Cherry Tree Lane

by Anna Jacobs

  She thought for a moment or two that the older woman was going to take offence, then Miss Newington’s expression softened and she picked up the dress, holding it against herself.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘As long as you give me a few days, I can easily do it for you.’

  ‘I meant, are you sure this will suit me?’

  ‘Oh, yes. The tweeds you’re wearing don’t, because they’re too muddy coloured, but that blue will. You have a pretty complexion.’ She was surprised to see Miss Newington looking self-conscious, so turned quickly away, not wanting to embarrass her.

  There was silence, then Jacob said, ‘I’d better carry you downstairs again, Mattie, then I’ll come back for the dresses. We need to get you home for a rest.’

  ‘I’ll bring the clothes,’ Miss Newington said. ‘But you can’t leave for a few minutes. I want to write a note to Mr Henty. Horace can deliver it to him after he’s taken you back in the trap.’

  Mattie wondered what she’d say to the curate. Was she going to complain about his wife? She hoped so. No one should judge someone without finding out the facts first. She let Jacob carry her down the stairs again, resting her head against his chest, feeling utterly boneless and weary now that the excitement was over.

  She felt happy, though. She’d never had clothes like these. But as her benefactress said, they were just lying around in the attic, and wouldn’t fit the older woman, so she didn’t need to feel guilty about taking them.

  Would Jacob think she looked good in that green dress on their wedding day? She did hope so.

  When he saw the handwriting on the envelope, Ernest Henty showed it to his wife, not opening it, because letters from their local landowner often insisted on him doing things he found difficult. ‘What can Miss Newington want with me, do you suppose?’

  He opened the letter, but it contained only a summons to visit the landowner ‘at his earliest convenience’ and on his own.

  ‘I was going to visit her myself.’

  ‘You’d better not come this time. It doesn’t do to go against her wishes.’

  Her bosom swelled with indignation. ‘I’ll go and see her tomorrow. You were busy so I dealt with something today. That Jacob Kemble, who has always been impertinent, has a woman living with him, some trollop I’ve never seen before. Miss Newington will want you to do something about it.’

  ‘How do you know she’s a trollop?’

  ‘Who else but a woman of low morals would live with a man to whom she’s neither related nor married?’

  ‘She may be a relative, for all we know.’

  ‘She’s nothing like him. She’s not even as tall as I am, and he must be six foot, at least.’

  ‘Have you seen her, then?’

  ‘I called at the house earlier and there she was, as bold as brass. No respect for her betters, either. Miss Newington won’t want a woman like that living in our village.’

  He set off at once, worrying all the way up the hill. His wife was a very thorough sort of woman, who had taken control of every aspect of his life from the moment they first got married, but he sometimes wished she wouldn’t interfere quite as much in his parishioners’ lives. She shouldn’t have gone into Kemble’s house without being invited. He knew she meant well and she did wonders with the money he earned, but Jane wasn’t the easiest of wives.

  If they’d had children, it might have deflected her attention from him and the minutiae of parish life, but they hadn’t been blessed. And she’d been a bit on edge lately. Well, they were both worried about what would happen to them if Miss Newington sold the estate. They couldn’t afford a higher rent, not without the most stringent economies.

  The person who’d bought the three cottages Miss Newington had already sold had immediately put up the rents, which had brought hardship to those families living in them and … He realised he’d reached the gate of the big house and stopped to mop his brow. The weather was very pleasant this evening, but his dark clerical garments were too hot because he couldn’t afford both winter and summer weight clothing.

  Emily stood by the window, looking out at the village below, as she often did. When she saw someone’s head bobbing up the lane, she guessed it’d be the curate. She continued to watch until she could see him clearly. He looked hot and uncomfortable.

  The poor man was completely under his wife’s thumb and Emily would guess that it was probably Jane Henty who was preventing him from obtaining a parish of his own, because the woman had no tact, didn’t even attempt to get on with the clergyman for whom her husband had been a curate for several years, let alone be pleasant to the bishop. Why did the dratted woman feel she had a right to stick her finger into every pie and tell the whole world what to do?

  Well, this time she’d gone too far!

  Emily went to take a seat by the fire and when the curate was shown in, she said nothing for a moment or two, staring at him in a way she knew made most people uncomfortable.

  ‘You … um … asked me to come and see you, Miss Newington.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose you’d better take a seat.’ She waved one hand towards the chair opposite her and waited.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Um … how may I help you?’

  ‘By controlling that wife of yours. She’s angered me greatly today.’

  He turned pale and swallowed visibly, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny throat. ‘What has Jane done? I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘This morning she entered my rent agent’s house without even knocking and then maligned a young friend of mine, who is residing there, with my knowledge and approval. Mattie and Jacob Kemble are getting married next week, but she’s recently lost her home and has nearly died of pneumonia, so he and I have been looking after her.’ She waited, seeing panic settle on her visitor’s face.

  ‘My wife has spoken to me about that. She was concerned about … um … immorality.’

  ‘Does she think I am not? I can assure you nothing immoral has happened. That poor girl can hardly stand up still, let alone share a man’s bed.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right – honest mistake – we both have the utmost respect for you and …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘I suppose it’s too late to ask your wife to say nothing about my young protégée’s presence?’

  He flushed and stared at his feet.

  ‘I see from your reaction that she’s already spoken of this. Your wife, Mr Henty, is a meddling busybody with a tongue that never stops wagging. I should be grateful if you will tell her from me that there is no immorality whatsoever going on in that cottage. I would stake my life on it. Also, the people concerned have been engaged for a while and will be getting married on Tuesday in Swindon at the registry office. I shall be acting as witness for them.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ After a moment’s pause, he added, ‘In the registry office? Would it not be better if they were married in the village church, in the sight of God?’

  ‘No, it would not. They have friends in Swindon who wish to attend.’ She made a mental note to tell Jacob that. ‘And anyway, if we held the ceremony here, your wife would intrude, as she always does. They want a quiet, pleasant ceremony with only their friends present, and that’s what they’ll get.’ She rang the little bell that stood on the table beside her. ‘I bid you good day, Mr Henty, and hope you will attend to this matter of your wife.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You can rely on me. Now that I know …’

  He was still trailing apologetic phrases as he was shown out.

  Lyddie came back. ‘Is there anything you want, miss?’

  ‘A new curate.’

  Lyddie was betrayed into a giggle.

  Emily couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’d better tell you and Cook what this is all about.’ She went to the kitchen and explained to them that Jacob was about to get married, again implying that she knew the young woman in question.

  ‘I think it’s so romantic,’ Lyddie sighed, ‘her coming to him for h
elp like that.’

  ‘Yes. And it’s about time he found a mother for those two children,’ Cook said.

  ‘I agree. Perhaps we could have a festive tea for them here on Tuesday afternoon? Can you manage that, Cook?’

  ‘It’ll be my pleasure, miss. I do like to celebrate a wedding.’

  Emily went back to her sitting room, where she did more work on her detailed calculations about what exactly needed to be done before she moved away from this house. She hoped the family her lawyer had mentioned were still looking for a house to rent.

  As soon as that was arranged, she’d leave. She had such a hunger to see Whitley Bay again, to smell the sea air and watch the waves roll gently onto the beach.

  Chapter Nine

  On the Sunday morning Bart walked along the street, scowling at his friend Stan. ‘I don’t know why you insisted on coming with me. It’s Mattie you’re interested in, not the other two.’

  ‘They might lead me to her, though.’

  ‘Well, don’t go spoiling things. Here. This is it.’ He knocked on the door and tipped his hat to the woman who opened it. She looked a soft fool and her eyes were puffy and reddened, as if she’d been weeping. Serve her right for bearing a son like that. ‘Mrs Greenhill?’ he asked in his softest voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m Bart Fuller and this is my friend Stan.’

  She took a step backwards, fear in every line of her body. As she tried to close the door on them, Bart put out one hand to stop her and she flattened herself against the wall, calling, ‘Peter! Peter!’

  A thin, weedy fellow came running to the door and stood protectively in front of her. As if that would stop Bart getting to her if he wanted to thump her! He’d have laughed his head off if this hadn’t been so serious.

  ‘What do you want, Fuller?’

  ‘To speak to you about our children.’

  The woman sobbed loudly and buried her face in her pinafore.

  ‘You’re too late,’ the husband said. ‘They’ve run away for fear of you, and I hope you’re satisfied now.’

  She uncovered her face to yell, ‘Leave us alone! Haven’t you done enough? We’ve lost our only son because of you.’

  Bart felt his friend poke him in the arm to remind him to keep calm. He didn’t need reminding. Thumping these idiots would do no good. ‘Yes, well, I still think my Nell was too young to get wed, but I’m sorry now for frightenin’ her like that. I miss my girls, and that’s the truth. I was just wondering if you’d heard anythin’?’

  The man shushed his wife. ‘No, we’ve not heard a word nor do we expect to. Cliff said he wouldn’t be in touch because he didn’t want to risk you going after them.’

  Bart studied the little twerp, reluctantly admiring his bravery.

  Stan stepped forward, smiling at the couple. ‘I think your son was mistook about my friend. He might have got angry with them, but he’d not have hurt them.’

  ‘My Cliff wasn’t mistook. You’ve a bad reputation in this town, Fuller. Everyone knows what you’re like, how you got rid of your eldest’s young man. And your Nell told us how badly you beat her sister as well. She’s still got the scars, Nell said.’

  Bart breathed deeply. ‘Mattie was different. She’s not my daughter, and she needed a firm hand keeping on her, that one did, or she’d have gone to the bad.’

  ‘What was bad about getting wed?’ Peter asked. ‘I knew the fellow who was courting her, the one you injured. He was a decent sort and would have made her a good husband.’

  ‘Well, I did what I thought best at the time, and I still think I was right. Besides, her sisters needed her. It was wrong to think of leaving her family, with them so young. Selfish, it was.’

  Peter took a step back. ‘Well, you’ve wasted your time coming here. We’ve nothing to tell you. We’ve not heard from Cliff and don’t expect to.’

  He tried to close the door, but Bart held it open. ‘If you do hear, let me know, even if it’s only to tell me Nell and Renie are all right.’ But he could see from their faces that they wouldn’t.

  Stan pulled his friend’s hand away and the door shut with a bang. There was the sound of a bolt sliding into place.

  ‘Stupid sods!’ Bart muttered.

  The two men started walking back.

  ‘You’ll get nowhere, frightening folk like that,’ Stan said.

  ‘Frightenin’ ’em! I was polite as you please, which is more than they deserved.’

  ‘You talked polite but you frighten ’em by the way you look at ’em, an’ the way you bunch your fists. If you’re coming with me this afternoon, you’d better let me do the talking or we’ll not find out anything.’

  Bart shrugged. ‘I’m coming, an’ you can talk till the cows come home. I only want to find out from Mattie where the other two have gone. I’m not taking her back.’

  ‘I keep tellin’ you, you’re not getting the chance. She’s going to marry me.’

  ‘If you can find her.’

  ‘I’ve made a start, haven’t I? I’ve found out which way she went when she left town.’

  An hour later the two men set out in the borrowed trap. Stan was driving, but Bart could see he wasn’t very skilled and would have laughed if he hadn’t been in imminent danger of being tipped out. The elderly horse was stubborn about not going fast, but it had the habit of jerking to one side at the sight of any woman in a large hat decorated with flowers. He was surprised their husbands let ’em out of the house with those silly contraptions on their heads. It just showed how stupid women were.

  The horse jerked again and Bart clung to the side panel. ‘Can’t you control that stupid creature?’

  ‘You drive it, if you can do any better.’

  He hadn’t the faintest idea how to drive anything, horse or one of those newfangled motor cars. Didn’t want to, either. Give him a nice, safe tram any day.

  Once they passed the last tram stop and left the houses and churchgoers behind, the horse settled down a little. But after they’d clopped along the road for a while, Stan reined to a halt with a growl of annoyance.

  ‘What’s the matter? Why are you stopping?’

  ‘Because there’s no one around to damned well ask.’

  ‘They’ll all be at church at this time of day – or cooking their Sunday dinners. But if they saw her that night, they’ll remember her. Mattie was in a terrible state.’ After a moment’s thought, he added with some relish, ‘She might’ve died, then you’ll not be able to marry her.’

  ‘Not her. She’s too stubborn to die young. But you’ve give me an idea. Let’s ask around for a doctor.’

  ‘Ask who?’

  ‘Anyone we meet.’ Stan shook the reins and clicked his tongue. The horse ignored him, not moving till he yelled, ‘Walk on, you stupid creature!’ and shook the reins again.

  Eventually they found an elderly woman dozing in the sun outside a small cottage. Beyond it, down a lane, other thatched roofs showed. Stan reined in the horse again and they got down, tying the reins to a horse rail at the edge of the road. The horse snorted and curled its lip at them. Bart moved hastily back.

  ‘Could you tell us where the nearest doctor is, please, missus?’ Stan asked.

  She looked them both up and down. ‘You two don’t look sick to me.’

  ‘We’re not. We want to ask the doctor if he’s seen a young woman what come out this way three Fridays ago and hasn’t been seen since. She’s run off from home, you see, and she wasn’t at all well. We’re afraid for her.’

  She let out a cackle of laughter. ‘I’d run off, too, if I was living with two sour faces like yours.’

  Bart let out a growl of anger and took a step forward, fists clenched.

  She stared at him unblinkingly. ‘You don’t frighten me.’ She snapped her fingers at him. ‘I could die like that, with my ticky heart, and I’d not care. I’m fed up of living like this, a burden to my family, so go ahead and hit me.’ She jutted her wrinkled chin out at them.

  S
tan shoved Bart aside. ‘Sorry about my friend, missus. He’s worried about his daughter’s safety. You didn’t tell us where the nearest doctor is.’

  ‘Swindon.’ She closed her eyes as if that ended the conversation.

  ‘There must be one closer.’

  She didn’t even bother to open her eyes again. ‘Well, there ent.’

  ‘Has anyone round here taken in a sick woman?’

  She opened one eye. ‘Folk in this village mind their own business. I don’t know nuthen about no young woman.’

  Stan dragged Bart back to the trap. ‘It’s no use. She’s lost her wits, that one.’

  ‘They should lock ’em away when they get like her.’

  They drove for another mile or two, asking at every cottage, once turning along a short lane to a farm. But no one had heard of a young woman turning up in the district during the night of the thunderstorm.

  In the end they drove home.

  ‘You’ll not find her,’ Bart said. ‘She’s got away.’

  ‘I’ll find her.’

  ‘Why the hell are you bothering?’

  ‘Because I’ve set my mind on wedding her, and that’s it.’

  ‘You could find a dozen women easier to live with.’

  ‘I don’t want an easy woman, I want one with spirit and a bit of sense in her skull.’

  When they’d returned the horse to its owner, they went round to the back door of the local pub and persuaded the landlord to sell them a jug of beer. He wasn’t a stickler for the rules about opening hours, thank goodness, not with his regulars. They took the beer round to Bart’s house, which was closest.

  There he tried again to persuade his friend to see sense about Mattie, but to no avail.

  ‘You’ve run mad,’ he said when the beer was finished and Stan decided it was time to go home.

  After that there was nothing to do for the rest of the day except wash a few dishes, which was women’s work and the need for it added to Bart’s sour mood. Only he didn’t fancy eating his dinners off dirty plates, even if they were only pies or fish and chips, nor did he like mouldy crumbs on the tablecloth. A splash or two of tea was one thing, mouldy crumbs was another. Put you off your food, that did.