‘Perhaps that’s because I am not a young man any more. I’m nearly thirty.’
‘That’s it. You are mature, not some callow youth. That’s what first attracted me to you.’
‘I’m certainly not a callow youth,’ agreed Cal.
Although he had released her, they remained standing close together. With a small, gloved hand, Victoria brushed away a dandelion seed that had landed on his lapel. The intimate gesture brought them closer.
‘You do like me, don’t you? she said in a pleading voice. ‘Please say you like me the teeniest little bit.’
‘I don’t dislike you.’
‘Then prove it. Kiss me again. You did say I was to ask,’ she added as he looked askance.
‘I did.’
His kiss was as relentless and impassive as before. For some reason she found it both exciting and disturbing, quite unlike the other kisses she had received, which had been adoring and humble. There was nothing humble about this man or his kisses.
‘There, you enjoyed that,’ she said when he released her. ‘If you are very good I might let you kiss me again.’
‘Might you?’ he said, remarkably unimpressed by her offer. ‘I won’t avail myself of your kindness just now. I have the rest of my fields to check.’ Without asking her permission, he lifted her back into the saddle.
She did not mind, she was beginning to find his offhand ways quite amusing. ‘Then you will have to wait until our next rendezvous, won’t you?’ she said coyly, confident that now she had hooked her fish. I will meet you in this lane tomorrow.’
For a hooked fish he proved oddly reluctant to be played.
‘Not tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Nor the rest of this week if the weather holds. I’ve more important things to do. I’ll be haymaking.’
Chapter Seven
The summer days brought with them increased activity. The whole countryside was astir and on the move soon after dawn, for the haymaking was beginning. Maddy joined a group which was heading away from the village.
‘They say Farmer Bradworthy be paying elevenpence a day this year,’ commented one woman.
‘Yes, but ’tis a traipse out to Aish,’ said another. ‘I be happy to be took on by Farmer Churchward for tenpence.’
‘What’s the betting you only get eightpence up to Oakwood,’ commented the first. ‘You won’t catch Farmer Whitcomb paying out a penny more than he must. And there’ll be some poor souls as’ll have to take what he gives.’
‘He do feed his workers well, mind,’ pointed out someone. ‘And he pays on the dot, not like some of them.’
‘He don’t have no excuse for being stingy with the cider, not the amount he’m making,’ said a voice.
‘He don’t need no excuse to be stingy, it do come natural,’ pointed out another, to much laughter.
‘Where’m you hoping to get took on, maid?’ asked Maddy’s neighbour cheerfully.
‘I think I might try Oakwood, just to see if the cider’s any good,’ she replied.
Everyone knew the situation between the Shillabeers and the Whitcombs and they all laughed.
In fact, Maddy was making for Rob Bradworthy’s farm at Aish, on the outskirts of the parish. The band of folk also hoping to work at Aish went at a fair pace for it would be first there, first taken on. Part way along the route Maddy was forced to stop because of a snapped bootlace. By the time she had completed the fiddly task of rethreading the lace her companions were out of sight. At the sound of approaching horse’s hooves she stiffened; recent experience had taught her to be wary of lone riders. She felt quite relieved to see the mounted figure of Cal Whitcomb join the lane from a side track. She expected him to ignore her, or at most nod his head in greeting. To her surprise he pulled up beside her.
‘You are going to Farmer Bradworthy’s?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re late. I’ve just seen the main body of haymakers going along the lane.’
‘I still hope I’ll be lucky.’ She was certainly not going to admit to him that Rob would probably give her a job because they were once sweethearts.
‘Well, if you’re not…’ Cal Whitcomb’s voice faded away. He was not the sort of man to be irresolute, and Maddy regarded him with surprise. He coughed, as if to block out what he had been about to say, then continued, ‘If you see any others wanting work, tell them I’m paying tenpence a day and four pints of cider.’
‘And their dinner?’ she asked, astounded by such unaccustomed generosity.
‘And their dinner,’ he said.
If it had been anyone else she might have been tempted, but the workhouse door would have to be staring her in the face before she worked at Oakwood. ‘I’ll spread the word abroad,’ she said.
With a curt nod he touched his horse with his heels and rode off, leaving Maddy feeling somewhat bemused. Had he almost offered her work? No, more likely she had misunderstood. Or maybe it had been a slip of the tongue on his part. The idea of her working for Cal Whitcomb! It was ludicrous.
The crowd of hopeful workers had already dispersed to the fields when Maddy reached the Bradworthy farmyard gate, but she knew from experience which field Rob would start on. Her route took her past the farmhouse. The kitchen door was open and from inside the baby was crying, while Janie’s voice, harassed and irritable, shouted at one of the other children. Janie herself appeared briefly at the door to throw out some slop water. She looked hot and tired already, and she had a long day ahead of her.
For years Maddy had envied her. On that fine summer morning, however, she found to her surprise that she had no wish to change places with Janie. If her girlhood plans had gone smoothly and she had married Rob, no doubt she would have been content, for Rob was a good man, but she would have been the old Maddy, dashing about with her senses dead to everything save her next task. She would never have known the wonderful enlightenment that Patrick had brought to her, nor the overwhelming happiness. At that moment she would not have changed places with Janie Bradworthy for the world.
When he saw her Rob smiled his slow, good-natured smile. There you be,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d deserted me this year.’
‘No, I got held up by a broken bootlace.’ Maddy smiled back. ‘Do you still need one more? Or should I see if Janie wants a hand?’ she added, suddenly smitten by an uncomfortable conscience. It was a shame to let the poor woman struggle on, and with four small children.
‘Lor’, you keep away from that kitchen if you’m any sense!’ exclaimed Rob in mock horror. ‘There idn’t a female relation on either side as habn’t turned up this morning. How there be room for them all I don’t know and I idn’t planning to find out. You do what I be going to do, girl. Get out into the fields and the good fresh air where ’tis peaceful.’
Grinning, Maddy did as she was advised and collected a wide rake. The cutters had already started, skilfully slicing through the tall green grass with long graceful sweeps of their scythes. Maddy joined the lines of other women who followed after, raking the fallen grass into lengthy wind rows that would let the hay dry without losing any of its colour or sweet scent.
It was a long day, but there was much laughing and joking, especially when the levels in the cider jugs – kept cool under the hedge and very welcome to throats dry with dust – began to go down. Listening to the singing which echoed across the field, Maddy thought of Rob and his idea that the fields were peaceful. Not at haymaking they weren’t, and never had been.
The haymakers were more quiet and less exuberant on their way home. Nevertheless, despite their fatigue, the chatter and banter that was exchanged continued to be good-humoured and cheery. Maddy felt hot and tired, and the road seemed long to her weary bones – until she saw Patrick.
He was sitting on a stile, obviously looking out for her. When he caught sight of her his face lit up with a grin, and jumping down from his perch he came running towards her. His appearance caused a few jovial comments from the others but Maddy did not care. She was too pleased to s
ee him.
‘I thought you would come this way so I decided to meet you,’ he greeted her.
‘How clever of you to work it out, this being the shortest route,’ she teased.
‘I wasn’t to know that, was I? There might be any number of footpaths I didn’t know about.’
‘Very well, we’re agreed, you are clever.’ It was strange how, after only minutes in his company, her weariness had dropped from her. She wished the grubbiness, caused by hours in the fields, could disappear as easily, but Patrick did not seem to notice. ‘Aren’t you working tonight?’ she asked.
‘Not for a while. Business was slack – something to do with jugs of cider out in the fields at this time of year. Mr Watkins gave me an hour off. I’ll have to make up for it some other time, but I don’t care. I’m with you and that’s all that matters.’ It was all that mattered to Maddy too. Hand in hand they walked, oblivious of the others taking the same road. They turned off into the seclusion of the lane down to Duncannon and only then did Patrick slide his arm about her waist. She appreciated his tact in waiting until they were away from the other haymakers. Such sweet intimate gestures, no matter how innocent, were for when they were alone.
Dusk was falling, but in the dark shadows of the narrow lane myriad sparks of light glowed.
‘Glow-worms,’ breathed Maddy. ‘They come out in the dimpsey.’
‘I presume dimpsey is what civilised people call twilight.’
Maddy laughed, then smothered the sound. ‘No, it’s the civilised people who say dimpsey. And we must speak quietly or the glow-worms will take fright.’
‘That would be a pity,’ said Patrick softly, ‘for they are beautiful. I’ve never seen so many in one place before. It’s as if the stars in the sky had come down to light our way. Or perhaps they are giving me light for this.’ Turning her to face him, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
‘You really are my Rustic Damozel,’ he breathed. ‘You taste of sun and smell of the sweet hay. You could not be more perfect.’
It was incredible. Not long ago she had felt dead tired, spent, and grubby, then, because of a single kiss and a few words, she felt truly beautiful. How Patrick could inspire such feelings in her she did not know. She only knew that he did.
Down on the river someone was rowing. They stood there, entwined in each other’s arms listening to the splash of the oars as the sound carried on night air heavy with the scent of honeysuckle. One tiny navigation light gleamed in the darkness, as if one of the glow-worms had become waterborne.
It was a night made for lovers. She melted against him, conscious of the growing passion between them. To give herself to him, to let him possess her completely was what she wanted more than anything at that moment. When his fingers began unbuttoning her high-necked cotton dress she made no objection. She revelled in the caressing of his gentle fingers and the soft warmth of his lips as they slid down her throat to the curve of her breasts. Then he held her tightly, his body hard and urgent against her, his breathing heavy.
‘Some day…’ Patrick whispered. ‘Some day… And then what happiness will be ours.’
Never before had his words hinted at a future together. He wanted her, and for the first time she dared to hope for the years ahead.
* * *
The haymaking provided days of work, laborious, good-humoured, and a useful source of extra income. Maddy was sorry when it was over and the last pitchforkful had been stacked and thatched ready for the winter. Working in the fields brought a welcome change from her everyday activities and she always enjoyed the happy time spent bringing in the hay.
It was a pity the atmosphere at home was not equally agreeable. The salmon-netting season, which had begun with such promise, had tailed away sadly during the summer. Some blamed the lack of rainfall, others the growing influence of the railways, which were bound to disturb the order of things with their dashing about at unnatural speeds, disrupting nature. Whatever the reason, there were fewer of the great silver fish in the river.
In the cheap notebook she kept for the purpose, Maddy added up the tally of salmon caught during the last few weeks. Even allowing for the better price prompted by the scarcity of the fish, it did not make a very impressive total, and she felt a growing sense of unease. The salmon just weren’t running, that was the sum of it. The heavy splash as a silver body leapt from the river was a rarity that summer, as was the sharp arrow-shaped wave in the water that normally betrayed a salmon swimming below the surface. If things did not improve it was going to be a hard struggle to get through the winter.
The patience and fortitude that the menfolk showed on the river could not be expected to last once they got home. Then it was that their tempers, never very equable at the best of times, became irritable. Anything to do with the Whitcombs was their first target, but these days they had another, one that had been unaccountably ignored over the last months.
‘He’m making a damned fool of you, and no mistake,’ declared Jack one day. ‘To think a daughter of mine could be so taken in.’
‘I don’t know about that mountebank making a fool of her, I reckon her’m doing a bloody good job for herself, with her fine ways and her Lady Muck talk,’ added Bart waspishly.
‘Maybe I’m a fool, maybe not,’ she retorted. ‘Either way, it’s my affair and doesn’t concern you lot.’
‘Don’t concern us?’ snapped Bart. ‘Not when our sister is shameless, trailing after a rogue as come from goodness knows where? No better than you ought to be, that’s what folk be saying, and us idn’t going to stand for it, be us, lads?’
The other brothers nodded in silent agreement.
‘Who said that about me? Name me one person!’ demanded Maddy. There was no reply. ‘There wasn’t anyone, was there? You’re making it up as an excuse to get on at me.’
‘I don’t need to make anything up,’ Bart retorted. ‘You’m getting yourself gossiped about, and you ought to be ashamed.’
‘Then why didn’t you defend me if you’re that worried about the family honour?’ Maddy demanded. ‘When that girl out at the quarry cottages got in the family way I went for anyone who suggested you were the father, though I knew it was more than likely.’
‘You don’t think you’m the only woman he be trifling with?’ asked Bart, changing tack. ‘A bigger appetite for females than Barneys bull, that’s what he’m got.’
‘And I suppose you’ve got proof of that, too?’ said Maddy.
‘Don’t you care that he’m made up to half the women in the village already?’
‘No.’
‘Then you ought!’ Bart roared. ‘Habn’t you no bloody pride?’
‘Yes, I have, but you don’t understand.’
‘I understands a piece of rubbish when I sees un, and that’s what yon fiddling fellow be, naught but rubbish.’ Then suddenly his voice became quiet, almost gentle. ‘Maddy, us can see him for what he be. Why can’t you? We’m worried for you. Where be all this nonsense going to lead? Have he mentioned marriage or ought to do with the future? Us don’t want you hurt, maid, and us can see un coming if you don’t watch out.’
Maddy was touched. Bart had not spoken so kindly to her in a long time. She was reminded of how he used to be before their mother died. Then he had been the concerned one of the family, the one who liked to see everybody happy. How strange that she had forgotten.
‘I appreciate you bothering about me, truly I do, only you don’t know Patrick. If you did you’d not have such a poor opinion of him. He’s not perfect, I won’t say he is, but I’ll be all right. I know my own business best.’
‘No you don’t!’ Bart returned to his customary angry growl. ‘You be a danged obstinate wench, but if you’m thinking us’ll stand by and see our name dragged in the mud then you’m got another think coming!’
He stamped out of the house, the other three plus Jack inevitably following in his wake. Maddy knew she would not see them again until their cider money ran out.
Having
belatedly decided upon Patrick as a target for their belligerence, the Shillabeer men made up for lost time. As the summer progressed, they seldom spoke to Maddy without some derogatory remark about him, backed up by threats of what would happen unless she ceased seeing him. Her disquiet grew and she warned Patrick that her brothers were working themselves up for mischief.
‘Go away,’ she pleaded with him. ‘Leave the village before they turn really nasty.’
‘Why should I run?’ he protested. ‘We’ve done nothing wrong. If I disappear suddenly because of your brothers’ threats, everyone will think the worst, and I refuse to leave you to face such a situation.’
At that moment she knew she loved him enough to give him up.
‘That isn’t important,’ she said. ‘You don’t know them, when they’re drunk they’re capable of anything. Get away now.’
But Patrick refused. ‘It’s not the first time someone’s been out for my blood,’ he said wryly.
It was Annie who told Maddy how her brothers had started to frequent the Victoria and Albert in order to taunt Patrick, making such a nuisance of themselves that the landlord had finally sent for Constable Vallance.
‘They must have been bad for Sam Watkins to turn away thirsts like theirs,’ had been Maddy’s comment, though she had felt far from joking.
‘I can’t say how sorry I am,’ she said to Patrick when next they met. ‘To think that you’ve been provoked like this because of me.’
‘I’m losing no sleep over it, I promise you.’ He smoothed back an unruly strand of her hair. ‘Besides, you aren’t to blame for your family. Let’s forget them and think only of us.’ Gently he pulled her back into his arms. They were at one of their favourite trysting places at the point where the Stoke Gabriel creek met the river. On a promontory, wooded and secluded, it was nevertheless easily reached from the Mill Dam, the perfect place to snatch a half-hour in each other’s company.
‘You’re right, we’ll think only of us and how wonderful it is, being here together.’ Maddy nestled closer to him. ‘Do you think—’
Daughter of the River Page 14
