And having made their point most firmly, they got on with the task of living, expecting the rest of the household to do the same.
The death of Charles, the trauma of disposing of his Lakeland home and effects, settling his debts and so forth, had deprived Kate of any opportunity to carry out her promise to Millie, for surely Eliot had far more important matters on his mind. But she had not her forgotten her pledge and visited her old friend regularly, growing increasingly concerned by her condition. One morning Kate managed to snatch a moment with Eliot before he set off for the factory. He looked surprised to find her patiently waiting for him on the landing, and not particularly pleased.
‘What is this, an ambush?’
‘I need to talk to you about Swainson. Didn’t I say what a dreadful man he was, well now he’s . . .’
‘Kate, enough! I’m well aware of your dislike for this man but he is my foreman. So far as I am concerned, he does his job well and I’m not prepared to stand here and listen to tittle-tattle.’ He made to walk on past her down the stairs but Kate grabbed at his sleeve.
‘’Tis not tittle-tattle, ’tis the gospel truth. He’s after the women, so he is.’
Eliot drew in a long weary breath but the expression on his face was one of disbelief. ‘And who told you that, I wonder, one of your women friends from Poor House Lane?’
Kate’s cheeks flushed a guilty crimson and she saw by the way his eyes narrowed to ice cold slits that she’d made a bad mistake mentioning her old yard.
‘You’ve been there again, haven’t you? I understood my late wife had put that dreadful place out of bounds to you. Are you saying you’ve risked Callum’s health yet again by venturing down there? Have you?’
All Kate could do was hang her head in shame.
‘I’m of a mind to dismiss you on the spot.’
‘Oh, please, don’t, sir! I’m that sorry, so I am. It’s just that my . . .’
‘Have done Kate, and get back to your duties. And leave my blasted foreman in peace.’
Chapter Eighteen
September arrived and with it that mellow softness in the air so often found in a Lakeland autumn before the bite of winter takes hold, with the smell of leaf mould, sunshine and garden bonfires in the air. Life at Tyson Lodge slipped back into its familiar routine, the servants going about their daily chores, Kate minding Callum, still worrying about what would happen when he turned five, as he soon would do. Would he then have no need of a nursemaid? Would she be dismissed and a governess engaged, as Eliot had once implied might happen? She daren’t risk pushing the subject of Swainson too hard, in case it backfired on her. The result of her last effort and Eliot’s threat to dismiss her on the spot, had chilled Kate to her very soul.
And the two spinsters showed no sign of leaving.
Their favourite occupation was to call upon ‘unfortunates’, wearing a suitably caring expression and carrying their parcel of charitable offerings before them like a flag of honour. The recipients were carefully selected women who had fallen upon hard times, and deemed to be in need of their time and attention. The aunts would offer a modicum of sympathy, larded with a great deal of worthy advice, largely of the ‘converting them to come to church’ variety, as the sisters firmly believed that poverty was somehow only inflicted upon the unchristian. Occasionally they might agree to provide a small amount of cash to buy coal, a much needed overcoat or pair of boots but mostly they preferred to make their offerings in kind as they didn’t quite trust ‘these people’ to spend the money wisely. And souls, they declared, were of far greater importance than bodies.
All of this put Kate in mind of her own time in Poor House Lane and when once they directed her to accompany them in order to carry the parcels, she absolutely, and steadfastly, refused.
‘Wouldn’t they all think I was lording it over them?’ Kate explained.
‘Utter tosh!’ Vera retorted, quite unable to see the problem. ‘Are you questioning my judgement, gel?’
‘Indeed no, Miss Tyson, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable. It wouldn’t be right.’
Cissie saw her point at once. ‘You’d be embarrassed, dear, is that it, as if you were making yourself out to be better then these poor people?’
‘I would so. Sure and they’d think I was playing the Lady Bountiful.’
Vera took off her spectacles and polished them furiously, seeing that she had lost that particular battle, though she wasn’t prepared to let it go without a fight. ‘It is my firm opinion, that the poor are an unavoidable section of the system, one we are no more likely to be able to eradicate than we could change the laws of gravity.’
‘A decent job, or mebbe a bit more book learning might help,’ Kate said, unable to keep quiet in the face of such pig-headedness. ‘Isn’t that I want - a decent education and upbringing for me own son.’
Both maiden ladies looked taken aback by this effrontery on her part to speak out. They quite took their own more privileged position for granted, as if they were immune to such disasters as poverty. And didn’t they do all they could to help? Indeed, they attended lectures on a regular basis which fully explained the rules of philanthropy versus economics; how it was fine to nurture and champion the inadequate and the weak, so long as this didn’t interfere with the capacity of business to make a profit. Surely everyone knew this simple fact, otherwise how would Tyson’s Shoe Manufactory, for instance, ever survive? Clearly, this chit understood nothing.
‘My dear girl, education is for those who are worthy of it, not for every Tom, Dick and Harry.’
But there was no stopping Kate now. ‘I don’t see why not. And a clean, healthy home where a woman can bring up her babbies safe and well, and people don’t piss in the yard, wouldn’t come amiss either.’
Vera looked as if she might very well faint, this information being far too much for her, as if she never needed to relieve herself at all, let alone in a place where insufficient lavatories were provided.
‘I fully intend,’ Vera explained later to her sister. ‘To make it my duty to see that Miss Kate O’Connor learns her place and stays below stairs, where she belongs.’
‘Whatever you think best, Vera dear.’
‘Unless, of course, we can think of some foolproof plan to rid ourselves of her entirely.’
Some time later, Aunt Vera confronted Eliot at breakfast with what Cissie could only be described as her implacable look. ‘Cissie and I have found an excellent, sensible school for the boy.’ Sensible in that it didn’t cost a fortune, and it’s main advantage being that it was many miles from Kendal. ‘It was recommended to us by the vicar,’ as if that settled the matter, ‘ and the boy can start after Christmas which will mean that he’ll no longer be in need of a nursemaid.’
Eliot sensed the onset of panic. He felt confused, as if he were being swept along by some tide over which he had no control. A tide of his own making, of desire and need, a lust which filled him with bitter shame. But it was Callum who troubled him the most. He was the most important factor in all of this. Whatever Eliot decided to do about this undeniable and soul weakening physical attraction he felt for the boy’s mother, he’d really no wish to lose his son to some school, however excellent, quite so soon.
‘He’s too young to leave home, at just turned five. Eight is surely early enough to send him away. Perhaps we’re rushing matters somewhat.’
‘Nonsense! This particular school has a kindergarten department, making it part of their policy to begin educating children as soon as possible. He will come to no harm at all. Far better he be in professional hands, rather than the uncertain care of a naïve young girl. Remember, we no longer have the benefit of poor dear Amelia to be a mother to the child.’
Eliot stared at the congealed bacon on his plate and considered saying that the child did still have a mother, but thought better of it. How could Kate be so described when she’d given up all rights to Callum once he’d adopted the boy? It was no longer proper to think that way. He’d been evading the issue long enoug
h, unable to give the child the proper attention he deserved because of his grief, not to mention the problems resulting from Charles’s suicide. Eliot sighed and set his knife and fork to one side. He really couldn’t go on vacillating. It would be much better if she did leave, thereby removing temptation from his sight.
‘Perhaps you are right.’ He stood up. ‘I promise that I’ll give the matter serious consideration. We’ll discuss it later, or at some point during the next few days. We still have a week or two’s grace, I am sure, before we must decide.’
The two aunts exchanged a speaking glance which Eliot did not intercept as he was already striding from the breakfast room. Aunt Vera hurried after him out into the hall. Cissie, her ever-permanent shadow, not far behind.
‘You mustn’t delay making a decision for too long.’
‘No, no, not too long. Dear me, no,’ said Cissie.
‘Places are at a premium.’
‘Yes indeed, at a premium,’ agreed her echo.
Eliot snatched up his hat, bid them both good morning and fled from the house.
Kate was sitting on the nursery sofa one evening in October when the tap came upon the door. She set down her work with a sigh, fully expecting it to be one of the aunts come to complain about some unfulfilled task or other. They were rarely satisfied with her work and took every opportunity to point out her inadequacies which generally resulted in Kate having to do every job twice over.
‘Yes,’ she said with weary resignation as she swung open the door. But it was not Aunt Vera standing there.
‘May I come in,’ Eliot politely asked, ‘or is it too late?’
Kate glanced back over her shoulder at the sleeping child in the adjoining bedroom and, putting a finger to her lips, answered carefully, with proper respect. ‘Come into the day nursery. He’s asleep.’ She closed the door between the two rooms and returning to the sofa, picked up her mending again. Keeping her fingers busy might stop them from shaking, she thought, as Eliot drew near. To her alarm and discomfort, he chose not to sit on the rocking chair opposite but on the sofa beside her. She could hear her own heart hammering and was certain he must hear it too.
Kate cast him a sideways glance, watching as he sank back against the sofa cushions, intensely aware of his nearness. Oh, but he was a handsome man. Just the sight of him turned her insides to water, the way his dark curls tumbled over his brow, the mere scent of his cologne set her senses jangling. He chanced to look up as she was surreptitiously studying him and their glances held. Try as she might, she could not tear her gaze away. Something flared between them, an undeniable spark of attraction that brought a crimson flag of colour to each cheek. Only when he smiled, breaking the power of the moment, did she manage to drop her gaze and turn her attention back to the sock she was darning, except that her hand was shaking after all, and Kate was forced to set the needle down.
‘Are you content?’ he asked. ‘Do you find your quarters comfortable? Are you managing all right – on your own?’ He meant without Amelia, but couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
Kate swallowed her nervousness and managed a weak smile. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m very well.’
‘That’s good. More than anything, I want you to be happy, Kate.’
Oh, how she wanted him. How she needed him. It would be so easy to simply turn towards him, to let his hands caress her bare skin, let him have her and be done with it.
Which, of course, he knew.
She again addressed herself to the sock, compelling her fingers to work properly. She was puzzled and alarmed by this late visit, wondering what, exactly, was on his mind. The conversation felt stilted and studiously polite. But then was it any wonder? This man had turned her life upside down on two separate occasions: when he’d taken her son as his own, and the night following Amelia’s death when he’d taken her to his bed. What could he want of her now?
Kate might secretly adore him, find him the most exciting man alive, but yet she remained wary of him. He kept her here, at Tyson Lodge, because it suited him to do so. Was he now about to tell her that her services were no longer required, that Aunt Vera had persuaded him to send the boy away?
Of all things, Kate hated insincerity and hypocrisy. He didn’t love her, so why pretend? Why act as if he cared whether she was content or not? Why make comments about wanting her to be happy? How could she be, loving him as she did, and knowing that love not to be returned.
His first words confirmed her worst fears. ‘Aunt Vera tells me she’s found Callum a good school.’
‘You aren’t going to send him away?’ She looked at him in dismay, her gaze silently adding, And me too?
His response was a sad smile. ‘You know this is all quite impossible. Having you here - after what happened between us. Don’t you think that it would be the wisest thing, for us both?’
He saw the small shake of her head, the light from the fire catch a blaze of colour in her hair, how the translucent skin suddenly drained of its normally rosy, apple-fresh colour. Yet the clear grey eyes were as defiant as ever, challenging him even now to brook her defences, if he dare. She didn’t want to go, nor would she beg to stay. And then on the tips of her lower lashes he saw a tear. It hovered for a second before it spilled over and ran slowly down her cheek. Without giving it a second’s thought, Eliot leaned closer and licked it away with his tongue. The eyelids flickered closed. He heard her soft moan, felt her body tremble, yielding instinctively to his touch. And as he reached for her, he quite forgot that he’d come to ask her to leave.
The next morning when she woke, they were still on the sofa, their limbs entwined, the weight of his body heavy and warm against her, the smell of the sun on his skin intoxicating, making her want him all over again. Kate lay beside him not daring to move, keeping her breathing slow and even, in an effort to pretend she was still asleep. She feared that when he woke, he’d be ashamed, and his sense of guilt would cause him to turn from her again.
But what else could she expect?
Wouldn’t the aunts be appalled if they knew how their darling nephew had spent last night? No, no, they’d turn a blind eye, of course they would. It was all too common for a master to take his pleasure of a maid. Not for a moment would they consider it a sign of love. Why should they? There was no question of Kate stepping into Amelia’s shoes and becoming the next Mrs Tyson. Quite unthinkable. Such a scandal would be the ruin of him. If Amelia’s so-called friends could cut her off so brutally at the end of her life on the basis of a false rumour, when the poor woman had done nothing wrong and was entirely innocent, what hope could Kate have of them accepting her? She would forever be looked down upon as a servant, a pauper. The girl from Poor House Lane. Because that’s exactly what she was.
And wouldn’t they take out their spite on Eliot, if she even tried? They’d destroy him, and the business, just as they had Amelia. And she could never allow that to happen.
Kate smiled softly as he slept on beside her, his face as innocent as a boy’s in repose. She stroked back a dark curl, dropped a tender kiss on his brow. Oh, but she’d never meant it to happen, not again. As he’d kissed her that first time last night, she’d kept her spine rigid with the resolve not to crumble. But it had proved every bit as difficult to deny him then as it had that first time. He’d cupped her face with a gentle hand, lifted up her loose flowing curls and placed his mouth against the beat of a pulse deep in the tiny hollows of her throat, threatening to shatter the last of her control. She’d tried. Oh, but hadn’t she fought against her desire, pressed her hands against his chest to push him away, despite an ache inside her belly almost too painful to bear.
‘You should go. I – I’m tired,’ she’d told him, in the way recalcitrant wives had done for generations. But she wasn’t his wife, nor even his mistress. She was only a nursemaid.
He’d remained silent for so long, looking into her face as if the very sight of her troubled him, that she’d thought for a moment he was about to do as she asked, and leave.
But then he’d closed his eyes, very briefly, almost in a gesture of despair and pulled her close, warm and safe in his arms and he’d kissed her again, very softly on the lips. ‘What is destroying me, what is tearing the heart out of me, is wanting you so much. I’ve been meaning to ask you to leave for weeks now, but I only have to come near you, to pass you on the stair and all my resolve weakens, my resistance melts.’
‘And haven’t men wanted women since the beginning of time? What makes you think you are any different?’ she’d quipped, determined to challenge him and to keep her wits about her.
‘Don’t you think I’m different, Kate? Don’t you see any sense of decency in me at all? Any honour?’
She’d tried to sit up, to restore some sort of order to the hair that was falling down all about her face and shoulders, aware of him watching every move she made. ‘And why would I? You’re a man, so you’re used to having your own way, are ye not? Isn’t a woman powerless when a man has that need on him, and can only do as she’s bid?’
He’d given a soft chuckle at that, his eyes merry with unexpressed laughter. ‘You’ve never struck me as the obedient type, Kate O’Connor.’
‘Have I not?’
‘No. Never.’ He kissed her then till her mouth was rosy from his kisses, exploring it more fully with his persuasive tongue. And in that moment she had known that she was lost.
Nursing these sweet memories in her heart, Kate must have drifted off to sleep again, because when she woke a second time she was alone on the sofa. He had gone.
‘Top of the morning to ye.’ But no, there he was, standing in the bedroom doorway with Callum in his arms. ‘Isn’t that what you Irish say?’
Kate laughed. ‘If we’re feeling skittish, we do to be sure. Give him to me, I’ll get him washed and dressed.’ She suddenly felt shy to be here, half naked, with the master and her son. She reached for her robe, pulling it on quickly.
‘He was bored, all on his own. Let him play. Do you want your wooden train, son?’
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 22