Telling his friend he would follow, Thomas took more intimate leave of Kit, confirming he loved her, giving her precise directions to his house and saying he would see her on Monday at noon, though perhaps they could save themselves an awful lot of trouble and just run away like Eustace and Myrtle. ‘I never thought I’d see the day when I’d admire poor old Tish.’
Kit nodded. ‘Me neither. At least he’s happy.’
‘And so will we be,’ Thomas informed her kindly.
Kit dabbed away the last of her tears and smoothed her appearance to order, saying he had better go, for wouldn’t Master Wyndham be objecting to his friend’s abandonment.
‘He’s in his room, sulking,’ smiled Thomas. ‘I told him I won’t kow-tow to his blackmail any more. I don’t care if he never invites me again. If you’re to be dismissed there’s no further reason for me to come here.’
Fresh tears threatened. Kit gave his thin body one last hug. ‘I’ll see you on Monday then.’
With this they parted. Kit went up to her room to pack her box, enlisting Algy’s help to drag it downstairs to the carriage in which Charles would drive her home. Whilst outside, she met Ossie Postgate who wished her luck and handed over the promised reference. Deeply grateful, Kit went back inside to collect her wage.
Though Algy gave her a cheeky squeeze and a kiss, no one else seemed particularly upset to see her go, apart from perhaps Beth Garbutt, who went against opinion and hobbled over to pat her hand. Others were less gracious, telling her she had only herself to blame and remarking that they didn’t know how she had got away with it so long.
‘Doesn’t matter anyway,’ came her sniffy response, the viscount’s reference tucked safely in her bag. ‘I never liked working here.’
Rosalind watched her haughty exit. ‘Bloody Katherine of Arrogance – well, she certainly knows her place now.’
* * *
To avoid reprisal from her brother and sister-in-law, Kit decided to visit Amelia in Castleford, at whose home she could stow her box until she had something concrete to tell Monty and Sarah. The excuse she gave upon arrival was that she had been offered a better job but did not start for a week so had decided to pay her sister a visit. If all went according to plan on Monday there would be news of wedding bells. This part she divulged to Amelia, who had been somewhat put out at her pristine home being untidied by Kit’s belongings and had to be coerced into letting her stay.
‘You, getting married?’
‘Well don’t sound so surprised,’ grumbled Kit.
‘I didn’t meant owt, I’m glad for you!’ But not completely glad. With Kit married, Amelia envisaged herself as being left behind in the scheme of things, for as yet there was no sign of any babies.
‘Well, come on, Kit, tell us where you met him!’ Waiting to start his afternoon shift at the factory, Albert seemed as eager as his wife to hear Kit’s revelation.
‘At the Hall! We haven’t been able to see much of each other, though, he only comes to visit once a year.’
‘You don’t mean he’s gentry?’ Amelia treated the relationship less seriously now. ‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. Some of these young men might seem polite but—’
‘He’d hardly have invited me to meet his parents if he wasn’t serious,’ ~ retorted Kit.
Amelia exchanged a shocked glance with her husband, then asked for more details, learning that Thomas’s father was owner of the pickle factory where Kit had once worked. ‘Oh, thank goodness. I thought for a minute you meant he was real gentry!’ She let out a relieved breath. ‘Even so, don’t bank on getting a good reception, Kit. These trade folk want their sons to marry better than the likes of us.’
One could always rely on Amelia to burst one’s balloon, thought Kit. ‘The Dolphins made their millions from trade, yet you seemed to think they were gentry enough when you worked for them.’
Amelia crossed her arms under her aproned bosom. ‘So, whatever happened to your ideal of only marrying someone for love?’
‘I never said he had to be poor!’ rejoined Kit. ‘It’s just a happy coincidence that the man I love happens to be rich as well. Anyway, I don’t care about his background, nor he mine,’ she finished rather tartly. Come Monday, they would all change their tune.
13
Mr and Mrs Denaby could tell at first glance that their guest was not the sort of girl they wanted their son to marry. Nevertheless out of politeness and not a little curiosity they underwent the charade of luncheon.
‘We are very pleased to meet you, Katherine!’ said her hostess, Thomas having deemed it wiser to introduce her as such to his mother. ‘Do sit down. May I offer you a glass of sherry before luncheon?’ It was obvious that this girl was much older than their son.
Awed by her situation, Kit answered in monosyllables, not wishing to embarrass her sweetheart by any rough speech. That she had been in such a grand house before had no bearing, for then she had been a servant and was expected to act a certain way. Now, without practice, she was expected to perform like gentry. Accepting the crystal glass, she sipped at it discreetly, managing to stifle a cough as the liquid burned her throat, then set the glass upon her lap, both gloved hands cupped around it to guard against spillage. Despite having worked in Mr Denaby’s factory Kit had never seen him before. A surreptitious examination told her that Thomas resembled his mother, his father being of a rather less polished appearance, yet his attitude relayed the opinion that he was superior to his son’s guest.
Inevitably there were questions as to her background. ‘Thomas has told us a little about you,’ smiled Mrs Denaby who was doing all the talking, her husband appearing bored. ‘But we are eager to know much more. Perhaps we know your people?’
Kit was saved by Thomas who jumped in: ‘I’ve told you, Mother, Kit lives several miles from here! You couldn’t possibly know them.’
‘Do excuse our son’s rudeness.’ Mrs Denaby continued to bestow her gracious smile. ‘It is perhaps a good thing that he is going back to school this afternoon. The summer holidays always have a tendency to make him run wild.’ It was as if she were pointing out to Kit that Thomas was only a boy.
Looking at her beloved, Kit was inclined to agree, for it was a very different Thomas who presented himself in his parents’ house. Blushing under his mother’s censure, he fell silent.
Spared from answering questions about her ‘people’ by the announcement that luncheon was ready, Kit put aside her unfinished glass of sherry and allowed herself to be escorted to the table.
Throughout the two years serving on her employer’s table at Cragthorpe Hall, Kit had eagerly anticipated those rich tastes forbidden to her, and imagined that her first mouthful of red wine would sit upon her tongue like thick syrup and trickle slowly down the back of her throat. So, her rash gulp sent the thin but potent fluid cascading down her gullet, launching her into a bout of coughing.
‘Goodness me!’ Whilst Mrs Denaby showed amused concern for her guest, Thomas portrayed deep embarrassment, though his father seemed to find it hilarious to thump Kit on the back until she recovered.
If this were not enough, the green beans squeaked when she chewed them. Red-faced, Kit tried to eat them quickly, which only made the squeaking more pronounced, sounding to her like an army of mice.
In spite of impeccable table manners instilled by Sarah, and etiquette gleaned from Mrs Dolphin, Kit felt like an oaf, regarding the meeting with her future in-laws as a total disaster. How had everyone else foreseen this happening but Kit? Hating her hosts, hating even Thomas for landing her in this situation, she just wanted to go home.
Mrs Denaby seemed eager to comply with this requirement for not long after the meal was over she announced to Kit that Thomas must now prepare for his return to school and because of this they must say goodbye to their guest.
Kit looked at him anxiously. Not one word had been said about their being married or even engaged. Her eyes urged Thomas to do something.
It took a full thirty seconds
for him to blurt it out. ‘Father, will you grant us permission to marry?’
Mr Denaby raised one sardonic eyebrow at his wife who smiled – a rather treacly smile in Kit’s opinion – and said, ‘Ah now, dear, it is much too early to speak of marriage.’
‘But you said you would consider it!’ accused Thomas.
‘And we shall, but you did not expect us to endorse your relationship with Katherine on one afternoon’s acquaintance, surely?’
He made an attempt to stand up to them. ‘But I’ve known her for ages!’
‘You are so young.’ The tone was kind but condescending.
‘Nevertheless, I’m sure of my choice and so is Kit!’ He stumbled over her shortened name.
‘Yes, I’m sure she is,’ said Mrs Denaby with the barest hint of accusation.
Kit stared back, guessing to her chagrin that she stood indicted of being an adventuress.
‘But then if she loves you,’ added Mrs Denaby, ‘she will wait for you. I am certain Kit has no desire to ruin your education, have you, my dear?’
Kit bowed her head and said she had not.
‘There! Your friend is possessed of more sense than you. Thomas, you have so much growing up to do before you can even think of choosing a wife. Now, say goodbye to Katherine, then run along and finish packing.’
And he went. Like a meek little lamb, thought a dismayed Kit, recalling the manner in which Tish had stood up for her against his parents, the power of his display forcing them to reinstate her. Would that Thomas possessed a little of Tish’s backbone. There was a brief hesitation as he reached the door, whence he turned limpid brown eyes upon her. ‘I shall wait for you, Kit.’
Upon the door closing behind him, Mrs Denaby explained, ‘You do see that we have our son’s best interest at heart?’
Kit nodded dully.
‘Then you will retain that good sense and comply with our request that you have no further contact with him.’
Kit was honest. ‘If he wants to see me I won’t stop him.’ Yet there was no sparkle to her eye. In the space of a few hours she had fallen totally out of love with Thomas, her only hurt stemming from wounded pride.
‘I thought this might take a little more persuasion.’ Mrs Denaby glanced tellingly at her husband, then drifted off to her chair whilst he took the floor, reaching into his wallet.
‘Twenty pounds to leave our son alone!’
Kit’s mouth fell open.
‘Don’t be hanging on for any more!’ It was apparent that Mr Denaby regarded the girl as too insignificant to bother masking his rough origins. ‘It’s that or nowt – come on, take it and leave.’
Kit could scarcely breathe. It was a huge amount of money, more than a year’s wages. Such a sum could be invested towards a life of future leisure. She had always envied the upper class their life of indolence and this cash would take her a long way towards such a goal. Yet, she hesitated, grappling with her conscience. How could one put such a price on lost love? And how could feelings change so quickly? By accepting the bribe she would confirm that the love affair was truly over. But then, what good would come of turning it down? Acceptance or nay, his parents would still forbid them to marry, there was no way she could fight against such power, and if Thomas truly loved her he would seek her out when he came of age. Sadly, though, she knew he would not.
Kit reached out slowly and took the money. The Denabys bade her good day.
* * *
Despite the rich lining of her pockets, there were tears on the way back to her sister’s house, though these came more from self-pity than lost love. How could she confess to Amelia that there was to be no wedding? She would look such a fool. Determined not to be so regarded, she decided to explain away her bloodshot eyes by saying that Thomas’s parents wished the couple to wait until they knew each other better.
Handing Kit a fresh handkerchief, Amelia was dubious. ‘Are you sure that’s all that happened? If he’s asked to marry you and they’ve refused to give consent you might have a case for breach of promise. There was one in the paper the other day where a woman was awarded three hundred guineas.’
Kit almost collapsed. To add insult to injury they had duped her over the cash as well! But she waived Amelia’s concern. ‘I’ve told you, we’re still engaged! We just have to wait a few years, that’s all, until he comes of age … well, actually, we have to wait about four.’
‘My God, he’s only a bairn!’ hissed Amelia. ‘I don’t know about you suing for breach of promise, it’s a wonder his parents haven’t had you arrested for kidnapping.’
‘He seems a lot older than he is! He can’t help it if they won’t give permission. Now can we please stop talking about it?’ Kit looked tearful.
‘So what are you going to be doing with yourself this week, with no work to go to?’ asked her sister, her sympathy short-lived. ‘You needn’t think you’re moping about here all day, making the place look untidy.’
Kit remembered the cash in her pocket, the thought injecting her mood with optimism. ‘I shall cheer meself up with a new dress!’ Her good intentions of saving towards a better future all forgotten, she went out to buy the most expensive material she could lay her hands on.
Naturally, there were gasps of outrage at her exhibitionism when Kit turned up at Ralph Royd the following Sunday for the monthly get-together, the only compliments coming from Beata and the little girls, who thought their aunt looked truly resplendent in her peacock-blue merino wool, with matching feathers on her hat. Throughout the preceding week, stitching away at her gown, Kit had managed to suppress her melancholy over Thomas and now retorted to their objections in her usual jocular manner. She informed them that she was to start new employment – in an earl’s household no less! And this meant she must dress accordingly. Sarah uttered the hope that others would share Kit’s good fortune, at which Kit swiftly handed over a generous sum – her last wage from the Dolphins, plus more besides – which served to pacify.
It was one thing to be ridiculed over one’s attire, quite another to be mocked for her aspirations to marry, and Kit had decided that if anyone should raise the subject she would act as if the engagement was still firm.
This was just as well, for Amelia had barely sat down before letting the cat out of the bag.
‘Nothing to tell us this month?’ asked Gwen, after Kit’s new dress had been metaphorically torn to shreds.
Amelia flinched at the pointed reference to her own childlessness, and tried to avert discussion of her shortcomings by announcing, ‘No, but our Kit has. She’s bespoke.’
Beata, having been privy to the secret relationship, shared a fond smile with Kit, but there were screams of delight from the little red-haired girls, who clamoured to know if they could be bridesmaids. From the adults there was half congratulation and half disbelief, especially upon Amelia’s further information that their sister had done very well for herself, her betrothed being the son of an industrial magnate.
‘You’re not in a pickle, are you, Kit?’ joked Owen, who was censured by his brother for this innuendo.
‘Well, show us your ring, then!’ Even when Gwen projected friendship she remained bossy.
Kit was blushing. ‘I haven’t got it yet. We won’t be married for a while. His parents want us to wait. This new job will give me a chance to save for my bottom drawer.’ Milked for more information, she gave them a fictitious version of her afternoon at Thomas’s house, wondering how she had managed to get herself into this mess.
‘’Ere, you wanna get cracking with that family of yours,’ Gwen passed jocular warning to Amelia. ‘Our Kit’ll beat you to it – and Owen’s catching up for all he’s worth.’ The latter now had two daughters in addition to his son.
‘Enjoy it while you can, Amelia.’ A world-weary Sarah patted her own distended abdomen. ‘I wish I knew your secret.’
Taking this as some sort of indictment of his own failure, Monty lifted his son on to his knee as if seeking an ally.
Gwen p
ersisted in tormenting her childless sister. ‘You must be eating the wrong things or sommat.’
Dismayed that the topic of conversation had veered back to herself, Amelia grew redder and redder. How ironic, after all she had scoffed at Kit about no man wanting to marry her, all those references to her own childbearing hips, and now here she was incapable of conception. Listening to Gwen going on and on about her barren state every month, it was all too much. She started to cry.
Of course nobody had much to say then, just sat there gaping with acute embarrassment at this emotional display. From the corner of her eye, Kit examined them all. Charity hummed and ahhed and tried to change the subject. Flora, knowing what it was like to be the victim of their elder sister’s bullying, looked as if she wanted to comfort Amelia but dared not go against Gwen for fear of attracting criticism. For the first time Kit noticed that Flora’s dress was the same colour and style as the teapot cosy, and wondered if it was deliberately designed to make her blend into the drab surroundings. Sometimes, one hardly knew she was present. It wouldn’t really matter if she never turned up at all, Kit doubted any of them would notice.
A Sense of Duty Page 25