‘Teddy,’ he reminded her. ‘Remember your promise?’
Kitty smiled tremulously. So many promises, she thought briefly. But this one was easy to keep, for in her heart she always thought of him as ‘Teddy’.
‘Thank you, Teddy,’ she said simply. ‘For everything.’ And her words encompassed not only his help of the previous night, but his lack of censure, of judgement. She was so grateful for his unquestioning concern for her welfare.
Briefly, he nodded but seemed unable to speak. Then he touched her arm and gave it a comforting squeeze before he turned away and closed the door between them.
Thirty
Kitty stood at the side of the stackyard watching the men work until one of them should notice her. Noise filled the air and it was impossible to shout above it and she knew better than to move in among the workers. They worked as a team and a sudden disruption was not only a nuisance, but it could be dangerous.
It was Jack himself who saw her as he stood on the footplate of the threshing engine. He waved and smiled, but gestured that he could not leave the machinery for a few moments. Kitty nodded and settled herself on a pile of straw to wait. The early mist was clearing now and it would be a bright morning, but the chill of winter was in the air and Kitty knew that while in the height of summer she and the child might have survived by sleeping in a barn, in this weather the tiny baby would not.
She sighed. She must not look to the Manor House and the Franklin family again, or to her own family. Jack Thorndyke was her only hope. Only he stood between her and the workhouse.
And then she remembered the money hidden in the deep pocket of her coat. The money Mrs Franklin had given her. It was a generous sum, but even that would not last for ever and then . . .
In the shelter of the wall and burrowed into the straw, she must have dozed, for suddenly she heard his voice and blinked herself fully awake to see him standing over her, wiping his oily fingers on a rag. ‘Now then, young Kitty. What brings you here?’
‘I should have thought,’ she said tartly, levering herself up from the straw, ‘that would be obvious, even for you, Jack Thorndyke.’
He raised his eyebrows and then threw back his head in a guffaw of laughter. ‘You’re getting a sharp tongue on you, Kitty Clegg. I hope becoming a mother hasn’t turned you into a shrew of a woman.’
‘If it has, then you’re to blame.’ She stopped, quelling her anger with him. This was not what she had intended and the meeting would turn into a quarrel if she was not careful. So instead she moved closer to him, put her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes. ‘Jack, I don’t want us to fight. I came to ask you what you wanted your son to be named. I – I thought you’ve a right to be involved. I want you to be involved with him. Please, Jack?’
For a moment, the big man’s eyes softened, but there was a wariness still in their depths, a wariness that told her he was still neatly avoiding any traps. ‘Well, that’s nice of you, Kitty. Had you any name in mind?’
She shook her head. ‘Do you want me to call him Jack?’
He laughed. ‘That’s not my given name. The name on my birth certificate is John.’
‘That’s my father’s name, too,’ Kitty murmured.
‘How about you name him John, then, but we call him Johnnie?’
Kitty smiled. Perhaps it would be a way of appeasing her father too. ‘Yes, yes, that’s fine. I like that.’
There was a slight pause as they stood looking at each other.
‘So, where are you living?’
She shrugged. ‘Nowhere. I’ve nowhere to go, Jack.’
He looked at her keenly. ‘Where did you stay last night, then?’
Kitty swallowed, not wanting to give away the fact that she had stayed in Edward’s bedroom. ‘Here – at the Manor. I stayed here.’ She held her breath but he pursued the matter no further. He seemed to be thinking.
‘Well,’ he said slowly, ‘I’ve got a bit of news for you. Rather funny, really, considering.’ He paused and then went on, ‘Mr Franklin came into the yard this morning when I was oiling up and offered me a cottage on the edge of Sir Ralph’s estate that’s empty at the moment.’ Jack put his head on one side. ‘Said he’d heard as how you had a bairn now and that he understood it was mine. “I don’t think her father will help her,” he said.’ Jack smiled oddly and there was sarcasm in his tone as he said, ‘Now, I wonder why he would know that? And why should a man like him be concerning himself with a kitchen maid who’s got ’ersen into trouble? Eh Kitty?’
Kitty shook her head, ‘I don’t know.’ That was the truth, but somewhere in the recess of her memory she seemed to have heard similar words spoken before. At this moment, however, her thoughts were on something else. Quite unwittingly, Mr Franklin was providing a home for his own grandson.
‘No,’ Jack said slowly, watching her. ‘I don’t believe you do understand why he’s doing it, do you?’ He paused a moment and then went on, ‘But we’ll take up the master’s most kind offer. At least, while I’m still working in this area. He’s given me the key and I’ll be going there tonight. Bring the boy and we’ll talk things over, Kitty. But don’t . . .’ Gently he tapped her nose with his forefinger but he was smiling as he added, ‘Don’t go getting your hopes up that I’ll be going down on one knee to make an honest woman of you.’
Kitty managed a tremulous smile, but inside her heart was thudding.
An honest woman? she thought wryly. Oh Jack Thorndyke, if only you knew!
She waited for over an hour outside the low, whitewashed cottage, the baby in one arm, his feeding equipment in a bag at her feet. Impatiently, she tapped her foot. Again she tried the cottage door, but it was locked. She went round to the back to see if there was any way into the cottage, even through a window. But everything was securely locked and bolted.
The child began to whimper and though she rocked him, trying to soothe him, the whimpers grew into wails as hunger gnawed at his tiny stomach. By the time Kitty heard Jack’s jaunty whistling through the gathering dusk, the child’s crying echoed through the shadows to greet his father.
‘By heck,’ came Jack’s chuckle. ‘He’s a good pair of lungs on him, ain’t he?’
‘He’s hungry and probably cold too. We’ve been waiting over an hour.’
Unlocking the door, Jack glanced at her in surprise. ‘You could’ve fed him. There’s no one around to see.’
‘No, I couldn’t,’ she told him shortly. ‘He needs a bottle.’
‘What? Ya not feeding him yasen?’
‘No,’ Kitty said and volunteered no further information. ‘Come on, let’s get inside and get him fed, for heaven’s sake.’
An hour later the child was satisfied and had fallen into an exhausted sleep. Kitty looked about her. The cottage was nice. Or rather it could be, given a woman’s touch. The range was grey with dirt instead of a shining black and the peg rug on the hearth needed a good beating in the fresh air. Every surface had a layer of dust and in the back scullery the sink was stained brown.
‘So, what do you think, Kitty?’
‘It could be a nice little place,’ Kitty murmured and then looked straight at him. ‘But it depends on you, Jack. What are you offering me?’
He put up his hands, palms outward, as if to fend her off. ‘Now, now, I’ve told you . . .’
‘I know, I know. You’re not the marrying kind.’ She smiled ruefully and sighed. ‘Well, Jack, I accept that now.’
There was silence for a moment as they stared at each other and then he said, surprise in his tone, ‘You mean, you’d come and live with me and not be married? What about your reputation?’
Kitty shrugged. ‘Me reputation, as you call it, is in tatters now, isn’t it?’
Jack gave a long, low whistle through his teeth. ‘Well, I have to admit you’ve shocked even me, Kitty Clegg.’ He tilted his head to one side and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I just hope you’re not banking on being able to change me mind, though.’ He shook his head slowly
and said, almost with a note of sadness, ‘Because I’m sorry, Kitty, for some things I am truly sorry, but I won’t change me mind about marrying you.’
Kitty folded her arms across her bosom as she asked quietly, ‘Just tell me one thing, Jack. Is it just me you don’t want to marry – or anyone?’
‘I won’t marry at all,’ he replied bluntly. ‘But I have to say,’ he added, seeming to mellow a little, ‘of all the women I’ve known, I reckon I could live with you, Kitty.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say, But you wouldn’t be faithful, would you, Jack? You wouldn’t know how to be faithful to one woman, married to her or not. You’ve already proved that. But the words lay unspoken for she knew that she was treading on dangerous ground if she made any reference, however vague, to Miriam Franklin.
All she did say was, ‘But you don’t love me, Jack, do you?’
He took a stride and reached for her, pulling her into his strong arms. Resting his cheek against her hair, he said, ‘Oh Kitty, I love you for giving me a son. No one’s ever given me a son before.’
She tilted her head back and looked up into his face. ‘And yet, you still won’t marry me?’
He looked down at her, an unusually tender look in his eyes. Slowly, he shook his head, then said, ‘So? What is it to be? Bring the child up on your own or come and live with me?’
Kitty’s mind was in a turmoil. She loved this man with all her being, loved him with a love that had driven her, who had been brought up to be good and honest, to take actions of which she would never have believed herself capable only a year or so ago. And yet she was not completely blinded by her love for him. She knew him for what he was and, she had to admit, he had his own brand of honesty. He was a rogue, at least where the ladies were concerned, yet he freely admitted it and he made no false promises either. She knew he would never marry her, yet he was offering her a life with him, but only on his terms. Knowing all this, she loved him still. Thoughts of him filled her every waking moment, and, away from him, she yearned to be near him.
And now there was another love in her life too; a tiny, helpless child whom she already loved devotedly. He was Jack’s flesh and blood and he deserved to be brought up by his father.
‘I – will come and live with you, Jack.’ Even as she said the words aloud, she felt as if she were stepping into a void, into the unknown and a sudden tremor of fear shook her. Resolutely, she lifted her head. This was as much for Johnnie as for herself. ‘Your son,’ she said softly, ‘should have a father.’
Thirty-One
It was difficult now for Kitty to see her mother. Because their house was attached to the station, there was hardly ever a time when her father was unlikely to come through the door. But once a month, the stationmaster took the train to head office and was gone all day. Luckily for Kitty, the following day was one such occasion. So, when Jack disappeared off to work the following morning, she fed Johnnie, wrapped him warmly in a shawl and carried him to her old home.
As she walked, she thought again how surprised she had been when Jack had made no attempt to make love to her the previous night. She felt disappointed. During the months away from him, she had longed for him, for the feel of his arms about her, for his loving. And she had hoped he had missed her too. Now, she was hurt that, although he had got into the double bed beside her, he had merely kissed her cheek, turned on his side and fallen asleep immediately, while she had lain awake into the early hours, her young body burning for his touch.
As Kitty opened the door, her mother turned from the range, her tired eyes lighting up at the sight of her daughter. ‘Kitty, I’m so glad you’ve come.’ She bustled forward and drew Kitty and the child into the warmth, pushing her gently into a chair and taking the shawl-wrapped bundle into her arms. ‘There, there now, me little bairn,’ Betsy crooned.
‘Me dad’s not here, is he?’ Kitty said.
‘No, no, we’re quite safe today,’ her mother said with only half her attention for she was unwrapping the shawl and inspecting the sturdy limbs of the little boy she believed to be her first grandchild. Kitty felt a sudden stab of guilt at the thought but pushed it resolutely away.
‘Mam, I’d better tell you straight away. I – I’m going to move in with Jack.’
Her mother raised her gaze and her eyes were deep pools of anxiety. ‘Aw lass, aw me lass,’ was all Betsy could say. ‘Are ya sure? He’s no good. Cut loose, girl, while there’s still time. Mebbe I could talk ya dad around. Mebbe you could come back here.’
Kitty shook her head. ‘No, Mam. You know me dad. I must say I never expected him to be quite so hard, but . . .’ She shrugged and sighed. ‘If that’s how he feels, I know he’ll never change his mind.’
Betsy shook her head. ‘No, you’re right. I know that if I’m honest.’ She was silent a moment, seeming to struggle with herself, then the words burst from her, tumbling from her mouth as if she could not get them out quickly enough. ‘It’s not all your fault. It’s the past. It’s raked all that up again. It’s my fault an’ all.’
Kitty stared at her mother. ‘Raked all what up, Mam? What are you talking about?’
Betsy bit her lip and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the range. ‘Mebbe it’s time I told you about it, lass. Mebbe you’ve a right to know, and – and if nothing else, it’ll help you to see why your dad is acting the way he is. Being so hard on you, like.’
Kitty was silent as Betsy Clegg’s head came up very slowly until her eyes met her daughter’s questioning gaze. Gently she rocked the child in her arms until the infant’s eyes closed and he slept while Betsy stared straight ahead, seeming to see, not the cluttered kitchen of the house she had shared with her husband for over eighteen years, but images from the past. A past in which Kitty had no part.
‘If I . . .’ Betsy began slowly, ‘if I tell you something, Kitty, do you promise me that you will never mention it to ya dad that I’ve told you, nor tell any of your brothers and sisters about it?’
Kitty stared at her mother. Not more secrets and more promises, she thought, but aloud she said quietly, ‘Yes, I promise.’
Again there was a long silence as if Betsy were struggling to say out loud things that had lain hidden and unspoken of for years.
‘I worked at the Manor once. Years ago . . .’
‘I know that. Mrs Grundy told me.’
‘Oh aye, and what else did Mrs Grundy have to tell you?’ There was a trace of resentment in her tone, but gradually she relaxed again when Kitty wrinkled her brow, trying to remember.
‘Nothing really,’ Kitty said, ‘though there were times when she would say summat I couldn’t quite understand. But whenever I asked her what she meant, she’d just clam up.’
‘Aye well, she were a good friend to me all them years ago and I ain’t ever had cause to think her otherwise.’
Kitty waited and her mother paused again.
‘It’s all so long ago now. Not that you ever forget, you know, but – well – you sort of bury it. When I worked at The Manor, I was only your age and Henry Franklin – the man you call “the master” now – he was about twenty-two. A right young rogue, he was . . .’ Yet the term was used fondly and, even as Kitty watched, her mother’s face seemed to soften and her eyes glazed over at the memory.
‘He was a fine figure of a man, tall and with such a beautiful head of chestnut hair I always thought it was wasted on a man. Mind you, you couldn’t have called him handsome.’ She giggled, almost girlishly. ‘His nose was too big. But he had this kind of – of air about him. Dashing that’s it. He was dashing.’ Betsy Clegg was savouring her memories. ‘He was what they call “an eligible young bachelor” and though his family weren’t aristocracy, his father had a good job as Sir Ralph Harding’s farm bailiff and they were much respected and comfortably off. Mind you, his mother came from a bit better class than the Franklins and always tried to make out her family were out the same drawer as the Hardings at the Hall, but they weren’t. They still aren’
t, even though they farm in their own right now.’
Patiently, Kitty waited, knowing that eventually her mother would come to the point.
‘He had an eye for a pretty girl and – well – I suppose I was young and giddy and took his flirting and his flattery far too serious.’
Again she stopped and glanced down at the sleeping child in her arms. Then she raised her gaze again, looking straight at her daughter. ‘I – I fell for him, Kitty, just like I ’spect you’ve fallen for Jack Thorndyke. That’s why I can’t blame you and, though I’m disappointed and worried what will come of it all, I do understand what it – it’s like to love a man that much that you’d do anything for him.’ Her voice fell to a whisper. ‘Anything he asked of you.’
‘Oh Mam,’ Kitty breathed. ‘What happened?’
Flatly, Betsy said, ‘I got pregnant. That’s what happened.’
Kitty gasped, staring at her mother in horrified disbelief. Then as her jumbled thoughts began to make more sense, she said hesitantly, ‘Oh Mam, you don’t mean that I’m – that he’s my . . .’
Swiftly, even before Kitty had finished voicing the question, her mother reached out and patted her daughter’s hand. ‘No, no, lass, you’re your dad’s child. I mean, John Clegg’s your real dad.’
‘So . . .?’ Kitty had to know, but now she hesitated, her mind reeling with all the possibilities. Had her mother, all those years ago, given birth to a child and given it up to someone else just as Miriam Franklin had done? Had Kitty a half-brother or half-sister somewhere? The questions whirled around her mind, but her mother was speaking again and even now, after all the intervening years, there was still sadness in her voice. ‘Of course, his family were horrified. His mother sent me packing. In her eyes it was all my fault and I’d caused trouble, you see, by naming him as the father.’
‘Oh Mam,’ Kitty breathed, knowing what her mother must have suffered.
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