by Val Wood
‘Not that he would want it, poor dear,’ she laughed. ‘He says he’d be bankrupt if it were his as he’d feel compelled to repair the roof, the windows and the brickwork, whereas I,’ she fluttered her fingers in the air, ‘couldn’t care a jot as long as it doesn’t fall about my ears. It is mine and I love it just as it is.’
Her husband briefly looked in and was casually introduced, and then disappeared along with some of the other husbands.
Mrs Stokes had a daughter, Rosetta, of about Beatrix’s age, a little quieter than her mother but as positive as her father that when the house eventually came to her she would have it repaired, providing there was enough money left in the family pot, and adapted into separate apartments for letting to people with little or no money so that they could have the benefit of the country air and the possibility of work in the district.
‘I’ll have to marry a man with money,’ she said. ‘I’m looking now. Then he can pay for it. There’s fishing and shipping in Hull, Mrs Dawley – may I call you Beatrix? You can call me Rosie – and there’s a lot of industry nearby where people can find work. You’re very beautiful, aren’t you?’ she went on unexpectedly. ‘Is that why your husband asked you to marry him, or are you very rich?’
Fortunately she didn’t wait for a reply but dashed away to greet someone else. Beatrix was grateful to see her go as she couldn’t for the life of her think of an answer to give.
So much for living near the local gentry, she pondered as Aaron urged the old pony home an hour later. They don’t give a fig, in Mrs Stokes’s parlance, about doing the right thing. If they want to hold a party or call on friends they do just that; they don’t stand on ceremony at all, or do what’s expected of them. But then, she considered, maybe they expect others lower down in the pecking order to follow the rules.
She glanced about her. They’d come down to the estuary and were passing a shipbuilding yard; a ferry boat was making its way to the landing stage. The gulls were following it, cawing and screeching, and Beatrix gave a deep sigh of pleasure. I really like it here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Charles next arrived he was in a high state of excitement; he was not in the money business for nothing, he told Beatrix. Being the man he was, always keeping a sharp eye on stocks, shares and business in general, he had seen how cereal crops and other agricultural products were rising in value and that many farmers were in profit, some for the first time in years. The population of Britain was growing rapidly and needed to be fed, and it had dawned on him that he had land that was lying barren and unused.
‘What we must do,’ he enthused during supper on the evening he arrived, ‘is employ a farm manager, someone who is college trained, one who will watch the markets at home and abroad, and know what to plant and grow to make a profit whilst feeding the people of this country.’
Beatrix gazed at him in astonishment. Well, isn’t that what I suggested previously and he said that he wasn’t a farmer but a city man! He was totally disinterested, and now he’s discovered that farming is unparalleled. I don’t believe for one minute that he is interested in feeding the population, but only in the profit he’ll make. But he’ll have to risk a significant amount of money before that happens. I’m not a banker’s daughter for nothing either, she fumed: I do, or did, read the newspapers too.
‘I agree, totally,’ she responded mildly. ‘Would Luke Newby know of anyone?’
There was no point in suggesting Edward, who would have been the most obvious person to ask, for Charles would have pooh-poohed the very idea, but Luke, if he were approached by Charles, would ask him anyway.
‘Exactly the man I was thinking of.’ They had adjourned to the sitting room, which was now in use, decorated and furnished in a comfortable manner, some new pieces and some left by Neville Dawley which had only needed refurbishing; the drawing room was still in disorder, cluttered with pots of paint and ladders and trestles, and boxes containing rolls of wallpaper.
‘Being a local man, Luke will be bound to know of someone suitable, or at least know someone who does. But’ – Charles raised a finger – ‘I must have a modern man, with experience, who knows what is happening at home and abroad.’
‘We’ll also need a team of men,’ Beatrix suggested. ‘They should live nearby; and there’ll be expenditure on horses, wagons, machinery …’
Does he realize what an undertaking it will be, she pondered? Has he even looked in the barns and sheds at the back of the house, or even at the outbuildings further up the hill? She was developing a proprietorial feeling for all of the property. It wasn’t a huge acreage, but a substantial one, Edward had told her when, at her request, he had taken her to look over the Dawley land and pointed out which areas were rented out to tenant farmers; he’d also shown her the acreage which he and his family farmed.
‘Oh, yes, my dear,’ Charles said condescendingly. ‘Of course! But you mustn’t worry your head about it.’ Then he smiled, but his eyes narrowed. ‘Once we have our son we won’t have any money worries at all. Not that we have any now,’ he added. ‘But I look forward to receiving the full inheritance.’
She hadn’t felt her usual energetic self lately, but she wasn’t going to say anything to him about that in case he jumped to conclusions and then was disappointed. It might be nothing; there was so much to do that she had probably just tired herself out. She was really hoping that Mrs Gordon would soon accept her offer of the housekeeping post and could take over some of the duties that really, she considered, I shouldn’t be doing as mistress of the household.
‘Why was the proviso made?’ she asked. ‘Why did Neville Dawley make the stipulation that you must have a son before you could claim the full inheritance?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ he said idly, even though he did. ‘Just an old man’s whim, I suppose.’
Luke Newby’s team of decorators had finished the annexe, which Beatrix had named the Little Stone House; the furniture she had ordered from local Hull suppliers, comfy sofas and side tables, dining table and chairs, lamps and cushions, beds and bedding, was beginning to arrive. Mags knew a seamstress who had cut and sewn the richly coloured heavyweight curtain material that Beatrix had ordered, and Mags and Mrs Parkin hung the results from the rails over muslin drapes, instantly transforming the rooms.
‘Very nice,’ Charles said approvingly when he saw it, and meant it; again, he was totally surprised at Beatrix’s flair. It was quite different from Maria’s extravagant town style, and was just right for a country house. ‘We could live in here until the main house is ready.’
‘We could,’ Beatrix enthused. ‘That would be lovely. It’s such a dear little house.’ Although, she considered, it wasn’t little by any means. ‘Does that mean that you’ll be able to spend more time here?’ She was going to say at home, but she felt he still hadn’t the feeling of belonging in the property that she had, which she had felt on the first occasion she had visited.
‘Sadly, no,’ he sighed. ‘I am so very busy, and under constant pressure. You do understand, dearest, that I must be seen to be doing my bit, as one day when my father retires I will be in sole charge.’
This wasn’t strictly true. His father had said that he must show more aptitude towards banking matters if he wished eventually to take over from him; that there were others who were more efficient who had the bank’s interests just as much at heart.
Charles had sniffed, but hadn’t argued back. Those others his father mentioned were employees, not the son of the family business as he was.
‘So will – you speak to Luke whilst you’re here?’ Beatrix asked now. ‘About finding a farm manager?’ She had almost made the error of saying shall we speak to Luke, but had instinctively realized it would be the wrong thing to say; she was sure that her role was seen as that of the little wife at home, whereas, in fact, she already knew more about the farmland and the estate through talking and listening to Edward and Luke, and even young Aaron, than Charles did.
‘Yes. To
morrow, if he calls, and if not we’ll take a walk to see him. It’s not far.’
The next morning Dora cooked another excellent breakfast, and Beatrix was just thinking that she must pay her extra for all the additional work she was doing when they heard the jingle of harness and the clip-clop of hooves on the gravel. She went to the window and saw Edward climbing from the seat of a very smart governess cart, painted in black with gold trim and drawn by a shiny black pony with a long tail and a star on his nose.
She gave a little gasp. ‘Oh! I asked Mr Newby to look for a pony and trap. I do hope this is it! Look, Charles, isn’t it lovely?’
Charles stood behind her, following her gaze. When he saw who it was who had brought it, he rested his chin on the top of Beatrix’s head and put his hands on her waist in a possessive manner, running his thumbs over her hip bones, which, she thought, was ridiculous and embarrassing even though Edward wouldn’t see as he wasn’t looking their way.
‘Very trim,’ Charles agreed. ‘You’ll be able to take me to Brough railway station when I go to catch my train.’
‘I don’t know how to drive it yet,’ she laughed. ‘The pony is sweet, isn’t it?’ She turned to look up at him. ‘Shall we go and look at him? It is a him, isn’t it?’
Charles gave a snigger and patted her bottom. ‘Looks rather like it. Yes, let’s go and see what Eddie considers to be good horseflesh.’
Surprisingly, the two men chatted quite amiably as they discussed the merits of the pony, and the trap which, Edward said, wasn’t new, but he and his father had done it up, repaired and painted it so that it looked brand new. Beatrix was reminded of something when she examined it, and with a little rush of pleasure realized that it was the one she had discovered in one of the barns when she had first explored. She caught Edward’s eye and gave a nod of approval.
‘Excellent,’ Charles said agreeably. ‘Now someone has to teach my lovely wife how to drive.’
‘Aaron could do that,’ Edward said. ‘He’s a good driver. You’ll need just a day or two, Mrs Dawley, and you’ll manage fine.’
Beatrix smiled. She was making herself known to the pony, who nuzzled into her hand looking for a titbit; she was glad that Edward hadn’t offered. Aaron was a good compromise, especially as he was now in full-time employment with them; he’d proved himself very useful and would do anything he was asked to do.
‘I was thinking, Eddie,’ Charles said, stroking his beard, ‘of bringing the land back into production. It seems a pity to have it lying idle.’
Edward put his head on one side and stared at Charles. ‘Really? To grow what?’
‘Ah! Well, there’s the rub. I’ll need to take advice.’ Charles pursed his lips. ‘I thought I’d bring in a manager. Someone youngish, up to date with modern farming practice.’
Edward crossed his arms. ‘Are you serious? The land hasn’t been farmed for quite some time. Nev’s father was one of the first to enclose in this area. He planted hedges and trees and the cattle were sheltered; he grew varied crops, but the population kept on growing and from what I understand they couldn’t keep up with the demand, especially after the old man died and Nev had to manage on his own.’
‘I know,’ Charles said. ‘It was neglected.’
‘Not when we were young,’ Edward said in defence. ‘Nev managed back then and brought in more workers, and rented out land, but it became too much for him; we forget how old he was. My da offered to help him out but there was little he could do. We suggested that he put cattle or sheep in the bottom field or rent it out to some other farmer, but he was having none of it.’
‘Awkward old cuss,’ Charles muttered. ‘Will it take much to bring it back to giving a good yield?’
‘Patience is the most important part of farming,’ Edward told him, ‘and it’s a crying shame not to use valuable land. You could start with cattle or sheep to nourish the fields, and maybe in another year you can plant potatoes and turnips, and the following year feed the cattle with the produce and then plant winter corn. You can’t rush.’ Charles seemed to be losing interest, but Beatrix was listening and was enthusiastic. ‘Shall I ask around?’ Edward went on. ‘There might be someone from my year at agricultural college. I was lucky enough to have a job to come straight into, but there might be some who were not so fortunate.’
Charles exhaled a deep breath and glanced at Beatrix, who raised her eyebrows and gave him an encouraging nod. ‘What do you think, Beatrix? Shall we take a chance at farming? Can you keep accounts?’
‘I’d love it, and yes I can,’ she said ardently. ‘The land was surely meant to be productive, not lie idle. It wasn’t meant only to be admired for its beauty, although we’ll do that too.’
Edward agreed, gazing at her. ‘There’s no finer sight than a field of golden corn, or cattle or sheep grazing in a meadow.’
‘All right,’ Charles decided, feeling amiable. ‘Let’s do it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Beatrix’s plans for becoming a farmer’s wife, keeping chickens and digging a pond for ducks at the back of the house in a grassy area that had once been the orchard, but now had tired and decayed old trees that needed digging out and replacing, had begun. A gang of local men had been recruited by Edward Newby and were already hard at work.
Then one morning she had a sudden violent bout of sickness which knocked her completely off her feet, sending her post-haste back to her bed, and unfortunately coinciding with the arrival of Lily Gordon, who came to the house late that afternoon wearing stout shoes and a raincoat and carrying a rucksack on her back and a suitcase in her hand. She had walked the three miles from the station in Brough without any effort at all.
‘I wasn’t aware that the train would stop at North Ferriby,’ she said, ‘but I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed the walk, Mrs Dawley.’ Dora had made her a cup of tea and brought it to the sitting room, where Beatrix was resting on the sofa. The housekeeper looked about her. ‘This is a lovely house,’ she enthused, ‘and beautifully situated. I do hope I’ll be suitable for you. I’m longing to come back to my home county, even though I have thoroughly enjoyed my time in the south.’
‘I hope so too, Mrs Gordon,’ Beatrix told her. ‘There’s quite a lot to do, as my husband and I are new to the house and the area. I’m London born so it’s a whole new experience for me, but I love it here.’ She paused. ‘Unfortunately, my husband can’t be here as often as we would wish as he’s tied to business matters in London, but household affairs are my world and not his, and I would value your advice on what and who will be needed. The former owner, a relative of my husband’s, was a bachelor and did little with the house, which as you will see we are presently renovating into a family home.’
Mrs Gordon nodded. ‘I understand from your mother that you are newly married? You must miss her and her advice,’ she said softly. ‘It can’t be easy to be so far from family and all things familiar just now.’
‘It isn’t.’ Beatrix felt her eyes well up and hoped that she wasn’t going to weep in front of this newcomer. ‘Especially as I’m feeling rather unwell just now. There has been such a lot of organizing to do that I think I’ve tired myself out.’ She heaved a breath. ‘However, I’m not often ill so I don’t suppose it will last.’
‘Well, I will do what I can to help, ma’am.’ Mrs Gordon rose from her chair. ‘If I might start as soon as I have unpacked, I will ask your maid…?’
‘Dora Murray. She’s a Londoner too and had come to be my personal maid, but she has found herself doing just about everything in the house since she arrived. I really don’t know what I would have done without her. She’s very capable, and she’s only a girl.’ She smiled, feeling a huge sense of relief. ‘She will show you to your room. You must say if there is anything you require, or need to know, and perhaps tomorrow we can discuss matters in more detail.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. If I might have a wander round the house on my own to familiarize myself? I’ll try not to disturb you.’ Mrs Gordon ga
ve a discreet dip of her knee and left the room, smiling at Dora who was waiting to show her upstairs.
After a good night’s sleep, Beatrix woke refreshed the following morning. I feel so much better now that Mrs Gordon is here and seems so very capable. I do hope she’ll stay. She put her feet to the floor and immediately felt bile in her throat. ‘Oh, no.’ She reached under the bed for the chamber pot just in time, and then, after ringing the bell for Dora, climbed back into bed again.
But it was Mrs Gordon, not Dora, who knocked and entered a few minutes later, wishing her good morning in a very cheerful voice.
‘I think I’m going to need a doctor,’ Beatrix said tearfully. ‘I’ve been dreadfully sick again, and I felt so much better last night. Would you ask Dora to ask Mrs Newby if she can tell us the name of a doctor and ask him to call?’
Mrs Gordon plumped up her pillows, straightened the bedspread and stood with her hands folded in front of her before answering. ‘I most certainly will, Mrs Dawley, but I wonder if you have considered that it could be a natural occurrence that’s making you sick?’ She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
Beatrix gazed back at her, a query on her lips. ‘Erm …’
‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ Mrs Gordon said evenly. ‘I have only general medical knowledge, but could it be possible that you are with child? I’ve known others with similar symptoms, and pregnancy has been the cause.’
‘Oh!’ Beatrix gazed at her wide-eyed. ‘I didn’t think … I don’t really know what to expect. I … I don’t know the signs.’
‘Sickness is one of the earliest ones,’ Mrs Gordon answered kindly, ‘and it doesn’t usually last more than a couple of months. Allow me to bring you a glass of hot water with a squeeze of lemon if there is any. That will ease it and you’ll be able to get up and feel fine; until it happens again tomorrow morning,’ she added with a crooked grin.