A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  She allowed him to kiss her again. This time, equipped with a promise of matrimony, she was not so coy and permitted his hands to linger in places hitherto forbidden – though was not so foolish as to completely abandon her morals.

  At the end of the afternoon, Ninian showed great reluctance to let her go, saying that they must meet as often as they could both get away, but that his heart would break at the thought of leaving her.

  Highly excited by the contact with his body, Kit promised to meet him the next day, hardly able to believe her own luck.

  * * *

  For many days to come, Ninian Latimer whisked Kit off in his carriage to reiterate his passion. That he had promised to marry her – even providing her with a jewelled ring as proof – counted for little after what had gone before, and Kit decided to insure herself against penury by finding another job, albeit temporary.

  Impressed by the aristocratic reference, the elderly lady who required a general servant hired Kit without delay and, generous to a fault, allowed her not one but two afternoons off per week, whence Kit would scurry off to meet her lover. She did not reveal her new and more humble position to her family, of course, nor indeed to Ninian, allowing the latter to uphold his belief that she was of private means. This being accomplished without actually having to lie, Kit overlooked her previous resolve and saw no wrong in it.

  When after several weeks, Ninian grew sick of being kept at arm’s length and asked to be taken to meet her brother in order for the proposed marriage to gain approval and thus end his own suffering, Kit stalled him with the lie that Montague would need much gentle persuasion before this happened.

  Ninian’s obsession with her burgeoned to the point of explosion. Kit too fell victim to his ever increasing ardour, though she had as yet managed to withhold the ultimate prize. September was upon them. It was becoming too cool to meet out in the open air, yet where else could they assuage their passion? Tired of this situation and of being fobbed off, Ninian asked her yet again today whether he might accompany her on her Sunday visit to her brother’s house to put his case.

  Again she put him off.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t prefer to elope this very minute instead of hanging on your brother’s permission?’ he begged her, his face suffused with craving, both his and Kit’s garments in disarray.

  ‘Most definitely I’d prefer it.’ She smiled and kissed his tousled head, their bodies entwined upon the rug. So why did she not simply do as he asked? Kit herself did not know. Perhaps it was the niggling thought that around the next corner she might just meet the man of her dreams – not that there was anything disagreeable about Ninian, he was a splendid catch. And she undoubtedly experienced something when she kissed him. She kissed him now, grinding her mouth over his, enjoying the feeling it produced deep in her abdomen.

  Ninian was obviously enjoying the feeling too, launching into it with gusto. He straddled her and buried his face in the huge bosom she had willingly exposed for him, mouthing rosy tips, rubbing his groin against her wherever it made contact. At his point Kit would normally have pushed him off, but today something new occurred. Quite what got into her she did not know, but when Ninian’s hands pushed her skirts up to her thighs she made no objection. Nor did she shove away the hand that crept around the white tender flesh of her inner thigh. The sudden waft of cool spring breeze, replaced by human warmth that strained to be inside her, none of these drew complaint. Unable to resist her own desire, Kit opened herself to him, amazed at the act this engendered – why, men were just like the beasts of the field, came the wondrous thought as he moved up and down inside her! That which had been such taboo was in reality nothing more than the same she had witnessed between dogs in the street. At once the image came of Sarah rushing out to throw a bucket of water over them and it was all Kit could do to keep from bursting into laughter. Oh, wouldn’t Beata laugh when she … but no, her dear soulmate was dead.

  Plunged back to stark reality, all desire vanished, Kit tried to push him off, but only succeeded in making his movements more frantic. Hurting, she called his name, to no effect. There was little for her to do but to wait until it was over.

  Ninian gave a series of frenzied lunges, one last shuddering sigh, and relaxed on top of her, his face concealed in her shoulder. When he raised his head his expression was one of shame. She had asked him to stop and he had ignored her – ‘It’s just that I love you so much!’

  She adopted blame. ‘I should have stopped you sooner.’

  ‘And you forgive me?’

  When she nodded he looked relieved and permitted her to rearrange her clothing.

  ‘I never meant it to go so far.’ Kit stretched the edges of her bodice to contain her marshmallow flesh and began to fasten the buttons. ‘You don’t think any less of me, do you?’

  He showed amused fondness and threw himself flat on his back. ‘Kit, my dearest, I adore you!’

  ‘D’you think I could … I mean is this what starts babies?’

  Ninian said it wouldn’t happen to her.

  For a moment, Kit pictured herself cradling a baby. ‘I wouldn’t mind if it did.’

  ‘Even if it does, it won’t matter as we’re to be married. I’ve been investigating how one goes about putting up the banns – in the hope that you’d change your mind about keeping me waiting. Apparently, one has to live in that parish for a certain amount of time in order to be able to wed there. You’ll obviously want to marry in your own parish, so should I move my place of residence?’

  The time had come to tell. Even so, Kit was hesitant. ‘I think you might be under a misapprehension about me. I’m not … I’m not a tenant of Postgate Park.’

  This brought laughter to his brown eyes. ‘I didn’t imagine you were Lady Garborough!’

  She smiled too, but uncertainly. ‘I was nothing grander than an employee there.’

  ‘Oh.’ He frowned at her attire. ‘But you must have a superior position.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’m no longer employed there at all. I handed in my notice.’ Even now, she could not quite bring herself to tell the whole truth.

  ‘So, you don’t actually reside in that parish?’

  ‘No, I am companion to an elderly gentlewoman in Castleford.’ Kit fought her nerves; she would have to go the whole hog. ‘But my true place of abode is Ralph Royd.’

  His face lit up. ‘Then we’re from the same parish!’ When she failed to share his immediate joy, his brow became furrowed by confusion.

  Kit sought to explain. ‘My brothers work at your father’s mine.’

  ‘I see.’ His face underwent the slightest change, before creasing into its usual kind smile, and he nudged her fondly. ‘But what difference does that make?’

  ‘I didn’t intend to mislead you!’

  ‘Of course you didn’t! I told you it’s of no consequence.’ He grabbed her and began to lark, tickling her until she fell into relieved laughter.

  Their antics gave rise to another bout of lovemaking. This time Kit was to concentrate on the matter in hand, doing everything in her power to keep his mind from what she had just told him. Indeed, her powers were such that Ninian repeated his intention to marry her when they parted that evening.

  Nevertheless, Kit could not help wondering as she went off to her brother’s house for the usual monthly get-together if he would still be keen to see her when she got back.

  * * *

  Kit arrived at Ralph Royd bursting to show someone her ring, though she managed to rein in her enthusiasm, for they would doubtless accuse her of showing off.

  As it turned out, Rhoda spotted it immediately, pointing it out to everyone. ‘Aunt Kit’s engaged!’

  The whole family gathered round her to admire the jewelled band. Probyn wanted to see too but as usual the smallest child was pushed out by his elder sisters and was left to sulk on the outskirts.

  Gwen was as surprised as any of them. ‘And it’s about time! How many years is it since you met h
im? I were beginning to think you’d made this chap up.’

  Amelia, here on a rare visit and still childless, spoke in her sister’s favour. ‘Well, Kit did tell us his parents wanted them to wait four years.’

  Alarmed that they assumed her suitor to be the young man whose father owned the pickle factory, Kit did not know what to tell her family. If she corrected them, she would have to reveal that she had been bought off by the Denabys and had kept up the pretence all these years. Would they remember his name? She could not risk having them call him Thomas, but neither could she admit to being made a fool of. ‘As a matter of fact, my feelings towards Thomas cooled. I decided he wasn’t the right one for me.’

  Gwen looked knowing, and made a pointed exclamation: ‘But he were such a good catch!’

  ‘Aye, we could’ve had a lifetime of free pickles,’ said Owen.

  Kit wondered if he would be so jocular when he knew of Ninian’s background. ‘Anyway, I met Ninian—’ She shot an accusatory glare at the little girls who sniggered over her fiancé’s name. ‘If you don’t mind! I met him quite recently and he asked me to marry him almost at once. I think you’ll like him.’

  ‘I should hope we do!’ said Sarah. ‘Throwing up a well-heeled chap like that – you must be mad, girl!’

  ‘So when do we get to see this one, then?’ asked Monty. ‘After all, we want to make sure he’s the right sort.’

  ‘Of course he is!’ objected Kit.

  ‘I don’t know about that. I would’ve thought it were manners to ask a girl’s father for her hand – yes, I know you haven’t got a father,’ he forestalled her objection. ‘But I’m responsible for your safety. Bring him home next time you come – no arguments.’

  Kit said she would see if she could persuade him to come.

  Probyn emerged from his sulk. ‘Can you tie me bootlace, Uncle Owen?’

  An amicable Owen complied. ‘Eh dear, hasn’t tha learned how to do it for thissen?’

  Probyn watched fascinated as the man’s hands worked on his laces. ‘Uncle Owen, why have you only got two fingers and a thumb on that hand?’

  ‘I’ve told you that,’ interjected his father. ‘Your uncle lost them down the pit.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Crocodile,’ said Owen, and having tied the laces, sat up.

  Probyn’s eyes widened. He knew that one day he would have to go down the pit too. But before he could ask for further information the adults resumed their conversation.

  ‘So what does this one do for a living, then?’ asked Amelia, perching on the edge of her chair.

  Kit brushed an imaginary speck from her skirt and tried not to sound as if she were bragging. ‘He doesn’t do anything. He’s a gentleman.’

  There was an exchange of looks between those assembled.

  ‘He must’ve got his brass from somewhere,’ opined Owen. ‘What’s lad’s surname anyroad?’

  ‘Latimer.’ Kit waited for it to make an impact, which it did.

  Owen was stuck for a response. ‘Thou doesn’t mean … He’s not one o’ that lot?’ He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the hill whereby lay the coal king’s mansion, his mien turning black.

  ‘He’s a lovely lad! He can’t help what his father does.’

  ‘No, but you can!’ accused Owen. ‘I’m telling you now, our Kit, if you marry him I’ll never talk to thee again!’

  ‘Don’t then!’ she retorted.

  ‘Monty, are you going to let her bring that devil’s spawn into thy house?’

  His brother cocked his head uncertainly. ‘Well, if she’s determined to marry him—’

  Owen shot from his chair. ‘I’m off home! And don’t expect me to be here when he comes! In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever set foot over this threshold again!’

  * * *

  If only Owen had kept his word, thought Kit, her stomach lurching at the sight of him here today when she entered with Ninian. It was hard enough for her beau to present himself to her family at all, without the addition of this antagonistic figure. The afternoon was bound to be fraught.

  Awkward introductions were made between Ninian and Kit’s elder brother, though the younger one chose not to proffer his hand, standing back as if a mere spectator. Sarah showed the least discomfort, asking the visitor to take a seat at the table, which had been spread with her best lace cloth. All stops had been pulled out for the provision of tea, the table barely visible under its selection of platters. Everyone gathered round then, Sarah being careful not to put Owen next to their guest – indeed, she had warned him beforehand that if he intended to give trouble he could go home.

  Beneath the table, Ninian’s hands fidgeted, his every move watched like a hawk by five young girls – not to mention the older women who appeared just as fascinated. Kit groped for his fingers, squeezing them reassuringly.

  Tea was undertaken in reticence, broken only by the chink of cups and saucers, a polite smile from the hostess and the query, ‘I hope everything meets with your satisfaction, Mr Latimer?’

  ‘Indubitably, Mrs Kilmaster!’ Ninian beamed and gently hoisted a piece of sponge cake as evidence.

  ‘My mother used to make an excellent sponge.’ Gwen pondered on the slice in her hand, apparently reluctant to taste it.

  Ever smiling, Sarah directed hard eyes at her.

  Amelia, trying to help her younger sister, sought to impress Ninian. ‘I cooked dinner for the Foreign Secretary last week. He said it was the finest meal he’d ever tasted.’

  ‘I’m afraid to say our Kit didn’t inherit that talent, sir.’ Gwen sounded apologetic. ‘But then, I suppose you’ll have servants to look after you.’

  Ninian inclined his head, and tried to uphold his friendly air, though in truth he was feeling very uncomfortable. This was worse than he could have imagined.

  Flora was sniffing at the morsel in her hand. Sarah tried to kick her under the table but someone else cried out and upset their cup of tea all over the pristine cloth. Trying to make light of the episode Sarah mopped feverishly at the brown patch, throwing a sideways glare at Charity who calmly resorted to her homespun remedy.

  ‘Never mind, it’ll wash.’

  Upset dealt with, the meal continued. Five-year-old Probyn, never having enjoyed so large a spread, was about to take advantage of this by reaching for another wedge of cake when a deft hand drew the plate away. Below the angelic sandy red curl, the little boy’s face took on a determined set and he muttered to the person seated next to him. ‘Can I have another piece o’ cake, Father?’

  Monty ignored him.

  ‘Our Ethel waint let me have another bit o’ cake.’

  Monty maintained his dignified air. ‘Hush now, boy.’

  Probyn sat quiet for a time, but the sight of others munching away whilst the plate lay inaccessible to him proved too much to bear, and he grumbled at the sister to his other side. ‘’Snot fair that I can’t have any while she’s sat shoving cake in her ’oile.’

  There was a tinkle of embarrassed laughter.

  ‘Whoever taught you to speak like that?’ Sarah was smiling but those familiar knew her amusement to be artificial. ‘Speak properly, child.’

  ‘My friend Jim says you talk funny.’ Probyn intended no slur, was just repeating others.

  Unable to inflict corporal punishment whilst her guest was present, Sarah simply uttered another strained laugh and inflicted a more subtle revenge, asking Ninian if he would care for the last piece of cake. He tried to refuse, but it was rather forced upon him. Hence he spent the next five minutes with the eyes of an envious little boy glued upon him, trying to dispose of the unwanted and rather dry cake by periodically washing it down with mouthfuls of tea.

  Kit had been dreading the end of the meal, for now would come questions. She did not know how Owen had managed to contain himself for so long. Indeed, neither did Owen, who barely allowed Ninian to lay cup upon saucer before firing his first volley.

  ‘So, what’s your opinion on sliding scales,
Mr Latimer?’ Having shoved tobacco into a clay pipe, he lit a taper from the fire and began to puff.

  Ninian was taken aback but smiled politely. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Owen puffed away. ‘Do you think it’s justified for owners to extract their profits at the miners’ expense?’

  ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘Ninian isn’t part of his father’s business.’ Kit jumped in to save her betrothed.

  Through the cloud of tobacco smoke, Owen’s thick black eyebrows formed a V. ‘But surely he takes an interest in where the money comes from that keeps him in the manner to which he’s accustomed?’

  Ninian remained polite. ‘Naturally, I—’

  ‘Sithee, we’ve been trying to get a sliding scale agreement with your father’s company for the past three years but he won’t budge an inch. It’s not an ideal situation, by any means – in my opinion, we should be paid a regular amount for the coal we hew regardless of the market price – but at least with a sliding scale we’d feel the benefit when prices rise.’

  Ninian found it hard to argue with this opinion. ‘I confess I am totally ignorant when it comes to the economics of the mine—’

  ‘So long as the money keeps coming, eh?’ Owen narrowed his eyes, puffing long and hard on the pipe.

  ‘Times have not always been so good for my family, Mr Kilmaster,’ defended Ninian.

  Owen appeared to sympathize. ‘Aye, it’s a hard life when a man has to go without his crate of port wine.’