by Val Wood
Harriet tapped on the door and a young maid opened it. ‘I’d like to speak to Mrs Clubley or Cook, please,’ Harriet said. ‘My name is Harriet Tuke.’
The girl dipped her knee and Harriet was impressed and not a little flattered. I suppose she’s told to dip to everybody above her, and everybody is, she thought.
She was asked to come in and wait in the entrance lobby whilst the girl went to enquire. The lobby had outdoor coats hanging on wall hooks and rubber boots standing on low shelving. Walking sticks and black umbrellas were propped in a bucket in the corner. It smelt of carbolic soap.
The girl came back and said that Cook would see her now, but she was taking her afternoon rest and could only spare ten minutes.
Mrs Lister was sitting in an easy chair and looked up as Harriet entered. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked in a not unfriendly voice.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Cook,’ Harriet apologized. ‘I’m looking for temporary part-time work and it was suggested that I apply here. I, er, I’ve just seen ’mistress on ’way up ’drive and she said to ask for you or Mrs Clubley.’
Mrs Lister sat up sharply. ‘You asked ’mistress?’
‘No, no! She saw me and asked who I was – she was looking at ’garden. I told her I was mekking my way to servants’ hall to ask about part-time work, laundry or cleaning …’ Her voice tailed away. Had she committed a cardinal sin by speaking to the mistress of the house?
Mrs Lister relaxed back against the chair. ‘Sit down,’ she said, pointing to a stool by the kitchen table. ‘Mrs Hart is unconventional, to say ’least. Some gentlewomen wouldn’t even notice ’servants, let alone speak to ’em.’ She looked at Harriet and then called to the girl who had let her in. ‘Lizzie, mek us a pot o’ tea, an’ be quick. She’s a good enough lass, but a bit slow,’ she confided in Harriet. ‘Now then, tell me about yourself and I’ll tell you if I’ve any work.’
Harriet gave her the details of her previous jobs. ‘I just need something part time,’ she said. ‘Not necessarily every day, but mebbe a couple o’ times a week, if that’s possible.’
Mrs Lister slowly nodded her head. ‘I’d need to speak to ’housekeeper, but we could do wi’ help wi’ laundry on a Monday. I’ve got one woman, but there’s too much for just one and ’other girl I had decided it was beneath her and left.’
Harriet smiled. ‘She’s not been hungry then, has she?’
‘No, not yet she hasn’t,’ Mrs Lister replied, as the maid brought a tray of tea things. ‘Don’t pour it yet, Lizzie; let it brew. Have you?’ she asked Harriet. ‘Ever been hungry?’
‘Aye,’ Harriet said in a low voice, ‘I have, many a time. Work’s not easy to find in Hull.’
‘So can your husband not afford to keep you at home?’
‘He doesn’t know I’m here,’ Harriet said, and found herself explaining her situation.
The inner door opened and another maid came in. She was wearing a crisp white apron and a white cap and carrying a tea tray.
‘Alice, this is Mrs Tuke,’ Mrs Lister said. ‘She’s coming to help wi’ washing and ironing, wi’ Mrs Clubley’s approval.’
‘Oh, that’s a relief.’ Alice sat down in a kitchen chair and stretched her legs. ‘I helped with ’ironing last time and it’s not my favourite occupation. Tuke? My mother used to work here with somebody who married a Tuke. Any relation?’
‘My mother-in-law worked here, for Master Hart’s mother.’
‘It’ll be ’same then,’ Alice said. ‘I don’t know her, but I remember Ma talking about them; he used to work here as well, Mr Tuke, I mean.’ She laughed. ‘It’s such a funny name, isn’t it? That’s why I remembered it. Sounds like Duke.’
‘Alice!’ Cook said warningly.
‘Oh,’ Alice put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘That’s all right,’ Harriet said, and took a cup of tea from Cook’s outstretched hand. ‘I quite agree, it’s an odd name.’ She took a deep breath. She liked it here; it was warm and friendly. ‘So,’ she said, taking a sip of the strong tea. ‘Am I to be tekken on?’
Cook nodded and settled back in her chair. ‘As far as I’m concerned you can start next Monday morning. Be here at six o’ clock and I’ll clear it wi’ Mrs Clubley.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Christopher Hart had his lunch and then went into his study, which was just off the hall. He had accounts to attend to, farm rents to check and stock to consider, all meticulously written down by his bailiff Thomson who should have been here to discuss them ten minutes ago.
There seemed to be only one rent account in arrears, Marsh Farm, and he wondered why; to his knowledge they had never been late before. He sat back in his chair and mused on the smallholding down by the river that was rented by the Tukes.
Nobody else would want it, he considered. It’s waterlogged, always prone to flooding and yet they manage to scrape a living from it. It was because of him that they had it. He’d never liked Tuke when he worked on the estate as a horse lad. He didn’t like the way he treated the horses and was overly subservient, doffing his cap in an ingratiating and servile manner every time he met Christopher, who walked round the estate with his father whenever he was home from school. He wanted to learn as much as he could and eventually take over the running of the estate.
It was when he became twenty-one that his father laid down some rules, and one was that he should start looking for a suitable wife, someone who one day would be able to support him in his position as a landowner, as his own mother helped his father now. One who knew how to handle the affairs of a substantial manor house, who knew all the right people to invite to dinner or for shooting weekends and could deal with the house servants; and it had come as a shock to Christopher as his affections had lain elsewhere.
And a second shock awaited him when Ellen, the dainty, quietly spoken, pretty young maid he had known since she first came to work at the house when she was fourteen and he fifteen told him that she was to be married to the hateful Tuke.
‘But why?’ he’d implored. ‘You surely don’t care for him? Not in the way that you care for me?’
She’d gazed at him from her large grey eyes. ‘You know that I don’t, but there’s no future for us, Christopher. Sooner or later you’ll have to find a wife,’ she’d paused, ‘and that can’t be me. I’m going to marry Tuke and leave here.’ She’d given a sudden sob. ‘And you must forget me.’
He’d vowed that he never would, never could, but no matter that he was hurt and upset, he also realized she was right, and thought how strange it was that she should make that decision at the same time as his father. He also knew that he couldn’t bear to see Tuke about the place, knowing that he was married to the only woman he would ever care for. He’d been young, of course, he thought now, and youth is full of passion and desire, especially when they involve a forbidden liaison between master and servant girl.
He had been searching for his lost dog one day and had gone out of the gates and down the road and through the undergrowth, calling for Hector. He’d heard him barking and found him with his nose down a rabbit hole, and nearby a derelict cottage with broken-down walls and a roof that had almost collapsed.
It was on Hart Holme land, albeit waterlogged and marshy, being so close to the estuary, but he felt it had potential if the cottage could be repaired, the roof fixed and the land drained, and so he had asked his father if he could take it on as a project.
His father had laughed and asked, ‘And then what will you do with it?’ and Christopher had answered casually that he would let it. He’d asked his father if he would allow one of the estate workers to help him, and when he had indulgently agreed, he had asked Tuke.
Tuke was at first uninterested, but then one day he had asked Christopher if he might be considered for the tenancy and said that he would work on the house himself in his free time, which was what Christopher was hoping for.
‘Me and my wife’d like a little place of o
ur own,’ Tuke had said in what Christopher thought at the time was a swaggering manner. ‘Especially as she’s expecting. We’re living with her ma at ’minute and it’s not very convenient.’
Christopher heard the news of the forthcoming event with dismay, and any slight hope he might have harboured of calling on Ellen in her cottage when her husband was working elsewhere was dashed for good. But Ellen would be safe with a roof over her head, which was what he desired above all else, so he comforted himself with that thought and set about finding a wife of his own.
He put his elbows on the desk. And poor Jane had been a good wife, and had had much to put up with in their endeavours to produce a son. Perhaps I’m not meant to have sons, he sighed. Nevertheless Melissa had brought him happiness in this second marriage with her unfailing humour and laughter. Melissa, he knew, would never ever consider herself to be anything but his equal.
A sharp rap on the door brought him out of his reverie and he called, ‘Enter.’
Mrs Clubley apologized for disturbing him and said she had only just received a message to say that Thomson was laid low with a stomach complaint and couldn’t meet him as arranged.
‘There’s also a tenant asking to see Thomson, sir. Will you see him or shall I ask him to come back another day?’
When he asked who it was and she said Tuke, he almost said no, but then gathered himself together and said he would see him in the rear courtyard in ten minutes. He hadn’t seen Tuke for many years; he had left their employ about a year after the cottage was habitable and somehow managed to eke out a living with his stock. Thomson and other bailiffs before him had attended to farm matters, and although from time to time Christopher had called on other tenant farmers, for whatever reasons he ascribed to himself in justification he never did visit Marsh Farm.
Fletcher stood outside the kitchen door. He’d been asked to wait, and although invited in he said he would wait outside. He stood with his back to the door, his arms folded and his feet apart, gazing through the open gateway in the wall that separated the house from the kitchen garden and the stable block. Imagine owning all of this, all because of being born in ’right place and with ’right parentage.
Fletcher knew that his parents had both worked here on the estate and he supposed this was where they had first met, but he had often wondered why they had married, for he couldn’t think of two more unlikely people coming together. But his mother spoke little about her girlhood or of her time in service, and his father was a man of few words who generally bellowed when he had something to say.
He had been a stern and unresponsive father; Fletcher could not recall a single kind word or pat on the head from him, though his mother had sometimes been warm and loving when he was a child and often defended him if his father threatened him and Noah with punishment for some minor misdemeanour. It was their father too who encouraged them to fight each other, playing on their differences, of which there were many.
He clasped his hands behind his back and walked about as he waited; he wished now that he hadn’t come, but his mother had been anxious that the bailiff hadn’t collected the rent a month ago and it was now overdue. Fletcher had finished his jobs for the day and had decided to humour her.
Noah wouldn’t have come, he knew, and nor would his father: they would both have blamed the bailiff, not acknowledging that it was up to the tenant to make sure the rent was paid on time. But he also wanted to have a word with Thomson about the possibility of renting extra land and digging another ditch to take off the surplus water.
He looked up at the clock over the stables and thought that in less than an hour it would be dark and he still had to put the cattle back inside; a frost was due and he preferred to have them under cover. Harriet was tending the milch cows and making a good job of it, he admitted, in spite of being a townswoman.
A tall figure hurried round into the courtyard from the front of the house and Fletcher was surprised to see not Thomson but a stranger he guessed was Christopher Hart himself. Hart also seemed to be expecting someone else, for he raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Sorry to keep you,’ he said. ‘I …’ He hesitated. ‘I was expecting to see Tuke, one of our tenants.’
‘I’m Fletcher Tuke, sir,’ Fletcher told him. ‘I’m waiting to see Bailiff Thomson.’
‘He’s sick.’ Christopher’s eyes flickered over Fletcher. He hadn’t met him before. ‘Struck down with some malady or other. Fletcher? Your mother’s maiden name?’
It was Fletcher’s turn to gaze in astonishment at his landlord. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ How on earth did he know? Surely he didn’t remember her. One servant in dozens over the years.
‘I remember her. When I was a boy I was often in the kitchen being spoiled by Cook.’ Christopher spoke casually. ‘Your mother and I were of a similar age.’
Fletcher nodded. And you’ve fared better, he thought. Good living and an army of servants to look after you have kept you in good shape, whereas my mother is tired and weary from looking after two unruly sons and a boorish husband; for that, he thought reluctantly, is ’truth of what he is.
‘I’ve come about ’rent, sir,’ he said. ‘Thomson didn’t collect it last month and my mother was getting anxious about it. She looks after ’accounts.’
Christopher gave a nod, pleased that they were now speaking of the present and not the past. ‘I’ll remind him,’ he said. ‘But do tell her she’s no need to worry.’
‘I will. There’s another thing that I wanted to discuss with Thomson, about acquiring another piece of land. Perhaps I should wait until he’s out and about again?’
‘Good idea,’ Christopher said. ‘I do have a few other things to attend to today, but when I next see him I’ll ask him to look in on you.’ He paused, about to take his leave. ‘So which son are you? The eldest? Haven’t you recently married?’
‘No, it’s my brother Noah who’s married, sir, but I’m ’eldest son.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Unmarried as yet.’
They took their leave of each other and Christopher strode off towards the gardens, where he could see Melissa. Fletcher, however, turned his head as the kitchen door opened and was astonished to see Harriet emerging.
‘What ’you doing here?’ he asked.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Having a cup o’ tea wi’ Cook.’
‘What? Do you know her?’
‘I do now,’ she said smugly and smiled at his puzzled expression. They began to walk away from the house and out of the courtyard. ‘I’ve applied for work.’
‘Really?’ He glanced swiftly at her as if she might be joking. ‘Doing what?’
‘Laundry.’ She returned his glance. ‘I haven’t told Noah yet, so keep it to yourself, will you, till I’ve told him?’
‘He won’t like it.’ He shortened his long stride to keep in step with hers.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but there’s not enough for me to do. Your mother’s very efficient and doesn’t need my help, so she suggested that I try for occasional work at ’manor.’
They began to walk side by side down the long drive and Fletcher accidentally brushed against her. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
Harriet swallowed and murmured something in return. She again felt that tingling charge and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. A pulse throbbed in her throat and she risked a glance up at him, but he was staring straight ahead; he’d also widened the gap between them.
‘We’d best be home afore dark,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I think so.’
Melissa narrowed her eyes as she looked down the drive at the couple walking towards the gate. Christopher also gazed at the retreating pair.
‘Who’s that?’ she said.
‘I don’t know who the woman is, but the man is Fletcher Tuke. They rent a place by the estuary.’
‘Well, the woman is Harriet Tuke and she’s applied for work in the kitchen.’ She frowned. ‘She said her husband didn’t know she was here. Has he come to fetch her h
ome?’
Christopher folded his arms in front of him as he watched them. He shook his head. ‘He said he wasn’t married. She must be his brother’s wife.’
‘Mmm.’ Melissa smiled mischievously. ‘They look like a well-matched pair, but they’re walking so far apart it’s as if there’s a barrier between them. It must be hate – or love!’
CHAPTER TWENTY
They barely spoke on the walk back until they reached the top of the track that led to Marsh Farm, and then Harriet said, ‘Your mother told me she used to work at Hart Holme Manor when she was a girl.’
‘Aye, she did,’ Fletcher replied. ‘But she doesn’t talk about it much.’
‘I don’t think she was unhappy, though. She talked to Mrs Marshall, who used to be ’cook there, and they chatted about ’manor.’
‘Did they?’ He turned to her. ‘She’s never spoken about it to me, except when I was young and asked her what she did when she was a girl. She allus changed ’subject whenever I asked her anything.’
‘Your father worked there too, didn’t he?’
‘Aye, and he allus has summat to say about it and mostly derogatory. I reckon he was lucky that they gave him ’tenancy here.’
‘Your mother said that Master Hart looked after his former employees, that that was ’kind of man he was.’
‘Mmm.’ Fletcher appeared to ponder and then swiftly put out his hand to catch her as she tripped over a tree root. It was dark on the track due to the overhanging tree branches.