by Mary Mackie
‘Then they must have been takin’ a nap,’ Jess said.
Fixing her with gleaming eyes, Rudd decided to let it rest. ‘Anyway, I’m right glad you made it. How’re you enjoying yourself?’
‘I come to work, not to gallivant,’ she replied.
The gossipy Hewinghall maid stepped in, handing Rudd a large slice of game pie with a merry ‘Got to keep up yore strength today, Mr Rudd!’
‘Every day, Sal,’ he responded with a grin. ‘Every day!’
As he turned away, Sal gave Jess a sidelong look. ‘Proper cross-patch, en’t we? What’s wrong wi’ you? Most gals’d be glad to have Reuben Rudd pass the time o’ day.’
‘Mebbe I’m choosy,’ Jess said loftily.
* * *
Lily had sought sanctuary in a shadowy corner of the barn. She envied Jess, whose diminutive figure she saw flitting here and there, busy as ever. Lucky Jess. She at least had a place in life. Which was more than Lily had. She didn’t belong with any of the groups. She was an outcast with her mismatched eyes and her silly, sensitive nature.
Realising she was swimming into the deeps of self-pity, Lily shook herself and slipped out through a gap in the back wall of the barn, hoping to find some peace and quiet to ease her headache.
It was cold in the lee of the barn, deep shadow highlighted by frost, with the woods growing close. The broken walls of an old lean-to stood knee-deep in nettles and scattered bricks, providing a seat of sorts. Lily sat huddled in her coat and muff, eyes closed, thoughts in disarray as she breathed in the iced air and felt her head throb.
‘Miss Clare?’
The voice startled her. As she looked up, pain lanced through her brain and she pressed her fingers to her temple, staring through misted eyes at the elegant young man who was the focus of her dearest dreams.
‘Are you unwell?’
Slanting sunlight coming over the barn touched his hair to bright gold, and his dark eyes were full of concern as he gazed at her.
‘I have a headache,’ she croaked, her mouth dry with panic. She felt trapped, like a rabbit before a gun. Like that poor pheasant.
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘No! No – thank you.’ She could hardly breathe. She felt crowded by his physical presence. Much as she had dreamed of an encounter like this, the reality was alarming. ‘Mr Haverleigh, please, I—’
‘Did you get my note?’ he asked.
Note? Lily’s mind blanked with shock. She peered up at him under a shading hand, eyes aching, head pounding. ‘Note?’
‘I asked you to meet me. I wanted—’
Dismay brought her to her feet, where she stood trembling. ‘And you expected me to come? Mr Haverleigh, whatever—’
She stopped, because Dickon Clare had stepped into sight, coming round the corner of the barn behind Ash. He raised his brows at her, a knowing smile making his eyes gleam. Alerted by the expression on her face, Ashton turned and, seeing Dickon, uttered a muffled oath.
‘Forgive my intruding,’ Dickon murmured, amused. ‘We’re moving off now, Haverleigh. Come on, leave the wench alone. We’ve other game to hunt. She’ll keep.’ He leered at Lily. ‘Won’t you, Lily Vee?’
‘Don’t call me that!’
‘Now look here, Clare,’ Ash began in a bored voice, ‘this was hardly an assignation. I merely wanted to talk to—’
‘Of course,’ said Dickon, but his grin said otherwise. ‘Oh, come, dear fellow, you don’t have to explain to me.’ With an insolence calculated to insult, he looked Lily up and down. ‘She is growing into a tasty little morsel. But now is not the time. Are you coming for the next drive, or shall I tell them you’ve found more interesting pursuits?’
Sighing his irritation, Ash flashed a look over his shoulder. He was going to say something, but changed his mind and, with a gesture of dismissal, strode away, brushing past Dickon, who grinned at Lily, tipped his hat in mock courtesy, and turned to follow his friend.
Somewhere a woodpecker was hammering, and a great tit flitted up to perch on a twig and sing his song. But otherwise the wood behind the barn was still and silent. Lily could feel the emptiness in it. The game was all fled, or dead. Like her hopes.
‘Miss Lily?’ Jess stepped out from the barn, from where she had witnessed the tail-end of the encounter.
‘We’re going home,’ was all Lily said. She was pale as death, white to the lips. ‘Get your basket, Jess. I want to go home. Now.’
* * *
Lily sat at the piano, singing songs with words of unremitting gloom in between staring out at the grey afternoon. She kept thinking about Ash, kept seeing the poor pheasant being blasted to bloody shreds by Dickon’s gun. She hated Dickon. How could Ash be his friend? Sunk in depthless misery, she was surely dying of unrequited love and disappointed dreams.
But, even as she despaired, hope was still flickering. Suppose Ash did have some important message to give her? What might he have said, if that vile Dickon hadn’t interrupted? If he didn’t care, why had he sent her a note, wanting to meet her? What had happened to that note? To whom had he given it? Oh, if only they had been able to talk! She couldn’t let go of her dream. Ash was not indifferent; he did know she existed. And one day, when circumstances fell right for them…
‘Lily Victoria,’ her papa said from the doorway. ‘Can you not play something a little more cheerful? Tomorrow we begin a new year. A year when you will complete your schooling and begin a new phase of your life. You should be anticipating it with enthusiasm. A new beginning…’
‘Yes, Papa.’
‘Speaking of new beginnings,’ he added, ‘tell Miss Sharp I wish to speak with her. I shall be in the study.’
She looked up, torn between soaring hope and sudden icy fear. ‘You want to see Jess? About what?’
His look was enigmatic but not, she fancied, unkindly. ‘Ask her to come. Immediately.’
Lily ran at once to the kitchen where she found Jess engaged in polishing copper pans, her hands and apron blackened, even smears on her face where she’d rubbed her cheek.
‘Oh, look at you!’ Lily cried. ‘But you’ll have to do. Just wash your hands. There’s no time for you to get changed.’
Jess stared, making Lily add impatiently, ‘Papa has asked to see you. I believe he’s going to offer you a permanent position. Oh, hurry, Jess!’
She led the way back to the hall where, in an agony of hope and anxiety, she studied Jess’s appearance, tweaking at her apron and fiddling with her hair, looping it back behind her ear where the fine strands had come adrift from a loose chignon. ‘Right. Now knock.’
Jess did so. They stared at each other, waiting, then from beyond the door came the rector’s voice: ‘You may enter.’
In the waning of a winter’s afternoon a lamp on the desk shed golden light upwards across the rector’s pink face, so that the shadows were all in the wrong places. He looked half demon, seated against a background of books and more books. ‘Well, come in, girl, come in!’ he snapped.
In an ashtray near his left hand a fat cigar reposed, drifting smoke. He picked it up, sucked hard on it and let smoke trickle from the side of his mouth. Bushy white eyebrows lifted slightly, but before he could speak Jess blurted, ‘If you’ll allow me, sir, I want to thank you most kindly for savin’ my life. If Miss Lily han’t brung me here – and if you han’t let me stay, well… well, the Lord know what would’ve ’come of me. I want you to know as I’m wholly grateful, sir, and if there’s any way I can show my gratitude… I en’t never bin afraid o’ hard work, sir.’
His eyebrows were eloquent, twisting like caterpillars though the rest of his face remained still as he looked her up and down, noting her birdlike slightness. ‘Indeed. And I suppose we must take your word for that. My daughter seems to think we should not apply for references. You left your last place in haste, I believe. Under… shall we say “difficult circumstances”?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She set her chin stubbornly. She’d say no more, however
hard he tried to make her.
‘Do you cook?’
‘Only plain food, sir, but I’m a quick learner. And, if I may be so bold, your kitchen was in a sadly state. That look like Miss Peartree need some extra help.’
‘Indeed?’ The cool eyes, glinting with golden lamplight, stared at her unblinking as he drew on his cigar and reached to drop the ash into a tray, tapping it with a pudgy forefinger.
Like fat pink worms, his fingers were. Jess shuddered as she imagined those soft, fat hands on her, shocking herself by the thought. Where had it come from? Lily’s father had done nothing to suggest a sexual threat. Even so, something in the way he kept looking her over…
No! No, the fault was in her. Ever since Merrywest, every man she met had caused a shrinking inside her. Any man. Why, she’d even gone rigid when her beloved brother Matty had hugged her. He hadn’t said anything – Matty wouldn’t put a thing like that into words. But he’d noted it, just the same. It had made him wonder.
Matty, forgive me! she thought, suddenly longing for him. If only she could see him, talk to him, explain…
‘What about children?’ Reverend Clare asked. ‘Do you know anything about caring for children?’
The question disconcerted her, since there were no children at the rectory. ‘I’ve looked after little ’uns – brothers and sisters and such.’
‘And you’re a good Christian? You say your prayers, and go to church?’
She hesitated, wanting to be honest. Yes, she said her prayers – frantic, desperate prayers – but since she’d left Lynn there didn’t seem anybody there to listen. ‘I was raised in the chapel way, sir.’
‘A pity. But we shan’t argue about that, so long as you present yourself with the others at prayers every morning. Very well… You may stay as kitchenmaid and under-cook, helping Miss Peartree. Until something more suitable offers.’ And he turned his attention to his manuscript, dipping his quill into the ink.
Jess hovered uncertainly, her mind working again. Until something more suitable… What did that mean?
‘And the pay, sir?’ Where she came from, that was the main question.
‘We’ll decide that in due course, when I see how much you’re worth,’ he said, and looked her in the eye. ‘After all, I am taking you on trust, girl. For my daughter’s sake. You would not be here if it were not for her faith in you. Be sure you don’t abuse that trust.’
So that was it – he was letting her stay, under sufferance, because of Lily. But only for the time being. Perhaps, once Lily was gone back to school, Jess would be sent on her way.
Brushing the air with his hand as if chasing away a fly, he added, ‘You’re dismissed, Jessamy. Close the door behind you. I have work to do.’
Lily was waiting outside, hopping from foot to foot in the freezing hallway. She clasped her hands under her chin and gasped, ‘Well? Well? What did he say? Are you to stay?’
‘Yes, Miss Lily, I’m to stay.’ For now, she added to herself.
‘Oh, Jess!’ The lovely, terrible eyes filled with tears as Lily threw her arms about the smaller girl’s shoulders and hugged her, weeping and laughing. ‘Oh, Jess! Happy New Year. Happy, Happy New Year!’
* * *
Lying flat on her back in her narrow attic bed, wide awake and strangely unsettled, Jess stared at the darkness and faced facts. There was no going back, that was for sure. Everything at Fisher’s End was now lost to her – her brothers and sisters, her friends, familiar places… Tomorrow a new year began. Wasn’t it sensible, then, to break with the past, to become Jessie Sharp and forget that Jess Henefer had ever existed?
Oh, she wouldn’t really forget. Somewhere deep in her soul she’d always know who and what she really was: that was part of her punishment. But she wouldn’t ever speak about it. Not to anyone. And she’d try not to think of it too much, either. Brooding never did no good. Work was the antidote. And there was plenty of that here. Starting tomorrow.
* * *
Returning to school was not a prospect Lily relished. She had come to hate Miss Waterburn’s Academy for Young Ladies, though she had never told anyone how miserable her life was in Cambridge – until now. Now, she confided in Jess.
At school Lily felt even more of an outcast, an oddity. Not only because of her eyes but because of her background. Clemency hardly spoke to her when they were there; Clemency had her own close coterie of friends, daughters of the gentry and the nouveau riche. Lily anticipated her release from that life with pleasure.
‘I can hardly wait for the summer. Then I shall be free. I can spend my time walking with Gyp, writing my journal, reading… Oh, and helping Cousin Oriana, of course. I think I shall write a book – about a little foundling child and how her real father searches for her and finds her at last, and takes her home… It will make a wonderful story.’
‘Like a fairytale,’ Jess said.
‘Except,’ said Lily, ‘that this story may well come true. It will, Jess. Oh… you think I’m being fanciful, don’t you? Dear Jess. You’re so good for me.’ Laughing, she went off about her amusements.
On the day Lily returned to school, Miss Peartree summoned the house staff to the front hall where they paid their respects as the young mistress left. She took a tearful parting of Gyp and of Jess, begging her take care of herself and the little dog. ‘Oh, I shall miss you! I’ll send you some picture postcards – I know you can’t read, but you’ll know I’m thinking of you. And when I come home I’ll tell you everything that’s happened, and you must do the same. I’ll see you again at Easter, Jess. It’s not too long. Oh – goodbye, Dolly dear,’ and, tossed over her shoulder as she stepped outside, ‘Goodbye, Eliza.’
As the Clares’ carriage moved away, Jess caught a glimpse of Clemency Clare’s beautiful, cold profile. Lily was waving a handkerchief, bound for the railway station at Hunstanton St Edmunds. Soon, she would be changing trains at King’s Lynn.
Lynn – a wealth of memories and impressions flooded over Jess, childhood in the yards, safety with Mother and Dad around and Matty and Fanny as older siblings; the river, the Fisher Fleet, the boats going out, the anxious waits when storms arose… Hardening her mind against a wave of homesickness, Jess told herself her home was here now: Hewing rectory was all the home she had.
‘Well!’ Miss Peartree said gruffly. ‘At least the house will be a little more peaceful now.’ But as she turned away she blotted a tear. Maddening though Lily could be, she made the gloomy rectory feel alive.
The rector was standing in the shadows of the hall and as Jess made her way back to the baize-backed door she felt his eyes on her. When she glanced at him he seemed to smile a little, and nod at her in a self-satisfied way before he turned and went back to his work.
‘Now we’ll see how much longer you get to stay,’ Eliza hissed behind her. ‘Now Miss Lily en’t here to plead your case.’
That night, Jess dreamed again of Salt’s Yard and Fisher’s End, seeing the tenements draped in shifting fog, where gas lamps hissed, monsters lurked, and roofs dripped. Drip – drip – drip. The fog was threaded with darker fronds of thickening, choking smoke through which her dream-self struggled until she came within sight of the glare of a great fire, a tower of flame against which figures moved and faces leered. One particular face ballooned in her mind, a face ugly with hate, covered in blood that drip-drip-dripped with a slow, terrible menace…
‘You’re dead!’ she screamed at him. She woke with a shock, her heart thudding so hard it shook her whole body, her ears ringing to the echo of her own cry. He was after her. Haunting her. Wanting revenge…
She could still hear the dripping. It was hitting her pillow with soggy pit-pats. A thaw had started! Having lit her candle, she shifted the bed to a new position and put a jug under the leak, then threw her pillow aside and lay in the darkness listening to the musical plink-plonk in the jug. She was wide awake now. Awake, and facing memories she had hoped to keep at bay.
In fact, there had been no fog on the nigh
t it happened; the wind had been too strong. It had fanned the fire into an inferno. But there had been shadows, thick with whirling smoke, and a confusion of crowding people wanting to watch the spectacle as the new seven-storey grain warehouse, the largest structure in Lynn, had blazed itself to ruin.
Seeing her hated enemy standing near the edge of the dock, she hadn’t stopped to think. It had been so easy. To edge closer. To wait for a surge in the crowd… He’d seen her at the last moment. But by then he was falling, arms flailing, between the dock wall and the side of the great ship riding there. The wind had shifted the ship, closing the gap. She’d heard the scream as he was crushed. Behind her shouts and alarm had spread, growing fainter as she pushed her way out from the crowd and fled.
For a long time she’d feared pursuit. But by now they probably thought it was an accident, a man slipping off the greasy dock in the excitement. Only she knew what had really happened. She, and a dead man named Nathanael Merrywest.
* * *
In Lily’s absence, Jess set her mind to work, learning all the things that must be learned in order to run a kitchen and feed a household. Though her schooling had been poor and much-interrupted, under Miss Peartree’s tuition she began to pick out some of the words printed in the recipe books. There were a few disasters, as when she confused ‘teaspoon’ with ‘tablespoon’ – the ingredient being mustard, it did make a difference!
Lily sent the first of the promised postcards, a sepia photograph of one of the Cambridge colleges. Miss Peartree read out the message and later Jess pinned the card up in her room, repeating the words to herself. She had particular trouble deciphering handwriting, but she was pleased with the card, and looked at it by candlelight last thing at night before she went to sleep. Try as she would, though, she couldn’t imagine the sort of life Lily was leading.
Jess had her free afternoon on a Tuesday, a day when it suited Reverend Clare to leave the village school in the hands of his curate while he himself remained in his study. Since he liked to work without disturbance, it was also on that day that Miss Peartree did her local visiting of the poor, or took a trip to the Hall to see Miss Gittens, while Jess, Dolly, and the man Fargus had their half day off. Eliza remained at the rectory to see to callers – and to put her feet up, Jess and Dolly guessed – and John Button came into his own playing coachman for Miss Peartree. It made Jess smile to see the great lummox proudly driving the trap; you’d have thought he was a royal coachman from Sandringham.