‘What do you mean?’ It was sharp.
‘Just that she’s growing up fast. I know some girls look older than they are but it’s not just that with Mary. It’s her manner, the way she is. And she attracts folk to her.’
‘Has she said anything to make you concerned?’
‘No, no, she hasn’t.’ She was sorry she had said anything. Caleb had always assumed the role of a big brother with Mary and Nell and she knew he was protective of them all.
‘She hasn’t mentioned anyone’s been after her? A lad? She’s far too young for anything like that, especially after what happened in Stanley. She’s still a child at heart.’
‘I know that.’ She smiled at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on Mary’s old straw bonnet which was hanging on the back of a chair. His mother had presented Mary with a new one for her birthday.
She stared at him, taking in the look on his face. Her heart began to race, a little whimper deep inside crying, no, no, it’s not true. No, not Mary. She must be imagining things.
And then his eyes left the bonnet and he raked back his hair. He stood up and finished the last of his tea in one gulp. When he glanced at her, it was the old Caleb again. ‘Well, between us we can keep an eye on her, eh? Likely it’ll be easier now she’s working here all day although if I know anything about Mary, you might have to crack the whip now and again.’
He grinned at her and it took more effort than he would ever know for her to smile back and say, ‘I’ve bought one special.’
‘I’d best get on.’ He turned at the door. ‘What time did you say she’d be back?’
‘I didn’t.’ She kept her face blank and her voice even. ‘But I told her to be home by five, there’s plenty to do.’
He nodded. His voice thoughtful, he said, ‘I might take a wander later and make sure she’s not late. What do you think?’
‘I’m sure Mr and Mrs Lindsay will look after her. They’re nice people.’
‘Aye. Aye, you’re probably right.’ He nodded again. ‘You usually are.’
She didn’t want to be right. She didn’t want to be reliable Eve with, as Caleb often said, an old head on young shoulders. It was with gritted teeth she returned to the scullery.
‘You’re barmy.You know that, don’t you? She’ll take advantage. Now you’ve let her get away with it once she’ll be off every Saturday afternoon.You mark my words, Eve.’
‘No she won’t. I made it plain I’m allowing it this once because it’s her birthday.’
‘Suffering cat-tails!’ Nell closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Her birthday. The whole inn’s heard nowt but her birthday for the last week an’ more. Anyone would think she was five years old.’
‘Don’t start, Nell.’
‘Me start? That’s rich. I bite my tongue every day, lass.’
‘I know she can be difficult—’
‘Difficult? That’s the understatement of the year. Look, Eve,’ Nell bent forward, facing her across the kitchen table, ‘she’s got to pull her weight now she’s left school. I’m out the front now and you can’t do the lot out here. It was never supposed to be that way. She knows that well enough too.’
‘It isn’t. It won’t be.’
Nell shook her head slowly. ‘How often in the past twelve months have you took your half day? Just answer me that.’
Eve flushed.‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ ‘It was arranged with Caleb we’d have Sunday afternoons off, me one week and you the next so there was always someone in the kitchen, but I can count the number of times you’ve took yours on one hand.You’re daft, our Eve. When are you going to learn that by being as nice as you are, you just get walked over?’
‘Who’s walking over me now? Mary or Caleb?’ She was smiling as she said it, trying to diffuse the situation, but Nell was having none of it.
‘There’s more to life than these four walls and the folk in ’em. The world doesn’t revolve around the Sun Inn, Eve.’
‘I know that, Nell.’
‘I’m not sure you do.’ Nell picked up the four steaming bowls of soup Eve had ladled out and placed them on a large tray, along with shives of thickly cut, crusty bread. ‘I’d better take these through. Oh, by the way,’ she said over her shoulder, opening the door into the passageway, ‘one of them lads from Glebe’s pit, Toby Grant, has asked me to walk out with him.’
Eve stared at her sister in surprise. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I was too young to have a lad yet. And he said he was going to keep asking me every week until I decided I was old enough. Saucy devil, he is.’ And with that Nell let the door close behind her.
Mary was not home by five o’clock. She wasn’t home by six. And at seven Nell took over in the kitchen while Eve and Caleb went looking for her.
It was a lovely summer’s evening. The July day had been hot, and as they left the inn behind them and walked along Washington Lane towards Fatfield, they passed pale shimmering fields of freshly mown hay which made a mosaic against grain fields which had mellowed to the bronze of harvest. The still air was heavy with the scent of eglantine and hedgerow flowers, and Eve thought that but for the churning worry about Mary she would have taken this evening and Caleb’s unexpected company as a precious gift. As it was, Caleb strode along with a frown on his face and twice she had to ask him to slow down so she could keep up with his long legs.
‘She wants a good hiding, that’s what she needs,’ he muttered as he measured his footsteps to hers for the second time. ‘You’re too lenient with her, Eve. She gets away with murder.’
‘Me?’ The unfairness of it was too much. ‘I’m hardly the only one. You spoil her to death and so does your mother.’ He had given Mary a beautiful little music box that morning which had a ballerina that twirled and danced when you lifted the lid. But then they had all given Mary gifts. Even Nell had bought her three fine lawn handkerchiefs in a little box, saying, ‘Here. You’ve made such a song and dance about it being your birthday, none of us could forget it, more’s the pity.’ That was the thing with Mary. She was selfish and fanciful but you couldn’t help loving her even as your fingers itched to slap some sense into her.
‘Aye, well, it’s going to stop. She has to learn some responsibility. She’s left school now, she has to understand that.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘She’ll do the work she’s getting paid for, same as everyone else. The running of the inn only works if everyone does their bit.’
‘You might have to inform your mother of that. She’ll still expect Mary to spend most evenings with her.’ Mildred and Mary would sit looking through Mildred’s People’s Friend or The Lady magazines whilst munching their way through a box of chocolates more often than not.
‘I’ll see to my mother,’ he said grimly. ‘Have no worry on that score. We’re not having a palaver like this every other week. Mary will knuckle down and toe the line, same as everyone else.’
Before the revelation of that afternoon, his concern would have warmed her, now it was tying her stomach in knots and only confirming her fears. But Mary was still so young, she told herself for the umpteenth time that day. And whatever Caleb’s feelings were, he had made it plain he considered her sister had a lot of growing up to do. By the time he felt able to say anything, things could have changed. He could have changed.
They had almost reached the quaint whitewashed riverside tea room before they spotted Mary. She and Kitty were standing in a group of people which included Kitty’s parents and they were laughing and talking animatedly. As Mary caught sight of them, Eve saw her say something to Kitty before she darted to meet them, calling, ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but Kitty’s mam’s sister and her family happened to come along and they’ve been talking and the time just went.’
Eve glanced at Caleb. She had seen his eyes scan the group which consisted of Kitty’s parents and a younger couple, along with the other couple’s six children, ranging from a babe in arms to
a girl with bright auburn hair who looked to be Mary’s age.
She knew what he had been fearing. She, too, had been worried that Mary might have been talking to young men.The Girdle Cake was renowned for being a trysting place, among other things. But it was with quite a different voice to the one with which he had been speaking as they’d walked that he said, ‘We were concerned, it’s after seven. You promised Eve to be home by five.’
‘I’m sorry, really I am.’ Mary’s face was alight as it always was when she had been out somewhere enjoying herself. Linking her arm in Caleb’s with an ease Eve envied, she said, ‘I’ll work extra hard tomorrow to make up. How about that?’
Caleb shook his head but the action was more rueful than angry. ‘I told you, it’s not about that. We were worried.’
‘But I was with Kitty and her mam an’ da.’
‘You might have got separated.’
The two continued talking as they began to walk and Eve fell into step slightly behind them. Mary had barely glanced at her, her sister’s apologies had been for Caleb, and now Nell’s words came back to her. ‘When are you going to learn that by being as nice as you are, you just get walked over?’ Well, she was beginning to learn. Aye, she was. And in spite of all his ranting on the way here, Caleb had said nothing to Mary about letting her down in the kitchen. She had worked like a Trojan all day but that was nothing compared to one look from Mary’s blue eyes.
And then she caught the thought, hating herself for feeling jealous of her baby sister.
But Mary was not a baby any longer. She glanced at her sister’s profile. Mary’s beautiful face was bright and teasing and as she said something, Caleb threw back his head and laughed. Nell was right. There were going to have to be changes made at home and she, for one, was going to have to do her share in rethinking a few things.
Chapter 8
It proved to be a difficult summer. Mary did not take kindly to having her freedom curtailed. She had been used to being Mildred’s pet lamb and doing as little as possible once she was home from school. Now she was a schoolgirl no longer and although she liked receiving a wage, she didn’t like the work which went with it. More than once the kitchen was rocked by the rows inside it but Eve stuck to her guns. She asked no more of Mary than she had asked of Nell when Nell had worked with her, but Mary was convinced she was being victimised and Mildred did nothing to pour oil on troubled waters.
Nell’s support and - surprisingly - Caleb’s got Eve through more than one sticky patch, however, and by the time the beech trees surrounding the village turned from copper to orange and the birds were once again gathering in flocks as they sensed the approach of winter, Mary seemed to have accepted her lot and harmony was restored. Most of the time.
October was a wet month and November one of hard frosts by night and icy mists by day, but the bad weather seemed to curb Mary’s restlessness and she appeared more content as Christmas approached. She took her half-day when it was her turn on a Sunday and made it stretch a little, leaving to meet Kitty before lunch and only returning in time to go to bed, but Eve did not mind this. She knew where Mary was and she trusted Kitty’s parents to see Mary home safely. Besides, she was now in the habit of using her own free time too. In the summer she would walk for miles, not returning until ten o’clock when twilight was falling. Now, as the days got shorter, she still made sure she left the inn after lunch and walked for most of the afternoon, unless the weather was really bad, knowing that once she was home again she would invariably start work. She could have gone up to their attic room and read one of the magazines she treated herself to each week since the events of the summer, but reading by the light of the oil lamp in the freezing room had proved no pleasure.
Late one Sunday afternoon, as the cold winter sun was setting, casting fleeting wisps of silver and feeble glimmers of yellow into the pearly grey sky, she came across Caleb a mile or so from the village. He was leaning against an old five-bar gate at the entrance to a barren field. It had snowed lightly during the day and a whisper-thin layer had settled in the ploughed furrows; the field was devoid of life apart from a huge oak tree standing in magnificent solitude in the dying light, several crows outlined against the bare branches. Their raucous cries must have disguised the sound of her footsteps because as she reached him, he jumped violently, dropping something over the gate. He turned to face her, his attitude almost shamefaced.
‘Eve.’Aware his face had turned a ruddy red, Caleb tried to salvage something from the situation, saying, ‘You surprised me. It’s those fairy feet of yours.’
‘You draw.’ She couldn’t believe her eyes.
Her amazement as she gazed down at his open sketch pad did nothing to alleviate his hot colour. ‘It’s nothing.’ Hastily he bent down and reached under the gate, drawing the pad to him and closing it and then stuffing his piece of charcoal into the pocket of his coat. ‘Where have you been walking?’ he asked inanely. ‘It’s a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?’
‘Can I see?’
She held out her hand as she spoke and as he gazed into the clear green eyes he considered exceptionally striking, he knew she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Another girl might have allowed herself to be deflected when confronted with his obvious reluctance, but not Eve. Cursing himself for not keeping a better watch out, he said curtly, ‘I scribble a little, that’s all,’ as he passed her the sketch pad.
He watched her as she opened the pad and proceeded to examine the drawings on each page. She took her time, pausing for a full minute on one drawing he had made of her and Mary and Nell. He had been particularly pleased with that sketch, feeling he had caught the essence of each girl in the portrait. Mary’s beauty and vivacity, Nell’s solid warmth and Eve’s mercurial plainness which at times transfigured into something lovely.
When she came to the view in front of them, she turned and surveyed it whilst dropping her glance to the sketch pad several times. ‘I can’t believe you can draw like this,’ she murmured, a break in her voice. ‘This is wonderful, they are all wonderful.You have an incredible talent.’
The colour which had begun to die down surged into his face again, his voice gruff as he said, ‘It’s nothing.’
‘It is not nothing.’ She lifted shining eyes to his and no one could have called her plain in that moment. ‘Why have you never said? I had no idea.’
He shrugged. Her admiration both warmed and embarrassed him. From a young lad he had viewed his desire to draw and paint as something faintly girlish, not manly, and certainly if any of his peers had found out, he knew his life wouldn’t have been worth living. If he had tried to explain to anyone how the different shades of bark fungi or the thick masses of old-man’s-beard festooned on bramble bushes made him itch to get out his pencil and capture what he saw on paper, he would have been a laughing stock. Landscapes, people, droplets of freezing winter rain chilled by a bitter wind and encrusting wild haws with ice, they were all equally fascinating. But lads played football in their spare time, or joined the Boy’s Brigade or played marbles and suchlike in the back alleys. Lads didn’t draw pictures.
‘How long have you been doing this?’ Eve asked softly.
‘As long as I can remember.’ He paused. ‘But I’d prefer it not to be known, all right? It’s just something I do for my own pleasure, that’s all.’
‘Does your mother know?’
His mam? He almost laughed out loud. He remembered the one time he had shown her something. He couldn’t have been more than six or seven, and he’d been as pleased as punch with a drawing he had done of some wood anemones poking their coy heads round the bottom of an old tree. He had felt he had caught the delicate white flowers perfectly as they had danced in the March breeze. She had stared at the drawing before she had ripped it in two, her voice strident as she’d said, ‘If you’ve time to waste on such nonsense, you’ve time to help your da more. Flowers indeed, a lad of your age drawing flowers. By, there’s times, m’boy, when I wonder what I’ve bred when I
look at you.’
Aware of Eve’s eyes on him, he said flatly, ‘No, my mother doesn’t know. Like I said, no one does and I’d prefer it to stay that way.’
‘I won’t say anything, of course I won’t, but if I could draw like this I’d be shouting it from the rooftops.’
Again her enthusiasm warmed him and now he smiled. ‘Thank you.’ He took the pad from her and thrust it into the deep pocket of his old coat. ‘We’d better be getting back, it’s nearly dark and I can smell more snow in the wind. We’ve been lucky up to yet but it’s going to come and come hard by the look of it.’
They had walked some distance before she said in a small voice, ‘Do you really see . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Us like that?’
He glanced at her but her head was lowered and he couldn’t see the expression on her face.‘Like what?’
‘I-I don’t know how to explain it. I mean you captured Mary exactly, she looks beautiful, and Nell too, she was just right, but . . .’
Her voice trailed away and he waited a moment for her to continue. When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘But what?’ He didn’t understand what she was getting at. ‘What do you mean, Eve?’
‘I’m not . . .’ She paused again. ‘Were you being kind when you drew me?’ She kept her head down as she spoke.
‘Kind?’ He was genuinely puzzled. ‘I draw what I see, Eve. That’s all. That’s the only way I can draw.’
Her voice little more than a whisper, she said, ‘I know what I see when I look in the mirror and it’s not like you drew me. I wish it was,’ her voice broke for a moment and he felt a stab of acute embarrassment, ‘but it’s not. I think you were being kind.’
‘Why would I when I didn’t think anyone would ever see the picture?’ he asked reasonably, trying to disguise the immense pity which had sprung into being at her words. He’d had no idea she saw herself in such a negative way.
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