by Val Wood
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Harriet whispered. ‘I’m sorry; I seem to have lost my voice. Mrs Tuke is milking in ’shed. She’ll not be more than five minutes. Can I offer you a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you,’ Melissa said. ‘My husband has something to tell you.’
Christopher’s fingers ran round the rim of his top hat. ‘There’s no trace of your husband or his father,’ he told her. ‘One bargeman has drowned, the others are safe. I’m so sorry that I haven’t any better news for you.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I didn’t expect any, sir,’ she said huskily. ‘Not after what I saw. Here’s Mrs Tuke coming in.’ She had heard the click of the door sneck.
Ellen had seen the horse and trap outside and her expression was composed, until she saw Mrs Hart standing by Harriet and then it froze, though she dipped her knee.
‘Good morning, ma’am, Master Christopher,’ she said formally. ‘Thank you for coming. I don’t suppose you have anything new to tell us?’
‘I’m afraid not, Ellen,’ Christopher said. ‘It’s a terrible tragedy. Do you have any other family we can get in touch with?’ He glanced at Harriet, who shook her head and mouthed, ‘No, sir.’
Ellen crossed her hands. ‘No, but I’d be obliged if you’d send a message to Mrs Marshall to acquaint her with what’s happened.’
Christopher, saying that he would, cursed himself for forgetting that he’d intended to send a sack of logs to the old lady. It’s Christmas Eve, he thought; everybody will be busy. I wonder if she has enough fuel to manage over Christmas?
‘You must let us know if there’s anything you need for yourself or your child.’ Melissa spoke directly to Harriet. ‘May I see him?’
Harriet smiled, though her mouth trembled. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ She drew away the shawl. Daniel gave a yawn and opened his dark eyes, which were fringed with the longest lashes Melissa had ever seen, and looked about him as if observing his surroundings.
‘Oh!’ Melissa sighed. ‘He’s beautiful. Quite, quite beautiful. I don’t know many babies, but I’m sure there are none who can match him.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Harriet whispered. ‘I thought it was just me being biased.’
‘I think not,’ Melissa said gently, and turned to Ellen Tuke. ‘You must both be so very proud. The child will give you comfort in these dark days.’
‘Quite so, ma’am,’ Ellen said stiffly.
The Harts left them and headed for home. ‘What a very cold fish your Ellen Tuke is,’ Melissa commented when they reached the road. ‘I don’t think it’s only shock that has made her so. I feel she has some rancour eating away any generosity of spirit.’
Christopher gave a deep sigh. ‘I think you may be right. She is certainly not the person I once knew.’
CHAPTER FORTY
Christmas Day felt very strange and Harriet was unwell, spending most of the day sitting by the fire in a daze, gazing into the flames. Ellen milked the cows, fed the sheep and cattle and brought in the eggs. Then she cooked just one of the pheasants, baked potatoes, and boiled carrots and cabbage. They ate very little, and although Ellen had steamed the Christmas pudding Harriet couldn’t eat any of it.
After she had cleared away, Ellen suggested Harriet went to bed. ‘If you’re ill we can’t cope,’ she said bluntly. ‘Nor can you feed ’babby. If we’re to survive here you have to be fit.’
Harriet heard her words but was barely listening; she felt as though she were existing in a bubble. She gathered Daniel up from his cot and went silently upstairs. Five minutes later Ellen brought up a stone hot water bottle to warm her bed and a cup of hot milk sprinkled with cinnamon.
After drinking the milk and with Daniel tucked up beside her, she fell asleep almost immediately and was woken in late afternoon by Mrs Tuke shaking her.
‘Parson’s here,’ she said, ‘an’ asking to see you. Shall I ask him to come up or will you come down?’
Harriet felt dizzy but slightly better after her long and deep sleep. ‘Could he come up, do you think?’ Her voice was still croaky. ‘Will you stay with him?’
‘Of course I will,’ she answered sharply. ‘He’ll not want to be in a young woman’s bedroom on his own.’
Harriet reached for her hairbrush and attempted to straighten her mussed-up hair. Sitting up in bed, she draped her shawl around her shoulders and waited.
The parson offered his commiserations, gave her God’s blessing and asked for her to be given strength in her present difficulties. Then he baptized Daniel, to whom she gave the middle name of Miles after all, for recalling Noah’s saying that they’d call another son by that name, she thought sorrowfully that she might never have any more children.
She went downstairs after he had left. Ellen was making tea and cutting into a Christmas cake, and Harriet allowed herself the uncharitable thought that apart from the absence of Noah and Mr Tuke from the table, Ellen was behaving much as usual. She shivered, even though the room was warm. ‘I was thinking,’ she croaked. ‘It’s a pity we can’t get in touch with Fletcher. He might want to come home.’
Ellen poured the tea and sat opposite her at the table. ‘He’s gone to mek his fortune,’ she said bluntly. ‘He’ll come home when he’s good ’n’ ready.’
‘But if he knew what had happened to his father and Noah he’d want to come back and support you.’
‘Mebbe,’ Ellen answered, tight-lipped. ‘But he doesn’t know.’
Harriet sipped her tea and nibbled on a small piece of cake. ‘Would you like me to stay?’ she asked. ‘Or should I leave, seeing as I’m no relation to you, and neither is my son.’
Ellen stared at her. ‘Do you think I’m so callous that I’d turn you out in ’middle o’ winter?’
Harriet gazed into space before answering throatily, ‘I don’t know what I think. I don’t feel capable of thinking about anything.’
‘Then I’ll tell you.’ Ellen leaned towards her. ‘They’re not coming back, so we have to mek ’best o’ things. When you’re well again we’ll work out a plan for ’New Year. We’ll sell ’cattle for we can’t raise ’em, but keep one milch cow; that’ll be as much as we’ll need. We’ll sell off ’sheep – they’re more bother than they’re worth – but raise a litter o’ pigs and sell ’em at six months. We’ll keep the goats to keep ’grass down, and sell hosses – we should get a good price for ’stallion and plough hoss, but we’ll keep ’old mare for ’time being. We’ll buy more hens and ducks wi’ money we mek, and then we’ll have eggs and meat.’ She sat back and folded her arms. ‘We’ll manage,’ she said.
She’s already made plans, Harriet thought, and wanted to ask what about the maintenance of the farm, the fences and gates and – she gave a little shudder – the estuary bank. We can’t do those things; or can we? Mebbe when I’m feeling better and winter is over I’ll be able to do more, but I wish, oh, how I wish that Fletcher would come home. I just want to see him. I know there can be nothing more than a loving friendship between us but I just want to know that he’s near.
On the day after Boxing Day, Christopher Hart came to their door to tell Ellen that Mrs Marshall was ill.
‘I sent a man round on Christmas Eve with a sack of wood and to tell her of your misfortune,’ he said. ‘He came back to tell me that a boatman who had shipped up in the Haven had called in to see her and found her unwell. I’m sorry I couldn’t come before, but I’ve had a houseful of guests. I’ve sent someone with provisions and she seems to be coping. It’s, erm, perhaps not good for her to be alone.’
Ellen thanked him for coming, but it seemed to Harriet that she was more upset over her old friend’s illness than she had been over her husband or Noah.
When Harriet felt stronger, she began to do more work about the house and farm. Neither Noah nor his father had yet been discovered, and some of the men from neighbouring farms who called in to offer sympathy and a helping hand if needed remarked that they might never be found.
‘Could’ve been washed out to sea o
n ’following tide,’ one pronounced dourly. ‘Or trapped under a sandbank. Sorry to say, I reckon you’ve seen ’last of ’em.’
Which is no comfort at all, Harriet thought as she gazed out at the now gentle flow of the Humber.
Frequently, after finishing her chores, she walked up the track to the top road to check if there had been any letters delivered to the post box, but it was always empty, and she realized that on the rare occasions when there had been a delivery Mrs Tuke had already collected it. She must be checking first thing, before starting the milking.
January was very cold, with thick snow that came halfway up the door, and they kept a spade inside the house to dig their way out if they should need to. The sheep were sold, though there was little profit on them, but there was sufficient bedding left now to keep the pigs and Daisy warm. Ellen wrung the necks of the older hens and there were enough eggs from the others to keep them supplied until the weather improved.
By March the two women had a regular routine, but Harriet hankered after going back to the manor, and she broached the subject with Ellen one day.
‘Mrs Hart said that she’d be glad to have me back,’ she told her. ‘And ’money would be handy if we’re going to buy more livestock. I could go up after ’first milking if you’d do second, rather than ’other way round as we do now.’
Ellen considered silently for a few moments and then said, ‘What about ’bairn?’
She never speaks of him by name, Harriet thought, just as she never did with Noah. In fact, she reflected, she never even mentions Noah or his father.
‘I’d tek him with me,’ Harriet told her. ‘I’ll onny be doing ’ironing anyway, not washing, so he’ll be quite safe. And it’ll onny be once a week at ’most.’
Ellen nodded and agreed. She didn’t offer to look after Daniel, not that Harriet would have wanted her to. She wanted her child to be loved and she didn’t think Ellen Tuke was capable of that.
The following Monday Harriet was up early; she did the first milking and then fed Daniel, who was thriving. He followed her with his eyes and chuckled and crowed when she talked to him. His cheeks were dimpled and he had a little round belly, which she gently tickled. As she dressed him she told him that they were going up to the big house where they would see Cook and Alice and lots of other people, and he gurgled at her as if he was taking in every word.
‘He doesn’t understand what you’re saying, you know.’ Ellen had her back to her as she stirred the porridge.
‘I know that,’ Harriet said, ‘but I want him to hear me talking, so he can begin to copy me when he’s ready. Surely you used to talk to Fletcher when he was a babby?’
Ellen didn’t answer. It was as if she hadn’t heard her, but Harriet knew that she had.
As she strode along the top road with Daniel strapped to her, she felt a huge uplifting of her spirits at being away from Ellen Tuke’s depressing temperament. She leaches away any happiness, and I have some now that I have Daniel to love, and am coming to terms with the loss of Noah and his father, which was such a terrible waste of life however difficult they were.
Although she hadn’t loved Noah, nor even, if she was honest, felt any fondness for him, she understood him better now that she knew how badly treated he had been as a child. He never knew love, she thought, and I do wonder whether if his real mother had kept him he would have turned out differently.
And why didn’t she keep him? Was she too young? Did Mr Tuke tell her he wanted a child and she obliged because she simply had no feeling towards him? She’s Daniel’s grandmother, she thought. Perhaps one day I’ll try to find out.
Nearing the manor gates, she saw the postman walking towards her. ‘’Morning, Mrs Tuke, how ’you doing?’
‘Much better, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘Have you owt for us?’
‘Aye, I have,’ he said. ‘And if I can give it to you I can save meself a bit o’ walkin’.’ He peered short-sightedly at the envelope. ‘It’s addressed to Mrs Tuke, so that’ll be you or ’other missus, and it’s another o’ them wi’ a foreign stamp.’
Harriet blinked and took it. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Righty-ho,’ he said. ‘I’ll be on me way.’
‘Yes,’ Harriet said vaguely. ‘Be seeing you.’
She walked on, clutching the envelope, but as soon as she turned a bend in the road she stopped and looked at it. It was a foreign stamp, an American one. What had the postie meant – another of them? Did he mean that he’d delivered another letter from abroad to someone else, or had he delivered others to Marsh Farm with American stamps? She couldn’t really be sure that it was from Fletcher, for she had never seen his handwriting, but she couldn’t think who else it might be.
It was addressed to Mrs N. Tuke, and she sighed. If it was indeed from Fletcher it would certainly be intended for his mother; he had no way of knowing that Noah and his father were dead, and would think that Noah would be angry and suspicious if she received a letter from him.
She turned it over in her hand and there it was, his name and an address in big bold handwriting.
Melissa glanced out of her bedroom window and smiled when she saw Harriet Tuke cutting down the side drive to the servants’ entrance.
Ah, she’s back, she thought. And she’s brought her baby with her. I’ll slip along to the ironing room later and take another look at him, and apprise her of my own pregnancy. I don’t in the least mind who knows of it, and I have no intention of shutting myself away until after the birth. It is a cause for celebration, and Christopher thinks the same.
She had told him of the forthcoming happy event after their guests had left. The tragedy of the double drowning had cast a cloud over them both, although they had been as hospitable as possible and not let it interfere with their guests’ enjoyment.
Laurence Wilkie had spoken privately to Christopher on Boxing Day, to tell him of his affection for Amy and express the hope that he might begin correspondence with her, which if she were willing, and with Christopher’s approval, might lead to something permanent. They’d liked him immensely, and Christopher’s sister-in-law had spoken of him favourably. She had told them that he was very well connected and his father’s only son and heir; Christopher’s only complaint was that if they should marry, Amy would be whisked away to live in London.
‘But it will be so nice to be able to visit them in their London house, darling,’ Melissa said, when he’d voiced his fears after everyone had departed. ‘And besides, we are going to be very busy ourselves.’
He’d looked at her enquiringly, and she had then given him the news that made him the happiest man in Yorkshire.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Some of the laundry was already drying in the ironing room when Harriet arrived, but first she had to show Daniel off to the kitchen staff and the other servants.
They all oohed and aahed over him and he obligingly laughed and chortled at them, but Harriet could tell they were curious about his olive skin and dark eyes. Understanding that in the circumstances they would be unwilling to broach the subject, she decided that it was best to air the matter at once.
‘You’ll all have heard that we have had a terrible tragedy thrust upon us and that I’m now a widow,’ she began. ‘My beautiful child will never know his da or grandfather, or who any of his forebears were, but as you can see,’ she smiled down at him, ‘there might have been a trace of foreign blood somewhere in his past. Or it might be in mine, for how can we tell? Unless ’knowledge is handed down by word o’ mouth there’s no knowing where any of us come from.’
‘You’re quite right there, Mrs Tuke,’ Mrs Lister said. ‘I thought I was Yorkshire through and through, until one o’ my ma’s relations showed up and it turned out we were part Irish!’
Harriet had been told that she might use one of the linen drawers in the ironing room as a makeshift cot. Someone had loaded pillowslips on a clothes horse, and stood it in front of the fire, so Harriet took them off and replaced them wit
h linen sheets, which took a lot of drying. She folded the slips and put the irons on the fire to heat. Then she sat on a chair and started to feed Daniel, sure that afterwards he would sleep for a few hours. She began to relax, her tension unravelling, and thought about the letter residing in her skirt pocket.
She wondered about its contents whilst ironing, and from time to time took it out of her pocket and looked at it. I wish I were brave enough to steam it open, she thought, turning it over in her hand. One corner wasn’t properly closed; it wouldn’t take much, she thought, and then chastised herself for even considering such an immoral act.
When the door opened she quickly stuffed it back in her pocket, surprised to see Melissa Hart here in the servants’ quarters.
‘Hello, Harriet,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased you were able to come back to us. How are you feeling now? The parson told us you were quite unwell when he visited you.’
Harriet dipped her knee. ‘I was, ma’am. It was ’shock of everything, I suppose, and seeing it happen right in front of my eyes.’
Melissa nodded. ‘I don’t know how you’d ever get over such a thing,’ she said gently. ‘And your mother-in-law, how is she?’
‘Coping well, ma’am,’ Harriet told her. ‘She’s just getting on wi’ looking after animals: milking cow an’ feeding pigs and so on. We got rid of ’cattle an’ sheep and just kept what we could manage. Do you think …’ She hesitated. It wasn’t really her place to ask, but she decided to; it was something she had worried about and needed to know. ‘Do you think that Master Hart will let Mrs Tuke continue wi’ tenancy of ’farm? She allus looks after ’books, so she tells me, so he needn’t worry that she doesn’t understand ’em, and I’m sure we can mek it pay if …’ She wanted to say if she lets me stay, but that would raise more questions about Noah. ‘If we work together,’ she concluded.