Drifting Shadows

by Christine Green

  Nellie Mudge got on with her cooking, but looked at Becky as she came back into the kitchen. ‘Sounds like maister told him off,’ she said. ‘An’ not before time. Now we can all get on with our work and forget his nastiness.’

  Becky nodded. His absence was a blessing, but she still felt anxious. What had the maister said to him? How had Nat Briggs answered? The business of the secret weighed heavily on her mind, and she went up towards the study to deal with the accounts with a feeling of unease. And Joseph was still in the background of her mind, their confrontation last night a shadow which refused to move away.

  Rupert Fielding didn’t hear her first knock on the door, and when she repeated it he answered in a slow, quiet voice, which made her wonder even more what had happened between him and Nat Briggs.

  She crossed the room, immediately aware that he was looking at her in a different way from usual. Generally he quickly said good morning and then started talking about invoices and accounts. But now he was sitting well back in his chair, one hand at his back, rubbing the still painful muscles. He gestured towards the chair facing him and, instead of at once pulling the account book towards him and explaining something to her as she expected, merely sat there, eyes fixed on her face.

  Becky felt uncomfortable under his unblinking gaze. She thought perhaps he was blaming her. Had Nat told enough lies to make her seem as guilty as he was? Did Mr Fielding think that, between them, they were planning something to their advantage, and at a cost to the maister and the estate?

  She saw on the table a piece of crumpled paper and realized this was the scrap that Nat had waved in front of her face as he told her that he knew her secret. And now it was in front of the maister…. Suddenly words erupted from her. ‘Has he given it back to you? Can I forget all about it? Is he still trying to make me give in?’

  Rupert Fielding picked up the paper, looked at it, folded it and then put it into his waistcoat pocket. He didn’t reply at once, but his eyes never left her face. Eventually, he broke the silence. ‘Becky, I think you should take some time off. Tom will drive you into Moreton and you can buy yourself a more suitable dress. You don’t look like a housekeeper and you should. And another thing – you are to move into one of the guest bedrooms. That attic is not suitable for your situation.’

  She was astounded. ‘I don’t understand.’

  He sighed, moved painfully in the chair. ‘It’s quite simple. A kitchen maid can wear shabby clothes, but a housekeeper has a certain position to keep up and must dress accordingly.’ He waited but she said nothing, and then he smiled, chuckling slightly as he said drily, ‘I thought you’d be pleased. Young girls love dresses, don’t they?’

  ‘Why yes, of course. And I know my clothes are shabby and old. So, well, thank you, Mr Fielding.’ Her uneasiness vanished and she returned his smile, even as her thoughts circled. Why should he do this for her? What did it mean?

  He sat up, reached for the account book and said, in his usual sharp voice, ‘You can go this afternoon. Tell Tom to come and see me when you finish here. He can also post a letter for me.’ He stopped, looked at her, frowned, and then added slowly, ‘I am hoping that Mrs Richards will be returning to England in a week or so. I am asking her to come and visit as soon as she can.’

  Becky nodded, tried to return the conversation to more normal matters and said, ‘She’ll notice a change in the house, sir. It’s really looking very good now, except, of course, for the repairs in the library.’ She paused as a wonderful idea flashed through her mind. ‘I don’t think Jim Browning has much idea about working with wood. But there is a local man who is a real craftsman.’

  Rupert Fielding pursed his lips. ‘Yes, I remember – the man who repaired the bed panel? What was his name?’

  She held her breath for a second. Then ‘Joseph Freeman. He’s working at Hound Tor at the moment, digging up the old stones. I – I could get a message to him.’

  ‘A good idea. Do that, please. It’s important to get the library shelves repaired and back to their old appearance. Tell him to come as soon as he can.’

  Becky said a quiet, ‘Yes’ and waited for a moment. The secret was still in her mind, but he hadn’t said anything about it. She saw him scrutinize the account book and then push it over the table towards her.

  ‘You’re doing a good job on these, Becky. In fact, you’re working very well. I shall see that your wage is increased.’

  They looked at each other and then she said quietly, ‘Thank you, sir. And I’m grateful to you for giving me the chance to better myself. It’s always been my dream.’

  ‘Has it? You’re ambitious, then? You’ve always wanted to get on in life?’ His eyes were narrowed and stared at her. His fingers began drumming on the table and he said slowly, ‘Becky, we must talk about the paper that Briggs stole, and which he was threatening you with. The secret he has discovered.’

  Her heart began to race. She sat a little straighter and tried to prepare herself for – what?

  Rupert Fielding moved painfully in his chair and slowly got to his feet. He stretched, grimaced, then turned to the window, his back to her. For a long moment he was silent. Then abruptly he turned, looking down at her.

  ‘Becky, the secret was once forgotten, but now it’s come alive again. It concerns me, mostly, but your family are part of it and all I’m prepared to tell you is that you have nothing to fear now from Briggs. I confronted him with all the deceit that has come to light in the accounts ledger, and also threatened him with losing his position as estate bailiff if he continues to harass you. I hope that will make you feel better. No need to allow him to frighten you, because I don’t think he will trouble you any more.’

  It seemed as if a weight had dropped off her shoulders. She took in a huge breath and felt her whole body soften. ‘Thank you,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Does that mean that he – Mr Briggs – won’t tell anyone about the secret?’

  ‘He’s given me his oath, for what it’s worth.’ Rupert Fielding’s voice was dry and his face reflected his thoughts. Then his expression changed. ‘One other thing, Becky, I want your promise that you will never tell anyone about this matter. Not your mother, your brother, or anyone else. It happened in the past and nothing can change it, but it’s better to let it lie there – forgotten. So, have I your word?’

  She stared at him, uncertain. ‘But you said it concerns us – so why can’t I know?’

  ‘Because it’s unnecessary for you to know.’ His voice was hard. ‘It would possibly distress you, and I don’t want that. Be patient, Becky, be patient and forget all this trouble. You have your life before you – a good situation here, and everything is going well for you. So why worry about past events?’ He smiled.

  Becky thought hard. To do as he asked, and forget a secret had ever existed – it sounded sensible. And he was right. Her life was jogging along serenely. She enjoyed her work at the Manor; she was able to give some of her wages to Ma, and she thought Will was more kindly disposed towards her than he had ever been.

  But – Joseph.

  The one shadow that was always there, and perhaps would never go away.

  Determinedly, she raised her head, met Rupert Fielding’s questioning eyes, and said, ‘Yes, sir, I give you my word. I won’t think any more of that secret.’

  He nodded, smiled with a happier expression than she had seen before, and said, ‘Good. So now let us get on with the accounts. And you must tell Tom to get the trap ready for your afternoon outing. Oh, and don’t forget to send a message to the man about the library repairs. What did you say his name was?’

  ‘Joseph Freeman.’ Her voice was tightly controlled, and she bent her head as she opened the ledger and prepared to listen to the morning’s instructions about credit and loss. She felt proud of herself, sitting there, a housekeeper who was to dress suitably and have a comfortable bedroom here at High Cross Manor.

  Her mind focused then on the accounts ledger, and the morning sped by without any more disturbing thoughts.


  CHAPTER 13

  A new feeling of authority came into Becky’s mind now. Mr Fielding wanted her to look like a housekeeper as well as acting as one. She wouldn’t argue about that. When the accounting was finished for the morning, she went downstairs and found Tom in the yard.

  ‘Mr Fielding said that you are to drive me into Moretonhampstead this afternoon.’

  A look of surprise crossed his face. ‘Drive you?’

  ‘Yes, Tom. I have some shopping to do.’ Brief amusement swept through her. She was the housekeeper and he must know his place. ‘Where’s Eddie? I have a job for him.’

  The boy came out of the stable. ‘Eddie, the maister wants you to go to Hound Tor and find the men who are digging up the stones in the valley beyond the Tor. Tell one of them, Joseph Freeman, that he should come here to the Manor as soon as he can. Mr Fielding has work for him.’

  They were both wide-eyed.

  ‘I’ll be ready after dinner, Tom,’ she said firmly. ‘And there will be a letter for you to post in Moreton, please.’ Not waiting for his answer, she went back into the kitchen.

  Nellie Mudge gave her a long, thoughtful look. ‘Something happened? Briggs charged out like a randy bull.’

  ‘Mr Fielding had words with him. He’s got to stop all his little tricks with money and repay it. And he’s not to worry me any more.’ Her voice was lighter and she knew that her smile was unbounded. ‘Mrs Mudge, I’m to go into Moreton this afternoon and buy a dress that’s more suitable for a housekeeper. And I can move into one of the guest rooms!’

  She felt like dancing around the room, but a housekeeper would never do such a thing. Instead she went to look in the cracked little mirror hanging on the far wall. Her face was bright, her smile easy. No worry clouded her eyes. Everything suddenly seemed wonderful; the secret was forgotten, Nat was out of the way and Joseph was coming to work here at the Manor. She would see him every day. She couldn’t help turning to Nellie and saying, with a laugh, ‘I’m so happy! Things are going right at last….’

  Nellie stirred the pot on the fire, not looking at her. She said thoughtfully, ‘Sounds as if the maister likes having you around. You’ve done well. Just be careful, that’s all.’

  Becky stood quite still. ‘Careful? What do you mean?’

  Nellie pursed her lips and looked away. ‘Nothing. Just – well, don’t ask for too much.’

  ‘But I haven’t asked for anything. Mr Fielding has done it all – made me housekeeper, said I must have a new dress and a better bedroom.’ Some of her joy slipped away. What was Nellie going on about? She walked over to the range and looked into Nellie’s suddenly veiled eyes.

  ‘What do you mean? Tell me, please….’

  There was a long moment’s silence while Nellie straightened her slumped shoulders and thought. Then, turning to the pot on the fire, she said tightly, ‘I don’t mean nothing. But others might wonder at the maister taking such a fancy to you.’

  Becky felt something inside her knot and a growing uneasiness made her remember Ma saying that Mr Fielding was a bad man. And now Nellie was hinting at something unpleasant. She said slowly, and with a tremor in her voice, ‘It’s not like that. I’m just a servant. Like you. Like Tom and Eddie.’

  Nellie looked over her shoulder and their eyes met. She nodded her head and said, very quickly, ‘Like Grace.’ Then she bit her lip and shook her head, as if knowing she had said too much.

  Heart starting to pump, Becky asked unsteadily, ‘So tell me about Grace. Please.’

  ‘I’m not sayin’ any more. I’ve said too much as it is. But I don’t want you hurt, maid.’

  ‘Why should I be hurt?’ Becky couldn’t leave it, watching as Nellie went back to stirring the pot and not saying any more.

  The meal was a silent one with thoughts flying around but no words expressing them, and Becky was glad when Tom came to the door and said the trap was ready.

  The small dressmaker’s shop in Moretonhampstead had little stock, but Becky chose a dark green worsted frock, long sleeved and high necked, that would be warm in the winter, its dark colour not showing too much wear. She tried it on, looked in the long glass, and wondered at the change she saw. No longer an untidy young girl, now she was neatly, almost elegantly dressed, her hair knotted at the back of her neck, and a new felt hat which she couldn’t resist, dipping over her eyes.

  Mrs Best, the dressmaker, smiled at the reflection. ‘Suits you, Miss Yeo. And it’ll wear well. Send the account to Mr Fielding, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Becky kept the frock on and watched while the old one was packed up.

  She felt different, now; more sure of herself, capable of meeting Mr Fielding’s friends when they called, and able to push aside foolish remarks from old Nellie and concentrate on her new status in life.

  When Mrs Best asked obsequiously, ‘I do hope you’ll keep my name in mind, Miss Yeo. Your recommendation would be most helpful,’ she felt a touch of power and abruptly understood how Nat Briggs had felt when Mr Fielding had been unable to deal with matters. and he had found himself in an unexpected position of authority. Perhaps it was difficult to blame him.

  Driving home in the trap, she hardly noticed the colours of the countryside. Dying bronze bracken sheeted the hillside, and heather bushes on wiry stems had turned brown. The sun shone on the rocks littering the green turf, and bleached moorland grass waved in great pale drifts, but her mind was on her new situation, and on the prospect of having Joseph working at High Cross Manor.

  Eddie came back with a message from the Reverend Mr Gould that he would be sorry to lose Joseph Freeman, who was a good worker, but understood Mr Fielding’s need. Freeman would report to High Cross Manor at the end of the week. And in the meantime he hoped that Mr Fielding was recovering from his unfortunate accident.

  Rupert said roughly, ‘Typical of a parson, no sense of urgency – all these idle antiquarians can think of is the old stones and what they were once used for. Repairing a dwelling means nothing to them. Still, if Freeman comes at the end of the week that’ll be something.’ He looked at Becky, who had brought the message and now stood in the study, wondering if her new dress was approved of.

  ‘You look different – ah, the dress. Yes.’ He smiled as if amused and she blushed, her thoughts abruptly circling. Had Mr Fielding treated Grace in the same away as he was treating her? But who had Grace been? A village girl, like her?

  ‘Very nice.’ He got to his feet, pain evident in every slow movement, and limped towards her. ‘And what about the bedroom? Have you moved in? Which room have you chosen?’

  ‘The second guest room – Mrs Mudge said it would be the best one for me. And no, I haven’t taken my things there, not yet. The day has gone so fast.’ They were close, so close that she smelled cigars and whisky and saw a new light in his hooded, dark eyes. Alarm touched her and she stepped backwards.

  At once the light vanished, replaced by what she read as irritation. ‘Not afraid of me, are you, Becky?’ His voice was quick and hard.

  ‘I – no, no, of course not, sir.’ She fought to get control of her feelings and managed a tight smile.

  He stood there, looking at her and slowly she felt the uneasiness die. He was just the maister, admiring the new dress and making sure that she was moving into a better bedroom, one that was her due now she was promoted to housekeeper. He held no fear for her. Indeed, she enjoyed his smile, as he limped towards the door.

  ‘Go and move into your bedroom, then, Becky. And no doubt you want to go and see your mother and brother after dinner to tell them your good news, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, sir, thank you.’

  In the open doorway he stopped, looked over his shoulder at her and said quietly, in a warmer tone of voice than the one she was used to, ‘Don’t call me that, Becky. Mr Fielding will do.’ He nodded, smiled briefly, then disappeared down the passage.

  She stood in the middle of the study and waited until his uneven footsteps faded, then she
breathed in deeply and went out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Upstairs in the attic room, she gathered her few belongings and carried them down to the guest room at the back of the house, where she sat on the bed thinking for a long time and trying to work out just what was happening in her life now.

  So many changes; and the most extraordinary one was surely that Mr Fielding was being so kind to her. What had she done to deserve this? Had her work, both with the accounts and the cleaning of the house, struck him as exceptional? Yet she had to admit to herself that his regard seemed more personal. That he saw her as Becky Yeo, and not just another servant working in his house. Perplexed, she got up from the bed and walked across to the window, pulling back the newly washed curtains and then staring out at the moorland, stretching away into the distance.

  For a moment her thoughts ceased worrying her and a sense of peace came instead. From this window at the back of the house she saw the age old beauty of Dartmoor reaching out, full of approaching autumnal colours, and thought back to the years that she had spent in this valley below the high hills and tors and knew, once again, that she would never want to leave it.

  She knew, too, that certain things had changed her – made her suddenly grow up and become more perceptive about life. Finding Joseph – she smiled, remembering their early encounters – had been the most important of the strange events now affecting her life. Understanding Nat Briggs’s unwanted and frightening pursuit of her was another. And now this almost unbelievable feeling of sympathy and something even warmer – was it friendship? – that Mr Fielding had instilled in her. This was the most extraordinary.

  She sighed, turned back from the window and looked around the room. So this was her new bedroom, her own place where she could be alone when she needed to be, resting or thinking and planning – dreaming, perhaps. As the second guest room it didn’t have the elegance of the more superior room next door, but even so the decorations were splendid and pleasing. Rugs, softening the old highly polished floorboards. Flowered wallpaper. Dark, heavy oak furniture in which to store her few clothes and belongings. A bed with a softer mattress than she had ever lain on before, pillows and warm blankets covered with an embroidered counterpane and pictures on two of the walls. It was almost the room of a fine lady, someone more used to living in comfort than herself, she thought, wryly smiling.