She made no reply, so Ted rose and gave Lady a friendly pat on the rump as Eliza rode her out of the stable yard. Then he watched her as she set off down the valley towards the farm that lay at the bottom. She might stop for a friendly word with the farmer and his wife, maybe drink a glass of milk fresh from the cow. Before she disappeared from sight Eliza turned and waved to him, and then dug her heels in Lady’s flank and gave her free rein.
Eliza loved the early morning. The sound of hooves pounding on the earth made the blood course in her veins and filled her with exhilaration and a feeling that she would overcome everything – that the hated wedding would not take place and she would remain as free, as independent and as happy as she was now.
After a brisk ride she paused by one of the streams that ran into the Wen to allow Lady to take a drink. She went right to the edge of the stream so that Lady could stand in it and bend her neck down to drink from the clear, cold water. All was still. A magpie flew down and gazed curiously at Eliza then rose and darted swiftly into the hedge. Over her head the burgeoning leaves blew gently in the morning breeze.
On the far side of the stream was a cottage which belonged to the Woodville estate – as did most of the dwellings in the valley. In it had lived the farmer’s mother until her death a few months before. Eliza could discern even from a distance that something was moving on the thatched roof, and once Lady had had her fill she crossed the stream and, out of curiosity more than anything else, cantered towards the cottage.
In the narrow track in front of the garden was a cart filled with straw. A ladder led up the wall of the cottage to the roof, where another continued up to the chimney. A man was kneeling half way up the roof, and as he stood up Eliza could see the leather knee pads, padded with horse hair, which were worn by a thatcher.
As the man straightened up, clasping a bundle of reeds under one arm, his corn-coloured hair was outlined against the deep azure blue of the sky. He looked like some god, standing gazing down at her, and as he raised his hand to greet her she suddenly realised who he was and it was as though she had been brought back to earth with a bump.
Ryder Yetman.
She still remained as if mesmerised as he released his bundle on the roof, turned his back on her and started to climb down, his long body lithe and agile, until he reached the last half-dozen rungs and landed at the bottom. In his hand he still held the leggit, a long piece of wood with which the bundles of reeds were dressed, or fitted in with the others.
‘Miss Woodville,’ he said smiling, then, as she sat on her horse, transfixed, he went up to her, his smile fading.
‘Are you all right, Miss Woodville?’
‘Perfectly,’ she said and, emerging from the strange trancelike state the sight of him had induced in her, she shook her head vigorously. ‘I didn’t expect to see you, that was all.’
‘What brings you out so early, Miss?’ He put his hand to his eyes to shield them from the strong light behind her head.
‘I like to take a morning ride, Mr Yetman,’ Eliza said. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’
‘I just started this morning.’ Ryder Yetman pointed up at the roof.
‘Don’t you have men to do your thatching?’
‘I prefer to do it myself,’ he replied, ‘especially as the house is for me.’
‘Oh!’ Eliza looked startled. ‘You are going to live here?’
‘I hope so.’ Unlike his brothers, who had worked hard to get rid of their accents, Ryder still retained his Dorset burr.
‘It’s a very small house, Mr Yetman.’
‘’Tis big enough for two.’
‘Oh!’ Eliza was aware of the burning sun on her cheeks or, rather, she hoped it was merely the heat of the sun. ‘Are you getting married?’
‘Yes.’ Ryder put his leggit on the ground, then adjusted one of the straps on his knee pad.
‘I hope you’ll be very happy, Mr Yetman.’
‘Thank you, Miss Woodville.’
He finished his task and, rising, looked at her.
‘I may be getting married myself,’ she said, tilting her head defiantly.
‘Then I hope you’ll be very happy too.’
‘If I do I shall leave the valley.’
‘Well, with your brother getting wed I don’t suppose you’ll find much to do round here now, Miss.’
‘Why weren’t you at his wedding, Mr Yetman?’ Eliza demanded, her head on one side.
‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than dressing up fancy and going to weddings of that kind.’
‘Will you be married in the parish church?’
‘I expect so, Miss.’ Ryder turned as though he wanted to get on with his work.
‘I’ll be going along then, Mr Yetman.’
Ryder looked up at the roof and scratched his head. ‘I want to get as much of this done today as I can before the weather turns.’
‘Does it make a difference if the reeds are wet?’
‘It makes it unpleasant, Miss Woodville.’ Ryder gave a deep, throaty laugh. ‘It makes it unpleasant to work in the rain.’
‘Who are you going to marry, Mr Yetman?’ Eliza thought it only polite to ask.
‘Maude Brough, the miller’s daughter. Do you know Maude, Miss Woodville?’
‘I know the miller but not his daughter.’
‘She was brought up by an aunt, the sister of her mother, who died. She’s been teaching in Yeovil.’
‘Won’t it be very remote for her out here?’ Eliza enquired.
Ryder paused, frowning. ‘The cottage will do us until we can afford something bigger. Would you like to see inside, Miss Woodville?’ he asked politely as if he’d forgotten about the weather. ‘I should have asked you that before. Though I suppose you know it as it’s your property.’
For answer Eliza quickly dismounted from Lady, and as she jumped to the ground Ryder reached out and took her hand, gripping it in his firm clasp. For a moment he stared into her eyes as if puzzled by her response.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and he released her hand. ‘No, I’ve never seen inside and I’d like to.’ At the door she waited for him to catch up with her, as he was carefully tethering Lady to the fence.
‘She won’t run away,’ she called. ‘I brought her up from a foal.’
‘She’s a beautiful horse,’ Ryder said, appreciatively stroking Lady’s nose. ‘But you can’t take risks, Miss Woodville. Something might frighten her, a dog maybe, or a rabbit. Catch her bolting over those fields and you’ll be hard put to stop her. She might break a leg or damage herself in a fall.’
‘You’re right.’ Eliza looked suddenly crestfallen as though she should have known better. ‘Thank you, Mr Yetman.’ She turned abruptly and entered the cottage which, she realised, was much larger than it looked from outside. It had a big downstairs room and a doorway that led to a kitchen, with a cool pantry beyond that.
It was empty of furniture and the bare floor was stone. She suddenly shivered and hugged herself, and Ryder said contritely: ‘Sorry, Miss Woodville, I forgot how cold it was inside.’
‘It is cold,’ she said, ‘but in the winter you’ll have a lovely warm fire.’ She looked over at the inglenook and could imagine Ryder there with his Maude, one on either side of the fireplace, enjoying the contentment of family life. Soon there would be children too.
A scene of utter domestic contentment, here in this remote place, rose in her mind’s eye. How, she wondered, would it be with Lord Thornwell? She shivered again, but this time it was not on account of the cold.
‘I’d better go back,’ she said. ‘My mother will wonder where I am.’
‘Well, take a look upstairs now you’re here.’ Ryder pointed to the staircase which led straight up from the main room. ‘There’s a fine view which you’ll appreciate.’
He stood back, once more offering her his hand to help her up as there was no banister. This time, however, she didn’t take it.
The upstairs was as roomy as downstairs w
ith three bedrooms, two of them quite large. These rooms too were empty, the walls freshly painted, the wooden floors swept clean.
She opened the window of the largest room and poked her head out to see, as Ryder had indicated, a magnificent view of Pelham’s Oak. The gracious white house was basking in the sunlight, its windows open, and her labrador Rex was chasing something, maybe a cat or a rabbit, across the smooth lawn.
‘We’ll be able to wave,’ she said, pointing. ‘That’s my bedroom window.’ Suddenly she felt foolish as she saw the smile on his face.
‘Well, not for long if you’re getting wed, Miss Woodville,’ Ryder remarked dryly, leaning against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his breeches.
‘It’s not sure I’m getting married,’ Eliza murmured. ‘I mean I haven’t made up my mind.’
‘Oh, I see, Miss.’
‘I haven’t even met the man, to tell you the truth,’ she said woodenly.
‘Not met him? I don’t understand, Miss Woodville.’
‘I’m to be introduced to him in London in a week or two. If we suit, if he likes me and I like him, well ... It sounds a bit strange, doesn’t it?’ she said seeing the new, thoughtful expression on his face.
‘It seems very old-fashioned, to my way of thinking, Miss. I thought arranged marriages were things that happened long ago. Maybe not in society,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Though it seems a pity that a pretty girl like you should have to marry a man she don’t love.’
‘Have you known Maude long?’
‘No I haven’t, as a matter of fact.’ Ryder scratched his head and frowned. ‘Well, I’ve known her, like, since she was a little girl, but then when her mother died she went to live with her aunt. I met her again last summer when she came to see her father. She’s a friend of my sister’s.’
‘Is she pretty?’
Ryder appeared to consider the question.
‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘Not ‘zactly pretty, not like you, Miss Woodville. But I like her. She’s a nice person. We’ll suit.’
‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ Eliza said, closing the window. She could imagine this room when it had a wardrobe, a tallboy, chairs and a bed ... She glanced again at Ryder and, from the expression in his eyes, it seemed to her almost as though he could divine what she was thinking.
‘I hope you’ll be happy with whoever it is you’re to meet, Miss Woodville,’ Ryder said. ‘I truly do.’
‘I don’t have to marry him,’ she burst out.
‘Then don’t unless you’re sure, Miss,’ he said softly. ‘Very sure.’
Henrietta seldom came down for breakfast, so Eliza was surprised to find her mother waiting for her when she got back, though it was not yet nine o’clock.
Breakfast was served in the breakfast room, a sunny room not far from the kitchen. This made it easier for the servants to prepare and serve it, especially when there were only one or two members of the family in residence.
‘I wondered where you were, dear.’ Henrietta looked askance at her daughter’s riding outfit. ‘What kept you so long? I saw Lady standing for a long time outside the house where Mrs Crook used to live before she died.’
‘Did you not see me talking to Ryder Yetman?’
‘Ryder Yetman!’ The expression on Henrietta’s face changed immediately. ‘What was Ryder Yetman doing in old Mrs Crook’s house?’
‘He’s thatching it. He’s going to live there.’
‘You do surprise me,’ Henrietta said. ‘I thought the family had money.’
‘He must have come to some arrangement with Guy, as the house belongs to us.’
‘But why would he want to live in that remote place?’ Her mother’s tone was scornful.
‘He likes it. He’s getting married.’
‘And I wonder what he thought of you, talking to him in that outfit!’
‘Mother, don’t be silly. I saw him by chance. I have a feeling Mr Yetman doesn’t care about small matters of dress.’
‘You could be right,’ Henrietta sniffed. ‘I’ve heard odd stories about Ryder Yetman.’
‘Oh?’ Eliza was immediately interested. ‘What sort of stories?’
‘He was a soldier, you know, and was wounded in the Zulu war. As the eldest son he disappointed his father, who wanted him in the business.’
‘But he is in the business. He supervised the work done on this house.’
‘He helps his father out when he feels like it. But Ryder pleases himself. The family aspires, but apparently Mr Ryder Yetman does not, or he would not wish to live in that mean little cottage with his wife.’
‘It’s a dear little cottage,’ Eliza protested. ‘So sweet and pretty in the valley. I envy him.’
‘Really, Eliza,’ her mother said crossly. ‘I can’t understand you at all. Here you are on the verge of great things, and yet you can talk like that. What nonsense.’
‘I suppose you’re referring to Lord Thornwell. You call marrying a man I don’t love a great thing?’ Suddenly Eliza stood up and brought her fist down angrily on the table. ‘Mama, I will not be bartered for.’
‘What are you talking about, my dear?’ Henrietta put on her spectacles and began to slit open the envelopes of the letters by her plate.
‘I’m not going to be sold to Lord Thornwell. That kind of thing does not happen now.’
‘What kind of thing, dear?’ Her mother stared at her coolly. ‘Arranging a marriage.’
‘Oh yes it does,’ Henrietta said firmly. ‘Make no mistake about that. And far more often than you think. It happens all the time. It’s a question of suitability. Stuck here in the heart of the country, miles away from decent society, you are unlikely to find a suitable mate. Why do you think Guy and Margaret were brought together?’
‘I thought it was for her fortune?’
‘Please don’t be crude, Eliza.’ Henrietta winced visibly. ‘It was a question of suitability. Guy, like you, was unlikely to meet the right sort of woman. He met plenty of the wrong ones, I know that. And yes’ – her mother inclined her head – ‘I will say that Miss Heering’s fortune was not unwelcome; but then to have an English baronet for a husband, a house the size of this one, an established town house as well, was very attractive to her and her family.’
‘Doesn’t love ever matter, Mother?’
‘My dear, I didn’t love your father when I married him.’ Henrietta smiled nostalgically. ‘Of course he was attractive, but love came later. He was a very suitable match for me, and the dowry I was able to bring was not unattractive to him, or rather to his father, who could barely make ends meet. Alas,’
Henrietta sighed and began agitatedly to slit the envelopes of the few remaining letters. ‘We got through my money very quickly. This estate had been allowed to decay, and your father was never a well man. Had he been, the financial predicament in which we found ourselves might have been very different.
‘As it isn’t –’ Henrietta reached over and affectionately took the hand of her daughter, who had resumed her seat ‘– I do wish you to think very seriously about Lord Thornwell, my dear. I not only feel in all sincerity that he would make you very happy; but you would release your family from a great financial burden. With you happy and well taken care of we would all sleep easier in our beds. It would give Guy and Margaret a much better start in their married life. Believe me, my dear,’ she said, looking deep into Eliza’s eyes, ‘you owe it to your family as well as yourself.’
3
Ryder Yetman climbed slowly back on to the roof after Eliza had ridden away, but for a long time he stood watching her until she was out of sight, his work forgotten. When she finally disappeared around the sloping field between the farm and the big house he sighed and turned reluctantly back to his task, heaving the bundles of Abbotsbury reeds and savagely patting them into place with his leggit to form a course across the roof.
But although his professional expertise would never have let him down, his heart was not in his work, and after a wh
ile he scrambled down to the ground and went into the house to find his cigarettes.
Eliza Woodville. He could picture her as belonging in this cottage as he could picture no one else. Despite being a lady, born in the great house from a long line of aristocrats, she would be at home here whereas Maude, his betrothed, born a countrywoman, a miller’s daughter, would not.
He had known about the intensity of his feelings for Eliza before he became engaged to Maude. However, even supposing she felt anything for him, could feel anything for a man socially her inferior and so much older than she was, he knew the very idea was hopeless. She was young and she was beautiful. She would be the prize for a much wealthier, much more suitable man than he could ever aspire to be.
Ryder had first seen her when he was given the task of supervising the work his father’s men were doing at Pelham’s Oak. He was at that time still unfit for work himself, yet he could supervise, and as he knew every aspect of the building business he was ideally suited for the task.
One day he had been standing in the front hall and the young daughter of the house had come running up the steps, dressed in her riding habit, a black coat and skirt, lace jabot at her throat, carrying her hat and riding crop in her hand. Her hair had been tucked neatly into a net and she looked decorous and, then, older than she was.
He hadn’t known who she was at first. He had stood aside as, clearly in a temper, she rushed past him, her face flushed, her eyes glinting dangerously, her lips pursed. She’d slammed the door into the drawing room behind her, and there was the sound of raised voices as she confronted her brother. He never discovered what the row had been about, but he knew then who she was.
Ryder had seen little of Miss Woodville in those days because the big house, needing so much refurbishing, became a scene of such disorder that the family often went up to the London house and remained there as long as possible. But whenever Eliza was there he looked out for her and, slowly, he began to realise that maybe she was doing the same.
The People of This Parish (Part One of The People of this Parish Saga) Page 5