Drifting Shadows

by Christine Green

  Words came without thought. ‘I’ll go and fetch the maister’s tray. He’ll be finished by now.’ She left the kitchen without looking at anyone and ran up the stairs, wondering at her wild feelings. She found Rupert Fielding slumped in his bed, asleep, his breathing calmer and some colour in his cheeks. His bedside table held a half emptied plate and a large, empty wine glass. Relieved to think that he was on the road to recovery, she folded the green coverlet closer over his chest and then took the tray downstairs.

  In the kitchen voices rose and fell, but she hardly heard what they said, for her mind was filled with the longing to do the dishes and then find Joseph. Clattering at the sink in the scullery, she found Nellie at her side.

  ‘So he ate his meal, then? It was almost an empty plate.’

  ‘Yes. And now he’s sleeping – maybe he’ll sleep through the night.’ Becky glanced sideways at Nellie. ‘Can I go, when this is done?’

  ‘Said as how you can.’ Nellie’s sharp eyes narrowed. ‘But keep away from that Briggs. He’s in an awful temper, all about the message Joseph brought. Run home quick and you’ll be safe.’

  Becky breathed in a great sigh of relief. Having Nellie on her side was a help, and yes, she knew the road home so well that even if Nat Briggs followed, she could easily disappear into the shadows before he saw her. And perhaps Joseph would follow….

  And then she heard the voices in the kitchen grow louder. ‘So when did you see the vicar? What you doin’ in Manaton, anyway?’

  ‘Heard as there was work in the church, carving of new pews, so I went and asked the vicar, Mr Broadland, showed him some o’ my work an’ he recalled I was with Mr Gosling and said good enough. I start tomorrow.’

  A chair scraped back and Becky winced as she heard Nat’s heavy footsteps on the flagstones. ‘An’ then he told you to tell me ’bout the service on Sunday? Important, he said? Have to find someone in maister’s place? So how did he know you was goin’ to see me?’

  There was suspicion in every word and she waited tensely for Joseph’s reply. She knew he was a man of action when driven to it, but his voice, deep and quiet, held no replying anger.

  ‘Told the Reverend I’d be coming to High Cross Manor to ask about Mr Fielding. Said as I’ve done work for him – and hope as how he’ll employ me again, so I must enquire about him.’

  Nat’s answering growl was to be expected, but suddenly Becky heard him stride across to the door, his last words for Nellie. ‘Tell maister I’ll be here tomorrer to get his orders.’

  The door slammed to, the untethered cob clattered out of the yard and Becky, wiping her hands, returned to the kitchen and dared meet to Joseph’s eyes. Putting dishes on the dresser on the side wall, Nellie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Off you goes, then. And remember as I lock the door after ten.’ She nodded, and Becky thought she saw a glint of amusement in the old, faded eyes.

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Mudge.’ She took up the shawl draped over her chair and, without looking at Joseph, let herself out into the yard. The evening was chilly and she walked very slowly down past the stables, the cow barn and the carpenter’s shop, uncertain whether to run or to wait. Suddenly she was full of burning, terrible doubt. What if Joseph didn’t want to find her? What if he really had come just to give Nat a message and convey his best wishes to the maister? What if he had already found a new girl in Manaton? What if—

  No! She wouldn’t allow herself to think such things. Instinctively, she turned back towards the kitchen door and stood there, half hidden in the shadow of the old lilac tree growing around the privy, bravely facing her fears and counting every slowly passing second.

  She waited a good ten minutes before the door opened and his voice reached out. ‘Thank you, Mrs Mudge – a good meal that was. I’ll be on my way now – and my best wishes to the maister, if you please. I hope he’ll be up and about again soon.’

  He stood, big and strong, in the dark doorway, looking about him, not seeing her until she slipped out from the lilac and faced him. Her heart raced, and she smiled.

  He said nothing, but smiled back, his eyes catching the pale moonlight as he put an arm around her, silently drawing her away out of the dusky patch of yard. They started walking towards the lane; he put a finger on her lips and Becky knew that she had been right to wait. She would wait for ever, if that was what he wanted.

  In the lane the hedges threw heavy shadows onto the path ahead of them until the growing moon slipped out from its veil of drifting clouds, and Becky thought her life had never before been so full of joy and contentment as in these few happy moments, walking between the Manor and High Cross Farm. At first they didn’t speak, until a fox suddenly slid through the hedge ahead of them, turned to stare, and then disappeared into the darkness.

  And then Joseph laughed, put his arm around her waist and drew her close. ‘We’re not alone, then, but as good as. So tell me, Becky Yeo, what you’re thinking.’

  She said nothing, too busy enjoying the nearness of his body.

  ‘Something about the maister? About your new position? About being away from home – on your own?’ His voice lowered a tone, but she thought she heard concealed amusement. ‘About being here, with me, a man you don’t know much of except what that rogue Briggs told you?’

  At once her voice was uncertain. ‘A girl at every farm, he said. How do I know if he’s right or wrong?’ She wasn’t going to let him see how she excited and joyous she felt. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. He must show her what sort of man he was first.

  Joseph stopped walking, holding her more tightly as he did so. He turned to look down at her and Becky felt herself giving in, leaning against him. ‘You know he’s wrong, Becky Yeo. You know there’s only one girl and she’s here, now. You know that, don’t you?’ His voice was deep and quiet and she felt his breath on her face.

  Of course she knew. Had known from the first time she heard him singing, walking down the road to Manaton when she was outside the farm, hiding from Nat Briggs. The voice, the song, the sense that there, walking away from her, was the man who would mean everything in her life. But she had been brought up by a mother who warned her all the time about men and their easy ways, their charms and promises, and then, never ending, their habit of going off and finding someone else.

  So she drew away, tightened her lips and said coolly, ‘I don’t know anything, Joseph. I’ve only seen you a few times.’ But then, because the urgent emotion inside her rushed out, the words refused to be stopped. ‘I need to find out … what you’re like. What sort of a man. And … what you want.’

  For a moment he said nothing, then his steps slowed, stopped and he turned to face her.

  ‘Becky, I want to tell you who I am. What I’m trying to do – and why. Let’s find somewhere where we can talk. Shall we?’

  The unexpected seriousness of his words touched her, made her nod, whisper, ‘Yes. Yes, please, Joseph.’

  He took her hands, smiled into her inquiring eyes and drew her along the lane until they reached a field gate. ‘In here. I’ll find you a comfy place to sit while we talk.’

  She sat at the bottom of the hedge, cushioned by grass and weeds, sheltered by the dark windproof foliage, expectant and tense. What did he have to tell her? Did she really want to know this man’s secrets? But his quiet presence, the comfort of his deep, low voice banished the doubts. He sat beside her, held her hand in his, warm and reassuring, and began his story.

  ‘I come from the Union Workhouse,’ he said quietly. ‘My mother died having me and so I spent the first nine years of my life there. In Newton Abbot. I was called Jack Adams because Jack was one of the ten names used for boys, and the surnames had just come around to A again, and Adams was the first on the list.’

  Something deep inside Becky stirred. She hadn’t expected anything like this. ‘But you said you were Joseph Freeman….

  His hands tightened around hers. ‘I am. I changed my name because once out of that prison I wanted freedom. And I chose Joseph because th
at was the name of the man who rescued me: the Reverend Joseph Gosling who found me living wild, took me in and found this little half starved creature had a mind that was curious enough to want to learn. He apprenticed me as a garden lad. And also he taught me.’

  Becky was silent, her mind too full to see clearly. Then, ‘And what did you learn?’

  ‘How to live. How to read and write, to enjoy music. I sang in his church choir. He taught me how to garden, to carve wood, build pigsties, care for animals and labour on the land. Before he died he taught me all I needed to live a good life. And so – here I am.’

  Wondering, she said slowly, ‘So that’s why you’re always going somewhere new. Hay making, harvesting, mending Mr Fielding’s bed panel….’

  ‘And now I’m off to Manaton church to make new bench pews and decorate their ends.’ His voice had lightened, holding a note of gaiety which seemed at odds with her own thoughts.

  ‘But if you never stay in one place, you’ll never have a home.’ She frowned. ‘Is that what you want? Always to be alone? Never to—’ She didn’t finish, for the picture she conjured up was up was too dark, too hurtful to describe. Her mind saw him for ever alone, on the move, always doing the next thing, having no roots, with no possibility of settled happiness. It was a wicked picture and she bowed her head, trying to push it away.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. That I’m no good for anything. For – anyone.’

  What could she say? Desperately, she searched for words. They came slowly, broken and hardly audible. ‘I don’t want to think that. I want you to – be someone. To do something.’ She stifled a sob, ashamed to think he might understand how she felt and need to escape. The words faded. ‘Love someone perhaps.’

  She thought his silence was the end of it all. Now he would say something like, ‘Well, I’m sorry but I’ve got to be free. That’s my name, and my life must be the same.’ But instead, after a long moment he said, very quietly, and with an arm slipping around her waist, ‘I do love someone, Becky. I love you. Probably always will. But first, I have to find where I’m going. Find the thing that will settle me, help me know that what I’m doing is right. Can you understand that?’

  Slowly and weakly she knew that she could. Strength grew. It dawned on her that working at High Cross Manor was, for her, the right thing. So of course he must find his own place in life. And even if it meant she wouldn’t be with him, she understood quite clearly that this was what he had to do.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, pushing back her tears and drawing on all her strength. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. And I hope you find it. I hope – so much….’ She couldn’t go on. Betraying tears fell and she turned away her head, but he pulled her close, his heart beating against her breast, his mouth whispering small love words into her hair, warming her, reassuring her, making a quiet but fervent promise she knew she would hold onto until he came back to her.

  If he ever did.

  CHAPTER 8

  He left her at the farmhouse door, kissing her and whispering, ‘Wait for me, Becky, won’t you?’ before turning and striding away down the yard.

  She watched for a moment and then heard other footsteps. Will came out of the shadows, a gun couched on his arm. Face to face with Joseph, he stopped abruptly and said harshly, ‘What you doin’ here? We don’t want you here, Freeman. You brings trouble. Leave Becks alone, get outa here and don’t come back.’

  Becky gasped, about to fly at him, but she froze as he raised the gun, leveling it at Joseph’s chest. A bitter silence swept through the yard, broken only by hard breathing and then Joseph’s deep, controlled voice saying, ‘I’ll go now, but I’ll be back and you can’t stop me, Will Yeo.’ She saw him turn away, striding purposefully into the darkness, and felt a cold hollowness fill her body.

  Will came up, stood looking at her and frowning. But his voice was warmer. ‘He’s no good. Don’t think no more o’ him – come indoors, maid.’

  She went in slowly, not looking back, her mind a slough of thoughts, images and voices, so that Thirza’s greeting – ‘Ah, maid, I hoped as you’d come home’ – didn’t at once make sense. She looked blankly around the lamp-lit kitchen, smelling the familiar scents of fire, oil, food and worn clothes and then, gratefully, felt the old warmth of home banish the pain that was surging through her.

  ‘We heard ’bout the maister,’ Thirza said anxiously. ‘Is he any better?’

  Becky unwrapped her shawl, watched Will come in, set down his gun and claim his usual fireside chair. She decided not to burden Ma with this latest problem, so said quickly, ‘Yes, Ma, he’s sleeping now. That’s why I’m here, ’cos he likes me to sit with him when he’s awake.’ She caught the look on Thirza’s face and sat up straighter, meeting her mother’s questioning, anxious eyes.

  ‘He’s poorly,’ she said defensively. ‘He needs looking after.’

  Thirza bowed her head and turned to the fire where the kettle was humming. ‘I’ll make tea.’ Her voice was low, and she looked, thought Becky, frowning, full of sorrow and anxiety.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ma?’

  No reply for a moment and then, ‘Will an’ me, we wants to talk to you, maid. Somethin’ serious.’

  ‘Yes?’ Becky tensed. She didn’t want more problems – surely there were enough of them already, casting shadows over her life. But she had to release the anger inside her. Words burst out. ‘I don’t want to talk to Will, he’s so hard and I don’t—’

  ‘It’s for your own good, Becks.’

  The blue eyes, looking across the room, had thawed. She stared, wondering what new game this was. Three years older than her, he had always tried to boss her around, and was still doing so, but there seemed some odd change in him tonight. Even his voice was more caring, the words slower than usual. ‘Mr Briggs has offered for you, maid.’

  Becky caught her breath. ‘Offered? You mean—?’

  She couldn’t say it, but Thirza did. ‘Wants to make you his wife. Wants you to marry ’im.’ The thin voice grew stouter. ‘It’d be a real good chance fer you, Becky, love – estate bailiff ’s wife, an’ he promises to do up his cottage. Why, just think—’

  ‘I’ll never marry him! He’s rough and dirty, hateful – how could you possibly think I might? And you want me to? Both of you do? No, you can’t! I won’t!’

  She was on her feet, raging at them as she flung herself around the room, feeling all the anger inside her striking out; her eyes blazed, her fists belaboured the air and her strident voice echoed off the shabby walls.

  Thirza was the first to answer, persuasive and loving. ‘But, maid, you’ll be set up for life. Safe. No more hard work like ’ere, chances of nice clothes, an’, – an….’ Meeting Becky’s wild eyes, she faded, huddling on her stool, a sad, teary figure, shaking her head and dissolving into silence.

  ‘She hasn’t thought it through.’ Will stood up, came to Becky’s side and laid a hand on her heaving shoulder. ‘Don’t say no more. Let’s have tea an’ then I’ll walk you back to High Cross Manor. C’mon, maid, sit down.’

  Boiling water pouring onto twice used tea leaves. A slide of burning wood sending a glitter of ash onto the hearth. They sat down in silence, sipped the tea, each deep in thought, until Will said, more cheerily than Becky thought she had ever heard him speak, ‘Wanna hear ’bout Dinah, d’you, Becks? How she’s gettin’ on?’ and Becky knew that she owed it to her family to return to everyday matters and leave the awful suggestion of marrying Nat Briggs for another day.

  But she had to accept that, like Will had said, she must think about it.

  Later they walked together down the lane, heading for the Manor, as the fast moving clouds released the brilliance of stars overhead. The little owls that nested in the woodland were on the hunt, small voices carrying through the still quietness, and Becky slowly felt her anger drawn away into this peaceful night as she listened as Will, for once in his life, it seemed, talked easily to her.

  ‘Dinah’s doin’ well, Becks. Hard worker
an’ she makes me laugh.’

  Makes Will laugh? Becky found herself smiling at the idea, but also wondering what gift plump little Dinah possessed that was clearly making Will more affable, even more cheerful. Whatever it was, she felt a warmth of filial affection spread through her.

  ‘So, in a way, it’s good that I’ve gone and you’ve got Dinah instead.’

  He didn’t reply at once, but looked at her sideways, and then nodded, before saying slowly, ‘So what ’bout that Freeman chap, eh? You don’t want nothin’ to do with him, Becks. I warned him off.’

  ‘You and your gun,’ she said with a quick blaze of returning anger. ‘After a fox, were you, and then heard us come home?’

  ‘Aye.’ He said no more, but she knew from the slouch of his shoulders that this was a tricky subject and best to leave alone.

  ‘Thank you for walking back with me, Will. I’ll come again when I can. And in the meantime—’ She stopped, turned to face him as the Manor farm yard opened up before her, and suddenly, on an impulse, kissed his hoary cheek. Her brother, with all his own problems and thoughts. He deserved her love. ‘I’ll think about what Nat wants, Will. But don’t hope too much. And don’t talk to him. Well, goodnight, now,’ and she ran towards the kitchen door.

  He waited, watching her go into the house, heard the latch bang to behind her, and then turned, striding rapidly back along the dark lane, going home. He wondered briefly if his warning to that useless Freeman chap was enough to keep him away, and then, half smiling, went back to thinking of Dinah and her funny ways.

  Two days later, Rupert Fielding insisted on getting up. Nat Briggs brought the village midwife and general cottagers’ helpmate to help dress and shave him and Becky brought up a breakfast tray to the study where the invalid somehow got himself to the table and chair and sat there, glowering into the brilliant sunshine that brought the dusty, shabby furniture into high relief.