by Val Wood
She was finished before twelve o’clock and very satisfied with the gown. She hung it on a hanger and hooked it over a cupboard doorknob, thinking how it would suit Mrs Hart with her fair hair and pretty features. I hope she’s happy, she thought, and I hope Master Hart tells her how lovely she looks in it. She sighed. How nice that must be, to receive a compliment from someone who loves you and not just be a woman there for ’purpose of begetting sons.
Cook expressed surprise that she had finished so quickly and asked her if she’d like to stay and have something to eat. After only a slight hesitation, Harriet said that she would. Cook told her that they would eat before upstairs did, as guests were expected for lunch at one o’clock prompt.
‘We’re having roast pork,’ she said. ‘With apple sauce, o’ course, duchesse potatoes and winter greens. Just a simple meal, and it’s ready to eat now, cos when we’ve finished my time will be tekken up wi’ upstairs. They’re having game soup, fresh cod cooked in butter and herbs, and then wild duck wi’ juniper berries and thyme for mains. I’ve made an apple and orange tart flavoured wi’ cinnamon for dessert. It’s my own recipe,’ she said. ‘I know what Master likes. He likes his food plain, nowt too fancy.’
‘Are you cooking all of that, Mrs Lister?’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘As well as pork for ’staff?’
‘Oh, aye,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to eat, haven’t we? And there are plenty of us: maids, and Mr Cookson, he’s ’butler, you’ve not met him yet, and Mrs Clubley, and Boulder, he’s ’footman, and Johnny is ’boot boy. There’ll be nowt left on ’joint o’ pork, I can tell you.’
‘You forgot me, Cook,’ Lizzie piped up.
‘Ah, yes,’ Cook said and winked at Harriet. ‘So I did. Well, there might be a crumb or two left over that you can have, so just hurry up scrubbing them parsnips for upstairs.’
When Harriet left she was not only bursting with food, but also amazed at the speed at which everyone ate, enjoying without appearing to bolt their food, and how Mrs Lister then galvanized the maids to clear away and help her dish up the soup into a tureen, which she sprinkled with chopped parsley. Then she scattered toasted breadcrumbs over the fish and popped it back in the oven to crisp, leaving the duck to rest for five minutes, she explained, whilst she quickly ordered the carrots and Brussels sprouts to be brought to the boil and personally supervised the sauce to glaze the duck.
How does she manage to do all that, Harriet thought as she strode down the drive. She looked back towards the house and saw two carriages at the front door. No doubt the occupants would be sitting down at table enjoying their luncheon. Oh, she breathed, it’s another life.
As soon as she reached the top of the track, she noticed something different. The brightness of the morning had disappeared and clouds had developed, yet the track seemed lighter and more open. Then she saw the pile of branches and heard the rasp of a saw.
Noah heeded what I said after all, she thought gleefully. Good, there’ll be plenty of kindling and logs for ’fire. But then she remembered that Fletcher had said he’d make a start on them, and halfway down the track was a ladder leaning against a tree and Fletcher at the top of it with a saw in his hand.
He looked down at her. ‘There you are, Mrs Tuke. How does this suit you?’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘It meks such a difference, it’s so much lighter. Have you – erm, did you have any help?’
He came down the ladder and scrunched up his shoulders. ‘Yeh,’ he mocked. ‘My father came out to give his advice on how to tackle it, and then Noah came out to look and told me I was wasting my time.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I didn’t intend to cause trouble.’
He gave a grim laugh. ‘Trouble was here before you arrived, Harriet, but …’ He paused. ‘Your being here might just bring things to a head.’
‘What do you mean?’
He gazed at her for a long minute before saying, ‘I’m not sure what I mean; I onny know that something’s got to change, that we can’t go on in ’same manner as we’ve allus done.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘There are things I don’t understand either, but now I’m seeing our life here wi’ somebody else’s eyes and awareness: yours. And there’s summat wrong and I don’t know what it is.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I know what Fletcher means, Harriet thought later as she changed into her old skirt and warm jumper ready to help with the milking and put the hens away. Darkness was drawing in and clouds heavy with snow were gathering ominously overhead. At least I think I know. There’s a tension in the house, an antagonism between Mr and Mrs Tuke, which rubs off on the brothers. Are they taking sides? Have they always fought? Did Mr Tuke pit them against each other when they were young?
Fletcher seems to be milder, the more tolerant of the two, which is odd as he’s ’eldest. Noah is the aggressor, quick to take offence or pick a fight, and not only with Fletcher. I feel that I must be careful of what I say to him. And it seems as if when Noah scores, then so does Mr Tuke, and yet when Noah is rude to his father it bounces off him. But what I don’t understand is that Mrs Tuke is almost untouched by what Noah does or says, as if it doesn’t concern her. It’s so strange and it’s very disturbing.
The week dragged. Fletcher and Noah were outside most days, repairing fences, keeping the area around the house and yard clear after each fall of snow, for it kept coming down thick and fast, chopping turnips for the sheep in the shelter in the field nearest the house, and supplying the stock with plenty of straw. And they kept the ditches clear, which seemed to be the most important job of all.
Mrs Tuke showed Harriet how to bake a cake with flour and oats, a small amount of butter, ginger and black treacle. ‘It’s cheap to mek,’ she said, ‘and we’ve allus got ’ingredients in ’larder. Or you can use ’same ingredients and add a couple of eggs and you’ve got a different kind of cake that’ll keep – if it doesn’t get eaten.’
As Harriet stirred the mixture she reflected that this was the very first time she had heard any kind of humour coming from Ellen Tuke’s lips.
They usually ate their midday meal and supper in silence, until one evening Fletcher suddenly said, ‘We should dig out a pond in ’bottom field and let ’water in. Or talk to ’bailiff about it.’
‘Don’t go on about that again,’ his father rebuked him. ‘I’ve said no.’
‘It would improve ’land,’ Fletcher maintained. ‘They’re doing it further up ’estuary. It’s good river silt.’
‘Aye, and how long afore you can use it?’ Noah butted in. ‘Years! And in meantime you can’t use ’land for owt.’
‘We can’t use it for much now,’ Fletcher argued.
‘What do you mean by good river silt?’ Harriet asked cautiously.
All three men looked at her. ‘Keep your nose out.’ Noah patted the tip of his own with his forefinger. Mr Tuke guffawed and said, ‘Hark at her!’
Fletcher said nothing for a moment, and then answered her. ‘At ’mouth of ’estuary what was once an island in the middle of ’river now joins ’mainland. It’s been warped; that means that most of ’land is man-made.’
‘Not woman-made,’ Mr Tuke mocked, but Fletcher ignored him.
‘In a nutshell, they dug warping drains and built sluices on ’land and let ’water flood in, then the sluices drain most of ’water out and leave ’sediment behind.’ He paused. ‘It’s ’best farmland in ’county now, but Noah’s right, it teks years afore ’land is good enough for planting. But it can be done.’
‘You’d have thought that Master Hart would’ve done it, wouldn’t you?’ Harriet commented.
‘He doesn’t need to,’ Mrs Tuke broke in. ‘He’s renting it to us to farm it. He’s got plenty of land elsewhere.’
‘Aye,’ Mr Tuke interrupted. ‘He’s not bothered about ’bit that we’ve got, as long as we pay ’rent on time.’
Harriet watched as Mrs Tuke bent over her sewing a
nd saw a wry grimace play momentarily over her lips. Harriet listened and watched, but even after spending time with them when they were confined to the house and yard by the weather, she was no nearer to understanding any of them.
It was a relief when her day for going to the manor came round. The snow had eased, though there were icy pockets on the road where the snow had melted and then frozen again which were treacherous to walk on. But the sun broke through the cloud and Harriet’s spirits lifted as she strode out towards the manor.
Mary had sent a message that she was sick and couldn’t come, but Lizzie had already filled the washtub with water and lit the fire beneath it and the water was just right for the mistress’s delicate underwear, which Harriet washed straight away. She hummed to herself and thought again that she wouldn’t at all mind working here. But I’m tied to Noah for life and I’ve to mek ’best of it. But increasingly, whenever she thought of Noah, Fletcher came unbidden into her mind.
She finished the washing and put it all to dry on the racks and went to tell Cook that she’d have to come back the next day to do the ironing. She was given a cup of tea and ate a slice of bread and beef and then said she would get off back to Marsh Farm as the weather was looking threatening.
‘I’ll come early tomorrow,’ she said. ‘About six, and then I’ll be finished by dinner time.’
It started to sleet as she got to the road and although she was pleased because the snow would clear, she knew she would be soaked before reaching home. She walked hunched with her head down and wished she had borrowed the mackintosh again. When she glanced up she saw someone in the distance walking towards her. A tall man, moving purposefully. She’d never seen anyone else on the road before and wondered who it was. There were no other houses or farms round here.
She looked up again as he drew nearer. He had a rain cape over his head, but took it off as he approached. It was Fletcher.
Rain dripped off her shawl and hair and down her face and she brushed it away from her eyes. ‘Where are you off to?’ she asked.
‘Nowhere,’ he said. ‘I’ve arrived.’
Harriet laughed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve come to meet you.’ He unwrapped the cape from his shoulders and put it over her. ‘I thought you’d be on your way back.’
‘I – do you think you should’ve done that? What if—’
‘Noah’s asleep by ’fire. It’s too wet to do any jobs outside.’ He took her hand and led her toward a shelterbelt of trees at the side of the road.
‘What …? For heaven’s sake, Fletcher, what ’you doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I just want to talk to you.’
‘You can talk to me in ’house. We don’t have to talk out here!’
‘I can’t talk to you in front of everybody. Everything I say is questioned, and you – you can’t have an opinion on anything, don’t you see that?’
He was standing very close. She could smell the dampness of him. His hair was soaked, as hers was, and it hung damply about his face.
‘Noah would have an opinion if he should see us here like this,’ she said nervously.
‘He won’t see us,’ he said, leading her deeper into the wood. ‘I told you, he’s sleeping.’
‘What do you want of me?’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said again. ‘But I don’t want Noah to have you.’
‘I’m his wife,’ she pointed out. ‘We’re married – in church.’
‘You don’t care for him,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not a marriage made in heaven.’
She scoffed. ‘That it’s not. But I’m stuck wi’ him. For better or for worse, that’s what I promised.’
‘And you got ’worse,’ he murmured.
‘I must go,’ she insisted. ‘I’m frightened.’
‘Not of me?’ He frowned. ‘I don’t intend you harm.’ He touched her cold cheek with his finger. ‘I just want to talk to you.’
‘No.’ She drew away from him. ‘Not of you. Of myself, perhaps, and of being found here with you.’
It was true, she thought. I’m afraid of being alone with him. He’s standing too close. He shouldn’t touch me like that. I don’t feel threatened, but I’m nervous of my feelings towards him. I’ve never felt like this before.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ She licked her lips. ‘I’m cold.’ She shivered.
He put his arms round her. ‘I could make you warm,’ he said softly. ‘Can I kiss you? Just a kiss?’
She said nothing, just looked at him. Her breathing quickened and she felt her pulses racing. ‘I – don’t think you should. I – we’d regret it. If you – we – did, it would mek things different between us. Noah would know.’
‘He wouldn’t.’ He brushed his mouth softly against hers. ‘He’d be ’last to notice anything.’
‘But it’s not right.’ She felt her resolve disappearing, melting, just as her bones were doing.
‘No, it isn’t.’ She felt him inch away from her and felt disappointment. But he shifted only to bring one hand to her face, to run his fingers round her eyes and lips as he gazed down at her. ‘But sometimes doing right seems wrong, and doing wrong feels so right.’ He bent his face towards hers and kissed her mouth, and she didn’t draw back but let her lips soften in response.
She gave a small moaning breath as he put both hands to her face, holding her fast. ‘I’ve ached to do that since you first arrived,’ he whispered. ‘How can I bear it that you’re my brother’s wife?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
For all of January and most of February the weather was bitterly cold, wet and windy, but in spite of that Harriet looked forward to her walk to work at the manor. Although everyone knew their place in the hierarchy, the atmosphere in the kitchen of Hart Holme was friendly, and in the washhouse with Mary, or in the ironing room, she could relax in a way she could not when she was at Marsh Farm: there she was constantly on tenterhooks in case Noah and Fletcher started arguing; she was always aware of Fletcher’s presence and couldn’t ever meet his eye.
She was jumpy when Mr Tuke was anywhere near her and she never stayed in the house alone with him, but followed Mrs Tuke to the cowshed or the hen house or anywhere else she might go, bar the privy, and then she would go outside and potter about until she came back.
She couldn’t recall the exact day when she became conscious that Mr Tuke was watching her more intently than he had done when she’d first arrived, but now she felt increasingly threatened. But whom should she tell about it? Not Mrs Tuke, for in spite of the antipathy apparent between them they were still man and wife; and not Noah, for he was his son after all; and certainly not Fletcher.
But then one morning when Harriet was alone in the kitchen clearing up the breakfast dishes after the brothers had gone outside and Mrs Tuke was letting the hens out, the stairs door opened and Mr Tuke came in. He was earlier than usual and fully dressed in his habitual wear of breeches and smock. He glanced round the kitchen and asked where Mrs Tuke was.
‘She’ll be back in a minute,’ Harriet said nervously. ‘She’s just letting ’hens out. I’ll mek you some tea.’ She reached for the kettle to fill it again, but he grabbed her wrist.
‘No hurry ’bout that.’ He put his hand on her waist. ‘We’ll have a little chat, shall we, all cosy like?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Harriet pulled away from him, but he tightened his grip on her wrist. ‘Let go, please,’ she said. ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Don’t want to do that, do I?’ He leered at her. ‘Come on, missy, don’t be shy. I’m quite a man, you know.’ He bent his face towards her and whispered, ‘Bet I could get you in ’family way quicker than that son o’ mine can.’
She wrenched away from him, his nails catching her skin. ‘Don’t you dare touch me,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll tell Noah and your wife.’
‘Mrs Tuke wouldn’t care a jot about you or any woman, and my son’d believe me afore you any day of �
�week.’ He sneered. ‘Don’t think I don’t know women. I’ve met a few like you, down on their luck and willing to do a turn for a copper or two.’
She gave his cheek such a smack that his head jerked backwards and he staggered. ‘And I’ve met men like you too, but thankfully not many, and I know how to deal with ’em.’ She reached for the kettle again. ‘Lay a finger on me once more and you’ll feel this scalding water on a very tender place.’
He stepped back, animosity in his eyes. He pointed with his finger. ‘You so much as whisper a word and you’re out o’ my house afore you can blink.’
Before Harriet could reply they both heard the rattle of the latch on the back door. Quickly, he turned and sat down, picking up a knife and fork and holding them upright with his elbows on the table. ‘Mrs Tuke,’ he bellowed. ‘Is that you? What ’you doing, woman? I want my breakfast.’
Ellen Tuke was carrying a basket of eggs and her shawl was slipping off her shoulders. She gave a slight nod at Harriet but completely ignored her husband; it was as if he were not there.
‘Hens are laying again,’ she commented. ‘I’ve gathered a dozen this morning. I’ve been thinking I might get some ducks. They’re very messy, are ducks, but their eggs and meat are good.’
She put the basket down near the sink and then turned back. ‘Mr Tuke,’ she said as if she had just noticed him. ‘What ’you doing up at this hour? Going to help ’lads, are you? What a surprise that’ll be.’
She watched Harriet as she went to the sink and pumped water into the kettle, her eyes following her back to the fire as she hung the kettle up again, and then she glanced back at Mr Tuke.
‘Harriet, will you just check that I’ve fastened ’field gate?’ she said. ‘I’m not sure if I hooked it up properly as I had my hands full.’
Without a word Harriet gathered up her shawl from the back of the door and left the kitchen. She heaved out a breath as she put on the rubber boots and opened the back door, and then she heard Ellen Tuke’s menacing voice saying, ‘Now then, Mr Tuke, what ’you been up to?’