She detected the barest hint of Irish accent. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’m a labourer and you’re a lady.’
She laughed then. It was apparent from the way his eyes glittered that he found the sight entrancing. ‘You’re the first person who’s ever called me that. That’s why they sent me away to school; to be a lady.’
‘Then what’re you doin’ here?’
‘I didn’t like it and ran away,’ Rosie informed him.
‘Oh.’ He moved again. ‘Look, I must go.’
‘Will you come and talk to me again?’ she called eagerly.
‘Yes.’ He gave a sudden smile. The sun exploded in her mind. Then he walked away.
‘When?’ she cried, but he didn’t answer. She watched him march across the fields, a cloud of lapwings rising in chorused protest. Wrapping her arms about herself she squeezed joyfully. Squeezed her thighs together, too. Timothy. Tim.
She continued her walk and when she eventually made her way back to the barn it was to find her grandfather there. He was none too pleased. ‘Rosanna, can ye not bide in one place for more than five seconds? Where’ve ye been to?’
She threaded her arm through his. ‘Sorry, Gramps. It only took a short while to do the paperwork and I got bored with nothing to do. I didn’t think you’d mind if I took a walk.’
‘Well, I do mind. I like to know where you are. A young lady doesn’t go for walks unchaperoned.’
‘Oh, Gramps, you’re not going to start being stuffy too, are you? I won’t come to any harm, you know. I never set foot off your land.’
‘Nevertheless, ye don’t know who ye might bump into out there. There might be gypsies creeping around…’
‘And what would they want with me? Oh, come on, Gramps, can we have a drink of tea or something? My stomach’s rumbling.’
‘An’ how d’ye propose we boil a kettle out here in the middle o’ nowhere?’
‘Don’t try to fool me.’ She tapped him playfully. ‘I saw the men brewing up on a fire as I came back.’
He smiled. ‘Aye, well, I usually have my tea with the lads – but I’m not having you sipping tea round a fire like a labourer. I’ll go fetch us a cup an’ we’ll take ours in here. Ye may have to make do with a tin mug, though.’
‘Gramps, there’s no need,’ protested Rosie, eager for another meeting with Tim.
‘Rosanna, get this clear,’ he was serious now. ‘You are not to fraternise with my workers. Understand? I don’t mind ye being polite to them but that’s the limit.’ He went outside, returning with two pewter mugs. ‘Here, ’tis a bit strong but it’ll warm y’up.’
She accepted the mug, wondering who it belonged to. Making believe it was Tim she placed her mouth to the rim, imagining she could feel the imprint of his own lips.
After the tea was drunk Patrick asked how she intended to fill her morning if there was no more paperwork.
‘What about that?’ Rosanna pointed to a crate stuffed with papers.
‘Ah, that’s all old stuff.’
‘It’s a bit of a mess,’ said Rosanna. ‘What we need is a filing system. Perhaps I could tidy them up for you. We could have some cupboards put in and a desk.’
He laughingly agreed with her enthusiasm. ‘Anything ye want, darlin’,’ and left her to go on with it while he went off to supervise the men.
Instead of sorting the papers Rosanna looked thoughtfully at the mug, running the tip of her finger round its rim. Going to the door she scanned the field trying to pick out Timothy. There he was. She leaned against the wood, watching him covetously. A lock of hair fell over his forehead as he toiled. His hand came up constantly to push it from his eyes, but still it followed its unruly course.
With a wicked grin Rosanna searched for her grandfather, eyes gleaming. Oh, damn! he was there. Regretfully she took a last look at Timothy, then closed the door and made a start on the paperwork.
But nothing could hold Rosanna’s attention for very long. The paperwork became exceedingly tedious. Expelling a heavy breath she ceased grouping the documents and turned her mind to Tim, thoughts of whom soon coaxed her back to the door. Her lips parted in surprise and she took a step back. Timothy Rabb stood there, hand raised to push open the door when it had opened for him.
‘I…’ his eyes flicked the length of her body, ‘came for the mug, miss.’
‘Oh, it was yours.’ She smiled delightedly. ‘Come in, Tim.’
He looked to right and left, behind him, then stepped in after her, closing the door.
‘Did my grandfather send you?’ She picked up the mug she had used.
He shook his head. ‘The master’s away up the field.’
She felt greatly encouraged that he had not been sent but had come of his own volition. He must like her then. The hand clasping the mug offered it to him. He looked at it. ‘That’s Tom’s, miss. Mine is the one with the dent in it.’ He gestured at the one Pat had used.
Her disappointment was acute. ‘Oh.’
‘But I’ll take them both.’ He took the mug she was holding and waited for the other. She went for it and held onto it for a moment, wanting to put her lips to this one, but that would only attract his ridicule. Reluctantly she handed it back. Seeing he was about to go she once again surrendered to impulse and slipping around him placed herself between him and the exit – now I have you, her expression said.
‘The master’ll be back in a minute.’ His eyes dropped to her breasts, then back to her face.
She was blushing. ‘Do you like me, Tim?’
‘It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t. You’re the master’s grand-daughter.’
‘It does matter. Tell me.’
His lips twitched. ‘Yes, I like you.’
‘Do you think I’m pretty?’ A nod. ‘Would you like to kiss me?’
‘Miss Feeney…’
‘Rosanna. Call me Rosanna.’
‘Rosanna, your grandfather wouldn’t like it.’
‘I’m not asking you to kiss him.’ She pressed herself against the door. ‘I shan’t let you out till you’ve kissed me.’ She pouted.
He took a step towards her, bringing his body inches away. She closed her eyes and awaited the soft touch of his lips, totally unprepared for the hand that grasped the back of her skull and pulled her into a kiss of such savagery that she felt she was under assault from Abi’s sink plunger. She pulled away, panting, heart racing.
‘Wasn’t it to your liking, madam?’ he asked sarkily. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry ’tis ’cause I’m only a poor, rough labouring man.’ His face hardened. ‘Go take your games somewhere else, miss.’ Pushing her sideways he opened the door and went out.
Slamming the wood behind him she burst into tears. She didn’t know what she had expected but it certainly wasn’t that. It had deeply disturbed her. He was like an animal – and not a deer, either.
When the door opened some time later she was still weeping and, thinking it was Timothy, hurriedly wiped her face with her palms.
‘Rosie, what on earth’s upset ye so?’ Patrick stepped up quickly and took hold of her.
‘Oh, I’m so silly,’ she sniffed. ‘I’ve gone and got your papers in an awful muddle. I’ll never be able to sort them out before it’s time to go home.’
‘Oh, is that all? Why, that’s nothing to excite about. Tell ye what, we’ll sort them out in one fell swoop; have a bonfire.’
‘No, I feel responsible for getting them into such a mess. I must put them to rights.’
‘Rosie,’ he laughed, ‘they’re of no importance, really.’
‘No, Gramps, I insist. I shall come with you tomorrow and make things right.’
‘I thought ye said this was just for today?’ he reminded her, smilingly suspicious.
‘Grandfather, you shouldn’t permit me to walk away from the problems I’ve created every time,’ replied Rosie firmly. ‘It’s not good for me. Now, I shall come tomorrow – every day if necessary, until I’ve put them in order.’
She smiled sweetly. Tell that to Timothy Rabb, Grandfather, said her inner voice.
Chapter Twenty
It took Rosanna the best part of summer to bring those papers in order. Patrick knew it was only an excuse to get out of the house and into the freedom of the fields, but he didn’t really mind. She was a child who needed her freedom and, besides, she would come to no harm under his eye.
Rosanna was growing more and more frustrated. Every attempt to corner Timothy Rabb had been repulsed. She had tried to understand his words to her on the day of the kiss and had come to the conclusion that he thought she was simply playing with him; that he saw her as the lady she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary girl swept off her feet by a handsome young man. The first young man she had ever really noticed. She had wanted to explain this to him, but had never been granted the opening.
The fruit-picking season came around. Rosanna saw this as her big chance to get together with Tim and asked her grandfather if she might be allowed to be one of the pickers.
Interpreting this as a joke at first he soon came to realise she was serious. ‘Rosie,’ he said impatiendy, ‘as I keep tryin’ to tell ye, young ladies just don’t do those sort o’ things.’
‘Why?’ she demanded, chin at an obstinate angle.
‘Well, for a start, ’tis no soft job…’
‘Did I say I wanted one?’
‘An’ ye’ll end up getting your clothes all torn on the branches.’
‘It won’t take much trouble to mend them.’
‘’Twon’t for you, that’s certain.’
‘Oh, go on, Gramps.’ Her nose wrinkled in persuasion. ‘You know how I love being out in the open. Please, please.’ She leaned against him like a cat trying to ingratiate itself, cocking her face pleadingly and tickling him under the chin with a finger.
‘Jazers, you’re a temptress. I suppose ye know Belle will be coming home for the holidays? Wouldn’t ye rather spend your time with her?’
Damn, she’d forgotten that. Oh well, Belle could come too she supposed, putting this to her grandfather.
‘Oh, her mother’d be delighted I’m sure,’ nodded Pat.
‘Oh, come on, Gramps. You could get round Aunt Erin, I’m certain.’
‘You’re the expert when it comes to circumnavigating people.’
‘Say, Belle’s been doing all that hard work at school, she deserves a break.’
‘An’ a break involves forty-eight solid hours o’ fruitpicking, does it?’
‘Grandfather!’ she threatened.
‘Oh, all right, you demon. Have it your way – but don’t come running to me with blisters an’ sunstroke. God save us, I’m beginning to wonder who runs my house.’
Belle arrived home from college on Tuesday evening, her mother travelling all the way to collect her. After Patrick and Thomasin had agreed how their grandchild had blossomed in her absence Erin produced an envelope, her face alight. ‘This is a report on Belle’s progress. Oh, it’s so encouraging! Listen: “Miss Teale is a young lady of exemplary conduct whose intellect far surpasses that of her peers. Despite her short duration here she is already widely-read in the Classics, can read and speak French and German fluently. She shows great application in the Humanities, though her strongest subjects are political economy, English and mathematics, at which she particularly excels. It is felt that Miss Teale would benefit greatly from a university education and, if it can be arranged, recommend that this be carefully considered at a not too distant date”… There! Isn’t that wonderful?’
‘Magnificent!’ Patrick held out his hand for the report, offering congratulations to Belle, as did Thomasin.
‘Have you settled into your new school, Belle?’ asked the latter, patting the sofa for her grand-daughter to come and sit beside her. ‘I must say, it certainly appears that way.’
‘Yes, thank you, Nan.’ Belle sat down. There was always that certain reserve between the two.
‘And what are your views on attending university – I must say you’re exceedingly privileged to be thinking of taking the examinations at so tender an age.’
‘If that’s what Mother wishes,’ answered Belle obediently. ‘And if I’m clever enough.’
Pat laughed. ‘I don’t think there’s much doubt about that. My, the child could lose an’ find me with all her knowledge. Still, she’s worked hard an’ I think she deserves a rest, don’t you, Erin? How about letting her take a trip out to the fields to watch the fruit-pickin’? She an’ Rosie could take a picnic or something.’
To Belle’s surprise her mother agreed and the following day she and Rosanna dressed in their oldest garments to accompany their grandfather to the fruit-picking.
‘Right, what d’ye want us to do, Gramps?’ asked Rosie, keeping an eye on Timothy Rabb as she spoke.
He passed them each a basket. ‘Ye can go down that row there.’ He was pointing to the one parallel to that on which Tim laboured. ‘Just strip the fruit off and drop it in the basket.’
‘Righto. Come on, Belle.’ Rosanna set off purposefully and made herself appear very industrious while her grandfather was nearby. As soon as he moved out of earshot she embarked on her true intention. ‘Psst, Tim!’
Timothy heard her but didn’t look up, his hands moving deftly over the bushes.
‘What’re you doing?’ asked Belle, peering over the fruit bush at the young man.
‘I’m trying to get that fool to talk to me but he’s far too pig-headed,’ explained her cousin.
‘Fool is it?’ Tim raked her with a scornful eye. ‘At least I don’t use people.’ Hefting his basket he moved on to the next bush.
‘Who is he?’ asked Belle as Rosanna moved with him.
‘Shut up. I’m not using you, you ass! Please Tim, I’ve got to talk to you.’
‘Don’t tell me to shut up,’ retorted Belle. ‘And aren’t you supposed to pick all the fruit on the bush?’ She gestured at the still-laden bush which Rosanna was intent on leaving behind.
Ignoring Rosanna, Timothy looked at the other girl. ‘Good morning, miss. Would you be another o’ the master’s grand-daughters?’
Belle felt her cheeks go hot and it wasn’t just the effect of the sun. ‘Yes,’ she responded, unusually civil. ‘How do you do?’
‘Tim,’ Rosanna tried to intervene.
‘An’ why haven’t I seen you before today, if that’s not too impertinent?’ enquired Timothy.
‘I’ve been at school,’ answered Belle, and was suddenly painfully conscious of her shape in front of this young man as his sun-lit eyes examined her. Oh, he was lovely.
‘On holiday now, eh?’
‘Yes.’ She scraped a wisp of hair from her face, tucked it under her bonnet.
‘An’ will you be with us for long?’ She told him she didn’t know. ‘Makes a change to have a pretty young lady brighten our day.’ He hoisted the basket onto his shoulder, grinning down at her.
Rosanna was furious. She began to rip the fruit from the bushes, squashing most of it in her temper and nudging her cousin roughly as Belle resumed her task. ‘You’re not supposed to talk to the labourers. Grandfather wouldn’t like it.’
Belle looked at her amazedly. ‘Well, you just did.’
‘That’s different.’ Rip, rip, rip went her fingers, sticky with juice. ‘Tim and I know each other.’
‘That’s funny, he didn’t seem to want to talk to you as much as he did to me.’
Hearing Belle’s comment Timothy flashed her a smile. Rosanna worked faster, anxious to get Belle away from him. ‘Get a move on or we’ll never get finished.’
‘Less haste more speed,’ replied Belle maddeningly.
Rosanna continued to pick frantically, alternating the handfuls of fruit between basket and mouth and widening the gap between herself and Tim but also, unintentionally, leaving Belle behind. She snatched angry glances back alo
ng the row, watching them talking and laughing over the leafy barrier. Damn him. Damn Belle. Damn everybody!
Halfway through the morning, work stopped. Rosanna flounced off to the barn where she had left the picnic hamper. Shortly afterwards Belle joined her to be greeted with cutting remarks.
‘Oh, decided to tear ourself away, have we?’
‘I don’t know why you’re so uppity,’ replied Belle, poking about in the basket. ‘He’s ever such a nice person is Timothy.’ She found a sandwich and bit into it. ‘He’s been telling me all about his family and the part of Ireland they come from.’
Has he indeed? fumed Rosie to herself, but vented her frustration on the apple in her hand.
‘Aren’t you going to take something out for Gramps?’ asked Belle.
‘I’m sure you’re quite capable of doing that, seeing as you’re always trying to ingratiate yourself.’ Rosie ceased champing at the sight of Tim grinning at her and striding to the door slammed it shut.
‘What did you do that for? It’s beautiful out there.’
‘Well, bloody-well go then!’ shot Rosanna. Bitch, bitch.
‘All right, I will!’ Belle snatched a cloth from the hamper and filled it with food. Leaving the door wide open to annoy Rosanna she limped out to her grandfather. Then, to Rosie’s burgeoning fury, she brazenly went to sit right beside Timothy, offering him a sandwich which he ate with relish. From time to time she would cast sly eyes in Rosanna’s direction, much amused by the black looks she received.
Look at her, thought Rosanna crossly. The pair of them flaunting themselves. What on earth have they got in common?
Moments later her grandfather came to look for her. ‘Rosie, what’re ye hiding in here for?’
‘I’m not hiding,’ was her retort.
‘Come out into the sunshine.’
‘It’s bad for my complexion.’
He laughed and was about to go when she stopped him with her pompous enquiry. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, Grandfather, but Belle is talking to one of the workmen.’
‘What? Oh, that’s all right. Tim won’t do her any harm, he’s a sister Belle’s age. Come on, lass, fetch those sandwiches out into the sun. ’Tis lovely.’ He was waiting for her to obey – she had to.
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