by Val Wood
‘I’m onny temporary,’ Harriet shouted at her, and clutched at her throat.
‘You don’t have to shout,’ Mary said. ‘If you turn to look at me when you’re speaking, I can lip-read.’
Thank goodness, Harriet thought, because I couldn’t keep up the shouting all morning.
‘When do we do ’ironing?’ she mouthed. ‘Today?’
Mary shook her head. ‘I can’t stop all day today, but you can if you want.’
They drank their tea in the comfort of the kitchen, but ten minutes later Mary got to her feet. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Water’ll be boiling. We’ll put ’upstairs towels in next, then ’fustian sheets and then ’kitchen towels.’ She turned to the cook. ‘Give us what you’ve got, Cook, and your dusters, and they can go in last. We’re doing fine now there’s another pair of hands.’
It was as they were walking back to the washhouse that Mary posed the question. ‘Cook told me ’other day she’d got somebody to help out, but you’re not from round here, are you?’
‘I’m from Hull,’ Harriet said. ‘I’ve onny recently come to live here.’
‘How’s that then?’
‘Got married.’ It was easier to speak in short sharp bursts, she decided.
‘Who to?’
‘Noah Tuke.’ She pointed in the direction of the estuary. ‘His family have a small farm by ’estuary.’
‘I know ’em,’ Mary murmured. ‘Not seen either of them for a lot o’ years. Nathaniel Tuke was a domineering bully of a man who could never call himself a farmer. Never did understand why Ellen Fletcher married him. There were plenty of other lads after her. All of ’stable lads and horse lads. She was a right bonny lass.’
They went back into the warmth of the washhouse. ‘She cut herself off from everybody after they were wed,’ Mary went on, gathering up an armful of white towels. ‘I reckon he stopped her from meeting them she used to know. He was forever boasting that he was well in wi’ master just because he rented him a piece o’ waterlogged land.’ She paused, and then continued, ‘I onny saw her a couple o’ times after that.’
Harriet shrugged. It was obvious that Nathaniel Tuke was not well liked.
‘They have two sons,’ Mary said. ‘Which one did you marry? One of ’em is just like him, so I hear, all shout and bluster. Hope it’s not him?’
Harriet forced a smile and shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not him.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was snowing hard when Harriet left the washhouse. Mary had left first, after damping down the fires and emptying the tub of hot water, but leaving a little in the bottom to prevent cracking. Harriet had stayed behind to finish ironing Mrs Hart’s nightdresses and petticoats before they became too dry. The room had become hotter and hotter and the sheets on the racks were steaming.
She carefully pressed the collars on the nightdresses, first laying a clean white cloth on them to prevent burning. She used two flat irons, heating them one after the other on the fire bars, then spitting on them to test the heat before wiping them with a damp rag to remove any trace of soot. On removing the cloth she was delighted to see the fragile pattern of the lace emerge from beneath it.
She hung the freshly ironed clothes on the rack, hauled it up with the pulley and left them to air. The lamp was guttering when she had finished and the candles burned down, so there was no more she could do in the dark. She closed the door behind her and scurried off to the kitchen.
‘You still here?’ Cook was rolling pastry and there was a rich smell of beef coming from one of the ovens. ‘Thought you’d gone home.’
‘There are still some sheets to iron,’ she told her. ‘Is it all right to come back tomorrow? I wanted to finish off ’mistress’s things before ’lamp went out, but it’s too dark to see now.’
‘Oh, I should’ve said.’ Cook wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist. ‘You can do ’ironing upstairs in ’laundry room. Lizzie’ll show you in ’morning. Best get off home now. Lizzie,’ she called to the girl. ‘Fetch ’cake tin out and cut a slice of fruit cake for Mrs Tuke.’
‘Thank you,’ Harriet said. ‘I am quite hungry, and I’m Harriet, by the way. Mrs Tuke still doesn’t sit easy on my shoulders.’
‘No, happen not,’ Cook said. ‘Especially if there’re two of you.’
Harriet took a bite of the fruit cake that Lizzie brought her. ‘Did you know Ellen Tuke – Ellen Fletcher as was?’ she asked.
‘No. She’d been long gone when I came here, but Mrs Marshall who was ’cook afore me knew her, and allus spoke highly of her. A pleasant young lass, from all accounts.’
Everybody speaks so well of Mrs Tuke, Harriet thought as she walked home. The snow was thick on the road, but it hadn’t settled beneath the trees on the track leading to Marsh Farm and it was very dark. Harriet could barely see where she was walking and she wondered how she could persuade Noah to cut back the branches.
Ellen Tuke glanced up at the clock. She’d finished the milking and shut up the hens before it got dark. She and Harriet had come to an agreement that on a Monday she would do all her old chores if Harriet got the job at the manor. It’s no hardship, she’d told her, adding that she’d been doing it all her married life.
‘But I want to help,’ Harriet had insisted. ‘It’s onny fair, so can I do ’milking when I’m not at ’manor? That’s if I get tekken on.’
She’d obviously got it to have stayed out so long, Ellen thought, starting on another torn shirt. Unless she’s jiggered off back to Hull, but I doubt she’d do that in this weather. She looked at Noah, who was sitting opposite his father next to the fire. Fletcher was at the table tinkering with a piece of wood, a screwdriver and a bag of nails.
‘Harriet should be back soon,’ she remarked.
‘Mebbe we can have our tea then,’ Mr Tuke grumbled. ‘We’re late.’
Fletcher looked up at the clock. ‘We’re on time,’ he said. ‘It’s not yet five.’ He glanced at his brother. ‘Are you going to meet her? Snow’s coming down fast.’
Noah scowled. ‘Why should I do that? If she can’t walk that bit o’ way, she’s not going to survive ’winter out here.’
Fletcher shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. She’s a town lass, that’s all. They’ll have street lamps in Hull.’
‘Not where she lived they haven’t,’ Noah muttered. ‘Well, onny one near ’street end.’
Mr Tuke leaned forward. ‘Did you go in ’house?’ He gave a sly grin. ‘Invite you in, did she?’
Noah cursed. ‘Mind your own business,’ he barked at his father. ‘It’s nowt to do wi’ you.’
Mr Tuke sat back, looking self-satisfied. ‘Bet you did, all ’same.’
Fletcher got up from the table. ‘I’ll try this on ’stable door. It should fit better than it did.’
‘You’ll not be able to see,’ his mother commented. ‘Tek a lamp.’
‘I was going to, Ma!’ He shook his head at her; she looked up and gave a rueful grimace.
He brought an old oil lamp in from the porch and placed it on the table, turning up the wick and lighting it with a taper from another lamp. ‘Won’t be long.’
‘We’ll not eat till Harriet gets back,’ his mother murmured. ‘It’s all ready for dishing up.’
Fletcher went outside. The snow was coming down even faster than it had been earlier and he was glad that they’d made the roofs secure, but instead of heading for the stable he held up the lamp and turned towards the track leading to the road.
‘Oh!’ Harriet gasped as she skidded. ‘Nearly went my length!’ The track was slippery underfoot with wet leaves and mud and she huffed out a breath and put out a hand to grab something, but the branches were whippy and not strong enough to hold her if she fell. ‘I’ll ask if they’ve got a walking stick or a crook or summat next time I come out,’ she muttered. ‘I could break a leg and nobody’d know.’
Then she saw the flicker of a light and shouted, ‘Hello? Is somebody there?’
‘It’s me
, Fletcher. Stay there, I’m coming.’
She waited. I might have known Noah wouldn’t bestir himself to come and meet me, she reflected. He wouldn’t even have considered it.
‘Are you all right?’ Fletcher held up the lamp.
‘Yes, I am now, thank you,’ she said. ‘I almost fell back there. I couldn’t see where I was putting my feet.’
‘Tek my arm,’ he said. ‘You need to walk in ’middle of ’track and not under ’trees, but not on ’right hand side where ’ditch is in case you fall in.’
She linked her arm in his. ‘The trees …’ she began. They were both speaking quietly.
‘I know – need cutting back. I’ll mek a start tomorrow if ’weather doesn’t worsen; we’ll not be able to do anything else much.’
‘Could I borrow a walking stick? For tomorrow when I go back to work? Snow might be deep.’
He lifted the lamp to look at her. ‘You’re not put off by a snowstorm?’
‘No.’ She felt the warmth of him through his coat sleeve and felt strangely comforted. ‘If I’d been in Hull I’d have had to go to work whatever ’weather was like. If I’d had work, that is.’
‘You smell nice,’ he told her. ‘Fresh, and …’
‘Soap,’ she said. ‘I’ve been in ’washhouse all day. It was lovely and warm; I’ve to go back tomorrow to finish off ’ironing.’
They were nearing the end of the track; the house walls loomed ahead. Fletcher slowed his steps. ‘Best not to tell Noah I met you,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to be repairing ’bolt on ’stable door.’
‘And instead you came to meet me,’ she said softly. ‘Thank you. That was – kind of you.’
He lifted the lamp again and looked into her face. ‘I didn’t like to think you – that is, it’s dark and – you might have fallen.’
‘Which I almost did,’ she whispered and wished he wasn’t standing so close, for he might hear her heart hammering.
‘I’ll leave you here,’ he murmured, ‘and go back to ’stable. You haven’t seen me.’
‘No,’ she breathed. ‘I haven’t.’
She stumbled in through the outer door, kicking off her boots and taking off her wet shawl. ‘I’m freezing,’ she said, as she went into the kitchen. ‘It’s snowing hard; ’road’s thick with it.’
She looked longingly at the fire but neither Noah nor his father offered their chair to let her sit near it. Noah just looked up and nodded.
‘Yeh, I know,’ he said. ‘You’re not ’onny one that’s been out in it.’
Mr Tuke raised his head. ‘Can we eat now?’
‘Aye. When Fletcher comes in.’ Ellen put down her sewing. ‘He’ll be in in a minute, I should think.’
‘Don’t know why he should tek so long to put a bolt on a door,’ Mr Tuke grumbled. ‘I wouldn’t have tekken half so long.’
‘Then ’next time there’s a job to be done you can do it, Mr Tuke,’ his wife said grimly. ‘Seeing as you’re so very handy.’
‘Shall I set ’table, Mrs Tuke?’ Harriet asked, anxious to get away from the subject of Fletcher. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you. It’s just that it was bad walking.’
Noah pointed a finger at her. ‘Don’t dare mention them branches. I’m warning you.’
Harriet shrugged. ‘Wasn’t going to. But don’t you need ’wood for ’fire? There’re piles of dead branches – not that I’m suggesting owt. What would I know?’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Tuke interrupted, and they all heard the porch door open. ‘You can set ’table now. Fletcher’s back. Shift yourself, Mr Tuke, if you want to eat, and let me near my oven.’
When Fletcher entered the kitchen Noah put his thumb in the air and then pointed it at Harriet. ‘Telled you, didn’t I?’ he bragged.
‘What?’ Fletcher asked. ‘Telled me what?’
‘That she’d find her own way home!’ He gave a mocking grin, and looked at Harriet. ‘He thought I should come out and meet you and I said you’d find your own way back. That’s right, isn’t it? You don’t need to rely on anybody else, do you?’
She gazed at him. ‘Course I don’t,’ she said. She turned to his brother, and her lips twitched as she said, ‘Whatever were you thinking, Fletcher, to suggest such a thing?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mrs Tuke told Harriet that there was a shepherd’s crook in the corner of the shed where the farm tools were kept. ‘Mr Tuke bought it,’ she said. ‘Fancied himself as a shepherd, but we’ve never kept many sheep and we’re hardly climbing up hillsides for him to need it. Tek it. And if you’re not sure how deep ’snow is, test it wi’ crook first.’
Harriet said she would. The snow had fallen all night and the brothers had been out first thing clearing the yard. The sheep had been in a field shelter, but the cows were kept in their stalls. Mrs Tuke had done the first milking, and as soon as Harriet had finished her breakfast she set off for the manor wearing an old mackintosh she’d found in the porch, her shawl over her head and the borrowed boots over thick stockings.
I feel like an intrepid explorer, she laughed to herself, and was almost ready to admit that she was enjoying being outside.
Walking up the track was easier with the crook, but once she came to the main road the snow was thick and she pressed on gingerly. There was not another soul about; deep snow balanced precariously on low tree branches and the glistening white road was patterned with animal and bird prints. It’s beautiful, she thought, looking up into a clear blue sky as a flock of wild duck flew over; just wonderful. I’ve never in my life seen anything like it.
Her legs were aching by the time she reached the manor gates. The walk had taken her longer than on the previous day and she was relieved to see that a path had been cleared up the middle of the drive, which made walking easier. Somebody was up early to clear this lot, she thought.
She went straight to the washhouse, but on trying the door found it locked. She about-turned and went back towards the kitchen; the courtyard, like the drive, had been cleared and ash put down for easier access.
Harriet sighed. How very agreeable, she thought, to have someone do this for you, without having to stir yourself from your fireside. A young lad came out of the kitchen door and picked up a spade that was leaning against the wall, putting it over his shoulder. He nodded to her as he passed, and began whistling. She reckoned that he’d be pleased to be employed.
Cook told her that the laundry had been taken up to the ironing room. ‘Mrs Clubley was right pleased with your ironing,’ she said. ‘She said it was much better than Mary’s. She’ll be glad for you to come regular.’
‘Thank you,’ Harriet said. ‘So shall I come once a fortnight?’
‘Aye, that’ll do, or mebbe weekly in ’summer when we have visitors. And I expect Miss Amy will be home by then; she’s ’master’s daughter.’
Harriet nodded, and wondered if she would be pregnant by then. But even if I am, she thought, I could still come. She left her boots by the back door, and in her stockinged feet followed Lizzie up the back stairs and down a long corridor to a room which, like the washhouse, had dryers hanging from the ceiling, a wall completely covered in cupboards from floor to ceiling, two ironing boards and a table covered in a thick cloth, and a coal fire burning in a barred grate.
She took off the mackintosh and shawl, rolled up her sleeves, and put the flat irons on the fire bars.
‘Sheets are in ’baskets,’ Lizzie told her, ‘and you can mek starch wi’ water from ’jug.’ She pointed to a small side table with a jug and bowl on it. ‘And Mrs Clubley said to tell you that ’mistress doesn’t like ’sheets starched too stiff.’
Harriet had never used starch before. That was a luxury she and her mother hadn’t needed with their fustian bedlinen, but these sheets were of the finest linen. She decided to err on the side of caution and mixed it up to a thin consistency and simply sprinkled it along the top and bottom of the sheets. I’m sure somebody’ll tell me if it’s wrong. And oh, dear, I hope I don’t scorch t
hem.
The first hour and a half passed pleasantly. She felt relaxed and her thoughts drifted from being at home with her mother to meeting Noah when she was feeling so very low, her marriage, and coming out to this marshy land. It feels like a foreign country might, she reflected, it’s so different from Hull. Her thoughts naturally turned to her new family, and she found that she was constantly thinking of Fletcher rather than her husband.
At half past nine Lizzie brought her a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, and she sat on a wooden chair and indulged herself for five minutes. I wouldn’t mind working here, she thought. There are worse jobs that I could think of than being near a warm fire and having somebody bring you a tray of tea and biscuits.
She’d just got started on the last pair of sheets and was wondering how long she could stretch out the time when the door opened and a small plump woman in a dark dress and cotton cap came in carrying something draped over her arm.
‘I’m Mrs Clubley,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Mrs Hart sends her compliments on your ironing and asked if you’d freshen up this afternoon gown?’
Harriet just remembered in time about bobbing her knee to her, and said she would take a look at it.
‘It’s a fine wool,’ Mrs Clubley told her. ‘So you must be careful not to have ’iron too hot.’
Harriet drew in a breath. It was a lovely blue and so soft that she knew it would drape beautifully on the body. ‘I’ll use a damp cloth on it, just to be sure,’ she said. ‘But I must tell you, Mrs Clubley, that I’ve never done owt like this before. But I’ll tek great care.’
She finished the sheets, carefully folding them and putting them away on the shelves of a cupboard as she’d been told to do, and began the gown. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing rather than daydreaming, but no matter how she applied herself, the image of Fletcher, how he looked and the various things he had said, kept coming back to her.
Stop it, she thought. He’s nowt to you, and don’t compare him with Noah, they’re different people. I know they are, she answered herself. He’s more thoughtful than Noah, not only of me but of his mother too, and he’s not aggressive. Then she began wondering if he would meet her again on the Marsh Farm track, and knew, no matter how she denied it, that she wanted him to.