His Brother's Wife

by Val Wood

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  He kept his arm on her elbow. ‘Yeh, he looks after old retainers, but my father wasn’t old; he was only in his mid-twenties when he and Ma married. He must have asked if he could have Marsh Farm. God knows why,’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s waterlogged, fit for nowt and he doesn’t work on it any more. He leaves it all to Noah and me. We’re almost home.’ He dropped her arm. ‘You’d best mek your way ahead on your own. Just tek care you don’t fall. Track’s rutted.’ He paused again, and then explained, ‘Noah’ll have summat to say if I’m walking with you.’

  ‘Why would he—’

  ‘He doesn’t have to have a reason to get into an argument,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t mind fighting wi’ him, but there’s no need for you to be implicated.’

  She turned to look up at him; it was so dark she could barely see his face. ‘I’m not,’ she said softly, but knew that she could be if she didn’t keep her wits about her. ‘I’ve no cause to be.’

  ‘No?’ he murmured. ‘That’s good. Nevertheless, I’d rather you went home first. I’ll be right behind you if you feel you’ll get lost.’

  His face was shadowed; she could see only his eyes and mouth. ‘I won’t get lost,’ she whispered. She saw the gleam of his teeth as he gave a low laugh, and then he gently pushed her in the direction of the house. She walked away from him, turned a corner of the track and walked right into Noah.

  She gasped as he grabbed her arm. ‘Where’ve you been?’ he demanded. ‘I was just coming to look for you.’

  ‘Oh! You made me jump,’ she stammered. ‘Scared ’living daylights out of me.’

  ‘Where’ve you been, I said.’ Noah shook her arm and she compared his manners with those of his brother.

  ‘I went for a walk,’ she told him, recalling what she and Mrs Tuke had agreed. ‘Can we go inside? I’m cold.’ She also had in mind that Fletcher would be coming down the track at any moment.

  ‘That’s what Ma said. Though I don’t know where there is to walk to round here. Have you nowt else to do?’

  ‘I want to talk to you about that when we get inside. Not out here.’

  He kept a firm hold of her arm as they walked towards the house, and she felt as if she had been apprehended. She shook him off a little. ‘I wasn’t nervous,’ she told him, ‘if that’s what’s worrying you. It’s not dark on ’top road, onny down ’track. It wouldn’t be so gloomy if some of ’branches were cut back. House would be much lighter as well.’

  ‘Oh aye. Mekkin’ decisions now, are we? You’ve not been here five minutes.’

  ‘It was onny a suggestion,’ she said. ‘Just seems like common sense.’

  He almost shoved her into the lobby and she stumbled in her haste to take off her boots and move out of his way.

  ‘Manners,’ she muttered. ‘Haven’t you got any?’

  ‘What?’ He stared down at her. ‘What ’you on about?’

  ‘Well, don’t just shove me,’ she snapped. ‘What’s your hurry?’

  ‘I want my tea,’ he bellowed. ‘You should be inside wi’ kettle on instead o’ Ma.’

  ‘Why, where is your ma?’ Harriet had a flurry of fear that Mrs Tuke might have left home.

  ‘She’s milking. I thought you were supposed to be doing that job now?’

  ‘I have been doing it. I’m not late back; why’s your mother doing it early?’

  ‘I don’t know. Go and ask her. Mebbe cos ’weather’s changing. Cloud’s dropping: it’s going to rain.’

  Harriet pulled on the boots again. ‘I’ll go and help her.’

  ‘What about my tea?’ he bellowed again.

  ‘You’ll have to wait,’ she retaliated. ‘And you’ll get nowt by shouting. I’m not deaf!’ She pulled on an old shawl that was hanging in the lobby, opened the door and went out, almost crashing into Fletcher. ‘And don’t you start either,’ she said sharply, giving him a conspiratorial glance. ‘One of you swing ’kettle over ’fire. It’s easy enough to do.’

  She heard Fletcher say ‘What’s going on?’ and Noah’s muttered reply as she dashed across the yard, relieved that Fletcher had suggested she come back alone. She realized now what he meant about Noah’s not needing an excuse for an argument and she had no desire to get her face in the way of his fist, for she was convinced that if she crossed him he wouldn’t think twice about slapping her.

  Mrs Tuke was in the cowshed milking Dora, who was contentedly chewing on hay, her calf on the straw beside her. ‘I’d have done that,’ Harriet said. ‘I didn’t realize what time it was.’

  Mrs Tuke looked up from where she was resting her head against Dora’s side. Her skirts were pulled up and a half full pail of milk was beneath her knees. She just nodded, and Harriet wondered when she had last laughed or felt happy. ‘It’s all right,’ she muttered. ‘I like milking, and it gives me ’chance to be on my own. Mr Tuke doesn’t come in ’milking shed. He says it’s women’s work, and that’s fine by me.’

  Harriet crouched down beside her. ‘I’ve got a job up at ’manor,’ she told her. ‘Laundry. Cook said she’d tek me on but has to check wi’ housekeeper first. I’ve to go up on Monday.’

  Mrs Tuke quirked her lips, which Harriet took to be a gesture of approval.

  ‘I met ’mistress, Mrs Hart,’ Harriet said. ‘She was in ’garden and came to ask who I was.’

  ‘Did she?’ Mrs Tuke seemed puzzled by this, and frowned. ‘What was she like?’

  ‘I liked her,’ Harriet said. ‘She seemed very straightforward, and I got ’impression she runs ’house herself and doesn’t just leave it to ’housekeeper. She’s youngish and pretty. Fair, nice smile. We discussed her garden. She’s putting in rose beds.’

  ‘Great heavens,’ Mrs Tuke muttered. ‘You must have had more conversation in five minutes wi’ her than I had wi’ Mrs Hart in over five years.’ She swiftly corrected herself. ‘I mean Master Christopher’s mother, of course, not his first wife.’

  She got to her feet, carefully moving the milk pail and started to wash the cow’s udder. ‘Have you told Noah?’

  ‘No,’ Harriet said. ‘He was coming up ’track to meet me. He was angry that I wasn’t at ’house preparing his tea. I told him and Fletcher that one of ’em should put ’kettle on fire while I came to help you.’

  Mrs Tuke shook her head. ‘Noah won’t do it; like his father, he’d think it women’s work.’ She sighed. ‘And generally it is. Menfolk have plenty to do.’

  ‘But it wouldn’t hurt now and again,’ Harriet interrupted. ‘I expect you’ve helped out at harvest time or, in ’fields?’

  ‘Once I did, but not now. I reckon that wi’ three men here there shouldn’t be any need for me to do it any more. Although Mr Tuke does little.’

  Harriet pondered for a moment and then asked, ‘Should I tell Noah about going to work at ’manor in front of everybody, or wait till we’re on our own?’

  ‘Even if you tell him when you’re on your own, we’ll hear about it. He’s not going to like it. Wait till we’ve eaten,’ Mrs Tuke said.

  They walked back to the house together, Harriet carrying the milk pail and Mrs Tuke the washing bowl, which she emptied in the yard.

  Someone had made a pot of tea and the three men were sitting at the table drinking it. Harriet and Mrs Tuke washed their hands and then Mrs Tuke took a pie out of the warming oven.

  ‘Rabbit,’ she said briefly, and then turned to take a dish of vegetables out.

  She’s an amazing woman, Harriet thought. When did she cook that?

  ‘Who brought ’rabbit?’ Fletcher asked his mother, and Harriet reflected that he seemed to be the only one of the three men who questioned how food came to the table.

  ‘Horace Sims, early morning,’ she said. ‘I gave him a jug o’ milk in exchange.’

  Mr Tuke cackled. ‘Bet it was off Mayster Hart’s land.’ He waited for his wife to serve him with a slice of pie and a helping of vegetables before adding, ‘Hope it was.’

  ‘He said he’
d been wildfowling down ’estuary, hoping for widgeon,’ his wife said. ‘But all he got was rabbit.’

  When they had finished their meal, and there had been no conversation since the exchange about the rabbit, Harriet cleared her throat. The issue of telling Noah about applying for work at the manor was burning a hole in her chest and she felt she had to spill it out.

  ‘I was up at Hart Holme Manor this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I – I was passing ’gates when I was out walking and on ’spur of ’moment I thought I’d go and ask if there was any temporary work – you know, just an odd day a week.’

  Noah looked at her from across the table and scowled. ‘What do you mean? You don’t need to work; there’s work for you here.’

  ‘I’m used to having a full-time job,’ she said. ‘I suppose in ’summer there’ll be plenty for me to do on ’farm, but at ’minute there isn’t, and ’money would be useful, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, it would.’ Mrs Tuke suddenly became her ally. ‘We could mebbe buy some more laying hens.’

  Noah pushed back his chair until it crashed against the wall. ‘I’ll have no wife o’ mine working in servitude.’ He flicked his thumb towards the stairs. ‘Get upstairs,’ he thundered. ‘Now! I want to talk to you.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Harriet stared him out. ‘We can talk down here.’

  ‘I said upstairs.’ Noah began to unbuckle his belt, and Harriet felt a shudder of fear. Mrs Tuke appeared to freeze and Mr Tuke folded his arms and sat back as if about to watch an entertainment.

  But it was Fletcher who sat as still and watchful as a cat about to spring.

  Harriet picked up a cloth and then the hot pie dish and stood with it in her hands.

  ‘All right,’ she said, as mildly as she could. ‘If you prefer to talk in private, but I’ll clear away ’dishes first. Your ma did ’cooking, it’s onny fair I do ’washing up.’

  Noah looked puzzled, as if he had somehow been hoodwinked by her apparent agreement, and she guessed that he was normally always ready for a fight. She breathed away her tension. I was ready for him, and he’d have got this dish at his head if he’d touched me. She nodded at him. ‘If you really don’t want me to work there, I won’t,’ she said. ‘But we’ll talk about it, like you say.’

  He sat down again and buckled up his belt. Mr Tuke looked disappointed and Mrs Tuke’s eyes moved from Harriet to Noah without her moving her head. Then she picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot in the vegetable dish and nibbled on it.

  ‘No pudding tonight, Ma?’ Fletcher said softly.

  She looked up. ‘Oh!’ she said vaguely. ‘Yes. I forgot. There’s apple and bramble pie. I had some pastry over.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’ll get it. It’s cold, not hot.’

  ‘I like mine hot,’ her husband muttered.

  ‘You can have it hot, Mr Tuke,’ she said, on her way to the larder. ‘But you’ll have to wait for it to warm up.’

  Harriet couldn’t believe that Noah had capitulated, but when, after washing up and clearing away, she indicated that she was ready to go upstairs and talk, he flourished his hand and said, ‘Later. We’ll talk about it later,’ as if he were still holding the upper hand.

  He and Fletcher went out again to finish off some more jobs and nothing more was said about it, until that evening Fletcher mentioned to his mother that he had been up at the manor to pay the rent and heard that Thomson was off sick, which was why he hadn’t been to collect it.

  ‘Master Hart said that you’d no need to worry about it. He knows you don’t get in arrears.’

  ‘You were up at ’manor?’ Noah frowned. ‘Did you see Harriet?’

  ‘I stopped and had a cup o’ tea wi’ Cook in ’kitchen,’ Harriet interrupted. ‘If I’d known you were there, Fletcher, you could have walked me home. It’s dark down that track.’

  ‘Aye, it is. Branches need cutting back,’ Fletcher agreed. ‘But there’s never enough time. Nobody invited me in for a cup o’ tea,’ he continued in a mock-aggrieved tone, answering Noah’s question. ‘I talked to Hart out in ’courtyard.’ He glanced at his father and then his mother. ‘It’s a big place, isn’t it? Must take a lot o’ folk to run it.’

  His mother nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It allus did.’

  Mr Tuke grunted and got up and went to his place by the fire.

  Later, in their bedroom, Harriet brought up the subject of her working for the Harts. ‘I won’t go if you’d rather I didn’t,’ she said meekly. ‘But, you know, ’money’d come in useful, especially for ’bairn, if – when I get pregnant. I’d stop when ’babby came, of course.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Noah sat on the edge of the bed to take off his socks and breeches, then pulled his shirt over his head and dropped them all in a heap on the floor. ‘That’d have to be ’stipulation. You’d stop as soon as we have a bairn.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ she said and thought that they wouldn’t want her then anyway. ‘So is that all right? Can I tell them that I can start on Monday?’

  ‘Aye. All right. Tell ’em I’ve agreed to it.’ He pulled back the blanket and climbed into bed. ‘Onny another time don’t go mekkin’ decisions afore asking me first.’

  Harriet felt quite light-hearted as she set off early on Monday morning. She wrapped her shawl around her; the weather was getting colder. It would be nice to chat with people – if I get the job, she reminded herself; Mrs Tuke was proving to be slightly better for knowing, but she wasn’t one for conversation and often seemed remote; no wonder, Harriet mused, living with that miserable man. And they called each other Mr and Mrs, never by their given names. That seemed very strange.

  She followed the same path to the kitchen door of the manor and knocked. Lizzie answered and told her that Cook said she’d to go straight to the washhouse, which was further round the side of the house. Harriet smiled: so she’d been taken on after all.

  ‘She said to come in for a cup o’ tea at about half past nine,’ Lizzie called after her, and Harriet wondered how she would know the time, but then looked up and saw the clock above the archway and another one over the stable block. She found the door to the washhouse and on going in was relieved to find the fire under the boiler already lit and an older woman stoking it with coal.

  ‘Hello. I’m Harriet,’ she said cheerfully, and the woman looked up and nodded.

  ‘I’m Mary,’ she said. ‘I’m deaf.’

  ‘Harriet,’ Harriet called back, suppressing a groan. Just my luck, she thought. I wanted conversation!

  She took off her shawl; it was warm in here, nice to work in during the winter. It was similarly set up to the washhouse she and her mother used to frequent in Hull, except there there had been more boilers. In here, as well as the zinc tub in its brick housing from which steam was already rising, there were two deep side-by-side white sinks, drying racks hanging from the ceiling, wooden clothes horses leaning against the wall, a mangle, and a bright fire burning in a grate. There were also several large wicker baskets full of sheets, pillowcases and towels, and a separate one filled with personal items.

  ‘Which do we do first, Mary?’ Harriet shouted.

  Mary pointed to the personal items. ‘I generally wash this lot first, in ’sink. Tek hot water from boiler wi’ that pan.’ She pointed to a large iron pan, and Harriet wondered how she would ever lift it. ‘Be careful,’ Mary went on. ‘Don’t have ’water too hot for ’mistress’s things or you’ll shrink ’em. Then we’ll put ’sheets in to boil.’

  Harriet nodded back at her. If I have to shout all ’time, I shan’t be able to speak by ’time we’ve finished, she thought. There was a pump over the sink and the water ran clear when she worked the handle, not muddy and brown as it sometimes was in Hull. She half filled the sink and then scooped up half a pan of hot water from the boiler and poured it in. Then she took a handful of soft soap from a tin and swished it about to make a lather.

  Mrs Hart’s petticoats and nightdresses were dainty and edged with lace and Harriet was particul
arly careful in handling them, as they seemed so fragile. She filled the other sink with cold water for rinsing and popped them in, and then set about washing the other items, mainly men’s shirts, under-drawers and nightshirts.

  Mary was struggling with the handling of the sheets, so Harriet went to help her. They loaded the first pair into the wash boiler and then poshed them down with the wooden-handled posher. The steam rose from the water and soon Harriet and Mary were perspiring freely. This must be what it’s like being in a Turkish steam bath, Harriet thought, wiping sweat from her face.

  She rinsed Mrs Hart’s underwear again and gently squeezed out the water, then hauled an airer down from the ceiling, wiped it with a clean cloth, placed the clothing on it and hauled it up again. Next they took the sheets out of the boiler with wooden tongs, handling them with extra care as they were red-hot, put them into two clean buckets and tipped them into clean rinsing water in the sinks before putting the next lot of sheets in to boil.

  They ran the first lot of sheets through the mangle and draped them over another drying rack; it took the two of them to haul it back up again. They washed another pair of sheets and then they stopped for a breather. ‘We can go for a cup of tea at half past nine,’ Harriet shouted. ‘I’m gasping.’

  Mary nodded. ‘Let’s finish this lot first,’ she said, riddling the fire beneath the boiler and adding more coal. ‘We’ll rinse ’em, put ’em through ’mangle and hang ’em up, put more water in to boil for next lot, and then it’ll be about half past.’

  Which it was, as Harriet saw on looking up at the clock over the stables as they crossed the yard. Mary obviously had a regular working pattern.

  ‘Have you been working here for long?’ Harriet raised her voice as they headed towards the kitchen door.

  ‘Aye,’ Mary said. ‘Since I was fourteen, off and on. I’ve given up a few times but they allus ask me back. But there’s too much for me on me own, wi’ ironing as well. I’m really glad that you’ve come.’