‘I have no fear,’ she replied.
‘I’m a changed man,’ he went on. ‘I’m not what I was.’
‘So they say.’
‘Oh?’ He reined in his horse and looked at her with interest. ‘Who says?’
‘My mother says, for one.’ Elizabeth paused, then, relaxing, threw him a brilliant smile. ‘She said, though, I should still take care.’
‘Oh did she?’
‘And not be alone with you.’
‘And now you are.’
Carson raised his head and appreciatively sniffed the fresh evening air. The sun was sinking over the hills in the west, and a haze arose from the ground, enveloping everything in mystery. Smoke spiralled from the chimneys of the cottages and farms scattered throughout the landscape, and the fields were flecked with contented animals grazing on the lush grass. Carson sighed.
Elizabeth gazed at him sideways, perhaps a little irritated by now that he seemed to pay no obvious attention to her.
Carson’s bold, attractive looks had always appealed to Elizabeth. And to someone who was as over-protected as she, his reputation for devilry was attractive too. But one had to be careful. Besides, she knew the stern eye of Ethel Sadler was always on her.
‘I’ll not do anything you don’t want, you know, Elizabeth,’ Carson said, suddenly betraying, after all, the fact that he had had his mind on her and not on the landscape. ‘We’ve known each other since we were children. I notice you have been avoiding me and I assure you there’s no need. But ...’ He held a hand towards her. ‘I like you. I won’t kiss you, and I certainly won’t pester you if you don’t want me to. But we’ve been friends since childhood and I’d like us to continue to be.’
And, to his surprise and satisfaction, Elizabeth caught his outstretched hand and held on to it.
Carson did as he promised as the summer went by. He went out of his way to seek Elizabeth’s company and to be with her whenever he could. He milked the cows in the stall next to hers but he did not pester her, he did not try and kiss her. He felt that she was very special and had an important part to play in his life. Memories of poor Nelly disappeared completely.
Elizabeth only worked on the farm four days a week, sometimes three. She was much treasured by her father, and did not need to work. Both he and Beth wanted more for this special daughter than to be a mere milkmaid.
Ted and Beth had two other children, Jenny and Jo. Jenny was twenty-two, and as different from the petite Elizabeth as cloth is from silk. Jenny had worked as a clerk in the market since she left school at fourteen. Jo, who left school at the same age, was immediately apprenticed to the butcher. But Elizabeth stayed at school until she was sixteen. There was always something about her that set her apart; a sense that, whatever the fate of the other two, hers would be different.
Jo and Jenny resembled each other. They were dark, with rather blunt, country features like their father and mother; but Elizabeth was fair, fine boned, almost fragile. She looked like a lady and sometimes she behaved with the airs of one. She could be peremptory, arrogant, even rude; but she was capable of extraordinary graciousness as well. Work was her own choice because she had a passion for animals, and said she would like to work on a farm. John Sadler was Laurence Yetman’s brother-in-law, and it was agreed that, as Elizabeth was so very persistent, a place should be found for her in the dairy.
For a time she helped the women in the kitchen, but her love for animals was genuine, her intentions serious, and she began to work in the cowshed, looking after the herd.
Despite her dainty appearance, Elizabeth was a tough, strong-minded young woman and she liked farm work. Her only difficulty came from her sister Jenny, who had always resented her. It was considered the jealousy of an older sibling towards a younger one; but maybe she remembered that her mother was away for a long time when she was small, and that when she returned she had a baby that people said wasn’t hers. But memories are short, people forget, and it seemed to suit everyone to bury the fact that Elizabeth was adopted.
Jenny grew up resenting her little sister. She beat her whenever she got the chance, and was once thrashed by her father for her behaviour. After that, she hated Elizabeth all the more.
Jenny was always on the lookout to make trouble for Elizabeth, and one day when she saw her driving home with Carson Woodville, she hid behind a tree as they stopped just beyond the gate. Then she saw, or thought she saw, their heads come very close together until their brows almost touched. She half-imagined she saw them kiss.
That night at supper, Jenny, who had been sitting glowering at Elizabeth, said suddenly:
‘How was it on the farm today, Lizzie?’
Elizabeth hated being referred to as ‘Lizzie’ and immediately tossed back her head.
And why should you be so interested?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be? Or is it not the farm that is so important but the men who work on the farm? Or rather, a man.’
Ted was standing at the head of the table, carving the sirloin joint brought home that day by Jo. He placed a slice of beef on the plate held out by Beth who, in her turn, would ladle on a generous helping of potatoes and vegetables and smother them with thick gravy from the roast.
Both Ted and Beth paused imperceptibly in their tasks and exchanged glances.
‘What is it you’re trying to say, Jenny?’ Ted screwed up his eyes at his first-born, as if he didn’t understand.
‘I’m not saying anything, Pa, but I knows what I sees.’
And exactly what do you see?’ Beth gave Ted a sharp nudge and he recommenced his carving, his actions noticeably slower.
‘Can’t say, Pa.’
‘Then why bring it up?’ Beth asked sharply, putting the plate in front of her daughter.
Elizabeth, perfectly composed, stared at the table. Jenny seemed to be debating to herself whether to eat her dinner or proceed with her chatter, which was causing a lot of attention, which she craved and, unlike the prettier Elizabeth, rarely got. Suddenly Elizabeth raised her eyes and gave her sister a look of such dislike that Jenny felt nettled.
‘Ask Lizzie about Carson Woodville,’ she said.
Ted dropped his fork, which clattered on to the meat platter. Beth picked it up and held it out to him.
‘Careful, now,’ she said, with a warning note in her voice. ‘And what is there to ask, Miss Busy-Tongue?’ Beth stared fixedly at her daughter.
‘He be kind enough to bring Elizabeth home when I can’t get there. That’s all.’ Ted flicked his knife against the steel knife-sharpener and began briskly sharpening it. ‘Now don’t ‘ee go spreading no malicious stories, Jenny. You’ve got a dangerous sharp edge to your tongue, like this knife will soon have.’
‘Ain’t nothing malicious ‘bout it,’ Jenny said, gazing defiantly at Elizabeth. ‘’Tis what I sees with my own eyes.’
‘And that is?’ Elizabeth spoke for the first time, keeping her voice low and controlled.
‘I thought you and he had your heads together in the cart today. Very close, if I may say, or do my eyes deceive me?'
‘Your eyes deceive you,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘’Baint nothing between Carson and me except pure friendship.’
‘Pure!’ Jenny guffawed, and Ted held up his steel and shook it at her.
‘Now don’t you go sniggering there, Jenny, my girl. That’s the way ugly rumours start, and a powerful lot of ‘arm they do.’
‘Carson has a reputation,’ Jenny said. ‘Surely you know that, Pa. Everybody knows it. Surprised you ever allowed him to bring Lizzie home.’
‘I never allowed. I never asked,’ Ted replied crossly. ‘’was Mrs Sadler that arranged it. Had I known she would ask Master Carson I might have thought better of it. Now, Elizabeth, my girl,’ he leaned across the table towards her, ‘just ‘ee heed what your sister says. Carson Woodville is not thought well of hereabouts. You could damage your reputation if you got too friendly with him. Even to be seen with him is harmful. ‘Sides ...’ He paused for a
moment, then looked sideways at Beth. ‘Your mother and I feel it’s time you stopped working at the farm. ‘Taint no place for a lady.’
‘A “lady”.’ Jenny guffawed again, burying her face in her hand and squealing with laughter. ‘A lady, be it now. Oh Pa, you are a caution.’
Carson stood at the door of the cowshed, looking over the heads of the milkmaids and cowherds who were squatting next to the cows, pressing the warm milk from the udder to the pail beneath. There was no sign of Elizabeth. Again. She had not been here now for a week, and discretion had made him decide not to query her whereabouts.
One of the cowherds passed him and gave him a nudge. ‘No use standing around moonin’, lad. She ‘baint here.’
Carson sat down on his stool and, putting the pail under the udders of the cow and his head against her flank, began his task. Peeping under the belly of his cow, he saw that his neighbour was a girl called Molly, who was friendly with Elizabeth. Molly was a buxom country girl with broad hips and thick ankles, and after Carson had finished his work and the pails were being taken away and poured into the churns, he waited until Molly had finished too.
‘Seen Elizabeth?’ he asked casually, wiping his hands.
‘She ‘baint coming back,’ Molly said offhandedly.
‘What?’
‘So they say. Best ask Mrs Sadler.’
Carson turned abruptly and hurried out of the cowshed, across the farmyard and into the large kitchen, where steam was rising from the stove as about half a dozen women bustled about getting the lunch for the family and farm-hands. It was a jovial, cheerful scene presided over by Hettie Sadler, who stood at the stove stirring a large pot, her other hand on her hip.
She looked up as she saw Carson hurry towards her.
‘It’s too early for your dinner, Carson.’
‘It’s not that, Mrs Sadler ...’ Carson stopped and twisted a large grimy rag in his hands. ‘I wondered what had happened to Elizabeth.’
‘She’s gone,’ Hettie Sadler said firmly, grasping her spoon and resuming her stirring, pausing only to savour the contents. ‘That’s good,’ she said, smacking her lips. ‘A nice hot mutton stew.’
‘Gone?’ Carson echoed. ‘Where?’
‘Best ask her father.’ Hettie Sadler turned and gazed at him for a few moments. ‘On second thoughts, better not. I hear he’s not too pleased with you.’
‘But I’ve done nothing!’
‘That’s not what I heard.’
‘Nothing, nothing, nothing,’ Carson said, stamping his foot on the stone floor. ‘’Cept drive her home sometimes as your sister-in-law asked me, if I was going that way.’
‘I hear that’s when it happened.’ Hettie Sadler gave him a disapproving glance. ‘The incident that gave offence. I wonder my husband hasn’t spoken to you, Carson.’
‘I’ve done nothing for him to speak to me about.’
‘Anyway, she’s gone.’
‘Gone from where?’
‘Sent away, I’ve heard. You’ve only yourself to blame, Carson. I shouldn’t wonder if my husband won’t ask you to go too. It seems no lass is safe from you.’
Guy was slumbering in the drawing-room when his son burst in, disturbing his mid-afternoon nap. He struggled up in his chair and rubbed his eyes, spluttering as Carson banged the door and stood fuming before him.
‘What’s the matter now, Carson?’ Guy asked testily, looking at the clock or the mantelpiece. ‘What on earth is the time? My goodness, it’s only three o’clock. Another hour before tea. What are you doing here at this time of day?’
‘They’ve sent Elizabeth away.’
‘Elizabeth? Elizabeth who?’
‘Yewell. Beth and Ted’s daughter.’
‘Well, why should that concern you?’ Guy said irritably, settling back in his chair again. ‘It’s no concern of yours. Or mine,’ he added as an afterthought. He closed his eyes as though wishing to resume his sleep, then opened them again. ‘What’s it to you, anyway?’
‘She worked at Sadlers’ Farm. I was friendly with her.’
‘You what?’ Guy, fully awake, struggled to sit upright in his chair. ‘Now, look here. You leave that girl alone ...’
‘Father ... nothing happened,’ Carson cried. ‘I like Elizabeth. I’ve known her for years ...’
‘Then why are you so upset?’ his father demanded. ‘You seem terribly upset, if that was all.’
‘I’m upset because she got sent away because of me.’
‘Who sent her away?’ Guy still couldn’t understand. ‘The farmer?’
‘Her mother and father,’ Carson shouted again, as if his father were deaf. ‘They sent her away because of me ...’
‘It’s your reputation, Carson.’ The voice came from behind and, turning, he saw his mother come slowly into the room. Her face was very pale and she leaned heavily on a stick. ‘You’re sent away from London for unsatisfactory work, a hint of dishonesty I’ve since heard, and now Elizabeth is a victim of your lust ...’
‘Mother!’ Carson glowered at her. ‘I am innocent on both charges. I worked hard in London. I did not seduce Elizabeth. In the first case there was a trumped-up charge against me. In the second, all I ever did was to drive Elizabeth home at her father’s request as his cart had broken down. I did nothing else. I swear.’
‘You can’t seem to help yourself, Carson,’ his father said in a voice of despair. ‘I don’t understand why, but you can’t. There is some bad blood in you which can only be inherited from the Heerings.’ He ignored the look his wife gave him and hurried on.' No one in our family has behaved with such lack of regard for our name as you. You were trouble from the day you were born, Carson.’ Guy’s voice grew stronger as he warmed to his theme. ‘You were difficult as a baby, naughty as a small boy, and as you grew up you got worse. You were expelled from school. All the farmers hereabouts criticised you, and most of them had to lock up their daughters. I don’t, can’t understand it. It seems you have no pride.’
Carson sat in an attitude of apparent dejection, his head sunk onto his chest.
‘Part of what you say was true, Father, but no longer.’ He looked tenderly over at his mother, who had sat down heavily, her eyes closed. ‘When I realised how really ill Mama was, I was shocked into mending my ways. I became conscious of my responsibility as the heir, the surviving child. I swear I have done nothing of which I am ashamed.’
Carson walked slowly over to his mother. Then he knelt by her side and took her hand.
‘Believe me, Mama. I did try. I did not like the work in London but I stuck to it. There was not a word of truth in the charges against me.’
‘If it was not true, you should have defended yourself,’ his mother murmured weakly. ‘You should have stuck up for yourself like an innocent man.’
‘Uncle Prosper said he would prosecute me and I thought that would only distress you. He said there was enough evidence to send me to gaol. Imagine the distress for you if that had happened. All I ever did to Elizabeth was drive her home in a pony and cart from time to time, beginning at her father’s request.’
‘Anyway,’ Guy said, ‘it was just as well she went.’
‘Father, I wish to settle down,’ Carson said gravely, sitting beside his mother. ‘I am twenty-three. I realise I have caused you and Mother grief, and I wish this to cease. It appears I attract trouble. In London I formed an attachment to a young woman and I thought I would like to marry her; but now that I have met Elizabeth, who is good and virtuous as well as beautiful ... perhaps I may be allowed to court her after all.’
‘Elizabeth Yewell,’ his father roared, ‘is the daughter of your cousin’s serving-woman. Are you mad? Have you gone out of your senses? Do you realise one day you will be Sir Carson Woodville? And if the way you are behaving now is continued, it will be sooner than you think. Your behaviour has already affected your mother’s health, and soon it will affect mine. The very least you can do is to marry a woman of your own station. You may behave like a peasant,
but you aren’t one. You are the heir to an old baronetcy and it is high time you realised it. Elizabeth Yewell. I never heard of such a thing! Thank goodness her parents had the sense to send her away. At least they knew their place and will see that their daughter keeps hers.’
‘I find your attitude intolerable,’ Carson cried, his temper suddenly rising at the injustice of his father’s words. ‘This is the twentieth century, if you please. People are no longer distanced from one another in the shameful way they were. Look at Aunt Lally, a dancer ...’
‘Your uncle was not a baronet,’ Guy said coldly. ‘Now get out and stay out, until your mother and I have discussed the situation and have decided what to do with you.’
Carson looked down at his mother, who was staring at him, her expression so sad it made his heart ache.
‘Do as your father says, Carson,’ she said. ‘Go for a ride, go to your room; but please never, ever see, or even try to see, Elizabeth again.’ She gave a deep sigh and raised her hand towards Guy. ‘My dear, would you help me upstairs to my room? I feel far from well.’
Once her maid had got her undressed and into bed and comfortable, Guy was admitted to Margaret’s room, and he rapidly crossed to her bedside and sat close to her, her hand in his. For a while they remained silent, aware of a feeling of intimacy that had been absent from their marriage for many years.
Finally Guy looked at her tenderly and said:
‘How do you feel now, my dear? It was too bad you came in at that moment and heard Carson’s tantrums.’
‘I ignored what you said about my family Guy,’ she said with a note of asperity in her voice. ‘If any family is above reproach it is mine. How our son came to be what he is is a mystery to me unless it is a wilfulness he got from your sister ...’ she gave him a sly look. ‘However I’m glad I heard Carson,’ she continued vehemently. ‘I am glad I heard what he said.’ Her clasp on Guy’s hand tightened. ‘He must be kept away from that girl at all costs ...’ Her voice trailed off and Guy murmured:
‘Yes indeed. He must.’
‘And not because of the reason you say, Guy.’ Margaret’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘The real reason, I know ...’
The Rector's Daughter (Part Two of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 13