The Parson's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, Grandmama, I’m sorry, not for what I said to her, but that somehow…well, I’ve seemed to slip back. I actually used a swear word: it was as if I’d never learnt anything at school; I…I could have been one of the McLoughlins. I know I was rude but…but I was furious. And you know, Grandmama, I…I could have killed Gyp, because in holding him so I fell on him.’

  ‘You could have also broken your neck, child.’

  ‘Yes, yes, perhaps.’

  ‘What swear word did you use?’

  ‘I said hell for leather! Like Pratt says it.’

  ‘My! My! ’Tis well your mama isn’t here.’ Jessica pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. Then she added, ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Better, since Peggy gave me the cordial.’

  ‘Oh, yes, her cordial, you would feel better. I’ll have to have a word with Peggy about her cordial. Did she give you much of it?’

  ‘Oh, just a drop in the bottom of the glass, and then she filled it up with hot tea.’

  ‘Well, now, sit yourself down there quietly and be thankful you’re in one piece. I wish your parents were back. You are a responsibility. Do you know that, Nancy Ann?’

  ‘No, I’m not really, Grandmama. What I mean is, who was to know that was going to happen? There was I, walking quietly along the road, about to turn for home, when she comes round that corner. And oh, that poor horse! That poor horse!’

  ‘Never mind that poor horse. It would have been poor you if you hadn’t been able to jump quick enough, by the sound of it. That horse could have trampled you.’

  She did not answer but she thought, Yes, yes, it could. I could have been dead or badly crippled. So, no, I’m not going to be sorry for what I said. Grandmama’s right, I could have been dead. For a moment she wished she was back at school, it was much safer there. Anyway, you were protected from madwomen who didn’t know how to drive…And she was fat, wasn’t she? So fat for a young woman! …

  They’d had a lovely dinner. Jessica didn’t ask from where the pheasants came: she knew that Peggy, although not even a distant relation of the McLoughlin man, considered him in kinship, because, as she said, and often, they had both come from the old country and that made them kin under the skin. Moreover, both their feet were dry and they had no intention of paddling back across…the watter. In other words, as translated by Hilda, they both knew where they were well off.

  The meal had begun with soup; then the pheasant, with potatoes, and cabbage, and buttered parsnips, followed by apple pie and cream, and, of all things at a dinner, home-made biscuits, and cheese. When that was finished, what did Hilda say? ‘Shall I serve your coffee in the sitting room, ma’am?’ And Jessica had answered, ‘Thank you, Hilda, that would be very nice.’

  They were now sitting one at each side of the fire in the sitting room drinking their coffee. And they smiled at each other, slightly wicked smiles because they both knew that such a repast would never have come their way in the everyday course of events: on Christmas Day perhaps, but on no other.

  It was towards eight o’clock that Jessica noticed her granddaughter’s head was leaning against the side of the winged chair and that her eyes were closed, and she sat studying her as she thought: She’ll be somebody some day, that’s if she can control her temper. And now she smiled to herself, then said softly, ‘Nancy Ann.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Grandmama?’

  ‘I should go to bed if I were you.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will, I’m feeling a little tired and’—she patted her stomach—‘packed full. It was a lovely meal, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it was indeed, a lovely meal. We had our own wedding party. Tomorrow morning you must go to the kitchen and thank the girls.’

  ‘Oh, I will. Yes, I will.’

  Jessica did not need to suggest that she should keep her mouth shut when her parents returned, that would have been an insult to this child.

  ‘Are you coming up too, Grandmama?’

  ‘No, my dear, not yet. I would like to sit here and read for a while, because for once we’ve got a decent fire on.’ She pulled a face which Nancy Ann copied.

  ‘Turn up the lamp wick for me.’ She motioned to the table near the end of the couch, then added, ‘Come, kiss me, then off you go.’

  Nancy Ann not only kissed her grandmama, but put her arms tightly around her neck and hugged her for a moment, before she hurried from the room.

  Left alone, Jessica stared into the fire, and her voice just a mutter, she said, ‘Dear God! Let me live to see her settled. And don’t lay on her the fate of so many only daughters who sacrifice themselves to their aging parents, particularly vicarage ones.’

  She did not read, but continued to sit quietly, and the pictures in the fire led her back down her life. But she told herself she would not have a day altered, except for one thing, and that concerned her son. Until the day she drew her last breath, she would never understand what had made him choose the ministry.

  When the door opened suddenly and Hilda hurried up the room, she thought, She’s wanting to get cleared away. Doesn’t she remember that they won’t be back until tomorrow night?

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, Hilda?’

  ‘There’s a gentleman called.’

  ‘A gentleman?’ Jessica pulled herself up straight in the chair. ‘A gentleman, at this hour? Who?’

  Hilda swallowed deeply, then bent down and whispered, ‘’Tis Mr Harpcore himself. He…he wants to speak to you.’

  Jessica allowed some seconds to pass before she said, ‘Well. Well, show him in.’

  As she watched Hilda scurrying from the room, she thought, I didn’t hear the knocker; I must have dozed off. She stroked down her hair, adjusted the lace cap that she wore on special occasions, quickly picked up a book from the table and put it on her lap, then waited.

  The door opened again and Hilda announced in an overloud voice, ‘Mr Harpcore, ma’am.’

  As the man entered the room, he glanced about him for a moment, then came swiftly towards her and, extending his hand, he said, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Mrs Hazel, but just a short while ago I heard that one of my guests had been the cause of your granddaughter’s having to…well, jump into a ditch to save herself from being run down. I…I do hope she is none the worse.’

  ‘Take a seat, Mr Harpcore.’ She pointed to the one that Nancy Ann had vacated earlier. And she watched him flick back the tails of his long coat, pull each side of his trouser leg slightly up above the knee, and seat himself halfway into the chair. Then they were looking at each other.

  It was Jessica who spoke first, saying, ‘This is your second visit to the vicarage, Mr Harpcore, and both on account of my granddaughter’s escapades, although I don’t think she can be blamed for what happened today. Yet I understand, even from herself, that she was…well, to put it mildly, somewhat rude.’

  He now answered her smile with his own as he said, ‘I…I wouldn’t call it rudeness, more like retaliation justly deserved, which I understand left my guest at a loss for words.’

  ‘Yes, it would do.’ Jessica nodded her head now. ‘I’m afraid that is her one failing, in my eyes, anyway, her very quick temper. Fortunately, it subsides as quickly as it rises, but it is something to be encountered when at its height…You know, she has been away to school for some time past?’

  ‘No, no, I wasn’t aware of that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Jessica nodded proudly now, and went on. ‘She is a boarder at the Dame school in Durham, and I would have said until three o’clock this afternoon that they had done a very good job on her, filing down her rough edges. Yet, when she came in mud-bespattered, I realised it was all wishful thinking on my part.’

  ‘Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that. She was provoked. And I understand, too, from one of the grooms, that the horse the lady was driving home is in a pretty rough state and will need rest for a day or two. So, I think your granddaughter was justified in anything she said, and I just wanted you
to know that I’m sorry it happened, but relieved that there is no real damage done.’

  ‘Thank you. It was most kind of you to come. I’m sorry my son and his wife are not here to greet you. You see, my eldest grandson is being married today down in Somerset.’

  ‘Oh, really? Really? I remember the boy. He was…’ He paused, and she put in, ‘James.’

  ‘Yes, yes, James. How old is he now?’

  ‘Twenty-three.’

  ‘I understood he and his brother were at Oxford. But he must be down by now.’

  ‘Yes, yes, last year. He passed…with honours?’ She wasn’t quite sure if that was the term.

  ‘Really? What class? A first?’

  That was it. She nodded now, ‘Yes, he got a first, and Peter too is doing well. And if—’ she brought her head slowly forward now and repeated, ‘And if there were such careers for women, I’m sure that Nancy Ann would equal her brothers because she is very bright.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I am sure she is.’

  She watched him now rise slightly then settle back into the chair. For a moment she had thought he was about to take his leave. She stared at him. How old was he now? Oh—she did a quick reckoning in her head—over thirty. Oh, yes. But not all that much, perhaps thirty-two. He wasn’t all that tall, about the same height as Peter. And what was Peter? Five foot seven or eight? But he was well built, rather thickish; his hair was dark brown, yet his eyes looked light, which was a strange contrast, they were greyish she supposed. He had a full-lipped mouth, and strong looking teeth. His complexion wasn’t very good: it was likely the life he led with women and drink. And then there was his gambling. He was noted for that. He spent a lot of his time in London, it was said, just gambling. And also, she had heard a little while back through Peggy, who was in touch with the assistant cook up there, another one of the Irish breed, that he had a mistress and she was a married woman who didn’t live twenty miles away in Northumberland. Yet, looking at him, who would guess he was such a roué? He was so polite and his manner was kindly…warm. She could see where his attraction lay. There was something about him that stirred even her cold blood. But why, if he needed women so badly, didn’t he get himself a wife? She said now, ‘Are you intending to stay long, I mean in your home?’

  ‘Just another week or so, then I’m going to Scotland for the shoot. I…I have a little place up there.’

  Yes, she had heard about the little place he had in Scotland, almost as big as his house here, it was said. Her feelings became bitter for a moment as she thought of the fortune it must take to run those two places, not forgetting his house in London, and here was her John Howard barely able to feed them on the pittance that he received from the church. If it hadn’t been for her own money these past few years they would have had short commons, and the boys, clever as they were, would never have made Oxford. As for the staff, there would have been one little runaround. Yet, here was this man keeping three houses going and a mighty staff in each just for himself and his pleasures.

  Her embittered thinking was interrupted by the door bursting open and there, running up the room, came the subject of their conversation. And as Jessica uttered her name in surprise, the tone holding a reprimand, Dennison Harpcore rose swiftly from his chair and looked at the girl who was now gaping open-mouthed at him.

  He was seeing a slim figure in a long white nightgown partly covered by a knee-length dressing gown of an indistinguishable colour, except to call it a muddy grey, and from her head down each side of her cheeks and onto the dressing gown there hung three long corkscrew ringlets, and what made them noticeable was that from below her ears they were entwined with strips of rag. The cream coloured skin on the oval shaped face looked stretched, as indeed it was, because the eyes were wide and the jaw dropped.

  Jessica had also risen to her feet and she said, ‘This is Mr Harpcore. He…he has called about the incident this afternoon. He wondered if you were all right.’ She hesitated whether to say, ‘Go back to your bed, child,’ or ‘Come here, child,’ because there she was attired in her nightie and looking at this moment less than her age. And when, having told herself that this man was old enough to be her father, she managed to say, ‘Come here, child,’ Nancy Ann did not obey the order, but, hugging her dressing gown around her, said, ‘I only came down to tell you—’ She did not finish what she had to relate, but looking from her grandmother to the visitor, she said, ‘I’m all right, sir. And…and I’m sorry I was rude to your guest.’

  He took a step to the side but not towards her as he said, ‘You have no need to apologise. My guest was at fault, and through her thoughtlessness you could have been badly hurt.’ Smiling now, he added, ‘We seem to meet only on occasions of disaster.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Within the circle of the lamplight he looked to her to be very big, very broad, very dark…very…there was something else she couldn’t put a name to. It wasn’t frightening, yet it wasn’t pleasant. Of a sudden she said, ‘Goodnight, sir,’ then forgetting all she had learnt at school about decorum, how a young lady should enter and leave a room, especially if there was company in it, she ran out of it.

  Jessica looked towards the man. He was staring towards the door and smiling. Then he turned to her and said, ‘She has grown considerably since we last met. She seemed such a little child then.’

  ‘She is still a child’—there was a stiffness in Jessica’s tone—‘she is but fourteen.’ She did not say ‘coming up fifteen’, as Nancy Ann herself would have said.

  ‘Is that all? I…I would have thought she was older.’

  ‘No, that is all, she is but fourteen, and has another three years at school, by which time’—her tone altered—‘I hope she will have learned to control her temper.’

  ‘That would be a pity, I think, if she became typed. Don’t you agree?’

  She thought for a moment, then said, ‘She is of a turn of character that I doubt will ever conform to type.’

  ‘Well, I hope so. So many young ladies today are turned out to pattern; you can’t tell one from the other. But I must not keep you, and I must add another apology for calling upon you so late in the evening.’

  He held out his hand and she took it, saying, ‘I’ve been very pleased to meet you.’ Then she added on a laugh, ‘Formally. I remember when I first came to live here with my son I saw you in church one Sunday morning, but only once.’ She now pulled a slight face, and he lowered his eyelids, and bent his head and there was a light touch of mockery in his voice as he said, ‘I’m afraid I am a great sinner.’ But when she answered, ‘I’m sure you are speaking the truth there,’ he lifted his head sharply and laughed aloud; then bending towards her, he said softly, ‘I am sure you and I would get along very nicely were we to meet frequently.’ And at this she surprised him again by saying, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  His laughter was louder now as he said, ‘That last statement proves that I am right.’ His manner changing suddenly, he looked at her for a moment without speaking, then said, ‘So few people speak the truth while looking into your face. Your friends never, even your enemies do it behind your back.’

  She watched him now bow towards her, then step back from her before turning away and walking slowly from the room.

  She stood where she was until she heard Hilda say, ‘Goodnight, sir,’ and the front door close.

  When she resumed her seat by the fire, she looked into the flames and asked herself why bad men were always so attractive.

  Two

  Nancy Ann did not stay at school for another three years, she left when she was sixteen; she refused absolutely to stay on for another year, knowing that her mother was ill.

  Six months previously Rebecca had collapsed. She had been coughing quite a lot of late, in fact, she’d had what she referred to as a ticklish cough for some years, but she had refused to find out the cause. Even when Doctor McCann, on John’s request, had offered to give her what he called a run over, she had indignantly refused. And then came the day when s
he collapsed and Doctor McCann did examine her. For some time he’d had his suspicions that she was suffering from tuberculosis, and this was confirmed. But it wasn’t the main cause of her collapse. His examination showed her heart to be in a very bad state, and he ordered immediate rest. If she did not obey his orders, he said, there would be nothing for it but to put her into a sanatorium, which brought a reaction from her of more firmness than he had imagined she possessed: Never! Never would she go into a sanatorium. Anyway, she was needed at home.

  And at home she stayed: at first protesting, albeit inwardly, then gradually becoming resigned to the fact that the time she had left to her was limited.

  The breakfast room had been turned into a bedroom. It was the most pleasant room on the ground floor, as it had a French window leading out into a small conservatory, this in turn showing a stretch of lawn bordered by the low stone wall beyond which was the road.

  A single bed was placed at one side of the room, but fronting the entrance to the conservatory was a couch, and it was on this that Rebecca spent most of her days. And when the weather was fine the outer door of the conservatory was opened so she could see people passing along the road, and perhaps the occasional carriage or rider. A number of villagers, especially when on their way to church on a Sunday, would pause at the wall and wave to her, and she would wave back even if she couldn’t make out who they were.

  Nancy Ann had her sixteenth birthday on the ninth of January, eighteen eighty; she left school at the end of the Easter term. Now it was September and she had been acting as part nurse and housekeeper for the past six months, and but for the reason of her new role she would have said she was happy to be at home. This is what she repeatedly told herself, for up to the beginning of the year she’d had the idea of following in her brothers’ footsteps, not, of course, going to Oxford, but going to one of the new training colleges that fitted young ladies to become teachers. Miss Craster, head of the Dame school, had encouraged her ideas along this line. But apparently it wasn’t to be.