her and watched as Mrs Batty shakily filled the teapot from the kettle that had boiled on the fire.
‘No, you cannot, ma’am. I might take my time, but I’m capable of making a pot of tea. Now, how are you and the family? I hear there’s to be a wedding this coming spring, and that Miss Isabelle and Master Daniel’s intended have a success on their hands, with the dress and milliner’s shop on Duke Street.’ Mrs Batty sat down and stirred the teapot until the tea had brewed, and then poured Charlotte and herself a cup each.
‘Yes, it seems all to be happening. Danny is marrying Harriet on Easter Saturday. They’ve just set the date at St John’s at Langcliffe. Isabelle and Harriet are busy sewing the dress, probably as we speak, in between customers, as they do seem to be very busy. Which is good, as I’ve invested heavily in the shop and need it to do well.’ Charlotte watched as the old cook went to her dresser top and carried over a biscuit barrel.
‘Have a biscuit. They are your favourite – ginger, the chewy ones made with a lot of syrup.’ Mrs Batty pushed the biscuit barrel over the table to her visitor and bit into her baking, before dipping the remaining biscuit into her tea.
‘You always did know what I liked. I shouldn’t really, for my waist seems to expand at the slightest sight of food at the moment.’ Charlotte smiled as she dipped her hand into the barrel and pulled out one of Mrs Batty’s famous ginger snaps.
‘Contented, that’s what you are. Everything’s going well in your world, and I couldn’t wish it on anyone better. Not like my old employer, John Sidgwick – he’s for the paupers’ gaol if he’s not careful, from what I hear. But knowing him, he’ll have some money tucked away to save himself, but not his poor workers. Not that he’ll care. He was a terrible man to work for, and I remember when he recommended me to Mr Dawson and how I breathed a sigh of relief when I got the position of cook at Windfell. I’d had enough of being at Sidgwick’s beck and call at Skipton; he used to try and take advantage of all the young maids and he knew it was only a matter of time before I told his wife, so he was glad to see the back of me. Then, if you don’t mind me saying, I ended up with one worse, with Joseph Dawson and his sister Dora. That was, until you came along.’ Mrs Batty looked at Charlotte and held her hand out for her to hold over the table. ‘You were like a breath of fresh air. He was such a fool not to realize what he had, but – like all men – he was never satisfied.’
Charlotte turned the conversation back to her present family. ‘I don’t know about “contented”, Mrs Batty. To be honest, nothing seems to be going right at the moment. Danny’s got pre-wedding nerves; Isabelle I don’t think will ever be content with her lot in life; and we aren’t exactly run off our feet at the mill. Testing times, with Archie just returning from Crummock after the recent blizzards; he’s had to leave some of his sheep buried in the drifts that are still up there, he just can’t find them all. So he’s moaning about losing money.’ Charlotte sipped her tea. She could have confessed so much more to the homely Mrs Batty, but knew that if she did, it would no longer be a secret. Mrs Batty and Gertie Potts would talk about the goings-on with anyone else who stepped over the threshold, so she had to keep her worries to herself, rather than let half of Settle know her business.
‘I heard one of the workers saying things were a bit slack at the mill. You never know: if High Mill’s gone to the wall, you might pick up a bit of work from them. They must have had some customers that will miss them.’ Mrs Batty offered another biscuit, which Charlotte declined with a shake of her head.
‘Something will turn up. And besides, it’s Christmas next week. Three days of no worries, with just the family. We are having a quiet family Christmas this year and will probably do more for the New Year. What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘I’m going to Gertie’s. She’s no family here, what with her lad being abroad, so we are keeping one another company. What we will have to eat, I don’t know, as meat is that dear. I’m sure that butcher under the Shambles up in Settle thinks of a number and doubles it, just for fun. We’ll probably have to make do with bread and dripping.’
‘Well, that is the reason for my visit. With the manor having visitors, the kitchen is going to be busy, else you could have come and had dinner with the staff. But I’ve brought you the next best thing, thanks to Ruby. I think you’ll find a Christmas cake and pudding, made from the manor’s recipe, and meat for your dinner, along with pickles and whatever else you’ll need for the festive period. We thought you would probably be having Christmas with Gertie, so there’s enough for the two of you, and more besides.’ Charlotte passed the full basket over to her red-faced cook.
‘Oh, ma’am! You shouldn’t
– how can I ever thank you? I don’t deserve all this. I’m already lucky enough to have this cottage, which you don’t charge me for.’ Mrs Batty wiped back a tear and looked quickly into the basket of delights.
‘Are you alright living here, Mrs Batty?’ Charlotte looked around the sparse but spotless cottage.
‘Yes, I’m alright. A drop of gin sees me right before I go to bed, so don’t you worry your head. I’m just grateful for a roof over my head.’ Mrs Batty smiled.
‘I’m glad you are happy. You will always have a home, as long as I’m alive.’ Charlotte gave the old cook a hug and smiled.
‘You keep your head up. Think of what you’ve done, and be proud of your family. You are a good woman, ma’am. I’ve always kept you in high regard, as does everyone that works for you.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Batty, that means a great deal to me.’
‘No problem, lass. I hope you and yours have a grand Christmas, a good family one with a lot of love – that’s all anyone wants. Look forward, not back, and you’ll not go far wrong. The past has gone, the future is yet to be written, and I’m sure you have plenty of ink still left in your pen.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Batty, you have a good Christmas, too.’
‘I will, lass, especially with all this basket of good stuff. Now go on, before this cottage reminds you of bad times and makes you more miserable. Go and tell Ruby that she’ll miss me in that kitchen this Christmas. I’m not there to clean the fowl, and she hates taking the innards out of anything.’ Mrs Batty laughed.
‘I’ll tell her. I bet she gives Eve the job,’ Charlotte laughed.
‘Aye, she will. It will save her retching, because she always does. Happy Christmas, ma’am.’
‘Happy Christmas, Mrs Batty.’ Charlotte left the cottage with a sense of relief. She loved her old cook, but the cottage stifled her every breath as she thought of the past tenant, God rest her soul.
‘No, no – not there, and it isn’t straight,’ Mazy yelled at Jethro as he fought the branches of the largest fir tree that had ever entered the manor’s parlour. ‘Turn it that way a bit; just hide those branches at the back, they are a bit sparse. That’s it, that’s perfect.’ Mazy stood back and admired the majestic fir tree, which was freshly cut from Windfell’s small copse. The smell of pine filled the room, making her smile, for it was now the familiar smell of Christmas. ‘I do love seeing the Christmas tree going up. It was a lovely idea that Prince Albert gave us, when he married our Queen, bless his soul.’
‘Aye, bless him. It weighs a ton, does that tree. I’d have liked to have seen Prince Albert turn it this way and that way on a whim.’ Jethro stood back and looked at his handiwork and got his breath back. ‘I think it’s a lump bigger this year, or it seems to be; it certainly weighs more, or I’m losing my strength.’
‘It’s you – you’re just a weed, Jethro Haygarth; there’s no strength in those weedy arms of yours,’ Mazy joked with the man Windfell depended on, for any job that nobody else wanted to do.
‘I’ll give you weedy, Mazy Banks – come here!’ Jethro chased her around the settee and caught her as she giggled and protested, falling into a heap on the soft cushions. ‘Here, put this in your hair: a sprig of fir for a right bonny Christmas rose.’ Jethro flumped down beside her and smiled as he placed a piece of fir in her hair. He placed it gently behind her ear and smiled as she looked at him, holding his breath as he decided to do what he’d been meaning to do for a good few months now, and closed his eyes and kissed Mazy on the lips. His life above the stable had been lonely of late and, while horses were his everything, they’d not look after him in years to come. Mazy had always been kind to him and he felt something for her – something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, until that moment.
She pushed him back gently, surprised by his spontaneous action. ‘Jethro, what did you do that for?’ She looked into the green eyes that she’d admired from afar and blushed.
‘Because I’ve wanted to do it for months, and have never dared until now. You didn’t seem to mind too much, though, Mazy. Should we do it again – quickly, before they find us?’ Jethro held Mazy’s hand and looked into her eyes.
‘I don’t mind if we do.’ Mazy looked at the groom that she’d had her eye on for a while, although she had not dared to make her feelings known. She closed her eyes and felt a warmth that she had never before experienced in her life, as Jethro kissed her gently. She had thought she was never going to know a man’s touch; and here she was, kissing and carrying on, on the settee in the parlour of Windfell.
‘Will you walk out with me, Mazy? I know I’m only a groom and jack-of-all-trades, and a bit below your station, with you being the housekeeper. But I’m not a bad soul and I’ve saved a bob or two, so I can take you out and treat you like a lady.’ He held Mazy’s hand and waited for a reply.
‘I’d be honoured to, Jethro.’ Mazy leaned forward and kissed him back on the lips.
‘By, I never thought you would – you’ve made my day.’ Jethro grinned. ‘Sunday then, we’ll have a look around the Christmas market in Settle?’
‘Sunday it is. Now we’d better get a move on, before we are found.’ Mazy smiled as she felt her stomach flutter, at the thought of walking around Settle on Jethro’s arm, as she rose from the settee.
‘That’s grand. I can’t wait.’ Jethro beamed as he walked out of the parlour for the stepladder, nearly bumping into Charlotte as she walked across the hallway.
‘Are you alright, Jethro? You look quite flushed.’ Charlotte stopped him in his tracks.
‘I’m fine, ma’am, just been putting up the tree with Mazy. It took some putting in place, but it looks lovely now.’ He gave a quick glance at Mazy as she quickly patted a strand of hair in place, before talking to her mistress.
‘The tree looks magnificent, ma’am. We just need Miss Isabelle to say where she would like the candles placing, when she returns from Settle. Jethro’s going for the stepladder now.’ Mazy gathered her thoughts and watched as Jethro made his escape. She hoped her looks didn’t reveal her true feelings, as she resorted to her position of housekeeper.
‘Thank you both. It must be Christmas, if the tree is up and about to be decorated. I must say, I don’t feel like it this year,’ Charlotte admitted.
‘You will, I’m sure, once it’s here. Ruby’s already filling the kitchen with the amazing smells of Christmas. And then, before you know it, we will be into a new year and it will be Master Daniel’s wedding.’ Mazy tried to cheer up her mistress. Her spirits had been down since reading about the closure of High Mill and visiting the Langcliffe Lock cottages.
‘You are right. I’ve a lot to be thankful for, and a lot to look forward to. Now, let’s have a look at this tree. Archie tells me that he’s done us proud.’ Charlotte smiled and walked into the parlour. ‘Heavens, no wonder Jethro looked red in the face!’ Charlotte stood back and looked at the tree that dominated the parlour and reached just shy of six inches from the ceiling.
‘Yes, it took some putting up this year. I think it’s the tallest we have had so far. Poor Jethro struggled a bit.’ Mazy laughed.
‘Well, it should definitely be the centre of our Christmas. Also we have a musician, in Harriet, this year. I believe she can play the piano quite well, so we can have a singalong. I’ve been waiting for someone to play it as it should be played, ever since I bought it. I can play, but only a little, and Isabelle has never shown any interest.’ Charlotte looked around her parlour. This year it was going to be a family Christmas, just Archie and her and the children, including Harriet. It was to be spent with people whom she loved. She’d survived yet another year, with her close family intact and the mill still working, and for that she was thankful. She should be more positive, and not dwell on the negatives, for life was good really.
16
John Sidgwick sat in the corner of the King Billy inn and listened to the incessant talking of the little mill worker, who obviously had a gripe with his employer.
‘Bloody woman – she looks after her own, that’s what she does. Doesn’t care the amount of hours we put in, or that we have mouths to feed.’ Walter Gibson looked into the bottom of his gill and wiped the dribble off his chin.
‘I think it’s time you went home, Walter,’ said the landlord. ‘As you say, you’ve plenty of mouths to feed. All the better fed if you don’t waste your money here. Your Martha will be wondering where you’ve got to. Be thankful Mrs Atkinson has given you Boxing Day off, as some other mills are back open and working.’ The landlord had heard enough from the loquacious troublemaker who liked the sound of his own voice. ‘Mrs Atkinson is a good soul; she does right by them that do right by her. Now, get yourself back up to your cottage at the locks.’
‘Bugger you, you bloody hypocrite! You were keen to take my money off me when I first come in, but now I’ve nowt left, you don’t want me here.’ Walter stood up from his seat and wobbled unsteadily, before making for the door. He glanced around the rundown, mucky pub and at the equally grubby landlord.
‘Night, Walter, you take care,’ the landlord yelled after him, as he watched Walter nearly bump into a customer who was entering the King Billy.
‘He looks a bit worse for wear.’ Sidgwick placed his tankard on the bar and ordered another, as he talked to the landlord.
‘Oh, aye, he likes his gill, does Walter. Trouble is, he doesn’t keep his thoughts to himself. He doesn’t realize when he’s well off. I think if I was Charlotte Atkinson, I’d be getting rid of him, as he never has a good word for her. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you, I was always told.’ The landlord passed the gent in front of him his drink and pocketed the payment.