‘Very well, madam, thank you,’ Kitty said, careful not to let any sign of emotion creep into her tone. There was so much she could have said, could have told Mrs Franklin, yet she did not.
‘Kitty, I need your help over the wedding. Miriam is being . . .’ she paused, sighed and then added, ‘difficult.’
So nothing had changed, Kitty thought with wry amusement, but she kept her face straight.
‘One moment she’s on top of the world, excited and planning her wedding, the next she’s in floods of tears saying she doesn’t want to marry Guy, that she doesn’t want to marry anyone. Kitty, will you talk to her?’
‘Of course, madam, but I can’t promise that it will do any good.’
Mrs Franklin sighed. ‘I know, my dear, but there’s only you, apart from me, who understands – fully.’ The slightest hesitation before the final word spoke volumes.
Kitty rose. ‘Is she upstairs now, madam?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll go up.’
‘Thank you, Kitty.’ Her voice dropped as she murmured, ‘I really don’t know what we’d do without you, my dear.’
As she closed the door behind her and mounted the stairs, Kitty thought, What you’d have done without me is you’d have given that darling little boy away to strangers. A gentle smile curved Kitty’s mouth. Whatever happened in her life, whatever cruelties she had to suffer under Jack’s threats, she would never regret having taken Johnnie.
As long as she had him, then nothing and no one else mattered.
Miriam’s bedroom door was ajar and even before she reached it she heard the girl’s voice. ‘Get out, you stupid girl . . .’
So, Kitty thought, the latest lady’s maid is getting just the same treatment. As she reached the door it was flung wide and a girl in maid’s uniform marched out, her face red, her mouth pressed into a grim line. At least she’s not in floods of tears, Kitty thought as she stood aside to let her pass. The maid strode straight past her without a word and ran downstairs. Kitty shrugged her shoulders, tapped on the half-open door and stepped into the room.
‘May I come in, miss?’
Miriam was standing in the middle of the bedroom, still in her nightgown, her auburn hair in a tangle of wild curls. Her face was tear-streaked, her green eyes flashing with rage. ‘That stupid girl can’t dress my hair properly,’ she said, as if for Kitty Clegg to step unannounced into her bedroom was the most natural thing in the word. She moved towards the dressing table and sat down on the stool. ‘Just see what you can do with it, Clegg.’
Kitty hid her smile, picked up the hairbrush and with quick, strong strokes began to bring some shape and style back into the disarray.
‘Oh Kitty . . .’ the girl began and Kitty glanced at Miriam’s reflection in the mirror. Suddenly her face crumpled and her lower lip trembled. ‘Kitty, what am I to do?’
‘Do, miss?’ Kitty said, feigning surprise. ‘What about?’
‘About Guy and – and getting married.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I can’t marry Guy. I don’t love him.’
Through the glass the two girls stared at each other.
Softly Kitty asked, ‘Are you still in love with – him?’
Miriam shook her head vehemently – too vehemently, Kitty thought shrewdly. ‘No – no. I hate him.’
Kitty sighed and with a sudden insight and wisdom beyond her years, she said, ‘Hate isn’t the opposite of love, you know. That just means you still feel a strong emotion for him.’
‘I don’t – I don’t.’ The tears were starting again.
Kitty patted her shoulder. ‘All right, miss. All right. Now listen.’ She bent down, putting her face above the girl’s shoulder so that they looked at each other in the mirror. ‘You’re fond of Mr Guy, aren’t you?’
Miriam nodded.
‘Well then, in your class lots of marriages start with no more than that when they’ve been arranged by the parents, now don’t they?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And you can’t deny that Mr Guy loves you.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘No, “buts”, miss,’ Kitty said firmly, straightening up and resuming her brushing. ‘Just you enjoy all the planning and the day itself. You’ll be the most beautiful bride this town’s seen in a long time.’
‘Oh Kitty, but what if . . .?’
Kitty raised the hairbrush and shook it in admonishment. ‘No more doubts. It’s the right thing. And in time, well, I think you’ll come to love Mr Guy, ’cos he’s a lovely man.’
‘Oh he is, he is,’ Miriam agreed, ‘but . . .’
She fell silent and stared at Kitty for a few moments, then she gave a huge sigh and began to smile. ‘You’re right, Kitty. I will marry Mr Guy and become Mistress of Nunsthorpe Hall and forget all about – well – everything else.’
‘That’s right, miss. That’s what you ought to do,’ Kitty said firmly, and silently she prayed, And forget all about your son too. He’s mine.
The wedding, as Kitty had foreseen, was a grand affair and all the town turned out to watch Miss Miriam ride to the church in the open carriage. Even the late October day was kind. A light breeze ruffled the bride’s veil, but the sun shone and the autumn weather was surprisingly warm.
Kitty slipped into the church to listen to the service, for, right at the back, she could see very little. But when Guy and Miriam came out of the door and walked between guests lining their pathway towards the waiting carriage, she thought she had never in her life seen such a beautiful bride. She inched closer, smiling to see Guy tenderly handing Miriam into the carriage and then climbing in beside her. Oh, how he loves her, Kitty thought enviously. He can hardly take his eyes off her. And today, Kitty was relieved to see that Miriam looked happy too. She was laughing gaily and waving to all their relatives and friends, enjoying being the centre of attention. She will love him in time, I know she will, Kitty prayed.
She saw Guy about to give the order to the driver to move off, back to the Hall and no doubt to a sumptuous reception that awaited them and their guests, when Miriam touched his arm and said something to him. Then Kitty saw him smile and nod and Miriam stood up in the carriage holding the beautiful bouquet in her hand and looked around her, seeing the upturned, smiling faces. Her glance roamed over the throng. She appeared to be looking for someone. Then her gaze met Kitty’s and for a long moment they stared at each other. Suddenly Miriam’s smile broadened and Kitty heard her laugh aloud and say, ‘There you are, Kitty Clegg . . .’
Before Kitty realized what was happening she heard Miriam call out, ‘Catch!’ and saw her throw the bouquet high into the air towards her. The crowd cheered and clapped with delight as Kitty put up her hands and caught the flowers, petals and leaves showering about her.
‘Another wedding,’ a voice called somewhere. ‘Now there’ll be another wedding.’
Kitty’s eyes filled with tears as she smiled tremulously towards Miriam and waved her hand in thanks, but now Mrs Guy Harding had turned away, back to her new husband and the carriage was moving off, the crowd surging forward, following it as far as they could.
Kitty was left standing alone at the church gate staring after them, feeling strangely lost and suddenly very lonely.
It had been a kind gesture on Miriam’s part, Kitty thought, and so much more lay behind it than the other watchers – even Mr Guy – could ever know. Kitty thought that it was Miriam’s way of wishing her well, perhaps even a way of saying that she hoped Jack would, one day, marry her.
But that, thought Kitty sadly, bridal bouquet or not, would never happen.
Thirty-Eight
In the small kitchen of their cottage, Kitty was sitting near the warm range, Johnnie fast asleep in her lap, his head against her breast, his thumb in his mouth, when the door flew open and the February wind lifted the rug on the tiled hearth.
‘It’s all right for some with time to sit near the fire all day. Come on, rouse yarsen. I need help. The lad’s not turned
in. And get that boy’s thumb out of his mouth. He’s not a babby any more.’
Johnnie stirred and whimpered as he woke and Kitty saw Jack’s lip curl. ‘He’s becoming a mother’s boy. Soon be time I took him in hand and made a man of him.’
Kitty lifted the boy to his feet and got up herself. ‘You’ll do no such thing yet, Jack Thorndyke. Time enough. Now, what is it you want me to do?’
‘The chaff hole. You’ll have to mind the chaff hole. It’s a mucky job, but I’ve no one else.’
Kitty shrugged. ‘I’ve done muckier jobs in me time, but what about Johnnie? Do you want me to take him to me mam’s.’
‘No, it’ll take too much time. He’ll have to come with you. I’ll put some straw in a barrel and he can stand in that and watch. That way your precious little boy will be safe from the rats.’
Kitty did not answer. She knew Jack was fond of his son, but he was the kind of man who expected a boy to be rough and tough. But Johnnie was only two and a half, Kitty told herself again, time enough.
She wrapped Johnnie warmly against the blustery day and, leading him by the hand, they walked from the cottage to the Manor and entered the stackyard. For a moment, Kitty and the child stood watching, both fascinated by the scene before them. For the child, it was the first time he had been allowed close to such excitement and for Kitty, although she had often come into the yard during threshing days, she had never before taken the trouble to try to understand how things worked. Until this moment, she had always come to see Jack. Now the atmosphere of the yard enveloped her and drew her in. The air was filled with noise: the steady throb of the engine, the whirring wheels and belts, the rattle of bright metal rods and the hum of the thresher.
Jack stood on Sylvie’s footplate, his glance ever watchful of the water gauge, his ears listening to the rhythmic chug-chug of his engine, attuned to the slightest change. A young boy, with two buckets suspended from a yoke, carried water across the yard to the engine, while Jack himself jumped down to stoke the fire box with coal from a heap a few yards from the machine.
On top of the corn stack to be threshed, men swung loaded pitchforks to a man on the top of the drum. He cut the band and passed the sheaf to Ben, who, standing over the hole, laid the corn on his left arm and fed it steadily and evenly into the jaws of the rotating drum.
And already another stack was being formed by the straw falling from one end of the thresher on to the teeth of an elevator that carried it high and dropped it to the men waiting below who, skilled in their work, built a new stack with as much precision and care as a bricklayer would build a house.
‘You going to stand there gawping all day?’ Jack’s voice made her jump. ‘That chaff hole’ll be choked if you don’t keep it clear . . .’
Kitty moved forward to become part of the operation of manpower and machinery that worked in unison, each with their own part to play.
It was indeed the worst job on the threshing team. The chaff hole was where the chaff poured out of the drum just behind the small front wheels. Kitty spread the chaff sheet – a hessian sack cut open and tied at each corner with bands to pull it by – on the ground at the side of the machine. The dust and chaff flew everywhere, hazing the air. It clung to her hair, her clothes; it blocked her nostrils, tickled her throat and made her cough. It even stung her eyes and made them run, but doggedly Kitty stayed, raking the chaff on to the sheet and dragging it across the yard to the small chaff shed at the side of the barn.
She leaned against a post and pressed the palm of her hand to the small of her back, trying to ease the ache. She closed her eyes for a moment.
‘Not quite the lady’s maid now, are we?’
Kitty opened her eyes and turned to see Milly standing a few feet away. In the last three years Milly had grown and blossomed. Gone was the scrawny, lank-haired, rather pathetic, young girl. Now she was plump, but it was a roundness that was voluptuous. Her face was no longer pasty and her cheeks were smooth and pink with health. Even her hair, once so lank and colourless, was clean and shining. It was skilfully plaited and wound into a coil on the top of her head beneath her kitchen maid’s cap.
A sharp retort sprang to Kitty’s lips. ‘Well, I see you aren’t a lady’s maid yet either?’
Milly laughed. ‘I don’t want to be, not to the likes of the new Mrs Harding at the Hall anyway. No, I’m quite happy where I am, thank you very much. Mrs Grundy can’t last for ever. She’s getting on a bit and some days ’er legs are that bad, she can hardly stand.’ The girl’s smile widened slyly. ‘I don’t reckon it’ll be long afore she gets thrown out because she can’t do the job.’
There was not an ounce of pity in the girl’s tone for a woman who had given a life of service.
‘Mrs Franklin wouldn’t throw her out.’
Milly shrugged uninterestedly. ‘I expect she’ll get a little cottage on the estate somewhere to see out her days. That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?’
‘Selfish, that’s what you are, Milly Clegg. Can’t wait to step into the poor old dear’s shoes, can you? Anyway, I can’t stand here talking to you all day. Some of us have got work to do.’
As she moved away, she heard Milly say, ‘I wouldn’t swap jobs with you now, our Kitty, for all your fancy notions of being me lady’s maid. Look where it’s got you!’
Kitty did not look back but marched towards the chaff hole under the huge threshing drum.
They were getting near the last of the stack and the rats started to run from it as the forks drove deeper and deeper. Kitty glanced towards the barrel, checking that Johnnie was safe. The boy was watching with wide eyes and pointing at the scurrying vermin.
Jack climbed down from his engine. ‘Ben, Ben, where’s that useless mongrel of yours?’
Ben’s rumbling laugh came from the top of the thresher where he stood to feed the drum. ‘He’ll be cowering at the back of the barn, I shouldn’t wonder. Afeard of rats, he is, Jack.’
‘Is he, begum? We’ll soon see about that.’
He turned and walked towards the barn, whistling and calling, ‘Here, boy.’ Then Kitty saw him glance towards Milly and nod and she saw her sister dip her head and slant her eyes coyly at Jack.
He can’t stop it, can he? she thought bitterly. It’s as if he can’t even help it. Any girl and he has to flirt with them. Even me own sister.
At that moment, four huge rats scuttled out of the straw and ran wildly about the yard, one making a bee-line towards Milly. The girl screamed and clutched at her skirts. Holding them high, she ran towards Jack. He caught her up in his arms, lifting her feet high off the ground and swinging her round, laughing. Milly, safe now, laughed up into his face and though Kitty watched, her mouth tight, she neither spoke nor moved from her place by the chaff hole as she saw Jack carry Milly round the corner of the barn.
He was back in a few moments, however, carrying Ben’s black and white terrier. He brought the dog to the diminishing stack and set it down. Rats of all sizes still appeared from the heap, but the minute Jack released his hold on the dog, it fled back to the deep shadows of the barn.
‘Why, the little beggar!’ Jack said and Ben’s laugh could be heard again.
‘I telled ya, Jack, didn’t I?’
Jack strode after the terrier, anger in every long stride. ‘I’ll teach you, you little runt.’
He came back carrying the struggling dog and went towards the barrel where Johnnie stood. Kitty threw down her rake and crawled out from the chaff hole, wiping away the dust and wisps of straw with the back of her hand.
Still keeping hold of the terrier in one hand, Jack lifted his son out of the barrel and set him on the ground. Then he reached down into the barrel and pulled out all the straw he had placed there for the boy to stand on.
‘What doin’?’ Kitty heard Johnnie ask as she drew near and put her hands on his shoulders.
‘You’ll see, lad,’ Jack said grimly. Then he dropped the terrier into the depths of the now empty barrel, turned and strode tow
ards the mound of wheat, still moving with vermin that had yet to escape. Kitty and the boy watched as Jack plodded into the last remnants of the stack, stamping with his feet. Then he was suddenly still and they saw him bend down to part the straw near his foot. They heard the squealing then and, a moment later, Jack held a rat aloft by its tail. He turned and came back towards the barrel.
Instinctively, Kitty drew Johnnie back, but the child pressed forward, crying, ‘See, see, me see.’
She bent and picked him up in her arms, unsure what it was exactly that Jack meant to do. In a second, she knew. He stood by the barrel, holding the wriggling rat suspended in midair above the petrified terrier below. And then, with a grin that was almost evil, he dropped the rodent into the barrel.
There followed such a scuffling, yelping and squealing that Kitty drew back even further. ‘Jack, no, oh no. Stop it at once. That’s cruel.’
But Jack only laughed while in her arms Johnnie struggled, leaning towards the barrel and shouting. ‘See, see.’
‘Ben . . .’ Kitty turned, yelling above the noise of the engine to the owner of the little dog. But Ben Holden, still on top of the drum, merely shrugged his huge shoulders and shook his head, making no effort to stop what Jack was doing.
The yelps of pain from the terrier were more than Kitty could bear. Holding the boy fast in one arm, she reached out with her other hand to tip over the barrel and free the poor trapped creature.
‘Oh no, you don’t, Kitty.’ Jack, seeing her intention, grasped her wrist and held her back.
She glared up at him. ‘You’re a bastard, Jack Thorndyke.’
‘Language, Kitty,’ he remonstrated, laughing all the while. ‘And in front of the boy too. Tut-tut.’
But Kitty was too incensed to care. ‘A cruel bastard.’
‘So I’ve always been led to believe, Kitty, because me father weren’t the marrying kind either.’
‘Oh.’ Kitty pulled herself free. ‘You!’ was all she could say.
From the barrel came a yelp and then, suddenly, a growl, a low ferocious growl followed by a high-pitched squeal and then there was silence. The three of them looked at each other, Jack with a wide grin on his face, Kitty with puzzlement and the child reaching out with one arm, still crying, ‘See, me see.’
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