Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘But I was lucky, Kitty, more lucky than I deserved to be. My parents stood by me and would have let me keep the baby and helped me bring it up, but – but the baby – a little boy—’ again she glanced down at the baby boy in her arms and there were tears in her voice as she whispered, ‘was stillborn.’

  Kitty reached across and clasped her mother’s hands tightly in her own, but could think of no words to say.

  There was a long silence in the room before Kitty asked hesitantly. ‘And me dad?’

  ‘He was a groom at the Franklins’ and of course he knew all about it. But about a year after – after it had all happened, he started coming to see me and – and said he’d marry me.’

  ‘Did he love you? Did you love him?’

  ‘In a way, I’ve come to love him. I’m grateful to him and he’s been a good husband to me and a good father, but . . .’ She stopped and her silence said more than her words.

  ‘But you have never forgotten Henry Franklin, have you, Mam?’

  There were tears in her mother’s eyes as she pressed her lips together and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak now.

  ‘And me dad, did he love you?’ Kitty urged.

  Betsy lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘I really don’t know, Kitty. I – I always had the feeling that he made the offer thinking that in some way Mr Henry would be grateful to him, would see him all right. But after we was wed, well, it sort of backfired on him and he was sacked over something quite trivial. I even forget exactly what it was about now.’

  ‘Was that how he came to get a job on the railway then?’

  Betsy nodded. ‘He started as a porter and he hated it. He’s hated it all these years, even when he got to be stationmaster, a position with some status to it. All he ever wanted, he said, was to work with horses. That’s why he’s so bitter at the bottom of him.’

  ‘And deep down he blames you and now I have, as you say, raked it all up again.’

  Her mother nodded but Kitty was thinking now that this was what the hints and half-remarks up at the Manor had been about. And why Mr Franklin thought she had been trying to drag up the past again. That’s what he had meant about ‘a little blackmail’. It had nothing to do with the secrets of the present, but with the scandal from the past.

  ‘So after you left, Mam, Mr Franklin married his wife, did he?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Betsy said bitterly. ‘His mother couldn’t get him safely married off quick enough. Almost the first suitable girl that came along was snapped up and he was married to her.’ Betsy sighed. ‘I feel sorry for her, really. I always have done, she’s a lovely lady and she hasn’t had a happy marriage, or much happiness with her children to my way of thinking. Miss Miriam’s a spoilt little madam and her boy, well, if he makes old bones, it’ll be a miracle.’

  Kitty said nothing about Miriam Franklin, knowing, more than anyone else, just what trouble her wilfulness had led her into and the heartbreak she had indeed caused her gentle mother. But of Edward she said, ‘He’s much better now, Mam. He’s going to boarding school and he’s grown and filled out. Why, he’s taller than me now.’

  ‘Really? Well, I am pleased to hear that. Really I am. But Kitty, promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. It’s not that your dad doesn’t know all there is to know, but I don’t want him reminded any more. And please, please don’t tell young Milly, or the others.’

  ‘Of course not, Mam. I promise.’ She gave her promise gladly, but in that moment Kitty was sorely tempted to spill out the details of the other secret, but her promise was sacrosanct and must, in Kitty Clegg’s mind, be kept.

  Thirty-Two

  ‘I just hope you know what you’re doing, Kitty, that’s all.’ Betsy’s eyes were worried as she helped her daughter pack her few belongings to move to the cottage with Jack. ‘He’ll never marry you, you know, not even to give his son a name.’

  ‘I know, Mam, I know,’ Kitty said quietly.

  Betsy sighed and then, more brightly, said, ‘I’ve found you some baby things I had packed away upstairs. Tek ’em, lass, because I don’t reckon I’ll be having any more bairns mesen.’ She smiled down at the baby. ‘I’ll just have to enjoy me grand-bairns now, at least when I can get the chance.’ For a moment, mischief sparkled in Betsy Clegg’s eyes and despite the sadness and hardship life had brought her, Kitty knew that it was from her mother that she had inherited her strength of character.

  Again she felt a pang of conscience that the child Betsy believed to be her flesh and blood had no connection to her. And yet, Kitty thought now, there was a connection, one she had not known about, could not have known about until today. The child might not be Betsy’s own grandchild, but he was certainly the grandson of the man she had loved all those years ago, and, if Kitty was right, had continued to love down the years.

  ‘Oh Mam.’ She moved across the space between them and put her arms about Betsy’s thickening waist, feeling tears spring to her eyes. ‘I’ll bring him to see you whenever I can. When me dad’s away. It’ll be our little secret.’

  ‘Yes, yes, love,’ her mother said patting her back. ‘And don’t tell our Milly. Though I ses it as shouldn’t about me own, that girl’s got a spiteful streak in her.’

  Kitty leaned back and looked into her mother’s face. ‘I haven’t seen her since I came home. Is she still at the Manor?’

  ‘Oh yes. Ses she’s going to take over as cook when Mrs Grundy finally retires. Though when that’ll be, your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘She’s ambitious, then, I’ll say that for her. I would never have thought it of Milly.’

  ‘She’s changed a lot while you’ve been away. Put on a bit of weight and it suits her. Her skin’s a better colour. She’s not bad looking now, but she’ll still have to make her own way in the world.’ Betsy sighed. ‘Same as you, Kitty love, though I can’t say I’m happy about the way you’ve chosen. Not happy at all.’

  Kitty forced a bright smile on to her mouth and hugged her mother once again. ‘I’ll be fine, Mam. As long as I’ve got little Johnnie. And no one – no one,’ she repeated as if saying it aloud would make it so, ‘can ever take him away from me.’

  While Jack worked, Kitty moved her belongings and the clothes her mother had given her for the baby into the cottage. Between caring for little Johnnie’s needs, Kitty scrubbed and cleaned the little home and prepared a tempting meal in readiness for Jack’s return that evening. As he stepped through the door, ducking his head beneath the low doorframe, Jack sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘By, that’s a fine greeting for a chap after a hard day.’ He chuckled and smacked Kitty’s backside playfully. ‘But you should be careful not to tire yourself. It’s not that many weeks since ya birthing, is it?’

  Kitty felt a tremor of fear pass through her. In her anxiety to please Jack, she had not stopped to think that she must play the part of a woman who had recently given birth. Hiding her face, she bent over the pan of soup bubbling on the range, stirring the liquid and trying to regain her composure, while attempting to visualize how a young mother would be feeling.

  She had stayed with Miriam just over six weeks. And besides, Miriam Franklin had seemed to make a remarkably quick recovery, no doubt because she had not had the drain on her energy of caring for the child. Desperately, Kitty searched in her mind for the memory of how her mother had been when she had given birth to her youngest child. Kitty had been a young girl and had helped her mother, not only at the birth itself, but during the weeks following her confinement. But how long had it been, Kitty asked herself, how long before Betsy had been up and about and doing her own housework?

  She straightened up, pressing the palm of her hand into the small of her back as if weary. ‘Oh we’re tough, us country girls,’ she laughed and, composing her features, turned to face him. ‘No lying abed for our sort, ya know.’

  Thankfully, Jack seemed to lose interest in the topic as he attacked the mound of steaming beef and potato pie she placed before him. Silently, Kitt
y sighed with relief.

  In the lumpy feather bed Kitty snuggled close to Jack, laying her head against his chest and listening to the deep thud of his heart. His hand touched her shoulder and his fingers tugged at the tiny buttons on the front of her cotton nightdress and then his hands were caressing the roundness of her breast. She put her arm across him and lifted her face up, searching for his mouth as he raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her, pushing her on to her back. She lay unresisting, opening her arms invitingly, her body already beginning to respond to his touch. So long she had been denied his loving that she craved him with a passion that almost frightened her in its intensity.

  His mouth was gentle on her lips, his hand stroking her breast and then she felt him move down, running his palm across her stomach, down, down until he touched her private place. She gave a low moan of pleasure and began to arch herself towards him, welcoming, beseeching . . . Then his hand moved away, up again, over the flatness of her belly. His mouth moved from hers and he buried his face in her breasts, his mouth searching for the nipple, his lips sucking it, his tongue encircling it. She gave a cry as a spasm of ecstasy that was almost a pain gripped her groin and she drove her fingers deep into the thickness of his hair, pulling him against her and increasing his ardour so that he opened his lips wider and her breast filled his mouth, his tongue sucking hard now.

  Then suddenly he pulled himself up from her and straddled her, sitting on her groin so that his weight crushed her and she gasped out. ‘Jack, you’re too heavy, don’t . . .’ she began to protest, but then his fingers dug into her shoulder and, in the darkness, she felt his breath upon her face as he leaned down over her.

  ‘You bitch! You’ve no more given birth to a bairn in the last few weeks than I have.’

  ‘Jack . . .’ she began, but his fingers dug deeper.

  ‘You thought you’d trap me, didn’t you? But you hadn’t reckoned on me knowing what it feels like to lie with a woman who’s bin with child. Aye, an’ my child at that. Well, I know, Kitty, oh yes, I know the feel of a woman who’s given birth and I tell you, you haven’t. Ya’ve no milk . . .’ His anger was vicious now and cruelly he gripped her breast and squeezed it till tears smarted her eyes and she cried out not in pleasure but in pain.

  ‘The truth, Kitty, I want the truth. Where did you find a bastard to try to trick me with, eh? Some gyppo’s?’

  ‘No, no, Jack, I swear,’ she gasped. ‘The boy is yours. He is your son. You’ve got to believe me . . .’

  ‘Why should I, ’cos he’s not yours, is he?’ His grip was vicious again. ‘Is he?’

  ‘No, no,’ she cried in pain. ‘But he is your son.’

  ‘Then whose . . .?’ he began and then suddenly, in the darkness, he was still, with a stillness that was far more ominous than his anger.

  ‘It’s hers, ain’t it?’

  Kitty said nothing, but a heaviness filled her that had nothing to do with Jack’s weight pressing her down.

  ‘It’s Miss Miriam Franklin’s bastard.’

  ‘Oh Jack, Jack,’ she was babbling now, crying and clinging to him, oblivious to the pain he was inflicting upon her. ‘She was going to give him away, to strangers, have him adopted. Jack, I couldn’t bear to think of your son being brought up by strangers. The moment I held him, I loved him. I know I shouldn’t have tried to deceive you and I’m sorry, but she – they made me swear to keep it secret. No one must ever know, Jack. But they were going to give him away and I – I couldn’t bear that.’

  ‘So,’ he spat, ‘you want my child, do you? You want my bastard so bad that you’d take another woman’s to try to trick me, eh?’

  ‘Listen, Jack, please listen to me . . .’ she begged.

  ‘I’ve heard enough – more than enough. But let me tell you something, Kitty Clegg. I’ll mind you never – ever – bear a child of mine. You hear me? Never!’

  Then he was astride her, thrusting into her, using her body to take his revenge upon her. At the moment of his climax, in a final act of punishment, he withdrew from her, leaving her empty and bereft.

  He raised himself from her now and rolled over on to his back. Lying beside her in the darkness, he neither spoke to her nor touched her again.

  Kitty curled herself into a ball of misery and sobbed into her pillow.

  Thirty-Three

  ‘I’m leaving on Saturday and giving up this cottage. The work’s finished round here.’

  Kitty stared at him. ‘Where are we going?’

  His eyes glittered. ‘Who said anything about “we”?’

  ‘I see, so that’s it. I’ve been good enough to clean your house and cook for you and care for your son for the past three months – and warm ya bed . . .’

  She hesitated, thinking back again to the night Jack had found out that she was not Johnnie’s natural mother and, worse still, had guessed at once just who had given birth to his son. That fact – that Johnnie was indeed his son – he had never since questioned, but his anger at her deception, which he saw as her way of trying to force him to marry her, was devastating. The following morning he had risen and left the cottage without speaking to her. On his return in the evening, she had placed a meal in front of him and he had eaten it in total silence without even looking at her.

  As he had finished, mopping the gravy with a piece of bread until the plate was so clean it scarcely needed washing, she had stood in front of him. ‘I suppose you want me to leave?’ she said quietly.

  He had looked up at her then, a hard, calculating expression in his eyes. ‘You can do what you like, Kitty Clegg, but my son stays with me.’

  She had gripped the edge of the table, her face white, and leaned towards him. ‘Never. I’ll never leave him.’

  He had shrugged. ‘As far as I’m concerned then, you can stay. He needs looking after, at least while he’s so small, and . . .’ A lascivious, leering look had come into his face. ‘And so do I. There’s a surprising lack of pretty girls around here,’ and then he had added cruelly, ‘now that Miss Miriam Franklin is no longer – available.’

  Kitty turned away swiftly to hide the tears in her eyes. She was angry with herself for being so stupid, yet she could not, would not, leave the baby, and, to her chagrin, she had to admit that she did not want to leave Jack either.

  Why, oh why, was she so besotted with him? She could see him for exactly what he was and yet he held her heart in the palm of his hand and she would grasp at whatever he offered if only she could stay with him.

  They had settled into an uneasy life together, but over the weeks that followed Kitty was determined to win him back and to make him forget her deception. Though, at first, he used her roughly in their bed at night, little by little her tenderness had drawn from him a kinder response.

  Yet now here he was callously telling her he was moving on and not even asking her to go with him.

  ‘So, you’re leaving us after all, then?’

  He shook his head. ‘You, mebbe, but not the boy. My son comes with me.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Jack. How can you look after a tiny baby?’

  The huge shoulders shrugged. ‘I’ll manage. He’s not that small now. Six months old and growing fast. Besides, what was good enough for me is good enough for my son.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I travelled round with my dad and my uncle. They ran the threshing set afore me.’

  Slowly Kitty moved forward and sat down at the table, staring at him across it. ‘You mean – you mean, you didn’t have a mother?’

  ‘Must have had at some point, but I don’t remember her.’

  ‘Did she die?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  ‘You mean, you don’t know?’ Kitty, with mother, father, brothers and sisters, could not imagine what his life must have been like.

  ‘She was never mentioned.’

  ‘Never?’ Kitty was scandalized. ‘Your father never told you anything about your own mother?’

  ‘No. All I can remember is tr
avelling around with them – me dad and his brother, that is – staying here and there. Sometimes sleeping rough, sometimes finding lodgings. It’s all I’ve ever known. And it ain’t done me no harm.’

  Kitty was silent, just staring at him. For the first time, she felt real pity for this man who had never known a mother’s love. ‘Were they – your dad and your uncle – good to you?’

  Again, his shoulders lifted. ‘It was a tough life, I suppose, and I had to work hard, right from being a bairn. But it meks a man of you, Kitty. I’ve never been ashamed of me background, or bitter about it.’

  ‘And that’s the sort of life you want for your son, is it?’

  ‘Never done me no harm,’ he repeated.

  ‘Then what about me? Are you telling me you don’t want me to come, because if that’s the case, then . . .?’

  He did not wait for her to finish her sentence, did not wait to hear her vow, yet again, that she would never, ever, let him take Johnnie away from her. Instead he said, ‘You can come along if that’s what you want. But I warn you, Kitty, you take me as I am, ’cos I aren’t going to change.’

  ‘What about Ben Holden and his family? Do they come along too?’

  ‘Oh Ben . . .’ There was a sneer in his tone. ‘He’s the perfect husband and father. No, his family live here, in Tresford, and they stay put. He comes back home whenever he can, but we’re often away weeks at a time.’

  But he’s the faithful type, Kitty said to herself. Ben Holden won’t be taking up with other women all over the county when he’s away from his wife.

  She pulled in a deep breath and for a long moment, she stared at him. She knew what to expect: a gypsy’s life, following Jack wherever his search for work took him. Living in tumbledown shacks or even beneath a haystack. But if she put up with the hardships, cared for him and his son, maybe she could win him back. Maybe she could wipe out the bitterness in his heart and make him love her. In spite of everything, she could not stop herself from loving him. And now, she understood him better.