by Anna Jacobs
His voice was rough and angry. ‘I don’t need your charity!’
‘I’m not offering it! See for yourself.’
She tossed the piece of paper at him, scattering more sand over the other papers, then sitting drumming her fingers on the table as she waited for him to finish studying her figures.
He muttered under his breath, then looked up with another of his frowns. ‘You've been overgenerous.’
‘On the contrary, I’ve omitted the many small services you’ve done for us. It is I who am in your debt and I’m no more minded to take anyone's charity than you are!’
They sat glaring at each other across the table and in the end, conscious that she was his landlord as well as an attractive woman, Will forced himself to swallow his anger and say in his abrupt way, ‘Then we’ll call it quits and I’ll be over tomorrow to start mending those attic windows.’
She inclined her head, accepting this compromise, and watched him stalk out of the house. She had intended to offer him a dish of tea again because when they were not quarrelling, she enjoyed his company greatly. The pile of coins he’d left behind was smaller than she’d hoped, but she had complete faith in his judgement, as well as his honesty. And when had she begun thinking of him as simply ‘Will’? It wasn’t seemly.
But she knew how much she depended on him. If only she’d been pretty, she might have - what was she thinking of? She tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere, but it was in vain. Every time she saw him, he seemed to lodge a little more deeply in her thoughts.
‘Oh, you are a fool, Sarah Bedham!’ she muttered, then realised how comfortable the new name had become on her lips and gave a wry smile.
* * * *
One day, when Sarah and Hannah were working together on one of the dusty rooms, Hannah asked her about some rumours that were circulating in the village. ‘They say you’re goin’ to leave Broadhurst after all, mistress, that you be short of money.’
‘What? Who says that?’
‘’Tis common talk over the cider pots. Ted Haplin heard it and asked me if it was true. Him an’ his family would be in a fine pickle if Mr Sewell took over, you see. Don’t like the Waste dwellers, he don’t, because they don’t pay any rent to him.’
‘Well the rumour isn’t true! How could anyone possibly think I’d leave?’
‘No one would blame you, mistress,’ said Hannah, striving to be fair. ‘’Tis hard for a woman on her own, as I d’know, and you not raised to country ways. They say as you're missin’ town life and the company you had there.’
‘I’m not on my own and I had no other company in town than my mother. Here, I have you and Mary and Daniel . . . ’ She saw that Hannah was still frowning. ‘Well, what else is there?’
Hannah gave her a long, thoughtful look. ‘No other gossip, but there is something I’d like to say to you.’
‘Well?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Mistress Sarah, I doubt it’s my place to speak such things, but there be no one else, so I’ve prayed to the Lord and studied my Bible, and it came to me what I must say.’
Sarah was puzzled. ‘I shall not take offence at anything you say, I promise you.’
‘Well, then. Be you intending to live here all the length of your days, mistress?’
Hannah's conversation was sometimes a strange mixture of rustic speech and quotations from the Bible, Sarah thought, but the maid never spoke to no purpose, so she replied to the question.
‘You know I am! The Manor has belonged to my family for many years. It’s my home now,’ her voice cracked on the word, then she whispered, ‘the only real home I’ve ever had, Hannah.’
‘And after you die - what then?’
‘Die? Really, Hannah, why be so gloomy? I’m not like to die for a good few years yet!’
‘’Tain't bein’ gloomy, mistress, ’tis using plain common sense. I’d been a-reading my Bible the other night, as they taught me at chapel, and there the answer was, starin’ me in the face as clear as my own hand: Genesis, Chapter 9, First Verse, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the Earth.’ What you need, Mistress Sarah, is a husband, or you cannot be fruitful and multiply. ’Tis not enough just to live out your days here. You need a helpmeet to tend your land and to provide heirs for the future.’
Sarah stood there, stunned.
As the silence continued, Hannah said anxiously, ‘I pray you be not offended!’
‘I’m not offended. I’m - surprised.’ How could you take offence at a woman like Hannah, who was honest and sincere, and who had become her mistress’s main comfort and support?
What had surprised and shocked Sarah was the sheer good sense of what Hannah had said. She did need a husband, someone who would have a vested interest in looking after her and her land. ‘It’s just that - marriage is not very likely. No gentleman has ever,’ she coloured, ‘shown an interest in me.’
The admission came painfully, for there was nothing Sarah would have liked better than to marry and have children. She would believe herself resigned to her spinsterhood, but then something would remind her of her longing for children and always, it was like touching a fresh wound. It had been worse since she came here and - she admitted it to herself at least - since she met Will. ‘I learned years ago, Hannah, how unattractive I am to gentlemen. Who would want to marry me?’
‘I weren’t talkin’ of love matches, Mistress Sarah. I don’t hold with that sort of carnal love, anyway. I were talkin’ of bargains, fair honest bargains. Nor I weren’t talkin’ of gentlemen, neither. A fine gentleman would be no use to you in this. You’ve got land, do you see, even if it is in bad heart, and there’s many a man would be glad to take you, yes and treat you decently, for the sake of it. If you be not too proud to wed a farmer.’
Sarah pressed both her hands to her hot cheeks.
‘Oh, Hannah, don’t! I - It’s just not possible.’
‘I must speak out, mistress. The Lord has put the words into my heart and I must say them for Him, if I suffer for it after. You have a kind soul and that do shine in your face. It’s only young girls without dowries as need to be pretty, and that's a fact! Folks round here generally think carefully what they be doin’ when they decide to get wed. They look for a wife as'll be a helpmeet to them, or a husband as'll be a good provider.’
She let that sink in, then added more softly, ‘You mustn’t hold yourself too cheap. You've got a lot to offer a man. And besides - you look better now you’re eating well - as long as you don’t work too hard, that is. Everyone’s noticed. Your hair fair shines in the sunlight. Lovely, it is.’
Sarah avoided her eyes and fiddled with her apron, embarrassed by this plain speaking, but unable to stop listening, nonetheless.
‘So, mistress, we must look round for the right man for you.’ Hannah nodded her head briskly. ‘And that, mistress, is what needed saying, so I’ll hold my tongue now and leave you to think on it.’ She returned to her scrubbing.
Sarah went to wash the windows in the library, but her thoughts weren’t on her work, and when Hannah came in and offered to finish them for her, she nodded and wandered out into the garden, needing to be on her own for a time.
In the distance she could see old Daniel Macey directing Petey and Hetty's efforts, so she turned in another direction, making her way as best she could along the overgrown paths. Bella appeared and started to follow her, making little sallies into the shrubbery and emerging with sticks to be tossed and earth on her nose. The two dogs were growing fast and already they reached Sarah’s knees, promising to be as large as their mother one day.
Hannah's words kept echoing in her mind as she walked. ‘What you d’need, Mistress Sarah, is a husband.’ A husband! Perhaps some man - Sarah carefully refrained from thinking who - might marry her for the sake of the land. No, no, what was she thinking of? The very idea was ridiculous! She was lame and too tall. Men didn’t find her attractive. But - there were men who hungered for land.
Will Pursley's face rose again before
her eyes and she moaned as embarrassment flooded her cheeks with heat. He would never . . . She couldn’t bear the humiliation of even suggesting it and . . . Oh, why was she thinking like this?
Turning round abruptly, she called to the dog and returned to the house, where she immersed herself in work and gave herself no more time to think. All day long she kept her body busy and tried to occupy her thoughts with practical plans for the future improvement of the main rooms.
But that night she tossed and turned for hours, and couldn’t get Hannah's words from her brain. She did have a duty to her family’s home and land. What would happen to Broadhurst after she died if she didn’t give it an heir?
It wasn’t too late for that! Not yet.
* * * *
The next few days passed in such furious activity on Sarah’s part that Hannah kept looking at her thoughtfully.
They must do something about the other rooms, declared Sarah.
They couldn’t leave the garden at the front of the house any longer in such a wild tangle. What would people think if they came to call? she demanded the next day, hands on hips, frown on her face.
She spent the whole of one day collecting the broken metal household equipment together. These must be taken to Thad the Blacksmith to be repaired. So the flat-irons, candle-snuffers, toasting forks, bedwarmers and other tools of everyday life were despatched and Sarah turned to find another task.
But nothing she did stopped her thoughts returning to what Hannah had said, and the phrase, Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth kept repeating itself in her brain - and in her heart, too.
Even Will had once said that she really needed a husband.
* * * *
By the second Sunday in April, Mr Rogers was at last well enough to hold a service, and everyone in the village, gentry and common folk alike, dressed in their best and made their way to church on a fine, but windy day.
Will and his mother insisted on driving Sarah there and when they arrived, the churchwarden, Thad Honeyfield, ceremonially escorted her to the Bedham pew, where she was left to sit in solitary splendour. The Sewells were in the front pew on the other side of the church and behind them sat two elderly ladies, who must be the Misses Serring. Mr Rogers had mentioned them, saying they would soon be returning from visiting their niece in Wells.
Sarah couldn’t help being conscious of the scowls Mr Sewell cast in her direction, but didn’t let that deter her from studying his family. Mistress Sewell was a small, faded-looking woman, who threw Sarah a quick, apologetic glance and then kept her eyes on her prayer book. Beside her sat a thin-faced young man, the son no doubt, and beyond him their daughter, a buxom girl with a high colour and elaborate clothes more suited to a rout party than a Sunday visit to a country church. The young woman stared curiously at Sarah until her mother nudged her and tapped the prayer book on her lap.
Mr Rogers preached a brief sermon on the text of loving your neighbour, during which Mr Sewell yawned audibly. The sermon was liberally interspersed with Latin tags, which were beyond most of the congregation, but they sat there stolidly, only moving to cuff any child who dared to fidget. There was no village choir or means of making music, but Thad Honeyfield led the singing of a hymn in a rich bass voice and everyone joined in with great enthusiasm, if not agreement about the key to sing in.
At the end of the service Mr Sewell moved rapidly from his place to follow the parson down the aisle, dragging his shrinking wife on his arm. Sarah couldn’t understand why the congregation gasped and muttered at this, and it had to be explained to her later. Everyone knew it was for Thad, as churchwarden, to open the pew gates and then the Bedhams should lead the way out.
Outside, the Sewells didn’t linger, but Mr Rogers stood in the porch and introduced Sarah to the Misses Serring, who were eager for an opportunity to meet their new neighbour. They twittered over her for a while, which she endured as patiently as she could, accepting an invitation to take tea with them with a stifled sigh, because she found them over-fussy.
She didn’t deem the question of precedence worth making a fuss about, but the villagers thought otherwise. On the following Sunday, Thad Honeyfield was waiting as the service drew to an end. He managed to hold the gate of the Sewells' pew closed as the parson made his way down the aisle, so that Sarah was forced to leave her pew first. There was a general nodding of heads in approval and folk smiled at her as she led the way self-consciously out of the church.
Again the Sewells did not linger but climbed into their carriage and were driven straight off home, but the other folk stopped to chat.
Having taken tea with the two old ladies, Sarah felt obliged to invite them to visit her at the Manor on the following Tuesday, though she didn’t take much pleasure in their company. They seemed to fill their days with a quantity of useless activities and to lavish their otherwise unwanted affections upon a fat and elderly dog and a disdainful grey cat.
Would she too become like them when she grew older if she never married? And what would become of the Manor when she died?
She clicked her tongue in exasperation at herself. Hannah's words seemed to have coloured her thinking about everything, even two harmless old ladies who were making overtures of friendship.
* * * *
The following week, the weather broke again and it rained for three days without stopping. The farmers might be glad of it, but Sarah fretted at her incarceration. When the fourth day dawned clear but cloudy, she decided to walk to the village and make a few purchases.
Hannah warned her that the going would be heavy, but shrugged her shoulders when her mistress insisted that she needed the exercise. If Mistress Sarah wished to make herself suffer, she would do it whatever anyone said.
But the mud was worse than Sarah had expected and her bad hip and leg were aching before she even got to the village. And to make matters worse, both Mr Rogers and Mistress Jenks were out, so she couldn’t stop at the parsonage for her usual rest. Stoically she began to limp home with her basket, regretting her obstinacy now and concentrating all her efforts on not falling.
Will Pursley appeared as if by magic at the end of the lane and this time she didn’t protest when he took the heavy basket from her and set it down by the side of the road. But when he swung her into his arms, she gasped in surprise.
‘Put me down at once!’
He ignored her request and began to carry her up the pathway to the home farm.
‘You seem hell bent on killing yourself!’ he stated, with his usual bluntness. ‘You’re as white as those walls with the pain of that hip! Why do you do it?’
‘I didn’t realise that it would be quite so bad - and Mr Rogers was out, so I couldn’t have a rest there,’ she replied in a low voice, embarrassed to find that she felt more like bursting into tears than arguing with him over his high-handed behaviour. She blinked the tears away and leaned her head against his chest, feeling his heart beating and hearing his deep breaths as he carried her into the cottage. How safe it felt in his arms! How strong he was!
He kicked the door open and shouted for his mother as he deposited Sarah on the sofa. ‘Mother, Mistress Bedham has very foolishly over-tired herself again. Give her a cup of tea while I fetch her basket of shopping. After I finish clearing the gutters, I’ll harness the pony and drive her back to the Manor. It’s a good thing I was up on the roof and saw her.’
‘I’d have managed!’ Sarah threw at him. ‘I’ve told you before I don’t want your pity!’
‘Pity! It’s not pity you need, but a good scolding to try to get some sense into you. You've more than yourself to consider now. What would folk round here do if anything happened to you? They'd be completely at Sewell’s mercy then!’
‘Will! Hold your tongue, do!’ Mistress Pursley pushed him out of the house and he went, still muttering under his breath about ‘stubborn fools, who won’t admit their own limitations’. His mother turned and said apologetically to Sarah, ‘He means well, my Will, but he was never one
to coat the truth with honey. Don’t let him upset you.’
‘I’m afraid he was right. This time, anyway.’
‘Well, it’s water under the bridge, now, my dear. I dare say you felt cooped up after all that rain. I’ll tell you what, I’ll mull you some of my own cider. That's the best thing there is to warm you up, never mind tea. You lean your head back and rest for a while, and I’ll make us both a tankard, then, when he’s finished, Will shall drive you home, like he said.’
Sarah nodded, still close to tears. She let Mistress Pursley fuss over her and drank the mulled cider obediently, holding the warm pewter tankard gratefully between fingers that still trembled a little.
She thanked Will stiffly when he later deposited her at the front door of the Manor. He carried the basket inside for her in silence, telling Hannah to see if she could talk her stubborn fool of a mistress into lying down for a rest.
Fuming, Sarah watched him stride out, but when he’d driven off, she burst into tears and allowed Hannah to fill a warming-pan with hot coals and pass it over her bed.
‘It’s none of Mr Pursley's business and he can keep his high-handed behaviour for those who like that sort of thing,’ she declared. But oh, how she wished she hadn’t been born lame. How ugly she must look, limping like that.
‘Soft-hearted, he is, Will Pursley,’ said Hannah, ‘for all he tries to hide it. He means well and if you ask me, it was a good thing that fool Amy Barton did turn him down after he lost Hay Nook Farm. She’s a hard piece, for all she’s so pretty, and she’d have made him a bad wife, as Jamie Yarrow is finding out to his cost. Proper hen-pecked, he is now, as anyone can see.’
‘Was Mr Pursley betrothed, then?’ Sarah was unable to conceal her interest.
