The Marlows

by Rosalind Laker

  But in a way things had gone harder for Nina, who was two years older than Roger and a year younger than herself. Tansy had secured a post for Nina as dairy maid on one of the farms where the farmer’s wife had offered, in lieu of paying her wages, to feed and accommodate Judith at the same time. It was not a very satisfactory arrangement, but Tansy had been thankful to have both girls housed for the interim period until her father came back. Unfortunately Nina had found the work hard and distasteful, hating to have the odour of the byre upon her skin and clothes, being fastidious in every way, and she grumbled incessantly to Tansy whenever they met that her hands were ruined and so much bathing in icy pump-water would give her the lung fever before she was finished. She declared she would gladly change places with Tansy and take up the daily vigil to ensure that their father was sighted as soon as he came over the hill, but Tansy knew her sister well enough to have no doubts that at the first drop of rain Nina would have taken shelter somewhere under trees where she could no longer see the road, or else, becoming bored, taken time off for an hour or two, ignoring the risk that their father might have gone riding by in her absence. Admittedly Tansy’s own small job was far less arduous than Nina’s, for she had taken on the duties of night nurse to an elderly woman, giving the son in the house and his wife a chance to sleep at night, there being little the matter with the old crone apart from stiff joints. After an initial battle of wills, the old woman, whose main enjoyment was tormenting her daughter-in-law, had acknowledged Tansy’s authority and ever afterward slept like a log in her presence all the dark hours through. This had enabled Tansy to get the sleep she needed and be fresh for her daily watch directed toward her father’s return, for all along she had wanted to guard against his coming upon the burnt-out ruins of the cottage without being forewarned by his own kin. But she had bungled the breaking of the news to him. She must have. Why else would he have reacted in such an extraordinary way?

  Wrapped up in her own confused and troubled thoughts she had pushed open one of the wooden gates and was through it into the yard before she realized that she had come upon a tempestuous scene not uncommon on the Webster premises. Several workmen stood grouped about, eyeing warily and uncomfortably their master and his son, who stood facing each other with all the fury of two enraged lions a few feet apart in the middle of the straw-strewn, cobbled enclosure. Edgar Webster, a portly, bald-headed man dressed in loud checks, was crimson with temper, his clenched fists shaking at his sides as if it was taking all his will power not to smash one of them into the lean, bold face of his offspring, whose deep-set dark eyes were narrowed with suppressed violence into flashing slits, the blatantly sensual mouth so tightened that the skin about it showed white. Two of a kind were the Webster men. None crossed their paths lightly and their quarrels with each other were notorious.

  “Damn you, Adam,” Edgar roared, “I’ve bin in buildin’ all my life, and you can’t tell me nothin’ about bricks and mortar!”

  “I’m not disputing that.” Adam’s speech was far removed from his father’s coarse dialect, but he looked equally ready to resort to a primitive exchange of blows should the first move be taken. “It’s your antiquated methods I abhor. When are you going to get it into that thick head of yours that we’re wasting time and money with that out-of-date brick kiln and if we only invest in the new process I’ve outlined to you —”

  “Shut your jaw! Or I’ll shut it for you! You think money grows on trees just because your mother had her way and sent you to them fancy schools. Made a namby-pamby of you. I left a dame school afore I was twelve and could read, write, and cipher. That were good enough for me and it should have bin good enough for you.”

  “Don’t sprout such nonsense at me. I’m sick of your ignorance. Are you going to take my advice about the brick kiln, or aren’t you?”

  “Never. I’ll see you in hell first.”

  “You’re a blundering old fool.”

  It could have been the flash point for blows. The foreman, who had worked many years for his master, winked meaningfully at some of the other men and they moved unobtrusively but purposefully a few steps nearer father and son, ready to leap forward and part them should the calamity of fisticuffs, so far avoided by a hair’s breadth on many previous occasions, come about at last. But even as Tansy, who had been at a loss whether to stay or go, decided she must withdraw and return later to see Roger, it was her brother himself who created a timely diversion.

  Unnoticed, he had come to the door of the carpenters’ workshop, woodshavings clinging to his apron and lying like golden snowflakes on his fair, curly hair, to stare with the rest of them at the angry scene, and now, absently leaning a hand against some planks stacked upright against the wall, he caused them to slip and come clattering down with a great din. Edgar swivelled around with an oath to see what had happened, and let out a bellow.

  “Idiot boy! That’s best timber!” He stomped toward Roger, his wrath temporarily diverted to this new target, and he drew up his hand in readiness to deal out a swiping backhander across the face of his youthful employee. With mingled admiration and anxiety Tansy saw that her brother did not quail, in spite of the fact that he was exceptionally short for his age and small-boned like their mother, but stood his ground and faced Edgar squarely and without insolence.

  “I know it is, sir,” he said bravely and openly. “The fault was mine.”

  Unexpectedly Edgar’s hand faltered. It could be that he remembered in the nick of time that this was the lad who had behaved with the courage of a man on the night of the cottage fire and had had enough grief to bear as a result of it without being punished physically for what was, after all, a harmless accident. He lowered his arm, but spoke no less fiercely, bushy brows lowered. “Why the devil was it stacked there in the first place?”

  It was the foreman, well used to dealing tactfully with his irascible master, who came over in time to answer first. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. It were you who said to leave it there.”

  “Hmm. Did I?” Edgar’s eyes shifted and he shrugged his big shoulders irritably. “Well, I only meant during unloadin’. See that it’s set where it belongs.” He went striding out of the yard and the atmosphere immediately relaxed, although Adam stayed where he was, glaring after him, showing himself to be dissatisfied with the way the clash between them had ended. The workmen dispersed homeward and the foreman only remained long enough to give Roger a final word about the restacking of the wood before departing too.

  Roger had not noticed Tansy and was stooping to get a grip on the end of a plank when she came to a standstill at his side. “Hello!” he exclaimed, taken aback. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to find out if Papa had been to see you.”

  He straightened up, dusting his hands on the seat of his trousers, and he frowned with deepest concern, catching a distressed undertone in her voice. “No, he hasn’t. He’s home then. Now — how did he take the news?”

  “Badly, I’m afraid.”

  “It was to be expected. Why did you part from him?”

  “He rode off on his own.”

  “He would want to be alone for a while,” he commented sagely on a sigh. “I’ll be glad to talk to him when he does come into the yard. Tell him if you see him again before I do, will you?”

  “I will. Well, I’d better not keep you from your work.”

  “No, you’d better not.” He spoke with private bitterness, leaning down to start lifting again, and she drew away with a backward glance over her shoulder at him. He had become singularly restless and resentful of his work since the fire, with wild talk of going to sea or emigrating or taking to the road. All the time she had told herself that her father would know how to cope with this strange, mutinous attitude when he came home. But now he was home and she had no idea where he might be.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing what you said.” It was Adam falling into step at her side, and her heart gave an unbidden little leap. “I gather your vigil was rewarded?�
�

  Tansy had long been attracted to Adam, despite his reputation for being the village heart-breaker, but early in the autumn he had become Nina’s beau, and she’d had to crush down her own feelings. Yet she knew herself to be still vulnerable to his easy charm and especially susceptible to his ever flirtatious eyes, which had the power to make any girl think it was she alone whom he found beautiful and desirable. Even though he was being sober and respectful at the present time in his questioning, she gave him no more than a quick glance as she answered him.

  “Yes, I was. As you know, it was my fear that someone else would blurt everything out to him on the road, but” — she shook her head sadly, slowing to halt as he leaned forward to open one of the gates for her —”I don’t know that I did any better.”

  “Nevertheless, he must have been thankful not to have heard it from other than his own kin,” he said kindly in an attempt to console her.

  She nodded, biting deep into her tremulous lip, and met his eyes. He smiled seriously at her and again she gave a nod, hurrying through the gate and down the arched passageway back into the street.

  She tramped the rutted track under the first stars to the farm-house where she found Nina sluicing out the dairy at the end of her day’s work. Her sister turned at her approach, bucket in her hand, her dark red hair hidden under a frilled cap, and stood with one hand on her hip, her whole stance one of physical tiredness and dejection.

  “Whatever brings you visiting at this hour?” Nina greeted her coldly, and then added on a note of sarcasm: “Nothing to do but take an evening stroll, I suppose.”

  It was enough to tell Tansy she had made a wasted journey and Oliver Marlow had not discovered his other daughters’ whereabouts and gone to them in his grief. Wearily she covered the last stretch of distance between them and thought as she did so that Nina’s complaints about her dairy work had been justified, for the girl looked wan and exhausted, the bloom gone from her face, her dark blue eyes shadowed, her cheeks hollow. Thank heaven, it would all come to an end in the morning. She reached the dairy and leaned against the doorjamb.

  “I’ve good tidings,” she said, hoping that no bleakness sounded in her voice. “Papa has returned.”

  Nina dropped the bucket with a clatter and wiped her fingers on her coarse apron. No joy showed in her unusual, elfin-eyed face. Only resentment was registered there. “And none too soon! Why isn’t he with you?”

  Tansy made an indecisive little movement with her hands. “Let’s find Judith first and I’ll explain.”

  Nina nodded, pulling the cap from her head and releasing her hair, which tumbled down her back like polished silk. She led the way along the path into the farmhouse kitchen where they found Judith alone in the lamplight, her neat head bent over some linen she was busily stitching for the farmer’s wife, her thimble flashing, and she looked up at the sound of their footsteps on the flagstones.

  “Tansy!” she exclaimed with smiling astonishment, lowering her sewing and putting it aside. “It’s late for you to come calling.” Then her gentle face tightened anxiously. “Is anything wrong?”

  After their bereavement she, always the calm and docile one, had become taut and overwrought in a way quite unnatural to her, nervous of anything that was slightly out of pattern, but gradually she was recovering from that stress and developing into a stronger personality, almost as if, much as she had loved Ruth, she had been dominated too much by her, just as a bud is prevented from opening into full flower by a shadow between it and the sun. Tansy, anxious that there should be no relapse, had made up her mind not to burden either of the girls with unnecessary worry. “I’ve seen Papa,” she said simply.

  Judith released a shuddering sigh, closing her eyes briefly. “He’s going to need us now.”

  Tansy gave her a curious look. How strange that her foster sister should have expressed in such an odd manner her relief that he was home, when it was they who had been in such desperate need of him as head of the family to take all matters into his charge. He was the pivot around which their lives had always turned.

  “How slowly the weeks of waiting have gone by.” Judith’s throat was full and she blinked at the glint of tears on her lashes. “He’s home, and I can hardly believe it’s true.”

  “It’s true enough.” Tansy went to her and they hugged each other spontaneously in the emotion of the moment, Tansy secretly in want of comfort, Judith expressing her affection for them all.

  Releasing Tansy, she looked expectantly toward the door as she reached for her stick and hauled herself to her feet, a tallish figure, thin and small-breasted with a swan-like neck and pretty hands. “Is he waiting outside? Oh, tell him to come in, do!”

  Tansy shook her head and the strands of hair dangling about her face reminded her that she had left her hat in the lane, but it had probably been crushed under cart wheels by now. “He’s not here. I met him beyond the village as we had planned, but the news was hard for him. He wants to be alone for a little while.”

  Judith’s expression became tragic as she shared mentally the widower’s anguish. It made the skin go tight over the pointed bone structure of her face, dulled the fawn-coloured lights in her hazel eyes, and made her lips look pinched and full of pain. Compassionately she whispered her own special name for him: “Poor Papa Oliver.”

  “You’ll be able to see him tomorrow, I’m sure,” Tansy assured her.

  Judith gave a nod, absently brushing back a light brown tendril that had slipped from the coil at the nape of her neck. None of them suspected how great a void had opened up for her with Ruth’s going, causing all the insecurity of her early childhood to come surging back to undermine all her stamina. For days she had been unable to check her copious tears, and she was ashamed that she had leaned too much on Tansy for succour instead of giving her the help she needed at such a time. But she had recovered herself and was determined that never again would she fail her or any of the other Marlows. With her resolve had come a peculiar sense of freedom, which was inexplicable to her, for she was as bound by her disability and her surroundings as she had ever been.

  “Would you like some tea?” she invited. “The kettle is on the hob. They let me make a cup for Nina when she comes in at this time from the dairy. There’ll be enough for three.”

  “Yes, I would.” Tansy would have dealt with the steaming kettle, but Nina motioned her to take a seat.

  “I’ll do it. Tea! Her rosy lower lip curled scornfully. “It’s only the tea leaves left in the pot from earlier today. They eat and drink like the peasants they are in this house. And their table manners. Dear God, the pigs in the sty make less noise.”

  “They’re kind people,” Judith pointed out firmly, “and farming folk have no time to waste at table.”

  Nina, having poured the boiling water into the teapot, put on the lid and stood waiting for the leaves to infuse. “You always make excuses for everybody,” she mocked her foster sister. “Be thankful that Mama saw to it that each of us learned to conduct ourselves mannerly, and it’s due to her that none of us has those crude local vowels to sully our speech. Not only can we be grateful that she spent hours teaching us herself to supplement the education we received at the village school, but she also ensured that we’ll be able to choose husbands a cut above the average when the time comes. Even Roger can do well for himself if he goes into business on his own when his apprenticeship is finished, making elegant furniture perhaps, and employing others.”

  Judith was silent. She considered both the Marlow girls to be exceptionally beautiful, Tansy with her dramatic golden loveliness, and Nina with her fascinating changeling looks, and knew they would get their choice of suitors when they wished it, but for herself she must relinquish all hope of marriage and the children she had longed to bear, knowing no man found her desirable with her thin body and wasted leg. Tansy, seeming to divine her thoughts, which was not surprising, for they had always been close, gave her a cheering smile.

  “Whoever gets you one da
y, Judith,” she said with complete sincerity, “will have the best wife of all. Neither Nina nor I have your sweet patience and forgiving nature. We have much to learn from you.”

  “The tea is ready,” Nina announced, rolling up her eyes at virtues she had no desire to possess.

  They sat at one end of the long wooden table where the grease stains gave evidence of the table manners that disgusted Nina, and talked as they drank the tea. Tansy was careful to parry all questions about Oliver apart from how he looked and if she thought he had had a good season. The tea was abysmally weak, but warming and not without flavour. She felt quite refreshed by it when she left the farmhouse to return to the village once more. Surely she would find her father looking for her. He would have forced himself to overcome that first terrible shock and his thoughts would have come round to his children again. He would remember how he had thrown her from him and be anxious about her, for he had never dealt harshly with any one of them, leaving matters of discipline to their mother, and the fear that he might have hurt her accidentally would press him sorely. She must find him quickly and reassure him. Perhaps he would want to discuss plans with her, deciding everything as he must have done so often in the past with her mother sitting quietly, listening to all he had to say.