by Val Wood
‘It’s a female,’ Fletcher’s voice was triumphant. ‘And it’s alive. You’ve delivered your first calf!’
Harriet felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw Fletcher wipe and open the calf’s mouth with his fingers so that it could take its first breath. Then she watched as Dora licked it and nudged it with her nose to help it stand; first its head and front legs and then its back legs. The calf stumbled and dropped, stumbled and dropped, getting beneath the cow’s legs, until finally it stood on all four feet before falling over again.
‘Hey,’ Fletcher said softly. ‘This is no time for crying. This is a good day.’
‘I know.’ Harriet snuffled and wiped her cheeks with her shawl. ‘But I’ve not seen anything like it in my life.’
Fletcher gazed at her. ‘If you’re going to be a farmer’s wife you’ll get used to it,’ he said softly, and then added, ‘But ’first time is always special. It didn’t tek long because Dora’s already had two calves, but with a young heifer it can tek longer. Anyway, we’ll leave her to look after it for now. I’ll come back in a few minutes and see how they’re doing. Come on. We’d better get cleaned up.’ He took hold of her elbow to help her up and she jumped as if she had been burned.
‘Sorry,’ he said, dropping his hand, and she wondered if he had felt it too.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Harriet’s triumph was short-lived, although Mrs Tuke was pleased that it was a female calf that had been delivered. ‘We’ll keep it,’ she said. ‘Daisy’s getting on a bit, and she’ll need replacing in a year or two. We can manage three cows now there’s two of us and mebbe mek butter wi’ surplus and sell it at ’gate.’
Harriet didn’t dare to ask what would eventually happen to Daisy, but when she told Noah she had delivered her first calf he just stared at her and said scathingly. ‘Time you were pregnant yourself.’
She flushed, and didn’t know how to answer him. It was unfortunate that his father was awake. He looked at her, and giving a lopsided grin commented, ‘Not all bitches get pregnant.’
She turned away. How coarse and vulgar he was. Noah had no right to address her in that way in front of him. She was glad that Fletcher wasn’t there to hear him; he was outside swilling down under the pump.
‘I’m talking to you.’ Noah’s hard tones made her turn back. ‘We’ve been married nearly a month. Time summat was happening.’
Harriet stared back at him; she was livid with anger. ‘Well, if you’re going to insist on telling everybody our personal details, perhaps you’d also like to inform them that I’ve just started my monthly flux, so your manhood has yet to be proved.’
She saw him clench his fist and stayed still. I don’t want a black eye so I’d better not provoke him further, she thought cautiously, but then Mrs Tuke brushed past her and confronted her son.
‘That’s enough,’ she said brusquely. ‘Take a hint from nature. You should know if you call yourself any sort o’ farmer that not all couplings are successful straight away, and sometimes patience is needed. A month is nowt!’ She turned to her husband. ‘And as for you, Mr Tuke, keep your long nose out of ’trough. This is nowt to do wi’ you.’
He simply grunted and turned his face away, but it seemed to Harriet that there was something unspoken between them, a tension or deliberate aggravation that had nothing to do with her or Noah.
Noah shot Harriet a scowl; he didn’t answer his mother but simply sat down by the fire opposite his father, blocking out any warmth for anyone else.
Later, Harriet went out again on her own to look at Dora and her calf, and milked Daisy, who had almost dried up. She had been told that very shortly Dora would be milked for the house as well as her calf and that milking her would stimulate more milk; when the calf was big enough to cope with the cold weather they could go outside to join Daisy.
A thick bank of black cloud interspersed with long wavelike strands of grey was travelling swiftly across the estuary from south to north. Looks like rain or snow to me, Harriet thought, but she didn’t turn back to the house; the scene was dramatic and compelling to watch, and keeping to the edge of the fields, close by the dyke, she walked down towards the estuary. The water, reflecting the sky, seemed menacing and intimidating as it rose and fell, crested and dipped, hitting the marshy banks of the shore with foaming wash.
In the centre channel where the water was deep a fleet of small boats and barges was heading in the direction of Goole and safe anchorage. This was a powerful and dynamic estuary, the lifeblood of the area, carrying goods and produce to and from not only this coast but the rest of Europe across the German Ocean; today it was not calm and peaceful as it had been when she last walked here, but showing its mettle and strength. The sandbank island she had seen previously was being washed over by the tide, and only the very top of it was showing above the water.
The cloud was now directly above her. She held out her hand, palm uppermost, and felt the sleet begin to patter, sharp, like the points of needles. She turned, picked up her skirt and began to run.
January was bitterly cold, with a sharp frost followed by flurries of snow. Noah and Fletcher were unable to do much work on the land, so they cleared the ditches, which was a constant routine, repaired fences, patched up the walls of the cowshed and stables and climbed up and down wooden ladders keeping the buildings in good repair.
Under Mrs Tuke’s instruction, Harriet baked bread, scones and fruit cake, for although she had once told Noah that her mother had shown her how to bake bread she had never had the opportunity to put the lesson into practice. She enjoyed the kneading of dough and the mixing of flour, eggs and butter to make a cake or a scone, but nevertheless was bored. The hens took little looking after now there were fewer of them, and apart from milking Dora and fondling the calf who was now Daisy Two, helping to clean the house and sweeping the yard, there was little to occupy her for the majority of the day.
She stood at the window one afternoon after they had eaten their midday meal and sighed. The day was cold but dry and there were occasional glimpses of bright sky. The brothers had gone outside to fix a length of guttering that had come loose and Mr Tuke as always was snoring by the fire. He’s not so old, she thought. Why doesn’t he go out and help them?
‘You could try up at ’manor,’ Mrs Tuke murmured.
Harriet turned towards her. ‘Sorry? What? I didn’t catch—’
Mrs Tuke glanced at her husband, who had his head back against the chair and his mouth open.
‘You could try up at ’manor,’ she repeated, ‘for temporary work. They’ll have tekken on staff at ’hirings, but not everybody stops. It’d be worth your while asking. We allus liked to know who’d be willing to fill in if anybody went off sick, or if there were extra guests coming who didn’t bring their own maids.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Harriet said. ‘Do you mean ’hiring fair? Those that are held in November?’
‘Aye,’ Mrs Tuke said. ‘Statute Hirings. At Martinmas. Surely they held them in Hull?’
Harriet nodded. ‘Aye, they did, but I was at work from ’morning till night so I didn’t get to see them.’
‘Well, in ’country all ’agriculture workers and some of ’domestics are hired from there. Ours came mostly from Howden or Market Weighton; that’s where ’foreman liked to go for new folk. Most of ’farm workers stayed on year in year out, but ’domestics – not all ’young lasses liked being away from home and we used to lose one or two of ’em.’
‘So – are you suggesting that they might need someone up at – what’s it called? Hart Holme …’
Mrs Tuke bent her head so Harriet couldn’t see her face for the soft rim of her bonnet. ‘Manor,’ she said. ‘Hart Holme Manor. No harm in asking. But tell ’em it would be temporary.’ She chewed on her lip. ‘Noah won’t like it, but it’d bring extra money in.’
Harriet heaved out a breath. ‘I’ll do it! When should I go? Today?’
Mrs Tuke permitted herself a small smile. ‘No time like ’
present,’ she murmured. ‘Men won’t be in again till teatime; they’ll mek use of ’fine weather. You could be there and back afore you were missed. And I’d say you’d gone for a walk,’ she added.
Harriet dashed upstairs for a warm shawl. ‘Am I presentable?’ she asked when she came down. She’d brushed her long hair and fastened it in a bun at the back of her neck. ‘Where do I go and what do I say?’
‘You go up ’front drive past ’formal gardens and afore you reach ’house you’ll see a second track veer off to ’left. That leads to ’back of ’house and ’servants’ door where deliveries are made.’
They were both speaking quietly because of Mr Tuke, and each held her breath as he gave a sudden snort, licked his lips and went to sleep again.
‘Ask for ’cook or ’housekeeper, tell ’em who you are and say you’re looking for temporary work but not live-in. Don’t forget to bob your knee to ’em, but not to ’maids.’
‘How will I know who’s who?’
‘You’ll know,’ Mrs Tuke said. ‘And if by chance you should see ’master or ’mistress, just stand aside to let ’em pass and bob your knee if they see you.’
Bobbing her knee wasn’t anything she’d ever done before and Harriet pondered on this as she slipped away from the house and yard and up the long track that led to the road above. Mrs Tuke had told her that it was about a mile to the gates of the manor.
I never had to bob to ’foreman at ’mill, she thought, nor to ’landlord’s wife when I was working in ’hostelry. This’ll be a different sort o’ life altogether, I should think. I’ve never met a proper lady or gentleman in my whole life and I’m not sure if I fancy kowtowing to anybody. If I met ’queen, I would curtsey, of course, or to somebody with a title mebbe, but for ’rest, well, are they not ’same as us, onny richer?
There was no one else on the road but she suddenly heard a crashing in the undergrowth and a deer came bolting out of the woodland and crossed the road in front of her, followed swiftly by another, both clearing the hedge and disappearing into a copse.
Well, even if I don’t get a job it’ll be worth ’walk just to see them, she thought, smiling. It was refreshing, too, to be out in the open, breathing in sharp air, and best of all to be herself, for she found the atmosphere in the house restrictive and confining, especially in the evenings when everyone was inside.
She reached the manor gates, which were partly open; she went through and closed them behind her as she had been told to do at the farm, and set off up the long wide drive. There was well mown grass and trees on either side, and in the distance she could see what to her eyes looked like a good solid house, not overly ostentatious or too grand, with steps leading to a front door with a balcony above it. On the left hand side was an additional wing with a large bay window on the ground floor.
It’s lovely, she thought. Imagine living here, or even working here, though I don’t expect that ’back will be as handsome as ’front.
As she walked, she glanced about her; over to her right she could see that new flower beds had been dug, although they were empty at present. She turned about and walked backwards to see what the grounds would look like to someone in the house. Oh, yes, she thought, flower beds would be nice. The smooth green lawns were neat and restful to the eye, but flowers would raise the spirits. Roses, she decided. That’s what I’d have. I once saw some in a merchant’s garden. So sweet-smelling, they were, I could have eaten them.
A rabbit ran across in front of her and she followed its progress, wondering if a keeper would be out with his gun to claim it for the cooking pot. It’s a different life out here, she reflected. It’s nothing like living in town. Do I like it? Yes, I do, except that I’d like it even better if I wasn’t married to Noah and afraid of saying or doing ’wrong thing all ’time.
She lifted her head and looked again towards the manor. She was almost at the point where the track led off to the servants’ quarters, but coming towards her from the direction of the house was a woman, and by her dress – a warm cloak with a hood over a fur hat, gloves and sturdy boots – she most definitely wasn’t a servant.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Harriet thought swiftly. She couldn’t dip whilst walking so she’d pause, dip her knee, say ‘Good afternoon, ma’am’ and walk on.
But she was forestalled by the woman, who on drawing near said, ‘Hello. Who are you?’
Melissa Hart knew all the house servants; she’d chosen most of them herself after marrying Christopher. It had been an act of self-defence. She wasn’t a mean or calculating woman by any means, but coming to the manor as a new and younger wife she reckoned that the servants who had looked after the lonely widower and his daughter would perhaps be fixed in their habits or adhere too rigidly to the rules laid down by Christopher’s first wife. Also, she had thought that having been without a mistress for many years they might well have become used to doing things very much as they wanted.
The first to go had been the cook, Mrs Marshall, who was well past retirement age in any case. When Melissa had told her husband of her intentions, he had at first been horrified, but had then seen the sense of it and said he would find a cottage for her to live in.
‘I’m really grateful, ma’am,’ Mrs Marshall had said when Melissa gently suggested that she might like to take things a little easier now, and that Mr Hart wanted to show her a cottage by Brough Haven which she could have if she wished. ‘Although Hart Holme has been my home for many a year, it isn’t mine, and I’d be glad to tek things easy and put my feet up if I had a little place of my own.’
‘But you’d help out if ever we were short-handed in the kitchen?’ Melissa had asked, without any intention of asking her. ‘You have such a good reputation as a cook.’
‘Aye, I do, ma’am,’ Mrs Marshall agreed, ‘but I think not. You and ’master will no doubt be entertaining more, and quite right too, but them days are past for me.’
But she had recommended another cook who worked in Brough and wanted a better place. Melissa had interviewed the woman, younger than Mrs Marshall, and taken her on. Mrs Marshall was gratified that her advice was taken; the new cook, Mrs Lister, was delighted, and everyone was satisfied.
It had not been so easy with the housekeeper. Melissa thought her cold and supercilious, and when she had informed her she was looking for new staff, including an under-housekeeper or senior maid, the woman was rude and arrogant and complained to Christopher that his new wife wanted to change a system that had been working perfectly under her command. He in turn became angry and upset and had dismissed her, giving her a reference that was fair but hardly glowing.
As for the maids, there was a natural reduction; some said they didn’t want to work for a new mistress, while those who were conscientious under direction and comfortable working there decided to stay put unless asked to leave.
Melissa then stole her mother’s housekeeper, Mrs Clubley, who had always been kind to her and efficient too despite her mistress’s constant interference. She jumped at the chance of coming to housekeep for the young mistress, and Melissa was grateful to have someone she knew and could rely on.
And so, on seeing a young woman walking along her drive as she was coming to inspect the arrangement of the rose beds she had asked for, she was curious as to who the stranger was. She didn’t seem like a humble countrywoman; she walked with an assured air as if on an important errand, and she was looking about her as if she hadn’t seen the garden before.
‘I’m Harriet M— Tuke, ma’am. I’m mekking for ’servants’ hall to ask about a position.’
Melissa raised her fair eyebrows. ‘You were going to say something else,’ she jested. ‘Do you not know who you are?’
Harriet flushed. This was not a good beginning. ‘I’m recently married, ma’am. I’m not yet used to my married name. I used to be Harriet Miles, but now I’m Harriet Tuke.’
‘Do you live near here?’
‘Yes, ma’am. My husband’s family have a farm on your land, c
lose by ’estuary.’
Melissa gave a small frown. The only farm by the estuary that belonged to them was a run-down one which Christopher said barely paid its way.
‘And – are you not needed at home?’ Such a silly question, she chided herself. Perhaps they need her wages.
‘My husband’s mother looks after ’house so there’s not much for me to do, though I collect eggs, when there are any, and I’ve been taught how to milk ’cows.’
‘Well.’ Melissa decided to draw the conversation to a close. ‘I already have a housekeeper and a cook, so I don’t know what—’
‘Oh!’ Harriet interrupted. ‘Nowt – nothing so grand, ma’am. I’m new to domestic work. I used to work in a Hull mill when I was single. I was thinking more of a scullery maid or helping wi’ laundry, and I wouldn’t want to live in,’ she hastened to add. ‘My husband wouldn’t want . . . well …’ She paused. ‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’
‘I see.’ Melissa didn’t really want to know the details of her life. ‘Go to the back door, then, and ask for Mrs Clubley or Cook. They might be able to suggest something, maybe on a temporary basis.’ She gave Harriet a dismissive nod and began to move away. Then she said, ‘Have you been here before?’
‘No, ma’am. It’s my first time.’
‘So you haven’t seen the gardens?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she said. ‘Are you having flower beds, ma’am?’
‘Yes, I am, although I don’t think the gardener is very impressed with the idea.’ Melissa glanced at the bare beds in the distance.
‘I think they’d be lovely, ma’am. Roses would be nice. You’d be able to smell ’scent up at ’house, I should think.’
‘Exactly,’ Melissa murmured. ‘My thoughts exactly.’ She smiled at Harriet. ‘Well, good luck, Mrs Tuke,’ she said. ‘Tell Mrs Clubley or Cook you’ve been speaking to me.’
Harriet watched her walk away before she set off down the other path to the kitchen entrance. Fancy her remembering my name, she thought. She’s onny young, though. I thought she’d be older. Second wife. I recall Mrs Tuke telling ’master that she was sorry about ’death of his wife. He mentioned a daughter. Poor woman: she’ll be playing second fiddle to the girl, I bet. Still, it’s not a bad sort of life, I shouldn’t think. She looked about her as she approached the back of the house. Although not as grand as the front, it was none the less impressive. The courtyard was clean and well swept, there were tubs outside the kitchen door with green stuff growing in them, and through a gate she saw another garden with regimented plots, a glasshouse and low glass cloches.