A Nurse's Duty

by Maggie Hope

  ‘I buried a dead ewe on the fell,’ he volunteered, ‘liver fluke.’

  Karen compressed her lips but said nothing as she placed his plate of stew and dumplings before him. Liver fluke was a problem with the flock, something they had to watch out for.

  ‘The weather’s on the turn, there’s a coolness in the wind,’ he observed.

  ‘Yes, it’ll soon be winter again.’

  Karen sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of tea. She considered whether to share her fears with him but after all, what were they? Fanciful imaginings. Sighing she went over to the oven and brought over his barley milk pudding which had been keeping warm for him.

  Brian and Jennie were sitting close together on the settee reading, or rather Brian was reading a story to Jennie. Karen looked at them with pride. Brian was only five and a good reader already. Both of them looked healthy and happy in their nightclothes, with shiny hair and rosy, plump cheeks.

  ‘Nearly time for bed,’ she reminded them.

  ‘I’ll just finish this, Mam, can I?’ Brian asked as he looked up with pleading dark eyes.

  ‘All right. Then off you go. I’ll come up later.’

  ‘Are we going to Stanhope Show on Saturday?’

  Karen stared at Patrick, startled. He was smiling at them across the table. It wasn’t like him to suggest an outing. Most of the time he was quite reluctant to leave the farm, apart from those times he went off on his own and they were growing fewer as time went on.

  ‘Oh, can we?’ she exclaimed, the prospect of a little holiday brightening her eyes and colour suffusing her cheeks. She had become used to taking the children out on her own and it was lovely to think of Patrick coming too. Nick would stay at home, he would be happier here, she thought, and he could see to the stock. Though his nerves were so much better now, he still got worked up in crowds so he would rather stay and keep an eye on the place.

  Karen forgot her fears in her pleasure at Patrick’s suggestion. She cleared away and prepared for bed in a light-hearted mood.

  Saturday came cloudy but dry and Karen packed a picnic and dressed the children in jerseys for there was a chill wind blowing over the fell. As the trap took the road leading down into Stanhope, however, they were more sheltered and the sun came out, gleaming through the scudding clouds and promising well for the afternoon.

  Brian sat beside his father in the front seat while Karen and Jennie sat in the back. Jennie laughed in delight as they rode briskly over the ford with the water tinkling and gleaming in the sun and Polly’s hooves splashing it up in sparkling sprays. She leaned out over the side of the trap so that Karen had to catch hold of her around the waist to hold her.

  ‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘You’ll get wet. You don’t want to have to go home before we get there, do you?’

  At last they came to the show field and all climbed down on to the grass. Jennie stood staring round at all the bustle with her thumb in her mouth, suddenly shy.

  ‘I’ll take the trap over to park,’ said Patrick. ‘You’ve got everything now?’ Karen nodded.

  The family was dressed in their Sunday best, Karen in a new shorter length cotton dress she had made for herself from a pattern in Woman’s Weekly. It was dark blue with white daisies, cut straight and with a belt around the hips. She had got the material in the remnant sale at the Co-op Store and Jennie’s dress was made from the same material but her skirt was full and gathered and the little girl’s plump dimpled knees showed brown and sturdy beneath it. Her jersey was blue too and now Karen took it off and folded it into her basket as the day had grown warm. Jennie suffered her attentions impatiently, eyes round with excitement as she looked at the crowds and tents and animals.

  ‘Give me your jersey, son.’

  ‘Can we see the sheep dog trials, Mam?’ Brian asked as he struggled out of his jersey. He had recently acquired a puppy and was sure he could train it to be an absolute miracle worker, much better than his father’s Floss.

  ‘If you wait, we’ll see everything,’ promised Karen.

  The show field was crowded with farmers and their families all dressed up for the holiday. Before long, Brian saw a school friend and begged to be allowed to go round with him so Karen arranged a meeting place by the tea-tent.

  ‘Mind, don’t get lost. And watch what you’re doing,’ said Patrick.

  Karen and he were interested in the livestock, casting now experienced eyes over the pigs and rams and cattle. They inspected the new machinery, a little wistfully. Maybe they could invest in some one day. And of course there were the produce and flower tents for their critical scrutiny.

  ‘We might be able to afford a motor bike next year, Karen. With a side-car. I’ve been looking at an Enfield. It would be as useful to us as anything else, living up on the moor. Think of the time I could save. And we could take the children out more often.’

  Patrick questioned Karen with his eyes. In money matters he always deferred to her judgement. She realized he had been thinking about it for a while and gave it her consideration.

  ‘We’ll see, eh? If everything goes as well as it has done lately we should be able to afford it. It will be lovely to have days out.’ She watched Jennie playing on the grass, her dress already showing less than fresh and a smudge of dirt across her cheek and nose.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she repeated, and Patrick was satisfied.

  ‘Having a good time, Karen?’

  She looked round and saw Mr Bainbridge, her neighbour, with Mrs Bainbridge beside him. They stood for a short while and chatted and soon it was time to eat the picnic they had brought with them. They met Brian and his friend by the tea-tent and bought the children dandelion and burdock pop and tea for themselves and ate their meal on one of the wooden benches outside.

  After tea they took the children up to the marketplace for a ride on the roundabouts.

  ‘Having a good time?’ asked Patrick softly as they walked along behind. ‘Grand,’ said Karen.

  They stood close together as the children climbed on to the roundabout and handed over their pennies. They shared a glance of amusement as they watched the glee on Jennie’s face as the roundabout began to turn. Brian wore a look of solemn concentration but the little girl waved and laughed every time she came round.

  ‘Hallo, Karen.’

  The well-remembered voice, low though it was, sounded like a thunderclap in her ear. The blood left her face, leaving her eyes black and staring. Slowly, she swung to face him and stared mutely at the smirking, freckled face under thinning, sandy hair. He was older, coarser, his nose red and cheeks covered in broken veins, eyes set in a network of wrinkles. But it was definitely Dave. Dave Mitchell, not a ghost, not dead at Gallipoli. Suddenly the world was dissolving around her and she would have fallen but for Patrick who caught her as she swayed and led her to a bench. She bent her head to her knees and struggled to regain full consciousness.

  When at last Karen raised her head, Patrick was bending over her with a cup of water he’d got from a nearby cottage and the children were standing close together, watching anxiously, thumbs anchored firmly in their mouths. The mechanical music from the hurdy-gurdy churned round and round in her head.

  The sun had gone in and the day was suddenly chilly. Karen shivered uncontrollably and tried to stand up, despite Patrick’s protestations.

  ‘Will you lie still, Karen, for the love of God?’ he said anxiously, but she took no heed. She had to know if he was there or if it had all been some horrible nightmare.

  Fearfully she cast a quick glance around. Sure enough, there he was, she saw, her heart beating painfully in her breast. He was standing a few yards away, waiting, saying nothing. Lifting her chin, she stared straight at him and Patrick stood aside, bewildered. Then, moved by something in her face, he went to the children and put his hands on their shoulders.

  ‘Why aren’t you dead?’ The idiotic question came flatly from Karen’s lips almost of its own volition. ‘Joe said you were dead.’

 
; She stared at Dave and her voice began to rise hysterically.

  ‘No, no, it’s not true!’ she cried, and Patrick moved a step towards her.

  ‘Karen?’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, dearest,’ Dave said at last, and grinned with sly amusement. Patrick’s head jerked at the endearment and his hands tightened on Jennie, causing her to wriggle in protest.

  ‘Karen? Who is this man?’ he asked.

  Dave grinned. ‘Tell him who I am, Karen. Go on, tell him.’ He was enjoying himself; malice shone from his eyes.

  She dragged her eyes away from him and looked at Patrick, but she was dumb, misery swamping her.

  ‘I tell you what, my love,’ Dave said softly with mock consideration, ‘you’ve had a shock. Maybe you’d better go home now and I’ll come up about nine o’clock. Then we can have a canny little talk, eh?’

  Karen stared at him, hardly hearing what he was saying.

  ‘Tell me what this is all about, Karen.’

  It was Patrick. He took hold of her arms and swung her round to face him. ‘Karen, tell me!’

  She looked up into the grey eyes. ‘It’s Dave,’ she whispered.

  ‘But Dave who?’ Patrick shook her gently. ‘Come on, Karen, I need to know.’

  ‘Dave. My husband. My first husband, I mean … I thought he was dead.’ She dropped her eyes before the shock and anger in Patrick’s, gazed at his waistcoat button, a few inches before her face.

  ‘Very much alive, my dear,’ interposed Dave, and the amusement in his voice was barely controlled. ‘Now don’t you think you should do as I say? People are beginning to stare.’

  Patrick glanced round. It was true, people were starting to show an interest in the drama being played out on the square. He glared icily at Dave before turning back to Karen.

  ‘He’s right. Come on now, we’ll go home. Can you manage to walk back to the trap? Come on, I’ll help you. Brian, Jennie, come on now, Mam’s tired, we’re going home now.’

  Subdued, the children followed obediently as Patrick supported Karen on his arm and they walked down to where the trap was parked. Once, he glanced back and Dave Mitchell was still standing there, legs astride and hands on hips, laughing.

  Patrick collected Polly from the field where she was tethered and yoked her up while Karen stood dumbly by, the children hanging on to her skirts. He lifted them into the trap and helped Karen up too, and still no word was spoken. Geeing up the pony, he set off across the ford over the River Wear and even the water seemed different somehow. It still splashed up high on either side of the wheels but it was dull and grey and not even Jennie bothered to look.

  In no time at all they were on their way back to Low Rigg Farm with their lovely day in ruins. They rode home in silence, the children huddled against Karen, tired and sleepy. Though they didn’t understand, they felt as though something momentous was going on and they felt threatened.

  Oh God, prayed Karen silently, her eyes tight closed, let this not be happening. Tell me it’s a nightmare.

  What was the penalty for bigamy? If she went to prison what would happen to the bairns? To Patrick? To Nick? Why had this happened? If the papers got hold of it, what would it do to Patrick?

  But they couldn’t, they wouldn’t send her to prison. Hadn’t she a paper from Australia House? Oh, it was all too confusing, she couldn’t think straight.

  So ran her chaotic thoughts. She knew now why she had not felt safe all these years, it was because the safety was a sham, unreal and in her heart she had always known it.

  Patrick was quiet. Either he was remarkably patient or he was biding his time until they were on their own. Quietly he saw to the pony and put the trap away in the barn. Nick started to ask questions about the show but Patrick’s answers were short and terse. Nick was puzzled and inclined to be curious, but when he saw the emotion on Karen’s face he quickly backed away and went into the stables.

  Nick was still there, having refused to go in to the house for the evening meal, when Dave came riding into the yard at nine o’clock that evening.

  ‘I’m not hungry, pet,’ Nick had told Brian when the boy was sent to fetch him. ‘I’ll just bide a while.’

  But he started forward from his hiding place when he heard the motor bike coming down the lane and into the yard. When he saw the stranger he thought better of it and returned to his stable. He sat on a pile of straw in the furthest corner, miserable without knowing why. The twitch at the corner of his mouth reappeared, out of control.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  DAVE PARKED HIS motor bike and walked up to the farmhouse door, knocking loudly. It was opened by Patrick who led the visitor through to the kitchen without speaking. Karen was sitting at the table waiting as she had done since putting the children to bed. Her mind had quietened in the intervening hours so that at least she was able to think more clearly. And what she thought was that Dave wanted something from them. If he had known where she was, why hadn’t he got in touch sooner? He could surely have found her any time if he had put his mind to it.

  The way he had gone about engineering a meeting, his attitude when they’d met, these things made her think he was after something. And what he was after was money, she thought bitterly. Well, he was going to be sadly disappointed – they had none. She tried to think of other possibilities but could not. Her mind ranged frantically over what he might do. Oh, why hadn’t she had him declared dead as soon as he had been missing seven years?

  ‘Sit down,’ Patrick was saying as he indicated a chair opposite Karen for Dave. He himself took one beside her.

  ‘Now, I understand you were once married to my wife and deserted her?’ He took her hand and squeezed it and Karen gave him a grateful glance. Patrick sounded calm and assured, as though he was in command of the situation. He would stand up for her, she thought, and a surge of love for him rose in her.

  ‘Was married? Am married more like!’

  Dave sat back in his chair and grinned. Patrick opened his mouth to retort but stopped as Karen began to speak.

  ‘What do you want, Dave?’ She had found her voice at last. ‘You’ve come here for something. And it’s not because you want me back, I’m sure of that. So, what do you want?’

  ‘No, no, of course I haven’t come to claim you back, what do you take me for? I wouldn’t break up a happy family. You know the last thing I’d want is to hurt you or your bairns. But you must understand my position, your poor husband, who only emigrated to make a better life for us both. And what did you do? You upped and married someone else when my back was turned. Oh, yes, my mother, God rest her soul, told me all about it. Broke her heart, it did. I went to see her just before she died.’

  Karen gasped at the enormity of this distortion. ‘Your mother hated me, you know she did!’

  ‘Nay, she didn’t, it was just the natural feeling of a mother for the woman who took her son, that’s all. She didn’t hate you.’

  ‘And it was eight years after you left before I married again, I hadn’t heard from you in all that time, you deserted me fifteen years ago. And then Joe said you were killed at Gallipoli.’

  Patrick, hearing the tremor in Karen’s voice, intervened, tightening his grip on her hand to calm her.

  ‘Enough of this,’ he said. ‘Just tell us what you want then get out.’ His face was harsh as granite, eyes glittering as he glared at Dave, but Dave only smiled in return.

  ‘Well now, it’s like this,’ he said easily, ‘I made a mistake in coming back to England, I know that now, and I fancy going to Canada. England’s finished. The trouble is, it takes money to get to Canada. I can hardly apply for an assisted passage, can I? And besides, I can’t go with nothing in my pocket, now can I? I’m in a bit of a hurry an’ all, you see.’ He spread his palms in a mock appeal which met with a marked lack of response.

  ‘We have no money,’ Karen said flatly.

  ‘Oh, come on now, just think, with me out of the country your secret will be
safe. A proud woman like you, you know you wouldn’t like it if all your neighbours were whispering about you. You can carry on as before with no one to bother you.’ He chuckled. ‘Carry on, that’s a good one.’ He eyed Patrick’s set face and his obviously growing anger and added hastily, ‘Only fifty pounds. Surely you can raise fifty pounds? I’m sure I could sell my story to a newspaper for that. Maybe the News of the World or the Pictorial.’

  There was an astounded silence as the implications of the last remark sunk in.

  ‘Patrick,’ Karen said at last, her voice full of despair. He rose to his full height, appearing even taller in his anger.

  ‘Get out of my sight! You son of Satan, get out of my sight. I warn you, I won’t be responsible for my actions if you don’t.’

  ‘Righto, righto, I’m going,’ Dave said hastily, and the grin slid from his face as he went to the door. But his expression turned ugly as soon as he got out of range of Patrick and his eyes were suffused with red.

  ‘I’ll be back though. I was going to give you until the end of next month but if you want to play nasty … next Saturday in Stanhope market place, one o’clock sharp. Fifty pounds, or you’ll be reading all about it in the newspapers.’

  He went out through the door but turned back to add, ‘And don’t think I don’t know all about you being a priest. It’s surprising how a thing like that gets about, you know. A nice scandal that’ll make, eh? I bet I could get a bob or two from the Irish papers for that one. A priest in a nice little love nest up here on the fell, safely away from the troubles an’ all. Did you think you were hidden away? A priest with two little bas …’ But here he broke off suddenly and beat a hasty retreat as Patrick lunged at him.

  ‘Don’t!’ Karen rose to her feet and caught hold of Patrick. ‘Let him go. You’ll only make things worse.’

  He shook her off but the slight delay was enough for Dave to reach his motor bike. After a couple of false starts it roared into life with a noise which sent the chickens squawking in the hen house and Flossie barking in a frenzy.