Daughter of the River

by Daughter of the River (retail) (epub)

  ‘Do this mean that the Whitcombs and the Shillabeers bain’t daggers drawn no more?’ she asked.

  ‘If it do, I idn’t going to be the one to tell Ma Whitcomb,’ said one of the others. And everyone laughed.

  ‘Us’d best get back to work or us’ll have the maister after us, and he can be every bit as hard as his ma when he’m a mind,’ said Susan.

  ‘Is he difficult to work for?’ asked Maddy.

  ‘As maisters go he idn’t bad. The wages be a bit stingy, but he pays prompt. Mind, he’m a Tartar if you don’t work proper. Just let him catch you spilling more’n you should, or if he gets one whiff of soda in the bottles ’cos they habn’t been rinsed proper, and my word, thunder and lightning habn’t naught on he. Us washes the bottles in the shippen there.’ Susan indicated a small lean-to at the end of the shed. This weather us takes turns with the washing.’

  Maddy was surprised. She expected to be delegated to that task, since it seemed the least pleasant.

  ‘It be nice and warm in there,’ explained Susan, seeing her puzzled expression. ‘The boiler be there for the hot water. Can’t have un in yer, it’d get too warm for the cider and us’d have the bungs shooting out all over the place. There, that be enough jawing. Get a pinny and start filling they one-gallon flagons.’

  Maddy enjoyed her first day’s work. Compared to her recent employment it seemed almost a rest cure, and though it might have become monotonous after a while, the women had organised themselves to change tasks at regular intervals to break the tedium. Corking the bottles of Superior intrigued Maddy the most, for the corks had to be forced in by a handheld machine, then secured with wires. Afterwards they were covered with tinfoil.

  ‘Fancy, eh?’ said Susan, seeing her interest. ‘Do you see ’tis green tinfoil matches the leaves on the label? Thinks of everything, do the maister.’ Then she looked grave. ‘Us’d best see how you gets on afore us puts you on bottling the Superior. Get that wrong and us could be given our marching orders.’

  Somehow Maddy doubted it, nevertheless she accepted the decision without comment. It was easily the most interesting job and as a newcomer she could not expect to be allocated to it yet.

  The most trying aspect of the day was the inquisitiveness of her workmates. The fact that she was working there had aroused their curiosity, and their stream of questions, although good-natured, seemed endless. Maddy parried them all with equal good humour, while at the same time admitting to herself that some of their queries struck home uncomfortably. The one about her father’s reaction to her working at Oakwood, for instance. That was something she would find out before nightfall, and she was dreading it.

  Maddy had time to go home to eat at midday. Jack was out in the boat hand-lining, and she was thankful to find herself alone with her stepmother. Joan regarded her tidy appearance with raised eyebrows.

  ‘You habn’t been picking ore, then?’

  ‘No. I’ve got myself a new job.’ Maddy hesitated. ‘I’m getting seven shillings a week up at Oakwood, bottling cider.’

  ‘Seven shillings a week regular!’ Not having been bred to the longstanding feud, Joan grasped the most important point first. ‘That idn’t bad. And it be easier than ore picking any day. Your father idn’t going to be too pleased, of course, but it can’t be helped. Tis far better’n you killing yourself lugging lumps of iron ore or getting lung fever from being soaked working for Elsie Watkins. No, he idn’t going to be pleased, but for seven shillings regular he’m going to have to put up with un.’

  Joan’s casual acceptance of the momentous step she had taken cheered Maddy. All the same, she was quite relieved to have a few hours’ respite. She wondered how Cal was faring. She feared it would take more than the skinny presence of Ellen to deflect his mother’s fury from him. She was right.

  ‘Could hear her clear across the yard.’ Susan, who lived some distance away and therefore ate her dinner by the warmth of the shippen boiler, was only too happy to regale the others with the events of the last hour. ‘The things her called him – and you, Maddy,’ she added with a grin. Then her face grew serious. There idn’t many men as’d put up with un, and that be the truth. Going on like that! Tidn’t as though he were a drunkard nor a womaniser nor naught. Course, the other son were her favourite, everyone knows that, but ’tidn’t no cause for her blaming maister because his brother died of the cholera and he didn’t.’

  ‘It must be difficult for un, the maister I means,’ said one of the other women. ‘He’m all her’s got and he’m responsible for her. He can’t live elsewhere, not with the farm and everything to hand, and I doesn’t fancy his chances of persuading her to move.’

  ‘That’s why he’m never married, if you asks me,’ said Liza. ‘What man’d want to bring a bride into a house along of her?’ Maddy listened to the conversation and felt guilty. Because of a kindness to her, Cal Whitcomb was having an unpleasant time. He was not the sort to crumble under the onslaught, she knew, but it was not right for him to be uncomfortable because of a good deed. Sadly there was nothing she could do about it save give up her job, and she could not afford to do that. Somehow she did not think Cal would want her to.

  ‘You’m joking,’ was Jack’s immediate reaction when she told him she was working at Oakwood. When he realised that she was serious, his anger exploded. ‘Working for a Whitcomb? What do you think you’m about, maid? Be you’m off your head or summat? How you could even consider such a thing be more than I can fathom. A daughter of mine up to Oakwood! You’m idn’t going back and that be for sure. Things be bad but they idn’t that desperate.’

  ‘Yes they be,’ broke in Joan before Maddy could protest. ‘The maid be bringing in seven shillings a week. It be honest, regular, and us can’t afford to turn un away.’

  ‘Yes us can,’ retorted Jack furiously. ‘Whitcomb money bain’t never honest. True enough, us had to rely on Cal Whitcomb up to Exeter, but that were an emergency, and us paid un back.’

  ‘And idn’t this an emergency, not having enough money for food beyond tomorrow? I don’t see no problem.’ Joan was adamant. ‘Maybe you’d rather see your own daughter slaving her heart out for a pittance. If so, you’m a funny sort of father.’

  ‘You don’t see it our way,’ put in Lew. ‘Maddy have – well, her’ve betrayed the family in a way. I idn’t saying as Cal Whitcomb wouldn’t be a decent enough fellow and a good maister if he were anybody but a Whitcomb, but he be a Whitcomb, and there idn’t no getting away from the fact.’

  ‘Load of stuff and nonsense, if you asks me,’ retorted Joan. ‘Making this fuss about summat that happened afore any of us was thought of, never mind born. The Whitcombs have Oakwood and the Shillabeers have this cottage, that’s the way it be; you may as well forget everything as went afore and make the best of un.’

  ‘Make the best of un! Forget everything as went afore!’ Jack was almost beside himself with rage. ‘You think us should ignore being cheated out of our inheritance? You don’t understand naught about un, woman! The farm and all as goes with it should’ve gone to my father and thence to us, and it would’ve done if my Uncle Matt habn’t bewildered a poor old man with weak wits into leaving the place to him. That’s how the Whitcombs got un, through cheating and treachery. And you say us should ignore that?’

  ‘I don’t understand naught about cheating and treachery, any more’n I knows much about inheritance and such,’ said Joan calmly. ‘But I knows one thing: farms don’t run themselves. Where were your father while all this were going on, Jack Shillabeer? Who were doing the ploughing and sowing and harvesting and tending the stock? It seems to me as your grandfather wadn’t the least bit weak witted. It seems to me he left the farm to the son as’d done the work while t’other were gallivanting about the world getting neither wiser nor richer, from what I’ve heard. And it also seems to me that if your father had inherited Oakwood, there’d have been precious little of un left by now, him having the reputation for not being able to keep a coin in his pocket long
enough for un to get warm.’

  A stunned silence greeted this heresy. Even Maddy, whose side Joan had taken with such energy, was shaken. A belief which had been instilled in her since birth was being rocked to its foundations. But shocking though Joan’s words had been, there was a deal of sense in them; too much for comfort. Looking towards her father and brother, she noted that Lew seemed less confident now. Even Jack, renowned for his obstinacy in everything connected with the old feud, looked uncomfortable, as if he were grappling with doubts.

  Joan set aside her knitting. ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’ she asked. ‘Us wants to be in bed betimes, don’t us? Specially Maddy. It’d look real bad if her were late on only her second day working to Oakwood.’ She paused and regarded her husband questioningly. When there was no further argument, she reached for the kettle, giving Maddy a triumphant wink as she did so.

  Maddy rose to fetch the tea caddy with a feeling of gratitude; she had never expected her stepmother to be such a spirited champion. Whether Joan’s views on the old feud were right or not, she knew that they shared the same sense of relief – the seven shillings a week were secure. She could go on working for Cal Whitcomb.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Maddy soon found that working for Cal Whitcomb was no easy option. He demanded perfection, and everything connected with Oakwood Cider had to be first class, particularly the Superior. Woe betide anyone who failed to notice a flawed bottle or who did not twist the wire over the cork securely. He was a stickler over waste, too, quickly commenting on spoiled labels and discarded foil. Most of all, though, he hated to see his precious cider spilled.

  ‘I don’t slave over the cider-making to have you wash the floor with it!’ he was wont to roar at anyone who was careless. A repeated offender would find her wages docked; as a result the workers in the bottling shed soon developed a steady hand and a good eye.

  ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ Maddy consoled a tearful Susan, who had just felt the force of his fury over a dropped bottle of Superior. ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean it.’

  ‘But he said if it happened again I could look for work elsewhere,’ wept Susan.

  ‘I’m sure it won’t happen again, you aren’t usually clumsy,’ said Maddy. ‘But if it did, I’m convinced he wouldn’t dismiss you. He’s just in a bad mood this morning, that’s all.’

  ‘He’m idn’t half getting short-tempered these days,’ commented Liza. ‘I reckon he’m taking on too much, what with two farms and the cider business. He’m trying to run everything single-handed and it be too much for one body.’

  It was as if Cal had beard her, for one morning soon afterwards he came into the bottling shed and announced, ‘I’m looking for a checker and overseer. Who feels they could do the job?’

  ‘What would we be checking and overseeing?’ asked Maddy.

  ‘The work would involve checking the deliveries of empty bottles for cracks and flaws, counting them, making sure they are properly washed, and checking the filled bottles of Rough, Regular and Superior. The job is worth an extra one and six a week; whoever takes it will earn their money because I will hold them responsible for the good condition of everything that leaves the bottling shed.’

  Faces that had looked hopeful at the mention of the extra one and six now grew doubtful.

  ‘And there is the paperwork,’ went on Cal.

  ‘That be me out,’ muttered Susan. ‘Never was no good with a pen.’

  ‘Me neither,’ agreed Liza.

  ‘I can figure a bit,’ said Gertie, the fourth woman present. ‘If it idn’t too difficult, that is.’

  ‘It would be keeping account of stocks of materials, and being responsible for letting me know when to reorder, also noting the number of filled bottles sent out each day, breakages and things of that nature.’

  Gertie shook her head. ‘That be beyond me,’ she said.

  They all looked towards Maddy.

  ‘Seems like it be up to you, maid,’ said Susan.

  ‘Do you think you could do it?’ asked Cal.

  ‘Yes.’ Maddy had no doubts on that score. ‘But I’m the newest one here, it hardly seems fair.’

  ‘’Tis fair if the rest of us idn’t up to un,’ insisted Susan, then she said in a whisper, ‘He’m only going to bring in gawd-knows-who if you don’t take un, and us don’t want that, do us?’

  Cal was not supposed to hear this aside, but his lips twitched. ‘Well, Maddy, are you going to take the job, or do I have to find gawd-knows-who?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Maddy said.

  ‘Good. Come up to the house as soon as you get back from your dinner and we’ll discuss the details.’

  When he had gone, everyone burst out laughing. ‘Lor’, to think he heard me!’ chuckled Susan. ‘I didn’t knowd where to put myself when he said un – “Do I have to find gawd-knows- who?”’ She mimicked Cal’s voice, then fell to laughing again.

  Maddy wiped her eyes, then clapped her hands. ‘Come along, ladies, this will not do,’ she said in a schoolmarm voice. ‘Back to work instantly, if you please.’

  ‘Lor’, if her’m going to be this uppity us’d be better off with gawd-knows-who,’ muttered Liza in mock mutiny, and that set them laughing again.

  Jack greeted the news of Maddy’s promotion with a sniff. He never mentioned her job at Oakwood, nor did he seem to take much interest. Joan, on the other hand, was delighted.

  ‘There, if things idn’t taking a turn for the better all round!’ she beamed. The weather be on the mend, the menfolk be back at work, and now Maddy be getting an extra eighteen pence a week. It were a good day when her was took on at Oakwood, and no mistake.’

  Jack ignored his wife’s remark, and occupied himself busily looking for his tobacco pouch. Maddy smiled to herself. She knew he was pleased at her advancement but that nothing on earth would induce him to admit it.

  Later that afternoon, when Maddy arrived at Oakwood farmhouse, Ellen demanded, ‘You’m sure you got the right door?’

  ‘Yes,’ grinned Maddy. ‘Mr Whitcomb wants to see me.’

  ‘You best come in then.’ Ellen held the door wide. ‘Now, be you front parlour company or be you kitchen company?’

  ‘I think I’d better be passage company until Mr Whitcomb comes,’ Maddy smiled.

  ‘He might be some time. He’m gone to look at a bit of wall as collapsed down Church Farm. Bolted his dinner, he did. Won’t do him no good. I tells un till I be blue in the face but he won’t listen. I think you’m best in the front parlour. That should get her riled up good and proper.’ Ellen gave a grin that was pure mischief and ushered Maddy into the well-furnished parlour.

  ‘You put her where? She could be up to anything, being a Shillabeer.’ From beyond the closed door Maddy could hear Mrs Whitcomb’s cry of indignation, followed by the shuffle of slippers and the appearance of the lady herself.

  ‘My son said you were to come here, you say?’ she demanded, with barely masked disbelief.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Whitcomb. He wants to discuss something with me.’

  ‘I can’t think what that might be.’ Cal’s mother glanced swiftly round the room as if checking that her possessions were safe. Then her pride in her treasures overcame her suspicion and she went over to one of the cabinets and opened the glass door. Adjusting a plate a fraction of an inch she said wistfully, ‘That’s a beautiful set. Worcester, every piece hand-painted, and that’s pure gold round the rim. A birthday present from my boy, it was, and never used. I intended to have it out for his wedding, but my funeral is the only airing it’ll get.’

  ‘What about Mr Cal’s wedding, won’t you use it for that?’ asked Maddy. She had no illusions who Mrs Whitcomb meant by ‘my boy’.

  ‘Oh him!’ Cal’s mother dismissed him impatiently. ‘He doesn’t appreciate fine things the way his brother did. He’d be happy with tin plates and cloam cups. Do you know, his father left him a fine gold watch with a beautiful chain. But will he wear them? Not Calland. He prefers a batter
ed silver thing he’s had for years.’

  Maddy recalled Ned Knapman’s widow telling her something about Cal’s gold watch. Had he not sold it to pay the wages of men his brother had rashly taken on? Looking about her at the cupboards full of expensive china and silver, Maddy was certain there were plenty of things on those shelves that could have been sold to pay the men. But Cal had preferred to sacrifice his watch, and secretly at that. She was sorely tempted to tell Mrs Whitcomb a few home truths about both her sons; but it was not her place to speak up and reluctantly she held her tongue.

  ‘I can’t stay here all day. Mr Whitcomb will be with you soon.’ Mrs Whitcomb bustled out, white curls bobbing round the black lace of her widow’s cap.

  A few moments later Ellen entered, carrying a large duster. ‘Her’m says I be to dust the parlour,’ she said. ‘Really ’tis ’cos her’m feared you’m going to run off with her gew-gaws.’ She began her task, but it did not interfere with her chatter. ‘Her going on about Cal’s watch,’ she said, proving that she had been listening at the keyhole. ‘I knows what happened to un and why, and so would her if her’n had an ounce of sense. But then Mr Cal couldn’t never do naught right in her eyes. Too like his father: Mr Kit born again, that’s what he be, but just in his looks. His quickness and sharp tongue be from his Shillabeer blood.’ She glanced sideways at Maddy to see her reaction to this remark. When there was none she continued, half to herself, ‘Daft besom, her had a good husband and her didn’t want he, and her’m got a fine son and her don’t want he, neither. Her’m the sort as only wants what her can’t have, that be Mary Whitcomb for you.’

  ‘You’ve been with the family for a long time then?’ asked Maddy.

  ‘I come from Church Farm with Mr Kit when he were wed.’ A nostalgic smile softened Ellen’s gaunt features. ‘He always said he brung three things to his marriage – the parlour pianny, the family Bible, and me. Just as well I did come,’ she went on more briskly. ‘At least there were someone to see they two was looked after proper.’