“You do know, I suppose,” said Tom, “that Jim Kimpton doesn’t own that house. He only rents it from the Earl, just like we do.”
Not just like we do, thought Catherine. Their cottage came with Tom’s job; they paid no rent.
“I’m going to see Jessica,” she said. “If that’s all right. I haven’t seen her for a long time and her father has been ill. He hasn’t even been able to work the land and the Earl has been very kind to keep paying him.”
“Well, so he should be,” said Mary. “He shouldn’t be working the land at all, since he’s going to be family.”
CHAPTER SIX
Magpie House
It was the grinding bowl that gave Jessica the idea. She used it to grind up bricks of salt or other food stuffs that came in blocks, but it would be ideal for her purpose. She gave the problem careful consideration for many days, wondering if it would work, planning how long to take about it.
She had some laudanum left over from her mother and she fed her father a dose of that very evening, when he started ranting about suing the Earl for breach of promise. It was a bigger dose than she needed, but it worked to keep him from making an even bigger ninny of himself and he had slept that night and all the next day.
But sleeping wasn’t really the result she wanted and she wondered if there was something stronger, something she might need to crush up. Belladonna grew in the woods at the edge of the Harrisford estate, but Jessica didn’t know enough about herbs and stuff to find them. The only person who did know was Molly Lee, the old gypsy woman who lived in those woods. Jessica couldn’t ask her; that would arouse suspicion.
Her thoughts were centred on the problem and it was a week or more before she realised the curse hadn’t come on time. She wasn’t worried at first; she thought perhaps it was normal as a woman got older, but she wasn’t sure and she had no one to ask. She wasn’t going to ask that Pauline Atkin woman; she didn’t need anything to make her feel more at home than she already did. Cecily might know, but she was in Cambridge, at Girton College getting her final marks so she could go to the Medical School in London.
Wondering if Catherine might know, she made her way next door. Mary Simmons opened it and she wasn’t pleased to see her.
“You, is it?” she demanded, her hands on her ample hips. “Your father is still working the land, even though he’s going to be family soon. I don’t know how you can show your face. I thought more of the Earl than that.”
Jessica wanted to ask her what business it was of hers, but that lingering respect for her elders still held her tongue in its grip.
“Is Catherine here?” she asked timidly.
“She is,” said Mrs Simmons. “She’s helping me with the mending.”
She made no move to step back, to open the door wider or gesture Jessica inside. She only stood with her hands on her hips, like some fierce guard or prison warden.
“May I speak with her, please?” said Jessica.
“She’s busy.”
Catherine appeared behind her mother then and squeezed past her and out of the cottage. She took Jessica’s hand.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll go and sit by the oak tree. I could do with a break.”
She looked closely at her damaged fingers as she spoke. One of those fingers still wore a silver thimble, but it hadn’t saved the rest of them. The skin on the ends was torn and would catch on everything.
Once on the bench beside the tree, Catherine stretched her arms over her head and straightened her back. She had been bending over her father’s socks for hours while she darned the holes in them. Really, she would rather knit a pair from scratch but that was too extravagant for her mother.
She reflected on her words of that morning when Catherine had suggested it.
“If you’d done something to ensnare the Earl, before that one next door got in there, you wouldn’t have to darn your father’s socks,” she had said. “Mind you, Jack Milligan is still working the land, even though he’s going to be His Lordship’s son-in-law soon. That’s what I call dead mean, that is. I thought better of the Earl, I really did.” She had interrupted her rant to glare at her daughter. “You could’ve changed him, you could. If only you’d got in there first.”
Catherine had long since given up telling her mother that she had no interest in the Earl and every time she mentioned Michael, it had ended in a lecture about how her father would never allow it.
Suddenly realising that she was staring into nothing with her thoughts, she turned to smile at her friend.
“Sorry, Jess,” she said. “I was miles away. What did you want to say?”
Jessica bit her lip. She’d had it all planned out, how she would ask her question, but now the time was here she couldn’t quite form the words.
“I told the old man that the wedding was off,” she said. “He said he would sue the Earl for breach of promise.”
Catherine laughed, but realised this was no laughing matter.
“Sorry,” she said. “You have got yourself in a muddle, haven’t you? You’re just going to have to tell him the truth.”
“I can’t do that,” said Jessica. “He’s told everyone. He thinks he’s going to move into the Castle and have servants to wait on him. And on the strength of that, he’s thinking about getting married again.”
“Really? Who to?”
“Pauline Atkin,” Jessica replied. “You know, the widow who lives up by the Langleys. She thinks she’s landed well on her feet.”
“Well, I don’t know, Jessica,” said Catherine. “He has to know sometime. You’re not scared of him, are you?”
Jessica had to think about her answer to that. No, she wasn’t really scared of him. He could be a bit threatening, had gone for his belt many times but never actually used it. And she was a grown woman, but even so she didn’t think she could face having him know the truth. He would look like such a fool.
“Michael and I are talking about eloping to Scotland,” said Catherine. “I mean, we’ve talked about it before, but this is serious. Do you know what happened last Sunday? Mother invited that Mr Stanley next door for dinner again but I had to cook it, just so she could tell him what a good cook I am.”
“But he’s twice your age,” said Jessica.
“Yes and what’s more he tells lies.”
“How do you know?” asked Jessica.
“Well, he said he used to work for Prince Albert, helped him with his plans for the railway.”
“But the Prince …” began Jessica.
“Precisely,” said Catherine, cutting her off. “He couldn’t have been more than ten when the Prince died. You saw it straight away, just as I did, but Mother hasn’t cottoned on. When I mentioned it, all she said was he must have made a mistake.”
“I don’t understand why she’d want you to marry someone twice your age,” said Jessica.
“Because she thinks he’s got a trust fund,” said Catherine. “She thinks her and Father will have a nice cosy retirement on it. I think his trust fund is as real as his claim to have helped Prince Albert.”
The two girls fell silent for a few minutes. Catherine knew her friend had something on her mind, something other than her father and his bragging about her engagement to the Earl. There was something else, but she wanted her to tell her in her own good time.
“Catherine,” Jessica finally said. “Do you know how a woman knows when she’s expecting a baby?”
Catherine caught her breath, but tried to keep it silent. So this was what had been worrying her friend; she had been doing something she shouldn’t.
“Why do you ask me that?” she said.
“I just wondered,” said Jessica. “I mean, I don’t really know how anyone knows. Do they wait to get fatter, perhaps feel the baby kick?”
Catherine recalled a time when her elder, married cousin, Eugenie, was expecting. She had started to give Catherine the answer to this very question, but their mother had come into the room and yelled that Catherine didn
’t need to know about things like that. But she had caught the gist of it.
“I think,” she said, “the first indication is that the curse doesn’t happen.”
A crimson stain began to spread over Jessica’s face. Catherine couldn’t see that her friend’s heart was hammering fast enough to burst out of her chest, but she could see that she had begun to shake.
“Jess, darling,” she said. “What have you done?”
***
So it was true. As Jessica walked home slowly, not really wanting to get there at all, she felt that she had been shot, like in the stories she’d read about the towns in America where they had gunfights.
What she had done with Simon was what one did to have a baby. She hadn’t known, hadn’t even guessed really. She had often wondered how it happened, but she hadn’t really thought too deeply about it. She hadn’t set out to do that, not that afternoon in the hotel, and it had been so natural after they had been kissing. It was a bit of a shock, she had to admit that, but she had never regretted it.
She had always believed one had to be married to have a baby, and now look. She was going to have his kid and there was no chance of his marrying her now, because he was gone, died a slow and agonising death that he hadn’t wanted her to have to see.
Now it was even more important that Jack Milligan didn’t find out. Imagine what would happen if he discovered his daughter’s condition. He would believe it was the Earl who was responsible and nothing would stop him from going up to the Castle and demanding that he marry her.
They would lose everything. He would lose his job, and the cottage, and any income. He would take His Lordship to court; no one could prove it wasn’t his baby, could they? But Jessica would never do that. She didn’t know him well, didn’t know him at all really, but he had been kind to her that afternoon when she found that Simon had left.
If her father was dead, the Earl wouldn’t turn her out. He wouldn’t do that. But no one in the cottages had died before; none of the tenant farmers had passed away and left a family. So Jessica didn’t really know what the Earl would do about her. He had other cottages, on the estate. He might give one of those to a new tenant and let her stay where she was. Or he might give her a cottage on the estate. He was so kind to her when she was upset, she couldn’t believe he would just turn her out. But that wasn‘t her priority, not right now.
Her father mustn’t know that she had never been engaged to the Earl and he must certainly never know that she was pregnant. She recalled her mother talking about getting rid of a baby, but she wasn’t going to ask her father about that. He would suspect if she did.
There was only one thing for it. Jessica would have to increase the amount of laudanum she had been feeding to her father. She thought she would have months, but now speed was of the essence.
She thought about Arsenic; that was easy enough to get hold of. People used it for their complexions and it was all over fly papers. But it produced a messy result. Jessica didn’t want anything that might cause her father to have stomach problems. She wasn’t concerned about him being in pain, more that there would be no one else to clear up after him but her. She doubted Mrs Atkin would be so enamoured of Jack Milligan if she was asked to change his soiled long johns for him.
Her first idea had been to grind up some glass, but she couldn’t find anything that would do. There was little in the way of glass in the cottage; her father’s tankard was pewter and the only glass was the mirrors. She didn’t think that would be a good idea; it was seven years bad luck for breaking a mirror and she already had enough of that.
She wasn’t sure if there was enough laudanum, and she would have to go into Newmarket to get more. She had no time for that and not much money for the bus fare either.
Jack was a strong man, healthy and energetic. He worked on the farm all day, six days a week, sometimes more depending on the season. If he suddenly took ill, people would start to talk. That was one of the problems of everyone knowing everyone else’s business; people noticed things.
She said goodbye to Catherine at the end of their adjoining paths and made her way inside. It was a bright day, and Jack was asleep on a blanket laid out on the small lawn at the back. Jessica smiled. She had never known him to sleep in the afternoon before, so things must be going as planned.
She was glad to have some time to herself, without him going on about the Earl and the wedding date. He still didn’t believe her tale and had been dead set on suing for breach of promise, until sleep overtook him at the most inconvenient times.
Jessica had to change her tactics, so she had told him she’d made it up with His Lordship but they wanted to wait a little while before the wedding.
Jack seemed satisfied with that, but Jessica was annoyed. She hadn’t lied to him before; everything had been a misunderstanding on his part and really it was partly Mrs Simmons’ fault. If she hadn’t kept on, talking about her Catherine being a good match for the Earl, he likely wouldn’t have tried to get his own back.
But it was too late now and all she could do was make up a story.
As she sank down into a rocking chair that afternoon, she began to wonder where Simon was. She had forced him out of her mind all this time, ever since she’d read his letter, and she supposed he must be dead by now. She had given herself no chance to mourn him, had kept her grief hidden and been grateful that someone had loved her, once.
She touched her abdomen with both hands; it seemed that now Simon would not be so easily forgotten.
The front door opened then, making Jessica look up sharply. It was Pauline Atkin, walking straight in as if she owned the place. Jessica didn’t bother getting up; if Pauline could be rude enough to not even knock, so could she.
“How’s your father,” said Pauline. “Is he any better?”
“He’s asleep,” said Jessica.
“Again?” said Pauline. “What have you done about getting a doctor in? I’ll pay half if you can’t afford it.”
Pauline knew perfectly well that Jack had a bit stashed away; perhaps this was some scheme to trick Jessica into revealing where he kept it.
“We can afford it,” she said. “But he won’t have a doctor. I asked him.”
Pauline put down the basket she was carrying and slipped off her shawl. Jessica leaned over and peered into the basket; it was one of those open ones and Pauline carried it everywhere with her, yet it always seemed to be empty.
Now Pauline went to the window and glanced out at Jack’s sleeping figure. She turned and sniffed the air.
“Fresh bread?” she said.
“What else?” said Jessica. “And it’s ready.”
She got up and went to open the bread oven that was built into the wall of the cottage. She grabbed a cloth to protect her hands and pulled out of the oven a nicely risen and golden crusted loaf, baked specially for their tea. She supposed that Pauline would be staying, which meant the strawberry jam. Jessica preferred blackcurrant, but Jack would insist on strawberry for his girlfriend.
If she didn’t get on with it, she would end up being a skivvy to both her father and Pauline Atkin. But no, they still thought she was going to marry the Earl. She sank back down into the rocking chair; it was all such a mess.
She had been wrong about the basket. From underneath the checked cloth, Pauline pulled out a newspaper.
“I wanted to show this to your father,” she said. “But I’ll let him sleep.”
“Show him what?” said Jessica.
“This,” said Pauline and she pointed to a column on the front page.
It was an article about the first Salvation Army run unwed mothers’ home opening up in Newmarket. Jessica felt her cheeks redden and a stab of fear pierce her heart. Was this some sort of hint? Did the woman know about her problem? She must look different and now she’d tell Jack and he’d go up to the Castle and the Earl would tell him he knew nothing about it. And Jack would want to sue him and …
Her tumbling thoughts were interrupted wh
en Pauline spoke. Jessica looked up to see she had a glum look on her face and her arms were folded indignantly.
“I think it’s a disgrace,” she said. “Putting something like that so close to decent folk. We don’t want to see those little trollops when we go to the town. The Salvation Army are supposed to help the poor and destitute, not little whores who are no better than they should be.”
So that was how it was going to be.
“I think it’s a good thing,” she said.
“Umph! Good?” said Pauline. “I suppose you’d think it a good thing if they put up a brothel next door.”
Jessica didn’t know what a brothel was, so she made no reply.
“The poor girls have to go somewhere,” she said.
“Oh, really? They’re no better than criminals and that’s a fact. If a daughter of mine came home pregnant and no husband, she’d be out on her ear and no mistake.”
“Tell me something, Mrs Atkin,” said Jessica. “Why are the girls punished when the men who caused it are patted on the back and told how boys will be boys?”
“Men can’t help being tempted,” said Pauline. “It’s in their nature and they can no more resist it than a cat can resist chasing a mouse. It’s up to the female to keep them in their place. No man wants damaged goods.”
Jessica could only stare at her, then glance out of the window at her father, still sleeping soundly.
It wouldn’t be long now.
***
Time seemed to be racing by, much faster than normal. Or was it only because Jessica was dreading each coming month. Summer was drawing to a close, nights drawing in and autumn nearly upon them. Where had the time gone? Jessica thought she had time but Jack lingered on and she had still made no plans for the baby and what to do about it.
She had gone up to the Castle that morning, to tell the Earl how much worse her father was and to ask him what was to become of her if he died. He was very kind, but he didn’t invite her in. He never invited anyone in.
Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part Page 9
