Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  Kitty gazed about her, her eyes wide with wonder as if she could scarcely believe her own eyes. She had never before travelled any distance from home and the rugged beauty of the Yorkshire coast was so very different from her flat homeland of Lincolnshire. The girl was overwhelmed. She whirled around, clasping her hands together in an excitement she could barely contain. ‘And look at the moors, miss.’

  Moodily, Miriam said, ‘What’s there to look at? They just stretch for miles and miles and miles.’

  ‘They’re wonderful. So wild and romantic.’

  ‘Huh.’ Miriam drew her cloak around her and frowned. ‘You’ve been reading too many novels by the Brontë sisters, Clegg.’

  ‘Eh?’ Brought back to earth, Kitty blinked.

  Miriam smirked. ‘I was almost forgetting. You are, after all, only a servant. Maybe you can’t even read.’

  The remark was cutting and, intended to be hurtful, sharply reminded Kitty what her station in life was and that the only reason she was here at all was to care for her young mistress. She was not meant to be enjoying herself.

  But Kitty Clegg was untouched by such taunts, so she merely smiled and said, ‘Well, we’re here, miss, and this is where we’ve to stay, so you’d best get used to it.’

  And with that she climbed out of the motor car and stood holding the door open for such an age that, in the end, Miriam was obliged to duck her head and step out.

  The cottage where they were to stay was high up overlooking the village. Kitty ran from room to room exclaiming at the magnificent views, while Miriam sat morosely on a chair with her back to the window refusing to look at anything. Black beams ran crookedly across the low, whitewashed ceilings and tiny windows let in shafts of pale sunlight.

  ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Mrs Franklin.’ The woman who owned and rented out the cottage stood in front of Miriam and smiled kindly down at her, her eyes taking in the black widow’s weeds and the sullen face of the young girl.

  Kitty, turning round, bit her tongue just in time. It was very strange to hear her nineteen-year-old mistress addressed as ‘Mrs’, but she had better get used to it quickly if she were to carry on the deception convincingly. ‘I’m sure we will, Mrs – er ?’

  ‘Bradshaw.’ Getting no response from Miriam, the woman turned, with obvious relief, to talk to Kitty.

  ‘I’ve arranged for a woman from the village to come up every day to help about the house and my husband keeps the bit of garden front and back tidy. The privy’s just outside the back door.’

  Miriam raised her head. ‘Outside? You mean we have to go outside every time we want to . . .’

  The woman looked at her in astonishment. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to, Mrs Franklin, but here . . .’ Her voice died away as she saw Miriam’s lip curl with disgust.

  Hurriedly, Kitty put in, ‘We’ll be fine, Mrs Bradshaw.’

  The woman wriggled her shoulders, obviously put out by what she saw as an insult. ‘I do my best to make my visitors comfortable, I’m sure, but if you . . .’

  ‘No, no, really. We’ll be fine here. Everything is most comfortable.’ Kitty tried to usher the woman towards the door. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Bradshaw. Mi— Mrs Franklin is very tired from the long journey.’

  Outside the low front door of the cottage, Kitty whispered confidentially, ‘She’s expecting a baby and what with the awful news of her husband’s death . . . well, she’s . . .’ She shrugged her shoulders expressively and spread her hands, palms upward, in a plea for understanding.

  ‘Well,’ the woman said slowly, softening a little. ‘I’m right sorry for the poor lass, of course, but that doesn’t mean she can be rude.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Kitty said soothingly, more than a little shocked at how the lies were slipping glibly off her tongue. ‘Everything is wonderful. The cottage is lovely. She’ll be better when she’s rested.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ the woman bridled again. ‘I can’t say as I’ve ever had my little cottage criticized before. It was my mother’s. Left it to me when she died and I’ve kept it just as it was. She wanted it to give me an income, you know, a bit of my own money. And it does.’ The woman nodded. ‘My husband is a fisherman and it’s a hard life, Miss Clegg.’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Mrs Bradshaw. And it is a dear little cottage.’

  The woman nodded and smiled and seemed placated and as Kitty closed the door behind their landlady, she leaned against it and breathed a sigh of relief.

  When she had unpacked their trunks and hung up Miriam’s dresses, she said, ‘I’ll have to go down to the village and fetch some food. There are some things in the kitchen cupboard but there’s no fresh food. You know, milk and meat and bread.’

  ‘All right,’ Miriam said listlessly, still sitting in a chair by the window, a book on her lap, though she did not appear to have turned a page within the last half hour. ‘How long will you be?’

  ‘I don’t really know, miss. I’ve got to find the shops first.’

  ‘Don’t be long. I’m getting hungry. And get me some chocolate, will you?’

  ‘Yes, miss, and I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  But the Bay was not a place where anyone could hurry. The shops lay on either side of the steep winding road leading from the top of the hill right down to the Bay itself. From where the cottage lay, Kitty first had to go down a steep pathway between the houses to get on to the road and then walk quite a way up the steep hill to find all the shops she wanted. And she was fascinated even by those she did not actually need.

  There were several shops that sold pictures, original watercolours and oil paintings of the Bay and the surrounding countryside. It seemed, thought Kitty, to be a place where artists liked to come and paint the scenery. It had everything, she supposed, bending forward to peer at the pictures. The sea, magnificent cliffs, picturesque houses, brooding moors, turbulent skies and deep valleys with trees and waterfalls; everything an artist could possibly want. There were decorated shells, and ornaments and jewellery made from shells, painted and unpainted. And there were old, musty-smelling second-hand bookshops. Kitty would dearly have loved to spend the afternoon delving among the shelves of old books. Perhaps she could persuade Miss Miriam to come down one afternoon. After all, Miriam did like reading and, much to her disgust, there would be little else to do once her pregnancy advanced.

  With two loaded baskets, Kitty struggled back up the hill.

  ‘Where on earth have you been, Clegg? You’ve been ages and I want some tea.’

  ‘I’ll make some right away.’

  A short time later, she carried the fine china through to the front parlour and set the tray down beside Miriam who was once again seated in front of the window, but at least now she had turned her chair to look out at the scene below.

  Kitty stood beside her. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’

  When Miriam did not even bother to answer her, Kitty left the room closing the door quietly. There was one thing she was sure of. If Miss Miriam did want something, then Kitty would soon know about it.

  ‘I suppose it’s a bit silly, me eating on my own in the front room and you sitting out here in this tiny kitchen when there’s only the two of us,’ Miriam said, a few days after their arrival at the cottage. She had still not ventured outside and her moods swung erratically between ill-temper when she berated Kitty for anything and everything, and dark, silent moroseness.

  ‘If you say so, miss,’ Kitty said.

  ‘I do say so. I’m sick of sitting hour after hour in that stuffy little room on my own. Even your company is better than nothing.’

  Kitty hid her smile and agreed demurely.

  The following morning as Kitty dried the last of the pots after breakfast, Miriam appeared in the doorway dressed in her hat and coat.

  ‘Come along, Clegg. I want to go for a walk. Get your coat.’

  They walked down the hill, right to the bottom and stood on the slope of the roadway where it opened out and ran a
way into the sand.

  Miriam shaded her eyes and looked out to sea, but a low, swirling mist covered the water offshore and there was little to see. On a low wall, three old fishermen sat mending their nets.

  ‘Can we walk on the sand, Kitty? Or along one of those rock things.’ Miriam pointed to where a long scar of rock ran right out into the water so that the waves lapped on either side of it.

  ‘I should think so, miss.’

  As they stepped on to the sand one of the old fishermen lifted his head and shouted, ‘Mind ee the tide, ’tis on the flow, young missie, and she comes in fast.’

  Miriam pulled a face and did not turn around, but Kitty glanced back over her shoulder, smiled prettily at him until the dimples deepened in her cheeks and said, ‘Thank you. We’ll be careful.’

  ‘Silly old fool,’ Miriam muttered and stalked ahead of her maid.

  ‘Don’t walk so fast, miss. These rocks are slippy.’

  ‘Don’t fuss so, Clegg. I’m quite capable of— Oh!’ Whatever she had been going to say was cut off by a little cry of alarm as Miriam felt her foot slide on a lump of seaweed and her arms flailed the air as she tried to stop herself falling. Kitty, just behind her, grabbed hold and managed to steady her.

  Miriam gave a rueful laugh. ‘I do see what you mean, Kitty. Sorry – you’re right.’ She walked on again, but carefully now, watching where she placed her feet. They were walking along the scar where the sea lapped on either side and still Miriam walked further, the water becoming deeper.

  Kitty glanced over her shoulder worriedly. ‘We’re getting an awful long way out. I think we ought to turn back now.’ In places the rock surface was uneven, dipping so low that they had to jump across the water that flowed into the hollows.

  ‘I don’t want to go back.’ Miriam flung her arms wide, throwing back her head to the sky. ‘I’m never going back. I’m going to keep on and on and on until the water covers my head. And it’ll all be over!’

  Kitty stood still. Fear gripped her. In this mood, the silly girl was capable of doing anything. If she were to plunge into the water, Kitty was no swimmer. Miriam could drown them both.

  There was only one way, Kitty decided. Call her bluff.

  ‘Oh well, if that’s what you mean to do, then you don’t need me with you. I’m off back to the beach.’

  She turned and took a step back towards the shore, praying fervently that her ruse would work. She held her breath, expecting, fearing, any moment, to hear a splash behind her. Instead she heard her mistress give a brittle laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Kitty. I’m only being melodramatic.’ They both turned at the same instant and stood facing each other, the grey mist swirling around them, the mournful cry of a seagull somewhere overhead and the sea lapping dangerously close to their feet.

  ‘You know,’ Miriam said, ‘I have to admit it, Kitty, but you really do know how to treat me, don’t you? And I want you to know – though I’m only ever likely to say this once and out here where no one can hear me – I do like you. And I’m not saying that now, just because you’re standing by me in my, er, predicament.’

  Softly Kitty said, ‘No. I know you wouldn’t do that, miss. And – thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention—’ She stopped as her glance went beyond Kitty’s shoulder towards the land and her eyes widened. ‘Where’s the beach? Oh Kitty, Kitty,’ Miriam said gripping her arm, ‘we’re lost. We’ll drown. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean I wanted to drown, truly I didn’t. What are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ll be all right, miss,’ Kitty said firmly, sounding calmer than she was feeling inside. ‘Take hold of my arm and we’ll walk steadily back along the rock to the beach.’

  ‘No, no,’ Miriam clung to her. ‘You’re going the wrong way. It’s this way.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. You’ve been twisting and turning about and you’ve lost your sense of direction. It’s this way.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ Kitty said, mentally crossing her fingers and praying that she was right.

  They moved forward together, holding on to each other and staggering like two drunken old men.

  ‘There’s water. I told you we were going the wrong way.’

  ‘It’s only where the rock is lower and the water’s come in over it. Can’t you remember jumping across as we walked out?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘Stand there, miss, while I get over to the other side.’

  Kitty released the girl’s limpet hold on her arm and stepped down into the freezing grey water.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Kitty . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, miss, I’m only a step away.’ The water was deeper than she had imagined and she had taken three steps and then another and still she could not feel the rock jutting up out of the water on the opposite side of the expected hollow. Kitty knew a moment’s panic. What if they had turned in the wrong direction? What if they were indeed walking further out to sea?

  Then with blessed relief she felt the toe of her shoe stub against something hard and she bent forward and, reaching with her hands outstretched, felt the rough surface of the rock rising above the water.

  ‘Kitty?’ The wail was terror-stricken now.

  ‘It’s all right. I’ve found the other side.’ She gained the rock surface, turned and held out her hands towards Miriam. ‘Come on, miss. It’s about five steps. You’ll have to get your feet wet because it’s too wide to jump now. That fisherman was right, I reckon. The tide does come in fast.’

  Making little whimpering sounds, Miriam stepped into the water and, arms outstretched, waded towards Kitty. Then they turned and staggered along the scar. They crossed three more hollows before, with tears of relief, they stepped on to the firm sand and saw the old fishermen still calmly mending their nets.

  They stood a moment to regain their composure and then, with heads held high, walked past the old men with as much nonchalance as they could muster. They climbed the rough-hewn steps up a narrow passageway and gained the path leading to their cottage.

  Once out of sight of the old men, Miriam began to laugh, and, though there was a little note of relieved hysteria in her mirth, Kitty found herself laughing too. ‘Oh Kitty, I fully expected them to say, “We told you so,” didn’t you?’

  Kitty nodded. ‘I did, miss. But come along, let’s get you out of those wet things. You don’t want to catch cold.’

  ‘You do fuss so, Kitty,’ Miriam said, but now her tone held affection and a hint of gratitude, as she allowed her maid to bustle her home and strip off her saturated garments, before Kitty dealt with her own cold, wet feet.

  ‘I’m bored.’

  They had been at the cottage for three weeks now and Miriam’s mood swings were no better. This morning, as Kitty cleared away the breakfast things, her young mistress was moving restlessly about the small room like a caged tigress.

  ‘Shall we go for a walk along the cliff top?’ Kitty suggested. ‘It’s a lovely bright day, a bit windy, maybe, but we’ll be all right as long as we don’t go too near the edge.’

  ‘No, we won’t go for a walk along the cliff.’

  ‘It would do you good. You haven’t been out anywhere for the last three days, not even down into the village. You must take a little exercise. You’ve got to think of the baby . . .’

  ‘The baby? The baby? What do I want to think of that for? I don’t want it. I hope it’s born dead.’

  Kitty gasped, her eyes round with horror. ‘Oh miss, that’s a wicked thing to say.’

  ‘Stop being so sentimental, Clegg. Of course I don’t want the brat. I don’t even want to see it.’

  Kitty was stung to anger. ‘Then you should have thought about that afore you took a tumble in the hay with Jack Thorndyke . . . Oh!’ She clapped her hand to her mouth, but it was too late, the words were out.

  Miriam moved towards her menacingly. ‘How do you know?’ She reached out and, with a surprisingly strong grip, took hold of Kitty’s arms and shook her so
hard that the maid’s teeth actually rattled against each other. ‘How – do – you – know?’ she demanded again, her voice rising almost to a scream.

  ‘I found the corn dolly among your clothes. He – he gave me one too.’

  The two girls stared at each other and now Kitty could see the realization of Threshing Jack’s true nature dawning on Miriam. She could see it in her face. ‘You? You? You’ve been with him too?’

  Kitty bit her lip and admitted, ‘Yes, miss. But I know what he is, you see. He’s a real Jack-the-Lad. He’s got a reputation around all the farms he visits.’

  ‘You mean, he’s got girls into trouble before? Before me?’

  Kitty shrugged. ‘I’ve never actually heard that about him. But everyone knows he’s got an eye for the girls . . .’

  ‘And you? You still went with him even knowing that?’

  Kitty felt the colour suffuse her face as she whispered, ‘Yes. But you see, I love him.’

  Miriam’s laughter was high-pitched with hysteria. ‘Oh yes, oh yes, very fine, I’m sure. I suppose we all think we’re in love with him.’ Wildly, she swung about and picked up a small glass vase from the mantelshelf.

  ‘No, miss.’ Kitty put out her hand as if to fend off what she knew was going to happen next. ‘Please, miss, they’re not our things . . .’

  The vase flew through the air and smashed against the wall. ‘How could he? After all the things he said . . .’ Miriam screeched as she picked up a hand-painted cup and flung that in Kitty’s direction. ‘And how could you? Why didn’t you tell me? How could you be so disloyal?’

  ‘I didn’t know. Not then. How could I?’ Kitty said as calmly as she could, though keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Miriam’s right hand as it sought and found the next missile.

  ‘You’re a slut, Kitty Clegg. Nothing but a common slut.’

  Now Kitty was angry too. ‘’Tain’t any good calling me names just to make yasen feel better. You should have kept to your own kind instead of lying down with a bit of rough.’