by Mary Mackie
She found herself jumping from the stile, running down the main path into the wood, ignoring the rustle of disturbance as birds shifted in alarm. Once or twice she hesitated where the way divided, only to plunge on, guided by her sixth sense. It led her unerringly.
Through green branches she saw a boy standing by a big sweet chestnut tree, its trunk twisted with age, its bark deeply seamed and knotted, its branches hanging low. As she drew closer, she saw that the boy was rigid with fear, staring at something on the ground.
A body. A man’s body. A shaggy black retriever was sniffing round him, whining. Dear God! She’d known. The moment she’d heard that cry…
The boy looked round as he heard her coming. Under the peak of an oversized cap his face was wet with tears, his whole body shaking.
‘It’s Mr Rudd,’ he wept, wiping his nose on his coat sleeve. ‘He fell outa the tree. What’ll I do? I don’t know what to do!’
Rudd lay sprawled on his side, one arm twisted under him, his skin pale as ashes under his freckles. Dash nudged at his arm as if trying to rouse him and Jess flung herself to her knees, pushing the dog aside, laying her hand to the gamekeeper’s damp forehead. A pulse was still beating in his temple. He was breathing, thank the Lord!
‘Is he dead?’ the boy wept, hopping from foot to foot.
‘No. Not yet. Run and get help. Run, bor! Quick!’
He hesitated a second, then set off at a charge. In his wake, the silence closed in around Jess. She was no nurse, had only her recollections of incidents she’d seen, and of things her mother had said. Keep him still; keep him warm. She stripped off her coat and laid it over Rudd, tucking it round him. Then, feeling helpless, she sat and held his hand between her own, all the time watching his white face. It was terrible to see him like that, he who was usually so alive.
‘Reuben, bor,’ she whispered, clasping his hand to her breast. ‘Come you on, now. Wake you up. Don’t lie there like that.’
The quality of his breathing changed, deepening and quickening. A wince of pain contorted his face and his eyelids flickered, then snapped open. He stared at her uncomprehendingly and she, too full to speak, leaned to smooth the sweat-damp hair from his brow. None of their differences mattered at that moment. To see him conscious was enough.
‘Jessie?’ he croaked as if he didn’t trust his eyes. ‘Jessie, is that you?’
‘I’m here, bor,’ she managed. ‘You’ll be all right.’
She found herself caressing his face, stroking and soothing as if he were a child. He lay looking up at her wordlessly, his eyes saying he was glad she was there. In that moment heart spoke to heart, without evasions.
Then, as he tried to move, his face contorted and he bit back a cry.
‘Lie you still!’ Jess said anxiously. ‘Where do you hurt?’
‘All over,’ came the wry reply.
‘Can you move your legs?’
He stretched his legs cautiously, first one and then the other. The effort made him grimace but there seemed to be no bones broken. His left arm was stiff and bruised, too. But when he tried to move, to roll over on to his back more comfortably, the pain dug visibly into him, robbing his face of colour, breaking beads of sweat out from his forehead. He had injured his right shoulder, could scarcely move his arm. Jess helped him get as comfortable as was possible, and pulled her coat closely round him. Then she tore at the grass and weeds around her, rolling it to form a pillow for his head. Thorns ripped her skin and brought blood running, but she hardly noticed. Her only concern was for Rudd. By the time she had him settled he was lying with his eyes closed, his freckled face grey and dewed with sweat.
When he stretched out his hand as if reaching for comfort, Jess let her own hand meet his. He clasped her fingers briefly, letting himself relax, and she sat there, warming his hand between her own small ones, silently worrying while aloud she talked nonsense just to let him know he wasn’t alone.
‘That’ll be Miss Lily’s birthday soon,’ she heard herself say. ‘Eighteen, she’ll be. I on’y hope Gyp get better afore she come home.’
‘Gyp?’ he mumbled.
‘He took sick in the night, and again this mornin’, so Miss Peartree say. I’d have brung him for a walk if he hadn’t been feelin’ so queer – we wouldn’t have come through your woods, though. Not while the birds are breedin’.’
‘You wouldn’t do any harm. Not if you kept him on his lead.’
‘That en’t what you said when…’
His lashes lifted and through their dark veil the hazel eyes were heavy with pain. There was regret in him, too. ‘I was right mad that day,’ he confessed. ‘I told you why, didn’t I? Shouldn’t have sworn at you, though. Forgive me for that, Jessie lass.’
Feeling the urgency in the way his hand tightened on hers, she bent closer to smooth his brow, concerned to find it hot and dry now. Where on earth was that boy? ‘That don’t signify,’ she said softly.
Silent messages passed between them, through clasp of hands and beat of blood, through meeting of eyes and primeval instincts, man to woman, woman to man. She felt it strongly, a physical upheaval inside her, as if her stomach had turned over. It unsettled every sinew, changing everything for her. That was the moment she knew she loved Reuben Rudd, right or wrong, wise or unwise. She’d been fighting it since the day they met, but you couldn’t escape fate, not when it was set on snaring you in its nets.
‘Is it right you were with Jim Potts at the fair Easter Monday?’ Rudd asked hoarsely. ‘He said you were with him. He said he won a coconut for you.’
‘What…?’ She was outraged. ‘Why, Mr Rudd, if you think I’d have anythin’ to do with that fancy fool then… then you don’t know Jess Henefer very well!’
The moment it was out she could have bitten off her tongue, but Rudd seemed too intent on his own train of thought to notice. A heavy sigh escaped him as he looked up at her with pain-clouded eyes and said, ‘I’m the one that’s the fool, Jessie lass. I let him wind me up like I was a clockwork clown. But… heck and go thump, I’m no good at playing those kind of games. Never was.’
‘I’m glad o’ that,’ said Jess.
‘I was plain jealous, that’s what.’
Bewildered by the depths of emotion on whose shores she teetered, she backed away from danger, saying, ‘And what were you a-doin’ up that tree?’
Again Rudd tried to shift himself to get more comfortable, grimacing with the pain. When it subsided, he said with difficulty, ‘Owl’s nest… Nestlings in it. I’ve been watching the mother bird for days. Knew she had chicks somewhere. Today… today we saw her taking prey back to the nest. I’d nearly got there when she flew at me. Went for my eyes, blast her. I lost my grip. Fell… Young Bob was with me. Where’s he got to?’
‘I sent him for help. I told you. He’ll be here soon, I reckon.’
He was slipping back into unconsciousness, she saw, the pain and shock overpowering him. ‘I’m cold,’ he muttered. ‘I’m awful cold, Jessie.’
She clasped his hand, leaning closer, saying his name. ‘Reuben. Reuben, can you hear me?’ Getting no response, she stroked his hair, feeling it thick and soft under her fingers. ‘Don’t die. Please don’t die!’ Too many of those she loved had died. If Reuben joined them she didn’t think she could go on. ‘I won’t let you die!’ she whispered fiercely, and slid in beside him under her coat, trying to warm him with her own body, still holding his good hand between them, her other arm across him as she stared into his face. ‘D’you hear me, Reuben Rudd? There’s all your life ahead of you. You’ve got to go on. Got to keep fightin’. I did, and I had good reasons for wantin’ to be dead. You’ve got a hundred reasons to live. You’re young; you’re strong; you’re a fine, good-lookin’ man. And what’ll Dash do if you just give up?’
Suddenly his fingers were painfully tight round hers. ‘Who says I’m giving up?’ the hoarse whisper came.
Jess didn’t know she was weeping until she had to brush her tears away to see his face and
then she saw he too was moved to tears, looking at her with a tenderness that pierced all her defences.
‘Giving up?’ he said again. ‘Nay, lass. Not when I’ve suddenly got everything to live for.’
It was happening again, the deep communion between them, the certainty and rightness that joined the two of them in ways far beyond words or sense or reason. This was her man and she knew it, just as her mother had predicted – You’ll know, when you find him, Jess. You’ll just know.
That she could never have him was somehow irrelevant at that moment.
She had an unbearable urge to bend and press her lips to his face, but before she could move a blackbird skimmed by, complaining, and she heard people coming. Carefully, she disentangled herself from Rudd and scrambled to her feet as a group of men appeared, led by Rudd’s apprentice boy. With them came the doctor.
He diagnosed a broken collarbone and severe concussion. Within minutes he had immobilised Rudd’s arm and shoulder. The activity made Rudd sweat again and Jess ached for the pain he was enduring.
‘He’ll be all right, ’on’t he?’ she asked anxiously as the injured man was carried away on a makeshift stretcher, swathed in a blanket.
‘He has every chance,’ the doctor replied. ‘He’s a strong man and you did the right thing, keeping him still and warm.’ Only then did he pause to take full notice of her. ‘You’re the new girl at Hewinghall, aren’t you? Jess Sharp, the new nurserymaid?’
‘Yes, sir.’ What was he thinking as he peered at her with intent brown eyes?
‘I gather Miss Lily Clare has taken a liking to you,’ he said.
‘Why…’ Surprised, she floundered for words. ‘Yes, sir, that seem so. And me to her. She’re a lovely young lady.’
‘That’s good. Miss Lily needs a friend. You’ll be sure and look after her, won’t you?’
Wondering at the reasons behind this instruction, Jess said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’
‘Good,’ he said, pulling on his gloves. ‘Good,’ and hurried away as if he was embarrassed for having mentioned Lily.
Jess watched him go, her mind on Reuben Rudd. If only she had the right to go with him! Instead, she was alone in the wood.
No, not alone – the dog was still there. Someone had ordered him to ‘Stay!’ and Dash had stayed. Now, lying dejected with nose on paws, he looked much the same as Jess felt. Maybe she ought to take Dash to the doctor’s house. One of the men would know what to do with him and that way, too, she’d find out what was happening to Rudd.
Bending to pick up her rumpled coat, she said, ‘Let’s go find him, bor.’
The command ‘find’ animated the dog. He leapt up eagerly, tail going, and bounded away down a path which led in a direction Jess had not planned for. ‘Dash!’ she called, but the dog ignored her. ‘Finding’ was what he was trained for, and the person he wanted to find was his master, so he was going where he expected Rudd to be – he was going home.
Jess went after him. She called, but he took no notice. Now and then he’d pause as if to make sure she was coming, but he stayed well out of reach, imitating her pace and always keeping a little ahead.
Eventually, deep among shady trees, they came to a thatched cottage whose garden was neatly tended, daffodils fading in beds edged with tiny blue flowers, rose bushes waiting to bloom. One side of the garden was entirely given to wire-netted runs where hens were penned in crates, some of them with tiny pheasant chicks piping in the grass around them. She didn’t see much more, at the time, because two great red dogs came snarling down the front pathway to launch themselves at the gate which, fortunately, was shut.
‘Quiet down!’ a male voice ordered from the cottage doorway and Jess saw a man emerge from the cottage. To her surprise, it was Sir Richard Fyncham, ducking his dark head under the lintel. ‘Ah – good afternoon, Jess,’ he greeted her. ‘If you’ve come to see Rudd, you’re out of luck. I called to see him myself, but he doesn’t appear to be about.’
Jess dipped a hasty curtsey. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Richard, but Mr Rudd have been hurt bad. Broke his collarbone, so the doctor say. They’ve now took him to the surgery.’
‘No!’ His brow furrowed in concern as he came striding down the path. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Earlier this afternoon, sir. I was a-settin’ with him while the boy went for help. Didn’t know what to do about Dash – they left him behind.’
‘Oh, I see.’ He hunched himself down to greet Dash as an old friend, patting him and pulling his ears. ‘Good old boy, worried about your master, eh? He’ll be all right.’ He roughly caressed the dog, murmuring comfort as if Dash could understand him. He had good hands, Jess thought, long and fine but with a strength to them that fitted with his tall, slender frame and broad shoulders.
He looked at Jess now, squinting slightly, his hands still ruffling the dog. ‘Are you a friend of Rudd’s, then?’
‘I…’
A sudden boyish grin appreciated the reasons for her hesitation. ‘Don’t worry, girl, I’m not one of those employers who frown on followers. Always thought that was a bit unfair. Been young myself once, so I know how it is.’
He talked as if he was old, but he wasn’t, Jess thought. Thirty-five or so, maybe.
‘Rudd’s a good man,’ he added. ‘I’d be happy to see him settled. A man needs a wife.’
Wife? The word startled Jess.
‘Tell you what I’ll do,’ he said. ‘These hounds could do with a run, so I’ll take them with me, give them some exercise, and fetch one of the under-keepers to fill in here. That’ll be best. Will you wait until he comes? Just keep an eye on the birds, that’s all. Right – come along then, boys. Prince! Pacer!’ He glanced again at Jess. ‘I’ll leave Dash with you. Anybody comes, let him deal with them. All right, boys, here we go.’
And he was gone, with the two red dogs after him.
Bemused, Jess made her way to the cottage.
It was clear at once that a lone man lived there – a loaf of bread lay on the side where it had last been cut, the knife by it, a cloth roughly thrown over to protect it from flies, and nearby there was an empty can that had once held beans; dirty crockery littered the draining board and the Lord only knew when the floor had last been swept, or anything dusted. Since she had nothing else to do, Jess set about what she knew best – cleaning up. Men alone were so helpless. She could just imagine what a pig-sty her brother Matty would inhabit, left to himself.
Oh, why couldn’t she stop thinking about her big, soft brother and wondering what was happening to the family without her? Did they wonder why she had deserted them, and why she had run off when Matty found her?
No! She shook herself, closing out the thoughts. No, she wouldn’t think about it. It hurt too much. Best get on. Do something. Work. That was right. Work was the best medicine for homesickness, and for worry.
The cottage was roomy for a man on his own – two up and two down, with a water-pump outside the back door and a privy at the bottom of the vegetable patch. Rudd lived mainly in his kitchen, from the looks of it; the parlour was unfurnished except for a couple of old armchairs, a dog basket, and traps of various kinds, in various states of repair. Did he spend his lonely evenings mending them? There were a few books on a shelf – books that looked as though they’d been well read. Jess took one down, opening it to stare at the pages of print. Frowning, she made out the title: ‘The Moons—’ but the word defeated her. She replaced the book with a little sigh. Here was another barrier between her and Rudd – he was an educated man and she knew nothing.
Cleaning the place properly would take more time than she had, so she contented herself with giving it a lick and a promise. She washed the pots, put the food away, swept the floor and scrubbed the table; then went upstairs where, sure enough, the bed was unmade and clothes tossed anyhow. Jess tidied up until she saw a photograph on the chest of drawers. That stopped her, made her sit down on the bed, the cheap frame in her hands as she stared at the two people pictured in st
iff studio pose – a young woman, plain and unsmiling under a severe hat, and on her lap a child of about two, all bonny blond curls and big eyes. Rudd’s wife and son?
Hearing the gate clash, and Dash bark in response, Jess sprang to her feet, feeling as guilty as if she’d been caught stealing. Replacing the photograph, she hurried for the stairs and reached the kitchen just as the newcomer let himself in.
He was one of Rudd’s assistants, a dour, slow-witted man named Obi. He spoke in a slow, slurred voice, with a blankness behind his eyes as if his mind was trying to follow what his mouth was saying. He said he’d transfer the coops, with the broodies and the pheasant poults, to the main rearing field, which was near his own cottage. He’d look after Dash, too. Jess needn’t worry. She could go now; he’d take over.
Jess was glad to escape. Obi seemed harmless enough but his blank eyes unnerved her.
On her way back, she called at the rectory to relay the news of Rudd’s accident. But the rectory was already agog with the news. Mary Anne, off on errands, had heard Mrs Michaels, the doctor’s wife, gossiping with Mrs Crane, the laundress. It seemed Dr Michaels had gone with Rudd on the train from Hunstanton, bound for the hospital in Lynn.
A fresh buttered scone turned to bran in Jess’s mouth. ‘The hospital?’ That terrible place. Where Granny Henefer had died screaming in pain, and little Sarah-May had been snuffed out by diphtheria. ‘Why?’
‘Because he’ve cracked his skull,’ Mary Anne snuffled. ‘They might have to operate. On his brains.’
Dear Lord, Jess thought. Oh, dearest Lord… Across the table she caught Eliza’s jaundiced eye on her. Eliza said, ‘Well, so that’s how you spend your afternoons off, Jess Sharp – in the woods with Reuben Rudd. I ’on’t ask what the pair of you were a-doin’ of.’
‘Blast, and I wish he had been with me!’ Jess said fiercely. ‘If he had, he wouldn’t a fallen out o’ that tree!’