Being scolded by both his sister and his wife, Owen said genuinely, ‘Nay, I’m right glad for you, Kit! Congratulations, lass.’ He bade his sister sit down and did likewise. ‘We could do with a bit o’ good news round here, couldn’t we, Meg?’
Standing at the table brewing a pot of tea, she agreed, but knowing what was to come said that Kit didn’t want to hear all his woes.
Ignoring her, Owen said despondently, ‘I don’t know what’s matter wi’ folk round here. I can’t seem to get anybody interested in t’union.’ Throughout the county, membership had plummeted since the strike.
Kit frowned. ‘But do you really need a union?’ Her brother enjoyed much better living conditions than he had at Ralph Royd, the Earl providing medical treatment for his colliers, a variety of recreational facilities, plus a splendid library. ‘I thought his lordship was a good master.’
Owen beheld her as if she had learned nothing. ‘Aye, a bit too good if you ask me! It’s made the men who work for him too apathetic to fight for their rights – and I’ll tell you what we need a union for—’
‘Owen!’ warned his wife. ‘She doesn’t want to hear it.’
‘I don’t want to rely on paternalism! I want to know for definite that I’ve got a job to go to every day, that I don’t have a two-hour walk underground before I can start to earn me living, and I want a fixed rate of – eh!’ He broke off as his wife, grabbed the knitted tea-cosy, slipped it over his head and pretended to suffocate him.
‘Think yourself lucky you can go home, Kit!’ said Meg, struggling to contain him. ‘I have to put up with this every day of the year.’ She refused to liberate Owen until he promised not to mention another word about the union. Then came a muffled shout of surrender and instant release.
‘Aw, you’ve messed all me hair up, woman!’ Red-faced from his tussle, Owen smoothed his tousled black hair. ‘Lord, she’s got a grip on her like a navvy.’
Laughing with them, Kit was glad that her brother and his wife still enjoyed a happy marriage, and uttered the jocular hope that they would not fight like this at her wedding.
Owen turned sombre. ‘I suppose yon fella’ll be there?’ He had never referred to Monty by name since their rift. His sister knew who he meant and nodded. ‘Then I’m surprised you even bothered coming over to invite us.’
Kit looked to Meg for help but knew it was a waste of time, Owen’s wife would always back him. ‘I’d really like all my family to be there.’
‘But they won’t be, will they?’ Owen pointed out. ‘Sarah’s dead, Amelia’s gone—’
‘Flora’s sailed away with somebody else’s husband,’ provided Kit, and smiled half-heartedly as her brother came to life. After waiting for Owen and Meg to end their scandalized discussion, she went on, ‘There’s nothing I can do about those who are far away, but can’t you and Monty put aside your differences for one day?’
‘Not differences, Kit – principles. At least they are on my part, and if I could put them aside so easily they wouldn’t be principles, would they? I’ll never forgive what he did, never.’ The determined set to Owen’s billy-goat chin told Kit that there was no point in arguing. ‘But I wish you and your man every happiness, and you’ll both be welcome to visit any time.’
‘Bring him for his tea,’ urged Meg. ‘I can’t wait to meet him, he sounds a nice chap.’
‘Worthy Treasure,’ mused Owen, reaching for his pipe and tobacco, ‘I hope he lives up to his name.’
Kit smiled and said she was sure he would. She told them a little bit more about her intended, though added that there was much she had to discover about him herself.
Owen raised one thick black eyebrow and asked, ‘Does he know about … ?’ He deliberately made no mention of a name, ending his question with a sideways jab of his pipe stem. Meg had explained just how difficult it must have been for his sister to give up her baby, though he could not put himself in her shoes, of course.
Kit shook her head. Owen nodded and reinserted the pipe stem between his teeth, puffing thoughtfully and glancing briefly at his wife. ‘Well, nobody’s likely to say owt, are they?’
His sister thoroughly hoped not. However cynical her experiences had made her, she could not quite bring herself to abandon the notion that people were fundamentally decent.
* * *
Against all fears, Kit’s wedding day passed without a hitch. She stood there as a married woman, surrounded by guests, inebriated by all the compliments on her gown – which was the most stunning of all her creations, made of pale gold satin with an embroidered bodice, a labyrinth of ruching, braid and ribbon and artificial pearls, and a train that stretched for yards and was almost in danger of being severed from the rest with little girls hanging on the end, fighting over who should hold it. Hardly able to believe that she was married at last, she continually examined the gold ring on her finger, alternately sharing smiles with her family and her groom.
The fact that she did not love Worthy had no bearing on her happiness, for he was a good kind man and as eager to start a family of his own as she was. Despite being unaccustomed to life on a farm, she was determined to give it her wholehearted devotion, and was equally certain that Worthy would make an excellent father to her children.
For all she did not love him – indeed there had been no mention of love from either side – Kit found herself becoming physically attracted to the big man who stood beside her now, shaking hands with their guests, his face a picture of confidence. He looked different in his newly tailored wedding attire – quite handsome, in fact. It would not be so difficult to lay in his bed. She wondered whether he had ever slept with a woman, but doubted it. It also crossed her mind if he would be able to tell that she was not so pure as he imagined, and it rather worried her. She had no wish to hurt him.
She had also suffered qualms about inviting Mr Popplewell to the wedding. It was not simply that she would have to explain this male friend to her husband but that Popplewell might be hurt by her marriage. Nevertheless, she felt unable to neglect the friend who had been through so much with her, and was now glad that she had written to him, for he stood there chatting quite amiably with Worthy, who assumed him to be an old friend of all the Kilmaster family and not just Kit.
Amongst the wedding presents was one she would rather not have. Monty had donated the portrait of Beata, telling Kit that, before the end, Sarah had expressed the wish that he should pass it on to his youngest sister when he died. ‘“I want Kit to have it,” she said. So, I thought this was a more fitting occasion to pass it on.’ So poignant was his gesture that Kit did not have the heart to burn it as she would have liked to have done for years, and told him it would take pride of place in her new home.
After the reception in the village hall, Kit and her groom departed for the farmhouse. Upon arrival she was touched to learn that Worthy had planted a root of honeysuckle on either side of the door, especially for her coming. Its perfume, he said, would enhance their evenings in years to come. He further astounded his bride by carrying her over the threshold. Now that they were alone she expected him to be as nervous as herself, but he did not appear to be so, the only emotion written on his face was happiness.
In that moment Kit felt desperately sorry for him – wished she could salvage her own innocence.
Misreading the glint of tears he rushed to hold her begging her not to be afraid. Wrapped in his embrace Kit enjoyed a moment of wonder – no man before had had the arms to totally envelop her, the ability to make her feel like a little girl.
Then he held her from him slightly and looked deep into her face, his blue eyes never blinking as he told her in his simple honest manner, ‘You look most beautiful, Katherine,’ and he kissed his bride for the first time.
The sweetest warmest kiss, thought Kit.
Finally, stepping away from her, Worthy cleared his throat and asked would she like to go upstairs before him? He had no animals to attend tonight for his father and brother had promised to see to these
but, said Worthy, he usually liked to go to bed after everyone else.
Kit asked if he would undo all the pearl buttons down the back of her dress, this taking quite a time.
Then, whilst her new husband went outside into the warm summer eve, Kit hoisted the skirts of her gold satin gown and made her careful way up the staircase. The sight that greeted her brought another wave of emotion. Her rather taciturn, unsophisticated groom had covered the bed in flowers. Not an inch of mattress showed beneath the floral counterpane. Flowers of the meadow, garden and woodland, whose pungent scent filled her head and her heart.
She did not remove them but let them lay, taking off the dress she would never wear again. A shower of rice hit the floorboards, having gathered in the draped satin pouches of her skirts. Shaking more rice out, she laid the dress aside and replaced it with a nightgown, then smiled at the creak of Worthy’s foot upon the stair, and waited with open arms.
29
Even after months had gone by Kit was still giddy. How could her life have changed so dramatically in so short a period? Just when had she made the transition from grieving mother to loving wife? For she did love Worthy, intensely. His tenderness and passion had aroused in her feelings that no other man had achieved. That he was a romantic soul had nothing to do with it, nor did the gratitude and duty that had previously coloured her resolution to make him a good wife. She loved Worthy for no other reason than himself, was glad to have been through every stab of pain for it had carved a path to him.
There was little to perturb Kit during those glorious dog days on the farm, far removed from hurtful gossip. Encouraged to do so, she had taken to addressing the elder Mrs Treasure as Mother. Having no inkling of her daughter-in-law’s past, Phoebe had taken Kit to her heart as surely as if she had been her own daughter. Similarly accepted by all the Treasures, Kit had never been so involved in family life and felt as if she were perpetually wrapped in warm blankets – even if her duties were more strenuous than she was used to.
The lack of modern amenities was no deterrent to her happiness – Kit accepted it as normal to draw water from a pump instead of from a tap, and a paraffin lamp was just as efficient as gas. Her own bodily comforts overcome by love for her husband, she was quite content to rise at four thirty, learning how to milk the cows, then drive them to pasture, to deal with the poultry and pigs and to assist at harvest, toiling alongside Worthy as if she had been born to it. Long after the pigeons had come home to roost on the beams of the fold yard shed, Kit was still busy, cooking and tending to her husband’s needs, finally retiring at an hour when in her previous existence she would just have been setting out for a ball. The satin gowns and elaborate hats were shut away; Kit doubted, without a twinge of regret, that she would ever wear them again.
Not that this meant she could never get dressed up, for there were opportunities to wear less ostentatious garb. Monday was market day when she would accompany Worthy and his brother to the nearest town. Whilst they attended auctions or bought supplies she would go off alone, ostensibly to attend to what she jokingly referred to as women’s business, but in fact to visit the bank to pay in her secret cheques. Probyn had agreed to fetch these over from time to time, to spare her the journey, and also because he liked to come to the farm where his Uncle Worthy allowed him to watch the gruesome tasks that interested boys, such as castrating the piglets. Kit was glad for this assistance. The less she had to visit her old village the better, for Worthy might ask to go with her and overhear some gossip. She had not been there in months.
Far removed from her old haunts, there was no danger of Worthy learning of her past. The only danger was that Amelia might make reference to it in her letters, but upon her marriage Kit had written to her sister and warned her not to make any mention of Serena’s parentage – though she hoped she would still be kind enough to contribute news from time to time.
As yet, Kit had not been fortunate enough to conceive, which rather surprised her, for her husband was a passionate and attentive man – seemingly making up for lost time. Worthy’s obvious longing for a child made her yearn even more deeply to bear fruit, but even as November came upon them she remained barren.
‘I told you there must be summat wrong with her,’ George Treasure opined to his wife as they discussed Kit in her absence over afternoon tea. ‘Married four months and not a sign.’
‘How do you know?’ Phoebe defended Kit. ‘She might be having one and be too shy to say anything.’
‘Don’t try and kid me. You’d know if she was in that condition.’
‘Plenty of time yet,’ argued Phoebe, then upon hearing the lowing of cattle, warned her husband to hold his tongue. ‘Hark! Here they are back from market.’
Worthy and his brother had been to purchase store cattle, which would be fattened up and sold for slaughter. Kit, who had accompanied them, was first to show her face, unsurprised at finding Worthy’s parents and sister in her kitchen. Accustomed to Phoebe invading her home – for it had been Mother’s home until late and the habit would be hard to break – Kit made no grumble, and was happy to accept a scone and a cup of tea as if she were a guest instead of mistress.
‘You’ve got a letter from your niece in Leeds.’ Phoebe went across the paved floor to collect it from the mantel. ‘The one who’s a prison wardress.’
Kit beamed, wondering how Mrs Treasure senior had recognized Ethel’s handwriting, before realizing it would be the postmark that had informed her.
‘She’s got promotion.’ Phoebe handed over the letter. ‘Doing really well for herself by all accounts.’
Kit wondered how her mother-in-law could possibly know this from an envelope – until she saw that it had been opened. Her lips parted and she faltered slightly before unfolding the letter, hardly able to read it from indignation.
Phoebe was still singing Ethel’s praises, saying what a worthwhile occupation it was for an unmarried woman and showing so much interest that Kit did not have the heart to take her to task.
But later, when Phoebe and her daughter had gone home and George was inspecting the store cattle with his other son, she asked Worthy if he might have a discreet word with his mother about opening other people’s mail.
He cocked his head on one side. ‘I don’t think she meant any harm, Katherine. She’s just treating you like one o’ t’family.’
Kit did not want it to seem as if she were making a fuss about nothing, but said she would never dream of opening her mother-in-law’s letters, nor her husband’s come to that. She would be obliged if others would bestow the same courtesy.
Worthy’s smiling reaction showed he thought she was odd – his mother had always opened everyone’s letters – but he promised Kit he would have a word with her if it would keep his dear wife happy. Katherine meant the world to him. Though he was not the kind of man to tell her this, the least he could do was to show it by deed.
* * *
It was glaringly apparent the next morning in the dairy that Phoebe did not take kindly to Kit’s instruction, though her displeasure was couched in an apology.
‘Seems I’ve overestimated the strength of our friendship,’ she told her daughter-in-law curtly, tipping a bucketful of milk into the separator. ‘I never for a moment meant to pry into your secrets, I just—’
‘Oh, I know you wouldn’t!’ Kit felt dreadful at treating Phoebe thus after receiving so much hospitality from her. ‘It wasn’t that there was anything secret—’
‘You must have something to hide if you don’t want us to see.’ There was a slight note of petulance.
‘Mother, I don’t mind you reading any of my letters – after I’ve read them.’ Her attitude one of defence, Kit tried to coax back the other’s respect, her blue eyes holding Mrs Treasure affectionately. ‘That’s all it was. I get so few letters that it’s such a joy to open them and it’s just so disappointing if someone else has opened them first. I don’t want to fall out about it.’
‘I’ve never fallen out with anyone.�
�� Still rather cool, Phoebe concentrated on turning the handle of the separator where the milk sloshed round and round. ‘And if that’s your wish I’ll respect it, of course. I suppose we’ve just got to get used to each other’s ways.’
This settled, the two of them got on with their work, but Kit could not help thinking that she had fallen out of favour.
‘I wish I’d never said anything,’ she told Worthy when they met up again mid-morning in the kitchen, taking the opportunity to mention it whilst they were not yet joined by others.
Seated at the table, her husband gave his support. ‘No, you had every right to speak up if that sort of thing offends you.’
Kit saw from his face that he did not set a great deal of store by the incident, and had to smile at this attitude, ‘You’re just like our Charity,’ she teased him, setting a plate of bread before him. ‘Even if there was a landslide I don’t think it’d bother her – she’d just say, “Oh, it’ll wash!”’
Worthy liked the way his wife performed these impersonations. He felt he knew her family well though he had only ever met them once. ‘You haven’t seen any of them since our wedding, have you? Except for Probe. Wouldst like me to take thee over one Sunday?’
Kit tried not to sound too alarmed. ‘Oh, we’ve too much to do round here – at Christmas maybe.’
Worthy laughed and said Christmas was an even busier time on the farm, what with pigs and fowl having to be butchered – but he would make time to take his dear wife to see her kin.
Kit smiled. Christmas was weeks away. She would find some excuse by then. She leaned over his chair to enjoy a quick embrace before others disturbed them, kissing the top of his balding head. ‘I hope when we do go it’s to take some good news.’
‘About a babby, you mean?’ He caressed the arms that imprisoned his shoulders. ‘Aye, well, can’t say we’re not trying.’
A Sense of Duty Page 59