Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  Kitty found herself laughing too and in a moment the two girls were leaning against each other until tears ran down their faces while Kitty fished the key from between Miriam’s breasts.

  As she retrieved it and moved towards the door, she felt Miriam grasp her arm, but not now in the vicious grip of temper. ‘Don’t tell Edward what happened. Please, Kitty. It – it would upset him and – and I couldn’t bear to make him worse.’

  Close to her, Kitty could see the genuine anguish in the girl’s eyes.

  Quietly and with an outward composure, even though the last few minutes had left her trembling inside, Kitty said, ‘Course I won’t, miss.’

  As she unlocked the door, she heard the girl mutter, ‘Though I expect you will tell my mother this time.’

  Kitty did not look back but smiled to herself. Oh Miss Miriam, if you think that then you’ve still a lot to learn yet about your new lady’s maid.

  ‘Kitty, are you all right?’

  ‘Of course, Master Edward. We were just funning. Please, go back to bed. You’ll catch cold again. Look, you’ve nothing on your feet.’ She tutted disapproval and gently took his arm and steered him towards his bedroom door.

  ‘Can’t you stay a while?’ he asked, as she made him climb back into bed.

  Pulling the covers straight, she said, ‘I’m sorry, but your mother’s waiting for me to go to help decorate the church for Sunday. I’ll try to come up later.’

  Flying through the kitchen, Kitty gasped, ‘Where’s Bemmy? Has he gone?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Mrs Grundy said, never pausing in rolling out a huge round of pastry. ‘He went ages ago. Picked madam up from the front door an’ all. Oh you’re in trouble, me girl . . .’

  But Kitty waited to hear no more, for she was through the back door, round the corner of the house to the wide driveway and out of the front gate into the road. The mistress would dismiss her without a reference for this, she worried as she hurried along the road, and I can’t tell on Miss Miriam. She sighed, for the first time wondering if she had indeed taken on more than she could handle.

  Usually, Kitty loved walking into the centre of the town. Tresford was a small but very old market town, mentioned in the Domesday Book, and its name came from the three fords that crossed the brook. At the town’s heart stood the church, its square tower rising above the meandering streets of prosperous houses and neat cottages. On her half day off, Kitty loved to wander through the streets, especially on market days when the busy, bustling throng clustered around the stalls and the market men shouted their wares, vying with each other to catch the attention of the shoppers. But today, she looked to neither right nor left. She didn’t stop to peer in the window of the chemist’s shop with all the different coloured bottles with strange sounding names, or the sweet shop with its tantalizing array of boiled sweets and pretty, white and pink sugar mice. She didn’t so much as pause to look in the window of the hat shop where a new bonnet stood displayed on a hat stand. Today, Kitty was in a hurry.

  She rounded the last corner and saw the church with the road curving around it. She could see the motor car parked outside the gate and Bemmy struggling up the path with a heavy box of apples. She ran the last few yards and arrived breathless and flustered as Mrs Franklin emerged from the church and came down the path towards the motor.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Kitty. Just bring the last box in for Bembridge, would you, please?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Kitty said and struggled to pick up the wooden box containing an assortment of vegetables and carry it into the dim interior of the church. Her footsteps echoed on the flagstones and, panting with exertion, she set the box on the floor and then tiptoed to where Mrs Franklin was kneeling in front of the altar, carefully making a mound of the red shiny apples.

  ‘Bring the box here, Kitty.’

  Kitty tiptoed back down the length of the aisle. Softly, measuring every tread, she carried the box to Mrs Franklin.

  ‘Where shall I put it, madam?’ she whispered. She had never been so close to the altar before, never near enough to see the fine gold embroidery that decorated the silk altar cloth. She was gazing at it, standing with the heavy box still in her arms when Mrs Franklin said, ‘Put it here, Kitty, beside me on the step.’

  ‘Oh – er, yes, of course, madam. I’m sorry.’ Setting the box down she added, ‘I was just thinking how lovely the cloth is.’

  ‘Why, thank you, Kitty.’

  Kitty stared down at her but Mrs Franklin merely carried on placing the vegetables and fruit in an attractive display at the foot of the altar steps, the harvest festival’s offering. ‘You mean – you did that? Made that cloth?’

  Mrs Franklin smiled. ‘I worked it when I first came to live at the Manor as a young bride.’

  Was there a trace of wistfulness in her tone? Kitty wondered. ‘I wish I could do something like that. It’s really beautiful.’ Overcome in her admiration, she had even forgotten to whisper.

  ‘I’m sure you could, Kitty, given the chance. I’ve been surprised at your cleverness with a needle, though of course your workmanship has been more practical than decorative.’

  The girl was still gazing dreamily at the altar, at the brass cross and candlesticks set upon its surface and the stained-glass window above it. She was imagining herself kneeling here in a long white dress and a veil with the handsome Jack Thorndyke kneeling beside her.

  But it was Mrs Franklin standing beside her now saying, ‘Come along, Kitty, I’ve some flowers I’d like you to arrange in the font. Do you think you could manage that?’

  Reluctantly, Kitty tore herself away from her daydreaming and followed her mistress.

  One day, Jack Thorndyke, she promised herself, one day I’ll get you up this aisle. You see if I don’t.

  Nine

  ‘I hear that you’re to be the Harvest Queen, Kitty?’

  Kitty was hanging her mistress’s coat in the wardrobe on their return from the church. ‘Yes, madam,’ she said after a pause. ‘That is, if it’s all right with you?’

  Mrs Franklin smiled. ‘Of course it is, my dear. Have you a pretty dress to wear for the occasion?’

  ‘Only me Sunday dress, madam.’

  ‘But that’s grey. Very suitable for churchgoing, of course. But hardly festive enough for such an occasion as Queen of the Harvest, Kitty.’

  ‘No, madam.’

  Mrs Franklin sat before the mirror on her dressing table and removed the long pins from her hat. She lifted it from her head and held it out for Kitty to put back into the hatbox. Smoothing her hair into place, Mrs Franklin stood up. ‘I do believe there’s a dress in Miss Miriam’s wardrobe that might do very well. It’s a shepherdess’s costume she wore to a fancy dress ball last year.’ Kitty felt the woman appraising her from head to toe. ‘You’re a little more slender than my daughter, but I think it should fit you. Run along to her room and ask her, my dear. Tell her that I gave my permission.’

  ‘Oh there you are, Clegg. At last!’

  Kitty opened Miriam’s door to see her sitting at the dressing table, her hair straggling down her back in a long, wet tangle. She was grasping the scissors once more, but now she was holding out a length of her hair to the side and hacking at the end of the strand with impatient snips.

  ‘Oh miss, don’t. You’ll spoil your lovely hair.’

  The girl glared at her through the mirror. ‘Well, if I do, it’ll be your fault.’

  Pursing her lips, Kitty held out her hand. ‘The scissors, miss, if you please.’

  Miriam handed them to her and Kitty put them safely into the pocket of her apron. Then she took up a brush and comb and began to try to untangle the hair.

  ‘Ouch! That hurt.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve got it in a right state. It’s like a straw stack. Do sit still, miss, else it’ll pull all the more.’

  For once Miriam did as she was asked and sat meekly while Kitty struggled to comb through the unruly hair. It was over an hour before she had smoothed out every k
not and clipped the ends of the hair to uniform neatness. ‘There,’ she said, standing back. ‘Now let me just get some warm towels and I’ll dry it for you.’

  Miriam yawned. ‘Very well. But do hurry. We’re dining at Nunsthorpe Hall tonight and I want to look my best. I think I’ll wear the blue satin, Kitty.’

  As she began to rub the girl’s long hair, Kitty said, ‘Miss, you know I’m to be the Harvest Queen, don’t you?’

  Through the mirror their eyes met. ‘No, I didn’t,’ Miriam answered shortly.

  ‘Well, Jack Thorndyke’s asked me to be his Harvest Nell.’

  ‘Really? What a great honour for you.’ Her tone was heavy with sarcasm, but through the glass Miriam’s eyes were still watching her.

  ‘Your mam, I mean, your mother said I should ask you if I might wear your shepherdess costume.’

  The girl shrugged her shoulders feigning lack of interest, but somehow Kitty knew that it was an act. She wondered briefly if Miriam could be a little envious that she, a lowly maidservant, had been asked to be the Harvest Queen, but she dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

  ‘I suppose so.’ Then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, Miriam wagged her finger at Kitty. ‘But there’s one condition, if I do lend you my dress.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ she said warily, ‘what’s that?’

  ‘At the Harvest Supper, which we all attend, you’ll introduce me to this Jack Thorndyke.’

  Kitty laughed with relief. Was that all? Well, she couldn’t see the harm in that. None at all.

  ‘Of course I will, Miss Miriam.’

  Kitty closed the back door behind her and stood for a moment listening. It was a warm, late summer night, a million stars dotting the dark velvet sky. She tiptoed up the three steps and, lifting her skirts, ran down the grass path to the wall at the bottom of the garden. Again she paused to glance back at the windows of the house. A light burned only in Edward’s sickroom, for the rest of the family, Mr and Mrs Franklin and Miriam, had left to dine at Nunsthorpe Hall.

  ‘You mark my words,’ Mrs Grundy had tapped the side of her nose and nodded knowingly. ‘They’re trying to wed Miss Miriam off to Sir Ralph’s son and heir, Guy. Mind you, she could do a lot worse for herself. He’s a nice lad. He used to come here a lot when he was a youngster with his father to visit. Course, Sir Ralph is the master’s landlord. He owns all the land we farm, and,’ she pointed to the floor, ‘even this house.’

  Kitty looked up in surprise and Mrs Grundy nodded sagely. ‘No, ya didn’t know that, did ya?’

  ‘I knew the mester dun’t own all the land he farms, but I didn’t realize he didn’t own this house.’

  ‘Well, he don’t. Fall out with the Hardings and we’ll all be out on our ears.’

  Kitty had carried on ironing the flounces of Miriam’s petticoat, listening with half an ear to the cook’s ramblings, but, all the while, glancing at the mantelshelf above the range and wishing that the hands of the clock would turn faster towards nightfall when she could creep out to meet Jack.

  ‘Mind you, Sir Ralph’s such a nice feller, I can’t see him ever turning anyone out of their home, no matter what. His wife died, y’know, when Master Guy was born and the old master and mistress – they were both still alive then of course – were so good to Sir Ralph. He always used to be here. Then of course when that bit of trouble happened . . .’

  Kitty’s head lifted. ‘Trouble? What trouble?’

  ‘Oh nowt that concerns you,’ the cook flapped her hand and turned swiftly back to her original line of thought. ‘Guy’s a bit older than Miss Miriam, but that’s no matter.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘He’ll ’ave his work cut out with that little madam, if he does take her on, and no mistake. Too like ’er father, that one. She’ll be the lucky one ’cos he’s a lovely feller, Master Guy. Just like his father.’ Mrs Grundy levered her bulk out of the chair at the side of the range. ‘So, we’ve all got the night off and I’m going to walk into town to see me sister. As for you, young Kitty, just you mind what you’re up to when I’m not here to keep me beady eye on you. And mind you listen out for Master Edward, won’t you?’

  Now, in the darkness of the garden, Kitty was holding her breath as she pushed aside the lilac bush that half-hid the door in the wall. She lifted the latch and pushed at it, the old, rotten timbers scraping protestingly on the ground. She doubted if this door had been opened in years. She winced at the noise which seemed to echo loudly through the stillness of the night. She glanced back once more before she slipped like a wraith through the door and out of sight of the house, praying that her absence would not be discovered. Only Milly, her sister, knew she had gone out.

  ‘Where are you going, Kitty?’ the young girl had asked, her eyes large and worried in her pasty round face. ‘What if Master Edward rings down again? What’ll I do?’

  ‘Go and see what he wants, of course.’

  ‘But he’ll ask for you. He – he always does. Where are you going?’ she asked again.

  ‘Just out.’

  ‘But . . .?’

  ‘If you don’t know, you can’t tell, can you?’ Kitty said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Now as her eyes became accustomed to the blackness, Kitty moved among the dark shapes of the threshing drum and the traction engine.

  ‘Jack?’ she called softly. ‘Jack, are you there?’

  She listened again and then she heard his low whistle and his tall, broad shape loomed up through the darkness. She felt his hands span her waist and he was lifting her off her feet and swinging her round. She gave a little cry of surprise and delight and then the sound was stilled by the touch of his lips seeking hers. Her heartbeat quickened as she wound her arms about his neck and he was carrying her out of the stackyard. Straddling the fence, he stepped into the neighbouring meadow where the new haystacks stood. Burrowing a hollow for them and gently laying her down on the warm, sweet-smelling hay, he lay beside her, crooking his arm for her to rest her head.

  ‘I thought you hadn’t waited,’ she said.

  ‘Said I would, didn’t I?’

  ‘I couldn’t get away. Master Edward kept ringing down for me.’

  ‘Master Edward? Who’s he?’

  ‘Edward Franklin. The son.’

  ‘Oh aye. I’d forgotten about him. I thought there was only a daughter. But now you mention it, I do remember a lad from last year.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kitty murmured. ‘Poor Edward. Everyone seems to forget about him.’

  His fingers touched her cheek in the darkness, then traced their way down her neck, down and down, lingering on the swell of her bosom. His mouth close to her ear, his lips brushing her hair, he murmured huskily. ‘Should I be jealous of this Master Edward, who can ring down for you any time he pleases?’

  Kitty giggled. ‘He’s a boy. He’s only fourteen and he’s sick, poor thing. He hardly ever leaves his room.’

  ‘Boy or not, I bet he likes you though, doesn’t he, pretty Kitty?’

  ‘Not in the way you mean, Jack Thorndyke,’ she teased him playfully, pushing away his hands that were becoming far too bold in their searching. ‘I’m only the maid. But he’s lonely . . .’

  ‘Oh Kitty, Kitty, you’re lovely,’ Jack whispered. ‘You stay away from him, Kitty, ’cos you’re mine. All mine.’ His mouth was moving against hers, stilling her words and driving away all thoughts of the lonely young boy in his sickbed.

  ‘Milly? Milly? Are you asleep?’

  The girl’s face, heavy-eyed, appeared from beneath the covers. ‘Not now, I’m not,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Whatever time is it, our Kitty? Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ Kitty said sharply, her fingers touching her lips still tender from Jack’s passionate kisses, her whole body tingling with excitement from his caresses. As she undressed in the darkness, a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold night air ran through her. She could hardly wait to see him again. Only a few hours and he would be striding into the kitchen, along with the other workers, f
or the breakfast that Mrs Grundy cooked for the harvesters every morning.

  She would watch him as he flirted with the cook, winked at Milly and then his eyes would come to rest upon her . . .

  ‘I know where you’ve been anyway,’ Milly muttered morosely. ‘You want to watch yarsen with that Jack Thorndyke, our Kitty. He’s no good. Even Mrs Grundy ses so. He’s Jack by name and Jack-the-Lad by nature, she ses. So you—’ Her words ended in a muffled squeal as Kitty pounced on her, pulling the bedclothes over her young sister’s head to stifle her scolding.

  ‘What do you know about it, young Milly? You mind your own business and leave me to mind mine.’

  Milly struggled to free herself, giving little yelps of fright. Kitty loosened her hold and the girl pushed off the covers, struggling for breath.

  ‘Don’t blame me, then,’ Milly gasped, ‘if ya get yarsen into trouble.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Kitty muttered shortly. ‘I didn’t wake you up to be given a lecture. I just wanted to know if you’d had any trouble.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. But it was no thanks to you that I didn’t. You were gone hours. The master and mistress came back and I was dreading them ringing down for you.’

  Kitty pulled in a startled breath. ‘Oh heck. I thought they’d be a lot later than this.’

  ‘Later than this?’ Through the darkness, Kitty could hear the surprise in Milly’s voice. ‘It is gone midnight, you know.’

  ‘Oh Lor’. Is it?’ In Jack’s arms, she had lost track of the time.

  ‘What about Miss Miriam? Did – did she ring for me?’

  ‘No, you’re lucky. She didn’t. The master shut hissen in his study and the mistress and her went straight to their rooms.’

  Milly yawned and turned on her side away from her sister as Kitty climbed into bed and snuggled down beside her.

  Tomorrow. She would see Jack again tomorrow and then, in just two days’ time, she would be his Harvest Nell.

  Ten