A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  As luck would have it, she caught sight of her brother’s red hair through the grocery store window and so was able to tackle two things at once.

  There was no one but Monty in the shop apart from Mrs Carr, a miner’s widow who stood in for the owner a few hours every day. Kit’s brother was leaning on the counter when she opened the door, engaged in some intimate chat with the widow, but at the jingle of the bell he sprang upright as if caught out. Upon seeing his sister he blushed scarlet.

  ‘Oh, hello, Kit! We were just taking about this new substitute for butter that’s come on the market – what was it you called it, Mrs Carr?’

  ‘Oleomargarine.’ The widow seemed similarly perturbed at being interrupted, or so it appeared to Kit. A neat and attractive dark-eyed woman, she was picking stuff up and laying it down as if affecting to tidy up. ‘I had a taste of it when I went to Leeds – dreadful stuff! Like putting axle grease on your bread.’

  Monty gave a nervous laugh, his face appearing even more red in contrast to his white starched collar. ‘Well, I’ll be sticking to butter thank you very much. What about you, Kit?’

  Pretending not to have noticed their odd behaviour, nor the fact that her brother was wearing his best suit, Kit fumbled in her purse. ‘I’ll never remember the name of it. I can’t even remember to keep my tea caddie stocked.’ She told them of her recent embarrassment of inviting someone in for tea and finding none.

  Mrs Carr was charitable as she weighed the tea, its scent permeating the shop. ‘Well, you’ve had a bad time of it lately, dear, haven’t you?’ In subdued tone, Kit agreed but voiced the hope that she was in line for improvement as she had rented a house in the lovely village of Soke. ‘I was just coming to tell you all about it, as a matter of fact,’ she told her brother.

  Monty said he was pleased for her, though he would be sorry to see her go.

  The tea weighed, Mrs Carr handed it over and took the money. Kit smiled at each in turn. ‘Well, I’ll be off. Have you got what you came in for, Mont?’

  Monty seemed reluctant to accompany her, but with his bag already filled with groceries he had no excuse to remain. He opened the door for his sister. Even in her preoccupied frame of mind, Kit noticed the fleeting smile he dealt Mrs Carr on his way out.

  Nothing much was said at first as the two tall figures made their way along Main Street. Then Monty blurted, ‘There’s nothing going on!’

  ‘I never said there was,’ replied Kit.

  ‘I just wanted a bit of company.’

  ‘She’s a nice woman,’ said Kit.

  ‘I know Sarah’s been gone less than a year. I’d never do anything—’

  ‘Monty, it’s your business,’ interrupted his sister.

  ‘There’s no business to speak of! I was just talking, that’s all.’

  Kit shrugged and, to save her brother further embarrassment, changed the subject to her new home. ‘Well, anyway, I’ve got a proposition for you. Don’t say no before you’ve thought about it. To save me the bother of selling my cottage,’ it had to sound as if he would be doing her a favour, ‘could I sign the deeds over to you?’

  Monty was astonished. ‘But, you’ll need the money to buy another house!’

  ‘No, I won’t.’ Kit’s voice held no excitement for the subject. ‘I’ve got a house in York if I want it, and more than enough money in the bank. I’m too confused to bother with any of it at the moment. You’ve got children, I haven’t. There doesn’t seem any point in a spinster having all this property – and you’d no longer be beholden to the coal company for your living accommodation.’

  Monty was interested. ‘I’d pay you rent!’

  ‘Why? I’ve told you, I don’t need it.’ Kit looked weary. ‘I just want to get rid of the place. It holds too many memories for me. Please, I haven’t got the strength for an argument.’

  Her brother, though obviously taken aback by the offer, finally agreed. ‘Won’t I have something to tell them at home! You’ve really taken me by surprise, Kit.’

  In more ways than one, thought his sister, who now understood the look that had passed between Wyn, Merry and Probyn. They knew of Mrs Carr and disapproved.

  * * *

  Family politics were of no further concern to Kit. Within six weeks she had moved into her new abode, far from Ralph Royd and its slag heaps. For a time the hard work of making the place into a home, sewing curtains and painting walls took her mind off her loss, though every night when she closed her eyes the memories came back and every morning she awoke to her babies’ faces.

  Once the work was done there followed a period of deep unrest. Kit neither knew nor cared what lay ahead. She had considered offering her talents as a seamstress to the inhabitants of her new village but as yet had done nothing about it, too apathetic to do anything but sit in her back garden and ponder. The summer garden was a sight to behold with roses in abundance, an explosion of pink and scarlet and yellow, but it held no real joy. Kit wondered as she sat here this afternoon, dolefully staring at nothing in particular, if she would ever be happy again.

  Through the perimeter hedge came the sound of amateur musicians and children’s laughter; there were celebrations for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee. It would have been the perfect opportunity to meet her neighbours, but then they would ask questions which Kit had no inclination to answer.

  All of a sudden, something fell out of a bush and plopped to the ground next to her bench. Looking down, Kit saw that it was a fledgeling sparrow. Hardly able to keep its balance, it looked up at her, cheeping plaintively. From the depths of her despair Kit summoned a smile that this tiny wild creature ventured so close to her foot. Yet she was to marvel even more when the fledgeling spread its wings and jumped on to her lap, hopping from one knee to the other whilst maintaining its pitiful cheep as if trying to communicate. For seconds it kept up this strange behaviour, looking into her face and cheeping, before eventually flying back into its bush. Moved, Kit sat there pondering for a time, her spirits gradually lifting and imbuing her with the knowledge that however bad her experience had been she would come through this eventually.

  ‘Ah, here she is!’

  Probyn’s voice made her jump. She clutched her chest, laughing and showing pleasure at seeing her nephew who, due to distance, did not get to visit as often as both would like. Unusually, he was accompanied by one of his sisters.

  ‘Wyn, this is a bonus!’ Kit rose from the bench. ‘You’ve just arrived at the right time. I was sitting here feeling sorry for meselfl’ She beckoned them indoors. ‘Come on, it’s a bit hot out here now. How did you get here? Have you had your dinner?’

  Wyn said yes they had packed sandwiches and had been lucky enough to cadge a lift for part of the way.

  ‘I’ll give you some lemonade then.’ Her aunt led the way.

  Probyn, his face like a tomato, said they would appreciate that as they had still had to walk miles. Allowing both women to enter the kitchen first, he stumbled over the threshold after them, complaining that he could not see in the dimmer indoor light.

  The cool stone floor provided much needed relief to the travellers who collapsed on to kitchen chairs whilst their aunt took a jug of lemonade from the pantry.

  ‘There’s a party on t’green – we thought you might be there.’ When Kit said she wasn’t in a fitting mood, Probyn added, ‘Well, you haven’t missed owt. They haven’t even got a proper band. Our Jubilee do was miles better. Mr Wilcox were dressed as Neptune and he kept chasing folk wi’ his pitchfork – got me dad a right good jab up bum!’

  ‘I’ve never heard of a Neptune with a wooden leg.’ Feeling much better from their company, Kit laughed and handed out glasses of lemonade. Once this was consumed and her guests were somewhat cooler, she suggested they move into the parlour which was just as shady and more comfortable.

  ‘Do you want a chocolate?’ Kit went to fetch a bowl. ‘Oh, sorry, there’s only one left.’

  ‘Probe can have it,’ said Wyn.

  Kit and Pr
obyn shared a look of astonishment. It was unheard of for Wyn voluntarily to share anything with her brother, let alone surrender all rights.

  Probyn rolled the chocolate round his mouth and wandered about the room, this treat being only one of many reasons that he loved to visit his aunt. Kit had mirrors that he could actually see into. Even on tiptoe he was only able to glimpse the top half of his head in the one above his own fireplace. At the first sight of his reflection today he was shocked at how much it had changed from his previous visit and went for a closer look, exploring his nose between finger and thumb as if he had only just discovered he had one – which in fact was not far from the truth. Since the last time he looked it had grown from a tiny insignificant blob to a real man’s nose and seemed to fill his entire face.

  Kit laughed at Wyn, who looked rather preoccupied. ‘When I used to do that I was accused of being vain.’

  Disturbed from her thoughts, Wyn grinned at her aunt, though in truth had not heard the joke.

  The young man was unabashed, continuing to examine his appearance, muttering about the childish curl that persistently fell over his brow. ‘Have you got any scissors, Aunt? Can you just chop this off for me?’

  ‘I will not! It’s lovely. Takes me hours with tongs to make mine as good.’ Kit touched her fringe of auburn curls.

  Probyn sighed and, spitting on to his hand, tried to plaster his hair into shape. ‘They’ll never take me in t’army looking like this.’ Stretching to his full height he continued to inspect himself in the mirror, wishing his voice would remain steady at its new lower level and would not keep emerging in the occasional silly little squeak. ‘How tall do you have to be to go in t’army?’ It was of some concern that he had not even caught up with his youngest sister as regards to height.

  Kit felt sorry for him. It must be hard to be a man. ‘I don’t know, love, but you’re only fourteen, you’ve plenty of time to grow. Will you both be staying for tea?’

  ‘Thanks all the same, but the man who brought us said if we wait in the same place at half-past four he’ll give us a lift back. Anyroad, we’re having tripe and onions at home and it’s me favourite.’ When his aunt displayed surprise, Probyn explained, ‘I like fish.’

  An amused Kit was about to correct her nephew’s misassumption when Wyn butted in to ask if she could see the upper storey of the house. When they were up there, she whispered to her aunt, ‘We’ve never told him what it really is or he won’t eat it.’

  Kit laughed and said she would keep their secret, then commented on Wyn’s peculiar mood. ‘You don’t seem yourself today.’

  Her niece blushed. ‘I’m not.’ She bit her lips and looked at Kit but said nothing more.

  Kit remained ignorant. ‘What ails thee?’

  Wyn was obviously hesitant to say what it was. ‘I thought you’d know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be asking if I did,’ answered her favourite aunt.

  ‘It’s something that happened to you,’ said Wyn.

  Kit spread her hands. ‘Nay, that could be any …’ In that same breath she interpreted her niece’s meaning. ‘You’re not expecting?’ It came out as an amazed whisper.

  Wyn gave a quick nod, half agitated, half triumphant. ‘So me father’ll have to let me get married now, won’t he?’

  Her aunt gave a groan of despair and paced the carpet for a moment as the news sank in. Probyn shouted up to ask what they were doing and could he come up but Kit said they would be down in a moment and for him to stay where he was. She turned back to Wyn and asked, ‘And is the young man responsible for this willing to stand by you?’

  Wyn brightened. ‘Oh, yes. We were going to get married anyway, if only me dad would find another slave to look after him. Mean old toad won’t let me go.’

  ‘Eh, don’t talk about your father like that,’ Kit rebuked her. ‘Have some respect.’

  ‘You should be saying that to him,’ sulked Wyn. ‘Me mother hasn’t been dead a year and he’s flirting with another woman.’

  ‘He’s lonely,’ explained her aunt. ‘He just needs somebody to talk to.’

  Wyn was intransigent. ‘Well, he needn’t think we’re accepting Mrs Carr as our new mother.’

  ‘You could do worse. Anyway, it’s daft to discuss such hypothetical matters when there’s a more immediate problem. What did your dad have to say about all this then?’

  Wyn flushed. ‘I haven’t told him yet. I wondered—’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Kit was annoyed at being so used. ‘If you’re old enough to have a baby, you’re old enough to face the consequences. I’m not getting the blame for leading you astray. I’m sorry, Wyn, no; you’ll have to tell him yourself.’

  Wyn burst into tears, which almost had the effect of changing the soft-hearted Kit’s mind but she thought better of it, having no desire to get involved in their family disputes ever again. Trying to comfort her niece she said kindly that although Monty would be angry she was sure he would get over it. There would be no question of him throwing Wyn out on to the street as might happen to some other poor girl. Monty was a good man and would do what was right by his daughter. Having mopped at her niece’s eyes, Kit shoved her handkerchief back into her pocket and led the way downstairs.

  Probyn frowned at the red eyes. ‘Have you been blubbing?’

  ‘Mind your own business,’ snapped Wyn, who had always harboured resentment for him.

  ‘Eh, eh, less of that,’ scolded Kit. ‘Come on, we’ll have a cup of tea and some date and walnut cake, then afterwards I’ll walk you to the end of the lane to meet your Good Samaritan.’

  * * *

  Having seen her nephew and niece safely aboard the wagon, Kit gave a final wave as they disappeared around the bend, then embarked on her return journey. The news about Wyn’s baby could have set her back months had she allowed it to do so, but this afternoon Kit had determined to make an effort to regain her vitality – even if she would never quite be the same person again. Refusing to slip back into despondency, she began to hum as she went up the lane. Hearing the clatter of hoofs behind her she automatically moved to one side, then turned as the horse and cart came alongside her. The person in charge of it hauled on the reins, doffed his felt hat to expose a receding hairline and asked rather gruffly if he could give her a lift.

  Accepting his kind offer, Kit watched him jump down. Even when his feet touched the ground she had to squint up at him. His size made him unmistakable. It was the man who had voiced opinion on the hunt that day. ‘Oh, I think we’ve met before. You’re—’ She broke off.

  ‘Worthy Treasure,’ he told her, and helped her up as if she were but a slip of a girl.

  ‘That’s right, Farmer Treasure.’ She remembered the man from whom she had rented the house addressing him as such as their paths coincided. ‘You’re very kind.’

  Still somewhat gruff, Worthy climbed back on to the seat beside her and flicked the reins. The cart resumed its leisurely passage up the lane.

  Inhaling the smell of horse, leather harness and honest sweat, Kit introduced herself, then said, ‘I think I owe you an apology. I was a bit rude at our former meeting.’

  Shadowed by the brim of the soft felt hat, his eyes passed her a quizzical glance. They were the very bright blue possessed by many northern folk.

  ‘When you said the hunt was a grand sight,’ explained Kit.

  ‘Oh, that!’ Worthy nodded. ‘I’d forgotten all about it.’ That was untrue. He had thought about the incident quite often, or more accurately the woman.

  ‘You were right, it was a splendid sight.’ Kit turned thoughtful. ‘Isn’t it an enigma that something so violent can be so beautiful at the same time?’

  Farmer Treasure seemed to take a lot of thought over his answer, at the end of which all he said was, ‘That’s very true.’

  Whilst addressing him, Kit had been taking in his physical appearance, having previously put his height at about six foot eight. He was as heavily built as she was, the pair of them taking up the whole of the s
eat, though there was no hint of the gentle giant about him, his profile showing a harsh line on his brow that could denote a quick temper. His thinning hair was dark brown, his complexion healthy. His head was quite large but he was not meant to carry quite so much weight judging by his facial features – the narrow pointed nose and rather patrician mouth. Kit’s private assessment was confirmed by the incongruously delicate hands that held the reins. But for the rough clothes one would not immediately guess he worked on the land.

  The horse clip-clopped steadily along, passing the end of an upwards sloping lane. ‘I live up there,’ Worthy nodded.

  ‘Oh, you must drop me here then!’ exclaimed Kit. ‘Don’t go out of your way, I haven’t much further to walk.’

  But he insisted on taking her to her door. ‘Won’t take us five minutes to get back.’

  ‘Have you always lived round here?’ she asked.

  ‘All my life.’

  She guessed that would be about forty years. ‘It’s lovely. I never knew it existed till I came that day.’ Not wanting him to ask what had brought her there in the first place she began to ramble. ‘I come from Ralph Royd – well, I was originally from Somerset but a long time ago. My parents died when I was young and my brother brought me up – there were five more of us besides. Monty’s a coal miner. His wife was from Wales – she died last year. We lived in Wales for a time but then he couldn’t get work so we came up to Yorkshire and we’ve been here ever since – although I lived in London for a time too.’

  Looking straight ahead over the horse’s rump, Worthy shook his tanned head. ‘London’s too big for me.’

  ‘You’ve been then?’ Kit looked interested.

  ‘No, and I never would. I like a quiet life.’

  Kit smiled and looked around at her bucolic surroundings. ‘Just lately I’ve begun to prefer it too.’