by Betty Burton
The loud birdsong of spring had dwindled now that territory claims and nesting were done, so that only short bursts from thrushes and blackbirds were heard. But cuckoos still called, on and on, whilst there was daylight.
They sat in the dark porch.
“Hark at him,” said Jude.
“Ah, I suppose he got the strength to keep on like that because he don’t have to work to feed his own young.”
“You can’t really blame them. I don’t reckon they can help laying in other nests. It is their nature. Perhaps they wasn’t ever given the remembrance of how to do it like all the other birds.”
“Always takes me back when I hears his May song. It was that hot the year I was carrying you, and you seemed heavy enough to have been a calf. Then he changed to his ‘cuk-cukoo’ and it near drove me mad when I was in labour. I lay there hating him for being out there flying free, making his silly song.”
Bella talked and talked. Jude could not remember such animation in her mother for ages, probably since Jaen left. To keep her talking, Jude said: “I never knew you had such ideas as those you spoke of this morning to Fred and Mr Vickery.”
“It’s funny how you change. I can remember when I was young my father was always talking of such things. But it all seemed so old and dry. I can remember one of his stories. It was about some people who banded together and tried to take over land. I don’t even know whether it was some he knew when he was young or long in the past, but he was always on about it. About how they dug up the commons and planted them.”
“There was a group that Fred got me a paper on. Shall I tell you some?”
“Can you just say it off?”
“ ‘Thou has many bags of money, and behold I the Lord come as a thief in the night, with my sword drawn in my hand, and like a thief I say deliver.
“ ‘The plague of God is in your purses, barns, houses, horses.
“ ‘Your gold and silver is cankered . . . the rust of your silver shall eat your flesh as it were fire . . .
“ ‘Have all things common or else the plague of God will rot and consume all that you have.’ ” Jude knew the whole pamphlet by heart, having read it so often, and spoke it like poetry.
“Why Jude, that’s beautiful. Not that I see why there must be a plague on horses.”
“I think it only means he is saying it to people who keep horses to themselves, separate, when the rest haven’t got a horse. It’s something like that. And that’s what that group who dug up commons thought was right.”
Although she knew that Jude wrote and read most nights before going to sleep, Bella had never been interested except on those occasions when Jude said, on hearing some old song or cure, “I’ll put that down.”
“And is that what all them books and papers you got are about?” she asked.
“Some of them. There’s poetry and songs, and a play by William Shakespeare. It’s just a mixture of things.”
“And do you write that kind of thing down yourself?”
“Not anything that sounds as good as that. Really I just argues with myself on paper.”
Neither of them said anything for a while, then Bella, safe in the darkness, said: “Jude, I think you’m a clever girl.”
It was the first direct compliment that Jude had ever received from her mother, and it would not do to make anything of it.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m glad.”
They sat on until stars showed in the darkness. Eventually Bella said, “I’m going on up,” then, almost as though she had just thought of it, added, “See if you can’t get to read them books Fred Warren was on about. Hanna’s big enough now to see to things after market. Perhaps you might go there on your way back.”
Part Two
WOMAN
There was bad weather in the first days of July in the year when Jude became twenty. Some mornings mists hung over the downs so that the ruins on Old Winchester and the beeches on Tradden Raike were invisible, giving the impression Cantle was not deep in a valley.
There was a feeling of insecurity, living in a place that was not enfolded, surrounded and protected by the great, swelling chalk-hills. People became fratchety. Labourers passed one another, trudging their miles to work with hardly more than a nod – not that they were ever given to jolly greetings – and women, scooping water from Dunnock Brook, slammed their pails about.
At Croud Cantle, Hanna was under Bella’s feet and Bella got cross with Jude because of it. Bella had been argumentative all the way back from Blackbrook market. When they reached the crossroads at Cantle, Bella said: “For goodness sake, Jude, get on up there. Fred Warren told you all you got to do is tell the housekeeper who you are.”
“All right then!” said Jude, committing herself simply to get away from Bella’s irritable mood, and she was on her way up Farm Lane to Park Manor House almost before she realised what she was doing.
They’re the ones who should be beholden, Mr Vickery had said; but the fact remained that the park was hundreds of acres, and Park Manor House was big enough to hold every house and cottage in Cantle, including the rectory. It was intimidating, even for a girl whose character had been strengthened and back stiffened by Bella Nugent.
The Farm Lane was about a mile long, well-drained and surfaced with local red hoggin. The hoggin crunched loudly, making Jude conscious of her steady tread. This part of the estate was at the foot of Old Marl, but the steep rise was not visible because of the mists and the dripping, full-grown oaks Jude was walking under. She skirted the farmhouse, going on up to the big house.
Jude had never been further than the farmhouse before, and had to guess that she was going in the right direction. She was surprised when, suddenly, she found that she was going down through a garden with a summer-house. There were a few worn steps with ferns and periwinkle growing at the joints, which led on to a small circular terrace made of bricks laid in a pattern. A sundial on a carved plinth stood at its centre. Surrounding the circular terrace was a high yew hedge which, because it was clipped into castellations at the top, looked like a dark-green fortress wall into which an archway had been cut. Jude went through the archway. She found herself on the main terrace at the back of Park Manor House and was stopped in her tracks by what she saw.
She had heard about the place, which was not surprising considering the number of sons and daughters of Cantle and Motte people who served there, but the fragments of description had put together for Jude an entirely different picture from the reality and did not prepare her for her first sight of the terrace of Park Manor House.
The original house had been quite small, built of local blue and red bricks laid in the orderly pattern of English bond. Over generations, as the Goodenstones reaped their harvest of other people’s land and crops, they had extended and built wings on, until the early part was swamped by grandness. What remained of the original house could be seen only from the back, where Jude was standing.
For all its alterations and additions, it was a very beautiful building. There were many sparkling windows with roses and clematis blooming round them. A golden-leaved ivy climbed the walls and pinks, mimulus and stocks had been planted below the windows, where they would waft evening scent into the rooms. The terrace was of a faintly pink stone, and wherever there was an angle a spreading shrub had been planted to soften the line. In four large marble bowls grew fuchsias and trailing vines.
Jude was entranced. She advanced a few steps, feeling that there must be people watching her, wondering what she was doing standing there, staring. There did not appear to be a door, not a proper door, although some of the windows reached the ground and looked as though they could be walked through, but not knocked on.
As Jude was hesitating, somebody opened a window and said, “What you want?” Jude advanced towards the voice.
“I was looking for the Housekeeper.”
“You won’t find her there. Come round the side.”
A side-door was opened by an elderly servant wearing a cross-
over bodice dress and apron, and a round-eared cap of a style worn fifty years before.
“I’m Judeth Nugent. The Housekeeper knows I am to come.”
Indicating that Jude should follow, the servant led the way through the house. Jude’s eyes were everywhere; on the panelling, the glossy floor, the carpets, the lamps.
“You’re Bella Nugent’s an’t you? Bella Nugent that was Bella Estover?”
“Yes.”
“No mistaken. You looks just the same as she did when she was your age. Dare say she have changed, she’s a good six years older than me.”
Jude looked again at the woman. Sunken cheeks through loss of most of her teeth, thick skin, and a stooped walk of an elderly woman. Bella’s hard life and worries showed in her face, but the way she held herself, her bright, clean skin and the red hair, still gave her the appearance of a younger woman. This woman, at something over forty, looked ten or fifteen years older than Bella.
The woman led the way through a grand door where the panelling, carpets and decorated lamps ended, along a short passage, then through an ordinary painted door.
“You wanting to be taken on?”
“No,” said Jude, and before she had time to say more, the servant woman had stopped outside a door.
“Tell your mother it was Mary Holly. I dare say she a remember.”
Mary Holly knocked at the door and opened it.
“Mrs Cutts? Judeth Nugent. Says you know about her. You didn’t say anything,” said Mary Holly in a tone of voice that was almost insolent.
The Housekeeper was younger than the servant. Her dress, of grey striped cotton with a close-fitting over-bodice, was much less dated than the other servant’s. She was inspecting a pile of linen.
“Yes.” Then to the hovering Mary Holly: “You need not stop.” Mary went. “Is it you that’s supposed to be sorting out the library?” She looked Jude up and down.
Jude said yes, was it all right, she had been told to come whenever it suited.
The woman gave a small shake of her head – whatever next!
“This way.”
Jude tried to get some idea of direction so that she would not get lost in the maze of passageways and doors. Mrs Cutts strode ahead, her dress whisking and keys jingling.
She stopped abruptly and opened a double door.
Mrs Cutts showed Jude into the room and shut the door. It was probably six times larger than any room Jude had been in and the number of books was hundreds of times more than Jude’s own few.
At first she stood and looked around. The room was hexagonal and shelved from floor to ceiling on five walls, the sixth being a window. There were some deep easy chairs, a sloping desk with an upright chair, several tables and some curious little circular steps which Jude assumed were for reaching the topmost books.
She read some of the names: Butler, Swift, then two under ‘D’ whose names she had heard of – Defoe and Dryden. Most of the works were entirely new to her. On one table was a pile of plays. She was like a hungry person given free choice in a bakehouse, tempted by the confection of bound prints, yet wanting to feed upon the nutritious literature. In the end, she took something at random and stood reading, not liking to use a chair; intimidated by the size of the room and air of solemn luxury.
“What’s all this about, then?”
Totally absorbed, Jude had not heard Mary Holly come into the library. A false smile, aggressive, sneering.
“What you got to do with this place?”
“Nothing, only that Mister Goodenstone says I can have some books and borrow some if I want.”
“Is that all?”
“I don’t see what it’s got to do with you.” Jude was irritated by the woman’s unfriendly manner, as well as feeling uneasy about the way she seemed to do as she pleased, although she was obviously a servant. You’d think she owned the place, thought Jude.
She made no attempt to leave Jude alone, but sat on an upright chair and took some darning from her apron pocket; quiet except for a heavy breath from time to time, as though she might be hoping that she could attract Jude’s attention. She appeared to be quite at home in the huge library, like any cottager sitting darning.
The mist outside became very dense, making the room too dark to continue reading. It was impossible to concentrate with Mary Holly there, obviously wanting a chance to gossip.
“Want me to fetch some light?”
“I think I should go now,” said Jude. “It’s getting thick and I don’t know the back road.”
“You don’t want to take no notice of her.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of Mrs Cutts. “I’ll let you out. You can go down the front drive if you wants.”
Mary Holly let Jude out and then walked with her as far as the main drive. The older woman had an odd expression, savouring something, almost malicious – a trouble-maker. Jude did not want to be involved. She was the kind of woman who loved to insinuate half-truths and appear confiding, but was treacherous. The way she had said, “Tell her its Mary Holly – she a remember.” The suggestion that the remembering would not be pleasant and Mary Holly savoured it.
The more Jude quickened her pace, the more Mrs Holly hurried.
“You had better not come any further, Mrs Holly,” said Jude. “It’s fair dripping off the trees.”
Jude hurried on down the wide drive.
“Here,” Mary Holly called after her, “Here, don’t you forget to tell Bella you met Mary Holly.”
Jude felt chilled in the still, white mist.
Jude had often been on the downs on days like today. When you were up there, where the sun shone in a clear sky, you could look down upon the Cantle valley which became a lake of chalky water. All along the broad, mile-long drive from the house and on up Howgaite Path, trees dripped upon Jude. Cows and people loomed up and were swallowed up again. When she reached home, her hair was drenched and the hem of her skirt sodden.
There was a winter-fire on the hearth. Bella and Hanna, the child’s stocky little legs dangling, the grandmother upright and solid, sat one on either side of the ingle-nook. Bella had obviously got over her irritable mood. She made Jude a thick piece of toasted bread spread with dripping, whilst Jude took off her wet skirt before the fire.
Bella was dying to know how Jude got on, but it was not in her nature to show interest in things other people did. She had an idea that it made children and young people feel too important by half. Jude had half a mind not to say anything, knowing very well that her mother would try not to show any interest. But knowing also that it might cause a return of the earlier irritability she said, “Well, that wasn’t so bad.”
“Why should it be bad?”
“I didn’t mean bad really, just that it was quite all right once I made up my mind to go.”
Hanna, eager to know all about the house, asked, “Was it very big?” Granma says you can put our cottage into one room.”
“Easy, and there are ever so many rooms.”
“And are there lamps with glass raindrops?”
Hanna asked the questions, Bella was content to listen. Hanna was not quite as interested in curtains and carpets as she was in ladies with wide dresses and feathered hats. “What should you have done if you had met a grand lady?” she asked. Jude, giving a recognisable imitation of Dicken, said, “E’venen Missis, ’ow be ’ee then?” and Hanna went off into fits of giggles.
Bella, thinking that some sort of admonition was due, simply said, “Jude!”
Presently, Jude began to collect up the mugs before starting the evening’s chores. She did not want to make too much of her encounter with the unpleasant woman but felt that she must mention something, give a hint of warning perhaps. Off-handedly, she said, “I met a Mrs Holly.”
The name came out of the past like a blow on the breast to Bella, but she took it with hardly any outward sign of shock.
“Did you?” Bella, pretending to be preoccupied with pounding some cheese-cloth in cold water, waited for a possible sec
ond blow.
“Mary Holly. She said you would know.”
Mary Holly! Bad enough. But not the other one, thank goodness.
“Mary Holly?”
“She said she was younger than you. She don’t look it.”
“She was one of them born old.”
“She reminded me of Fish Mary. D’you know what I mean?” “Ah.”
Fish Mary was notorious at Blackbrook market for the kind of insinuation and half-truth that starts trouble. Yes, but there was this difference. Fish Mary had never been anything of a threat to Bella. But Mary Holly!
Bella had thought that the wood beetles that had once bitten into the timbers of her life had been killed off, but they had been there all the time: chewing away, invisible, destroying the fabric to the point of collapse.
Hanna went off into the mists of early evening to try to find the eggs of hens that had been laying in odd places and to throw bits to the pigs and goats, whilst the two women worked in the cow-shed and the dairy.
They called Hanna back in. With nightfall, the valley mist thickened and became unmoving, so that she could not see a hand in front of her, let alone find hidden eggs. Normally one could hear animals bleating and lowing right across the valley, but tonight even the sound of their own beasts close by was muffled. It was as though the farm cottage of Croud Cantle was cut off from the entire universe and time had halted. It reminded Jude of the time when they had first brought Hanna here and it had snowed.
When it was bedtime for Hanna, Bella said, “Don’t be long up there Jude,” and to Hanna, “Now lovey, let Jude come straight down, then we shall have a long bit of joking tomorrow.”
It was obvious that Bella had something on her mind, and she began as soon as Jude was back downstairs again.
“Jude. Now Mary Holly’s come back to Cantle, there’s things I shall have to say that had better been left buried and forgot.”
“It’s about my father, isn’t it?”
Bella flushed. “What did she say?”