The Servant Girl

by Maggie Hope

  At that moment, Hetty opened the door and stepped out into the road. She had a basket over her arm, she was headed for the Co-op to buy groceries. She heard and saw Matthew arguing with the manager and didn’t wait for him to see her but turned and ran round the bend to the village square.

  Dear Lord, she prayed as she waited her turn to be served at the butcher’s counter, please let him be gone when I have to go back. When she did walk back it was with tremendous relief that she saw the road was empty. The altercation was over, the manager must have won. Oh Lord, why wouldn’t Matthew leave her alone? Every day she saw him, even though she hadn’t been out of the village. Why was he doing it? He was like a cat stalking a mouse.

  Chapter 17

  ‘At least you’re getting it over with quickly,’ said Mrs Timms. ‘All three together is better than one after the other.’

  Hetty smiled wearily. There might be something in what her neighbour said but this last couple of weeks had been a nightmare for her as first Audrey and then Peter had gone down with the measles after Charlie. She couldn’t remember when she had last slept for more than an hour at a time and now her movements were automatic, her head felt full of cotton wool.

  ‘That’s true,’ she said wearily. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you, though.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mrs Timms, ‘I did what I could.’ She placed the pile of ironing she had just brought back from her own house on the table and pushed back a strand of crinkled grey hair, the result of a bad perm. ‘I remember what it was like when I had my brood at home.’

  All except one of her own children were living away from home, Hetty remembered. The exception, a man in his forties, worked at the ironworks in Skinningrove. He was a bachelor and lived with his parents, Mr Timms being a retired overman.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on them this afternoon, if you like?’ Mrs Timms said now. ‘You look as though you could do with some fresh air. Take yourself off on the bus for a ride out. Go to Guisborough, it’s market day there. It’ll do you good.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t. Mr Hutchins—’

  ‘’Course you can. You’ll be there and back before the man gets out of his bed. Wonderful how far you can go these days with the buses.’

  ‘But the children … I can’t leave you with the children,’ said Hetty. But there was a longing in her voice which did not escape her neighbour.

  ‘Oh, but you can,’ she replied. ‘Do you think I’ve forgotten how to look after them? Go on, get yourself ready, there’s a bus in fifteen minutes.’ She paused. ‘You’ve got the fare, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, aye, yes, I have,’ Hetty assured her. Her heart lifted at the idea of a day out, she had not been to Guisborough before.

  ‘Go on then. I’ll see to the dinners. Catch that bus.’

  ‘I will.’ Hetty made up her mind.

  Travelling along the country road, the fields all green with the coming of summer and the leaves on the trees new and fresh, a surge of happiness welled up in her. By, she liked this job, she did. Even when the bairns were bad, she liked it. The fresh air coming in the open window beside her had blown away the cotton-wool feeling from her mind and her tiredness was forgotten. For she would not be turning round in Guisborough and seeing Matthew yet again, thank the Lord for that. She could relax.

  The little town was bathed in sunshine; women with shopping baskets over their arms were thronging around the market stalls which straggled out from Market Place into Westgate. The sun was warm on Hetty’s back and she was glad she had put on her blue cotton dress even though this was the third summer for it. But it was fresh-washed and starched to a crisp smoothness which felt good against her bare arms and legs. Most of the women were wearing waisted cotton dresses, she saw. The straight up and down fashion of the last decade had finally been superseded by more feminine styles.

  Hetty bought oranges for the children, lucky bags and gobstoppers too. By, it was nice not to have to turn every penny over twice, nice to be able to afford treats for the bairns. She thought of Cissy. Not many treats in her young life. But it was a passing sadness, nothing was going to be allowed to spoil her perfect day. She bought a pork roll from a butcher’s shop in Westgate and took it into the priory gardens for her own dinner. Sitting on a low wooden bench and gazing at the great stone arch still standing after all these centuries, she ate heartily and threw the crumbs to the birds. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and let the sun play on her face. By, it was grand here, it was. It may have been her lack of sleep and the peace of this place away from the bustle of the market but she drifted off into a doze.

  ‘Hetty, I’ve been looking for you all over.’ The voice was close to her ear. For a moment she thought it was a dream, or a nightmare more like. She tried to jump up, disoriented, but there was a restraining hand on her arm, holding her back.

  ‘Matthew, let me go,’ she whispered, defeated.

  ‘Oh no, my love, I’ll never let you go.’

  He put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the lips. To Richard, just passing by the priory gates on his way to a business lunch at the Seven Stars Hotel in Westgate, the scene looked like two lovers happy in each other’s company. Home from university for a couple of weeks, his father was initiating Richard into the business.

  ‘For I’ve just about given up on Matthew,’ he had said grimly. Richard couldn’t help but sympathise with him, especially now, this minute.

  Two lovers, taking advantage of a quiet garden … it took a second or two for it to dawn on him who they were. When it did, he saw red and strode into the garden to confront them.

  ‘Hetty! Where have you been? Do you know your father has been looking all over North Yorkshire for you?’ Richard was white with anger, could hardly control himself as he glared at his brother, sitting there his arm around her, smirking too, my God! All the time he had insisted he didn’t know where Hetty was and all the time he had been carrying on with her. It made Richard so furious he wanted to spit!

  Hetty jumped up, her head thumping, the shopping basket with the oranges and the lucky bags rolling off the bench on to the path.

  ‘Richard, it’s not like it seems, really it isn’t,’ she pleaded, her face red, her hands shaking. She had a terrible feeling that this was all inevitable; it had happened before, it would happen again for Matthew made it happen. No matter where she went he found her.

  ‘Is it not?’ He looked at her and her heart dropped; his expression was so cold, his mouth such a thin hard line. She dropped her eyes, just couldn’t bear to see that look on his face. She picked up her basket and retrieved the oranges, thankful for something to do with her hands. He turned away, addressing himself to Matthew. ‘What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were going to the Hunters’ place? Isn’t Joan expecting you this afternoon?’

  ‘It’s no business of yours where I go,’ returned Matthew. ‘There’s plenty of time in any case.’ He glanced at Hetty to see if she had picked up on the reference to Joan. Girls could be so damnably jealous. But Hetty didn’t appear to have heard.

  Richard turned on his heel and walked away then stopped and turned back to address Hetty. ‘You should get in touch with your family. They’re worried about you. I told your father I would let him know if I saw you. Will you give me your address so that I can send it on?’ He spoke impersonally, barely looking at her.

  ‘I will get in touch myself,’ she answered.

  ‘But will you?’

  ‘I promise I will.’

  Matthew laughed, obviously amused by the exchange. Richard transferred his gaze to his brother for a long moment then strode off.

  ‘Pompous sod,’ said Matthew cheerfully. ‘You do what you like, Hetty.’

  She didn’t answer. She was sunk in such misery that even the sunny day seemed to have darkened. ‘I have to go for the bus,’ she said.

  ‘No, you’re coming with me,’ said Matthew. He took hold of her arm in a grip of iron and though she struggled to free herself, she coul
dn’t. A couple strolling by turned their heads; the woman looked concerned and whispered something to her companion.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ he asked, stepping forward.

  Matthew answered for her, smiling at them while he held her to him. ‘Just a little tiff, nothing to worry about. My wife will be all right when I get her home.’

  The man stepped back uncertainly and they hurried away.

  All the fight had drained from Hetty. What was the use of fighting anyway? No matter where she went, Matthew was there ready to pounce on her. She might as well just give in. She was at such a low ebb, so tired, aching with tiredness. The days and nights spent nursing the children had taken it out of her.

  Matthew knew he had won. ‘Come on, love, the car’s just around the corner,’ he said, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. He led her away, holding her close to him by her arm, the movement of her body against his exciting him even further. Joan Hunter and her dumpy little body could not have been further from his thoughts at that moment.

  He did not ask her where she wanted to go, did not offer to take her back to Smuggler’s Cove. Not yet at least. He handed her into the car and climbed in beside her and drove out into the hills, up to the top of the moor. The air here was fresh and clear and the view stunning but Hetty gave no indication of seeing it. She made no objection when he stopped by the roadside and led her to a quiet grassy hollow behind a low stone wall where he began to undo the buttons of her cheap cotton dress.

  Hetty pulled herself out of her lethargy when he began to fondle her bare breast, sinking his head into the hollow of her neck, and groaning. She started to pull away from him but it was too late. Savagely he pulled her back and took her roughly. It was all over in a couple of minutes. Afterwards he lay back, panting heavily.

  Hetty ached. Oh, how she ached. Her thighs felt as though they had been rubbed red raw, there was a soreness inside which throbbed and stung. She moved to sit up and saw that her right breast had a red place which was rapidly turning into a bruise. Oh, Richard, she thought achingly, you would never have forced yourself on me. With a shuddering sigh she sat up and covered herself, fastening her dress and smoothing back her hair. Feeling Matthew’s eyes upon her, she looked down at him. He raised a hand to finger a lock of her hair.

  ‘So silky,’ he murmured, rolling a curl between his finger and thumb. His eyes glazed slightly and he pulled her down beside him, holding her head against his cheek. ‘You are a little witch,’ he said into her hair. ‘How do you do it?’ There was genuine wonderment in his voice.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You cast a spell on me.’

  He rose on one elbow and gazed at her in puzzlement. ‘Of all the girls I’ve ever had, only you make me feel like this.’ He shook his head. ‘A skivvy, too,’ he said, almost to himself.

  Hetty tried to get to her feet but he was having none of it. His arm went round her waist and held her fast. ‘I’m not going to let you get away, you know,’ he said. ‘You are always going to belong to me. We’ll find a place, a cottage perhaps, somewhere you will always be waiting for me—’

  Hetty managed to throw off his arm and got to her feet. ‘I have to go,’ she said, brushing bits of grass from her dress. There was a green stain on it, she saw with dismay.

  ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a cottage. In fact, I know just the place. In Runswick Bay it is.’ He was warming to the idea. With Joan Hunter’s money, he would be able to keep Hetty, of course he would, she wasn’t the sort of girl who demanded presents all the time. And there was the little cottage in Runswick Bay where his mother used to take his brother and him for a week or two in the summer. It had been empty since she had been ill.

  ‘No, I have to go back. The children will be needing me. Mr Hutchins will be getting up, he has to go to work.’

  Matthew frowned. ‘That’s another thing. I don’t want you staying in that house with another man. You’ll have to leave.’

  Until then Hetty had been in a haze of unreality. Now she was jolted into awareness. ‘No, I can’t. I’m not going to leave, Matthew. The children need me, especially little Charlie. Besides, I have to earn a living.’

  ‘I won’t have you in that house with him.’ Matthew said the words mildly enough but she could tell he was adamant.

  ‘Oh, Matthew, it’s no good. I can’t run away with you. I can’t leave Charlie and Audrey and Peter, I can’t, not now. Not when they’ve been bad. And Mr Hutchins – he never touches me, he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Ill! Not bad, ill. My God, I’m going to have to teach you how to speak English,’ he exploded, and walked to the top of the rise to stare out over the moor, his face set. Hetty watched him anxiously, suddenly realising how far away they were from human contact. If he got violent – but then, he wouldn’t hurt her, not really. He loved her, didn’t he? Though he hadn’t actually said so. In fact, she didn’t know how he felt about her really.

  Matthew strode back to her. ‘Come on, we’re going.’

  ‘Are you taking me back to Smuggler’s Cove? Please, Matthew. If you take me back, I’ll go out with you. I’ll marry you and we’ll live in … Runswick Bay, did you say?’

  Matthew laughed. ‘Marry me?’ he said. ‘Did I ask you to marry me?’

  Hetty looked at him, nonplussed. ‘I thought—’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Hetty, I can’t marry you!’

  She flared angrily: ‘Go away then, get out of my sight! I never want to see you again, do you hear me?’

  Matthew laughed. ‘All right, I will,’ he replied. He began to walk away, still laughing cruelly. ‘The miner’s brat thinks she can marry the boss’s son? What does she think this is, a fairy tale? Just because I fancied a bit of skirt …’

  His voice faded as he crested the rise and was lost to view on the other side. After a moment she heard the car’s engine as it started and roared away up the road. Well, she would just have to walk until she found a village, she thought dully. Once again she had made a fool of herself. Smoothing down her dress, sadly wrinkled now, she walked on in the direction she thought would bring her to the nearest village.

  The memory of Richard and the way he had looked at her made her burn with shame. Oh, she might have been innocent at one time but now she was everything he’d thought she was. Fooling herself an’ all, telling herself she wouldn’t let Matthew make love to her again, then doing just that. Weak-willed she was, stupid and weak-willed.

  She trudged along the road, nothing in sight except for a few sheep and their lambs which scuttled away from the road as she approached. Richard … He had said her dad was looking for her. Oh, Da, she thought. Oh, Da. What would he say if he knew what sort of a pickle she was in now? She thought of the letter in her box, the one to Gran which she had written ages ago and never sent.

  First chance she had, she would go home, she resolved, the very first chance. If she managed to get back to Smuggler’s Cove and still keep her job, that was. She thought of Mr Hutchins, and his elaborate arrangements not to be in the house overnight with her to protect her reputation. Her reputation! Now that was funny. She even managed a smile. What did it matter anyway? No man would have her now except Matthew and he didn’t want to marry her. But she’d be blowed if she’d go to live with him in Runswick Bay!

  She wiped her forehead with a handkerchief. She was hot and sticky and sorely in need of a bath, a proper bath like the ones at Fortune Hall. A car came up behind her, slowed, and the driver inclined his head towards her, mouthing a question. Did she need a lift? She breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, stepping back on to the verge so that he could pull in.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ asked the driver, a farmer by the look of him. He leaned across the seat to open the passenger door for her. She knew he was wondering what on earth she was doing, walking along a moorland road miles from anywhere.

  ‘The nearest bus stop,’ she answered, and his eyebrows rose.

  ‘Well, there’s one in—�
�� The farmer stopped and looked over her shoulder. A car had raced up to them and was drawing to a halt, raising a cloud of dust. Matthew. She knew it was him before she turned round.

  ‘You want to be careful, driving through the moor at that speed,’ said the farmer. ‘If you hit a sheep or a lamb—’

  ‘I’ll drive how I like,’ snarled Matthew. He glared at the farmer who looked prepared to argue but Matthew went on: ‘Get about your business, man, and leave my girl alone.’

  The farmer glanced from him to Hetty, shrugged and drove away, obviously thinking it wasn’t wise to interfere in a lovers’ tiff. He felt sorry for the girl though, she seemed so miserable and the chap was so angry. He watched in his rear-view mirror and saw them both get into the car and it drive away.

  ‘I only came back because I thought you would be stranded on the moor.’ Matthew didn’t know why he was explaining his actions. He was confused, angry, had felt a burst of fury when he saw that lout of a farmer trying to pick Hetty up. For the thousandth time he wondered why he had let the want of her take over his life like this. Always before he had been in control, could take them or drop them without a moment’s regret. But that thought was fleeting, his mind was filled with Hetty. He looked down at her and remembered the feel of her body, the silkiness of her skin, and passion rose in him again, mingled with a baffled fury.

  Hetty stared at him. ‘You needn’t have bothered, I was managing fine.’

  ‘Yes, I might have known you would find yourself a man to help you, even here on the moor.’

  She said nothing, there didn’t seem to be any point. She stared out of the window as the moor gave way to green fields and hedges white with May blossom. They were entering Guisborough again, she noticed all of a sudden.

  ‘Let me out here,’ she demanded, and was surprised when he slowed to a stop. ‘Thank you,’ she said formally, for all the world as though things were normal between them.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he answered. ‘Don’t forget your basket.’ The trouble was, she thought numbly as she climbed on to the bus which was waiting at the stop, he most likely would.