Knight's Acre: Till Death Do Us Part

by Margaret Brazear

  “Are you the father?” she demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

  “He is my fiancé,” said Catherine before he could answer. “Mr Kimpton.”

  “Well, you can come in, but not him,” said Miss Jensen. “I don’t allow men, not unless they’re the babies’ fathers come with a marriage licence.”

  Catherine looked at Michael helplessly, and he smiled.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll wait in the tea shop over the road.”

  Jessica looked as though she had got thinner during the last few days. Her face was drawn and pale and she wore a dull, grey dress that hung on her. Her lovely auburn hair was hidden beneath a plain, white cap which was starched to the stiffness of wood.

  Catherine took her hands.

  “It’s good of you to come,” said Jessica. “This is your day for seeing Michael.”

  “He’s across the road in the tea shop,” said Catherine. “Miss Jensen wouldn’t let him in.”

  “No men allowed,” said Jessica.

  “Not unless they come armed with a marriage licence,” Catherine mimicked the Matron.

  They laughed together, something Jessica had missed, but it lasted no more than a few minutes.

  “How is it here?” asked Catherine.

  “It’s all right,” said Jessica. “There are only a couple of other girls so far, but we are told there will be lots more next week. One of them is about to give birth; she’s been told she’s not allowed to keep it. Miss Jensen told her it’s against the law.”

  “That’s rubbish,” said Catherine.

  “I know and so does she, really, but she’s got no option. I’m not sure I’ll have either. But I want to keep my baby, Catherine,” Jessica said. “It’s all I have of Simon.”

  “I wish there was something I could do,” said Catherine. “But I can’t think of anything.”

  Jessica forced a smile.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Something’ll turn up, I expect. I was thinking I could contact Simon’s family, but I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  Neither would Catherine, so she didn’t answer. What could she say?

  “Mother’s given up on Mr Stanley at number three,” she said. “Now she’s trying to match me up with the new estate manager.”

  She bit her lip, wishing she could catch back the words.

  “The Earl’s got a new one?” said Jessica. “Already?”

  “Well, I suppose the estate doesn’t run itself. I’m sorry I said that, though. It must bring back bad memories.”

  “No,” said Jessica. “Only good ones.”

  The little maid appeared in the doorway then, interrupting them.

  “Miss Jensen says your time’s up,” she muttered, her eyes firmly fixed on the ground.

  “What?” said Catherine.

  “We’re only allowed half an hour,” said Jessica. “But listen, don’t come again. I don’t want to mess up your only afternoon with Mr Kimpton.”

  “Michael understands.”

  “I’m sure he does and it’s good of you both, but I feel a bit embarrassed to tell you the truth. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  She looked down at her dull, grey skirt, made of some sort of rough fabric.

  “But…”

  “No, please,” said Jessica. She held the skirt out to its full, voluminous size. “It’s supposed to last no matter how big I get,” she said with a self mocking laugh. “I’ll see you when it’s all over. I promise.”

  Catherine kissed her goodbye and left the house, only then realising that Jessica hadn’t once asked about her father.

  ***

  Pauline Atkin came every day to look after Jack. She would arrive early to cook his breakfast and stay all day to clean, do his washing and cook his other meals. He had been eating better and gradually regaining his strength and four weeks after Jessica left, had even got up and got dressed.

  Pauline couldn’t stay at night, of course, not alone with a man she wasn’t married to. She hoped to rectify that situation soon and wondered if that was why Jessica had taken herself off.

  She hadn’t told Jack about that, not yet, not until she was absolutely certain he had recovered from whatever ailed him. It would be time enough for that once he had regained his strength, but she didn’t really know what to do about Jessica. She had walked out of the house that day and had never come back. Pauline couldn’t understand it, not when her wedding to the Earl was so close. But then, she didn’t really know that it was close; she had never been told the date and she wasn’t sure they had decided on one. It wasn’t her place to ask and she didn’t want to appear too curious, didn’t want Jack to think she was only courting him so she could move up in the world.

  That girl next door might know. Jessica was very friendly with her and she might have told her where she was going, but Pauline wasn’t sure whether anyone would think she had the right to ask. There was nothing official between her and Jack.

  Jack hadn’t really missed his daughter. Pauline thought that a bit odd, but then he had been ill for so long, it was possible his memory was failing him and he didn’t want to say so. Pauline had been doing all the jobs Jessica usually did, so he had no real cause to miss her, but when he’d had his breakfast and gone back to bed for a little rest, Pauline made up her mind.

  Wrapping her shawl around her as she walked, she went next door and rattled the knocker, trying to gather her words together while she waited for someone to open the door.

  It was Mrs Simmons who greeted her with a dour expression, then realised who she was. She was that woman, that widow from up in the Alms houses, the one who’s got her claws into Jack Milligan.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs Simmons,” said Pauline. “I wonder if I could have a word with your daughter.”

  Mrs Simmons frowned.

  “Catherine?” she demanded. “Why? What’s she done?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Pauline. “It’s just that, well, Jessica’s gone missing and I thought perhaps Miss Simmons might know where she is.”

  “Gone missing!” cried Mrs Simmons. “Well, you don’t want to be asking my Catherine; you want to be asking the Earl.”

  “Mother, please,” Catherine spoke from behind her. “Let me talk to Mrs Atkin.”

  “I don’t see what good that’ll do,” said Mary. “She’s likely up at the Castle. I hear the wedding preparations are going well.” She paused and put her hands on her hips as she nodded knowingly. “Yes,” she said. “That’s where she’ll be. I only hope he’s got the sense to have another woman there to chaperone.”

  Catherine briefly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Another twist to add to the tale; this was getting more and more complicated as time went on, more fantasies to add to the rest every time someone opened their mouths.

  She untied her apron and handed it to her mother.

  “I’ll not be long,” she said. “I need some air anyway.”

  As Catherine walked beside Mrs Atkin to the oak tree at the top of the High Street, where they could sit on the bench and talk privately, it occurred to her that her mother had not even asked about Jack Milligan.

  “How is Mr Milligan?” was the first thing she said.

  “He is getting better,” said Pauline with a smile. “But he hasn’t asked about Jessica yet and I don’t know what to tell him when he does.”

  Odd that, thought Catherine. Jess said he’d start to recover once she had gone. Perhaps she had some sort of perception, like the mediums that were growing so popular in London, so she had heard.

  Catherine would have to lie now and that went against her nature, but she had to protect her friend’s secret at all costs.

  She turned away and kept her gaze on the dark bark of the tree, so her expression would not give her away.

  “I don’t know where she is,” she said. “But I do know she doesn’t want to be found.”

  That last was easy enough as it was the truth; she
faced Pauline and forced a smile.

  “How do you know that?” said Pauline.

  “She told me before she went away,” said Catherine. “But she refused to tell me where she was going.”

  “But the wedding,” said Pauline.

  Catherine was not going to be the one to tell her there would be no wedding. Let Mr Milligan find that out for himself.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “I only know she needed some time to herself. Getting married is a big thing; Jessica was under a lot of pressure about it and didn’t think she’d had time to think at all. So she went away.”

  “But where?” said Pauline. “That’s what I want to know. Where could she have gone?”

  Catherine could offer no answer to that and she had to ask herself where she would have gone, if she only wanted to get away for a few weeks and think. But she could find no answer, so she merely shrugged.

  “Just tell her father that she went of her own free will and she will be back.”

  “But what about the wedding?” Pauline persisted.

  She sounded a bit desperate and perhaps she was. Catherine knew she was eager to marry Mr Milligan, but did she want to marry him, or the prospect of being part of the Earl’s family? If Catherine was right, she needed the marriage to the Earl to happen first. Well, she would have a very long wait.

  Catherine went back indoors to see that her mother was once again setting the table for four. She seemed to have given up on Frederick Stanley next door and set her sights on the new estate manager.

  “Are we having a guest?” Catherine asked.

  “Mr Jameson is coming for tea,” said Mary.

  “Again?” said Catherine.

  “Yes, again,” her mother snapped. “He’s a very nice young man, handsome as well and related to the Earl. And he likes you.”

  “Does he? How do you know that?” Catherine paused, wondering if she should voice the rest of her question. “Did you ask him?” she finally said.

  “Of course not!” said Mary. “What do you take me for?”

  “A matchmaker?” said Catherine.

  “Enough of your sauce,” said Mary. “He’ll be here in a minute. You’d better change your dress.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Nothing, for everyday and helping me, but for a gentleman caller, you can do better.”

  Catherine ignored the remark.

  “Why do you never invite Michael to join us?” she asked abruptly.

  Mary looked up from her arrangements of the table and grimaced.

  “Him!” she scoffed. “I told you, Catherine, not to see that boy again. Why are you still talking about him? He’s a thing of the past, gone, forgotten. You need a nice young man, like Mr Jameson, or a steady man like Mr Stanley.”

  “I love Michael,” said Catherine.

  “Love! What do you know about love?” Mary laid the last fork down then turned her back on her daughter and went into the kitchen, leaving Catherine to answer the knock at the door.

  Paul Jameson removed his hat and smiled. It was a confident smile, one that caused Catherine to wonder just what her mother had implied to this man when she was alone with him and Catherine’s father.

  She opened the door wider and stepped back so that he could enter and she took his hat as he turned to face her. He smiled again; it was a nice smile, a friendly, warm smile and she could see where it might entice a girl and probably had in the past.

  “I am so glad we have a few minutes,” he said in a low voice. “I wonder if you would do me the honour of walking out with me? I have your father’s consent.”

  I’ll just wager you do, thought Catherine.

  “I am flattered, Mr Jameson, and I am quite sure my father neglected to tell you that I have promised my affections to another man.”

  “No,” he said. “He didn’t mention that. But this fellow can’t be anyone he approves of, or he would not have given his consent to my addressing you.”

  “No, he does not approve,” admitted Catherine.

  “Well then,” said Paul. “We can go for a walk before tea, don’t you think?”

  Catherine shook her head. Tears sprang to her eyes and she grabbed her shawl and swung it around her shoulders.

  “Please, stay, Mr Jameson,” she said, then she turned to the kitchen. “I’m not hungry, Mother,” she called out. “I need to see Cecily.”

  Mary appeared immediately, a dark frown on her face. Cecily Eames was someone else she didn’t approve of.

  “Cecily Eames?” she said. “What do you want with her?”

  “I want to ask her something,” said Catherine.

  “What?” said Mrs Simmons. “What can you possibly have to say to her? You don’t need her putting ideas into your head. She needs to settle down and find a good husband, not go off to university for heaven’s sake. The very idea of a woman being a doctor; and an unmarried woman at that.”

  “Times are moving on, Mother,” said Catherine. “Why shouldn’t a woman be a doctor? They are just as intelligent as men, more so in a lot of cases.”

  “Why?” said Mary. “Why? I only hope whoever’s in charge have the sense to keep an unmarried girl away from sights she’s got no business seeing.”

  Catherine made no comment. It was pointless trying to drag an old fashioned farmer’s wife into the forthcoming new century. Her thoughts turned to Jessica; she had certainly seen some sights she shouldn’t have seen.

  ***

  The year rolled on, through a hot summer and into a chilly autumn and a cold winter. Catherine had visited Jessica once a month, briefly stopping in to see that she was comfortable and healthy during her Sunday afternoon escapes with Michael. Her mother still had not guessed where she went on those Sunday afternoons, much less who she went with.

  She hoped to hold out until she was twenty one. Every mention of Michael had so far been cut short with the usual command never to speak his name in her house.

  Nothing more was said about Jessica’s wedding, and Jack Milligan had lost so much weight it took him months to regain enough strength to go back to work. He didn’t seem to have missed Jessica; he would have, no doubt, if Pauline Atkin hadn’t been there to cook his meals, clean his house and do his washing.

  And she was in no hurry to enlighten him. If Jessica came home, Jack wouldn’t need her anymore and Pauline had no intention of going anywhere. This tied cottage might not be much, but it was a vast improvement over the tiny Alms house she was given by the estate and what was worse about that place was that everyone knew it was only the poor who qualified for one.

  She wanted that ring on her finger but her other ideas depended on Jessica coming back and marrying the Earl. And thinking about the Earl, Pauline was surprised and shocked that he had not been to see how his future father-in-law fared. That didn’t seem like the actions of a gentleman, even if he had sent a doctor to see him early on.

  Still, he was good enough to keep paying Jack to make sure he was fed. So, Pauline was in a quandary really; she didn’t want Jessica back because she might take over and push Pauline out, but at the same time, she had to have her back to marry the Earl and give her and Jack a comfortable life.

  Every Sunday, when Catherine returned home, having said goodbye to Michael outside his parents’ house, which was out of sight of the High Street cottages, she found that same guest waiting. Her mother was still polite to Mr Stanley, although she no longer believed in his trust fund or his connection with the Royal family, but it was Paul Jameson she had set her sights on.

  He was there again. Catherine had popped in to see Jessica, who was very near her time and now filled out the drab, grey dress, and there he was, sitting at the table, spreading strawberry preserve on a thick slice of bread. Both the preserve and the bread had been made by Mary; she had tried to teach Catherine how to make them, but she found the whole process of preserve making messy and sticky. She knew how to make bread, that was easy and most of the women
of her class made their own and even extra to sell. She knew her own mother sold bread to the Earl’s household and a few other people who lived up the hill, nearer the Castle.

  There was a time when she had made bread for Mrs Kimpton, but no more, not since Catherine had got so friendly with their wayward son. Mary wanted to give Catherine no excuse to go up to their house.

  Catherine nodded a greeting to Mr Jameson, then hung up her coat and sat at the table opposite their visitor. The bread and preserves and the teapot were all laid out, but there was no sign of her mother, or her father. Curious; they wouldn’t really want to leave her alone with an unmarried man, so where were they?

  “Where’s my mother?” she asked.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “She’ll be back in a few minutes, but I wanted a few words with you, alone.”

  “Why?” said Catherine abruptly.

  He reached across the table and took her hand, while she fought the urge to snatch it away. If this charade was what she thought it was, she just wanted to run away.

  “I have been coming here every week, at your father’s invitation of course, to see you,” he said. “I thought you might have sensed it.”

  Catherine made no reply, only stared at him.

  “Miss Simmons,” he said. “I would be honoured if you would accept my proposal. I am asking for your hand in marriage.”

  Catherine caught her breath, looked down at her bread.

  “I’m honoured, Mr Jameson,” she said. “But I’m afraid I cannot accept.”

  He dropped her hand and leaned back in his chair.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I was given to understand that you would be amenable to a proposal from me. I know your mother hoped my illustrious cousin might take a fancy to you, but that was always a pipe dream. He would never lower himself to wed a farmer’s daughter, and one of his own tenants at that.”

  If he had said as much to Mary Simmons, she would have been next door and gloating over Jack’s misfortune. Obviously, this was the first they were hearing of it.

  “And you are related to him,” said Catherine angrily. “So I’m surprised you would stoop to it, either.”