by Val Wood
Jenny had opened her mouth to outline the situation as Stephen had explained it to her – that she and not Arabella would be mistress of the house – when Stephen came in asking if there was a pot of tea, and so the chance was lost.
‘Arabella’s all right,’ Stephen conceded two days later as they waved her goodbye. ‘She’s not terribly bright, but she could be a friend to you, Jenny.’
‘That’s what she said.’ Jenny turned away from the gate as the chaise disappeared from view. ‘About being friends. She thought we could be; she said she would treat me kindly!’
‘How very patronizing!’ Stephen exploded, and then he laughed. ‘But she doesn’t mean to be. She was taught by our mother to be benevolent to the poor or those who have less than she has, and she obviously thinks of you in that way.’ He stroked Jenny’s cheek, and then bent to kiss her. ‘She doesn’t realize that you have so much more than her.’
‘Yes. I have you.’ She looked up at him lovingly. ‘I am so lucky.’
He smiled and tucked her arm into his as they walked back down the path. ‘I didn’t mean that, you little goose! I meant that you have the ability to think for yourself. You’re not constrained by convention or society, with rules which you cannot step over.’
‘But I have stepped over,’ Jenny murmured. ‘First with Christy and then with you. If I’d married Christy, his family wouldn’t have accepted me, and he wouldn’t have fitted in with mine. Arabella said she’s going to speak to your father about my visiting him after our child is born.’ She shook her head. ‘We’re deluding ourselves if we think that I would be accepted by him, or your other sisters, or anybody else in your family or society. It just won’t happen. I’ll be ostracized.’
‘But you married me knowing this,’ he said quietly. ‘You haven’t just thought of it?’
‘No,’ she answered, ‘but I never thought that I would be expected to live anywhere else but here. I only thought at ’time that Christina and I would be safe with you. I didn’t think that I might have to meet ’rest of your family.’
‘You don’t have to,’ he maintained. ‘Not if you don’t want to. You can stay here for ever, as long as we’re not run down by the trains,’ he added, tight-lipped. ‘But one day I shall want my son – or sons – to inherit the estate which should have been mine!’
‘Which would have been yours,’ Jenny reminded him, ‘if you too hadn’t crossed that line.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘You are quite right. But I was influenced by love, not money or power.’ He smiled and opened the door for her. ‘Twice in my life.’
As autumn drew on and leaves began to fall, Jenny grew heavier; her legs ached and walking made her breathless. She confined herself to the house and could no longer dig up a bucket of potatoes or bend down to collect the eggs.
‘It’s going to be a massive boy,’ Stephen said one night as he lay down next to her and gently stroked her belly. ‘He’ll come out six feet tall and weighing twelve stone.’ He sat up and looked at her. ‘Are there any giants in your family? You’re not going to produce one like William Bradley?’
‘Who’s he?’ she asked sleepily, wishing she could turn over, but she couldn’t, it was too uncomfortable.
‘The Market Weighton giant. The tallest man in England. He was nearly eight feet tall and weighed over twenty-five stone. He was a curiosity at the fairs, poor fellow.’
Jenny sighed. ‘Not a relation of mine,’ she said. ‘But one of my father’s sisters bore twins. Maybe there are two babies.’
‘My God!’ he breathed. ‘Perhaps there are. I hope they’re not both boys or they’ll fight over the inheritance.’ He lay down again, and as Jenny was drifting off to sleep she heard him say, ‘I think I’ll ride over to Hill and get him to come back and take a look at you.’
Twins, a boy and a girl, were born to her in the first week of October. The boy came first and his first cry was a lusty bellowing bawl. The girl, three minutes later, gave a serene hiccup. ‘A proper lady,’ George Hill said as he placed her in Jenny’s arms, whilst Stephen looked down in emotional bewilderment at his red-faced, squalling son. ‘She knows how to behave.’
‘You should write to Arabella,’ Jenny said to Stephen a few days later. ‘She’ll want to know. And perhaps ask her if she will stand as god-parent?’
‘I will when we’ve decided on the names. Are we agreed on John Stephen?’
‘It’s impressive, though a mouthful.’ Jenny smiled. ‘John Stephen St John Laslett! And for this little darling …’ She stroked the soft cheek of her daughter whose rosebud mouth was searching for her breast.
‘Serena!’ Stephen said. ‘She couldn’t be anything else, but would you mind if we also called her Mary? After my mother? Unless you’d like her named for your mother? She could have three names.’
‘Poor little mite, would I saddle her with Augusta?’ Jenny laughed. ‘My grandmother must have had ideas above her station! My mother was always called Gussy.’
Stephen shuddered. ‘Aggie and Gussy! No, I think not. We’ll keep to Serena Mary.’
A letter of congratulations came back from Arabella who said she would be delighted to stand as godmother to the babies, and a few weeks later a brief letter from Stephen’s father came addressed to Mrs St John Laslett inviting her to come and stay with the children in the New Year, if the weather was suitable for travelling. He added that if she would let him know the date of her intended visit he would send a carriage and a maid for her assistance.
Stephen, stony-faced, read the letter when she handed it to him. ‘I won’t go, of course,’ Jenny said. ‘Not without you.’
‘He won’t invite me,’ he said, his eyes dull and his lips turned down. ‘That is patently obvious.’
‘Then I shall write to him,’ Jenny said, ‘and explain that I cannot possibly travel without my husband.’
‘Do,’ Stephen muttered, ‘but it won’t make a scrap of difference.’
There was no reply to the letter sent to Stephen’s father, but Arabella wrote to tell them that her sisters Laura and Maud had both been safely delivered of daughters. She also said how very cross her father was that Jenny had refused his invitation. ‘I shall mention it again in a week or two,’ she wrote, ‘but he is a very stubborn man and I doubt he will change his mind about Stephen.’
‘Then nor shall I change my mind,’ Jenny said, as she read out the letter to Stephen. ‘We don’t need him and I shan’t go without you.’
Stephen looked worried. ‘Well, although I don’t like to admit it, we do actually need him, Jenny. I don’t want my children to be paupers. How will I ever pay for their education? How will we buy them clothes and shoes? There isn’t enough here to feed all of us. And I’m sick of eating potatoes, pork and eggs!’
‘You should think yourself lucky,’ Jenny chided. ‘There are people who would think it riches to have a slice of pork, let alone eggs and bacon for breakfast! And you have your own house,’ she added.
‘Yes, I know,’ he said, his voice sharp and irritable. ‘I don’t need reminding about the poor! But you forget, Jenny, I once had more, therefore there is more for me to miss!’
She stayed silent for a moment, then she muttered, ‘It was your choice. You didn’t have to marry again. You knew Agnes was dying. You could have waited and then gone back home.’
‘No. I wouldn’t have given my father the pleasure of seeing me return in those circumstances. Besides, I wanted a family, I told you that right from the start.’ He got up from his chair and came and stood beside hers. He stroked the top of her head. ‘I’m being an old grouch, I know. But I want what is best for you and the children. I want what is rightfully theirs. I don’t want you or them to suffer.’
She pulled him towards her and kissed his forehead. ‘This isn’t suffering,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve seen suffering. When I was at home we always had just enough, though you might have considered us poor. We have riches, Stephen! We have food on ’table every day. We might not have a c
arriage, but we’ve got a waggon and horses. You told Arabella on our wedding day’, she reminded him, ‘that many a farmer would have been glad of a conveyance like ours. And we have a roof over our heads.’
He nodded, but she knew he wasn’t convinced. ‘It’s because of the children,’ he said. ‘I knew you and I and Christina would manage, but now we have two more hungry mouths to feed.’
As if in confirmation of his words, an angry bellow came from the cot, and then a mewling one, as the twins woke for a feed. It’s because of Johnny, Jenny thought as she picked up her squalling son and put him to her breast. Stephen doesn’t want his father’s estate for himself, he would be content to stay here for ever, but he does want it for his son.
It was May before Arabella wrote again and said she had gained permission from her father to invite Jenny and the children. ‘Please do come, Jenny. If Father sees the children, he may relent. He is suffering with gout at the moment and so I cannot leave him to visit you, even if you were so kind as to invite me. I am desperate for company; my sisters are all away, our neighbours are all busy with their own affairs and there are no social events whatsoever.’
‘What should I do?’ Jenny asked Stephen.
Stephen drew in a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Go! Go and see the old devil and show him his grandson. But don’t take any nonsense from him,’ he warned, raising his voice and shaking a finger. ‘Let him know you’re only there under sufferance.’
She smiled. ‘I shall make it plain that you insisted I come. That I didn’t want to come alone. That I was being a dutiful wife in bringing our children to visit their grandfather.’
Stephen laughed. ‘You’ll do, Jenny, you’ll do. Just let him know that you’re not frightened of him.’
‘I’m not,’ she stated. ‘I have you; I don’t need him. But perhaps he needs us.’
He put his arms round her and nuzzled into her neck. ‘You are such a sensible practical woman. You are probably right.’ He held her at arms’ length and kissed her on her nose. ‘Whatever will I do without you? Don’t stay away too long. I shall be lonely while you’re away.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
When the carriage arrived to collect her, Arabella came as well as a maid. ‘I persuaded Papa he could manage without me for half a day,’ she said. ‘I did so want to get out of the house and I couldn’t wait to see the babies. I suppose they have been baptized without me?’ she added petulantly.
‘Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘Dr Hill stood as godfather and Mrs Burley, the midwife, stood as proxy for you. She was pleased to do so.’ She didn’t add that Mrs Burley was moved to tears when asked, and said that she felt honoured, as the babies were as dear to her as her own godchildren, of whom she had many.
After Arabella had taken some refreshment, they were ready to be off. The maid took the bags, the coachman carried the cots, and Stephen held Christina’s hand, whilst Jenny brought the babies. ‘Who will look after poor Papa?’ Stephen mourned to the little girl. ‘I shall be all alone.’
Christina’s eyes filled with tears and she clung to Stephen. ‘Poor Papa,’ she wailed. ‘I stay with you. Mama, I stay with Papa!’
‘Stephen, don’t torment her so!’ Jenny admonished. ‘She’ll cry all ’way there now.’
Arabella looked on in astonishment. ‘How very strange! I can’t ever recall crying for Father when he went away,’ she said. ‘You have a singular relationship with your children, Stephen. I cannot but think that it is unique.’
Stephen lifted Christina up and kissed her wet cheek, whispering something in her ear, which made her give a tearful hiccuping laugh.
‘And’, Arabella continued in a low voice, ‘it isn’t as if the child is your own, which makes it even more unusual.’
The smile on Stephen’s face vanished and Jenny glanced anxiously at him. ‘She’s as much mine, even though I did not father her, as these two.’ He looked down at the sleeping twins. ‘She can expect and will have the same throughout her life as Johnny and Serena.’
Except, Jenny thought, that Johnny will be extra special as he is your eldest son; though probably not the only one, she considered, and wondered if she had been caught again. She had seen only one flux since the twins’ birth seven months before.
Stephen passed Christina into the carriage and then hugged Jenny, putting his arms round her and the babies. ‘Don’t let Father bully you,’ he whispered, ‘and you must ask to come home if you are unhappy.’
‘He won’t bully me. I’m the mother of his grandson,’ she whispered back. ‘And I shall only be there a week, so you mustn’t worry.’
‘I’ll miss you, Jenny, even though I shall be busy day and night.’ The haymaking was about to start and the gypsies were again camped in the meadow.
‘Don’t forget to eat,’ she said, ‘and give milk to ’Romany children.’ She had baked and prepared enough food for an army for a fortnight, even though she knew he was just as likely to fall asleep after a day’s work as sit down to eat.
They were ready for off. The horses were stamping and snorting and the coachie was sitting with his whip raised. ‘Come along, do,’ Arabella implored. ‘I promised Papa we would come straight back,’ and Jenny reluctantly handed the babies to the maid whilst Stephen assisted her into the carriage.
‘Wave to Papa,’ she said to Christina. ‘Blow him a kiss.’
The little girl did so, her head bobbing up and down as she tried to see through the window. As the carriage rattled down the track Jenny waved until she could no longer see Stephen and then she sat back against the leather upholstery, which she noticed was very cracked and worn. Arabella would think it very strange if I told her this was the first time in my life that I have travelled in a carriage, she thought, and then out loud she asked, ‘Do you travel much by train, Arabella?’
‘Good gracious no!’ she answered. ‘Do you?’
‘Not now, but I did. Many times.’ Jenny smiled at her, withholding the fact that her rail travelling had only been between Hull and Beverley.
‘Oh! How exciting! Father won’t go on the trains and will not allow me to either, even though the Driffield railway is so close and would be very convenient. He says it isn’t safe, though I feel sure the trains are just as safe as this old boneshaker. He objected years ago when the line between Driffield and Malton was being built; he was so sure that they would want to come on his land that he stood guard with his shotgun; but as it happened they didn’t want to.’ She gave a little chuckle. ‘I think he was quite disappointed; he so wanted to take a pot shot at somebody!’
There must be something about landowners, Jenny mused. Stephen is the same as his father in that respect. They don’t want to give up any part of their land, even if it benefits the community as a whole. She began to feel nervous and apprehensive about meeting this fierce old man. He knows already that I am of the lower orders, because Arabella has told him so. I hope his house isn’t too grand or I shall be quite out of place and will want to hide in the kitchens.
Laslett Hall where the Laslett family lived was near the country town of Great Driffield, which was new to her. I only know Hull and Beverley, she thought, and the villages where I’ve been to sell eggs. We lead such a solitary life. Rarely do we have contact with neighbours, and there are no friends or visitors to call except for Dr Hill and Arabella, or Mrs Burley when I’m childbearing.
For the first time since coming to live at Lavender Cott, she felt a sense of isolation. I’ve been in self-imposed exile, she thought; yet it’s what I wanted. I needed to lick my wounds and escape from prying eyes and wagging tongues, which would have followed me had I defied the magistrates and stayed in Beverley. Stephen and Agnes wished to hide away from gossip too; they didn’t want their love to be contaminated by whispers, scandal and rumour.
‘Do you see many people, Arabella?’ she asked. ‘Do you entertain?’ At least I know the right questions to ask, she thought. My time in the kitchens at the Ingram house wasn’t wasted. I know what time luncheo
n, afternoon tea and supper are served, and what to expect from the servants.
‘Not now that my sisters are married.’ Arabella sounded gloomy. ‘We often had house parties when Mama was alive so that they could meet suitable young men. All the farmers and the gentry round about did that, trying to match up their sons and daughters.’
Her mouth turned down and she lowered her voice, though the maid sitting across from her, holding a sleeping Serena, must have heard, unless she was deaf, Jenny thought.
‘Father isn’t keen any more,’ Arabella continued in a whisper, ‘now that Mama isn’t here to organize everything. I’m stuck!’ she moaned. ‘And there are not so many young men left, not who are suitable anyway.’
‘I suppose you have to marry someone suitable?’ Jenny said. ‘Someone with money and position?’
‘But of course!’ Arabella stared at her in amazement. ‘Who else is there?’
The countryside grew hillier and greener as they travelled and the crops in the fields varied from barley for brewing to hemp and flax for rope and textiles.
‘Is Great Driffield a large town?’ Jenny asked. ‘Like Beverley?’
‘Yes, but we’re not going to Driffield!’ Arabella said. ‘We don’t live there. Did Stephen not tell you anything?’
Jenny shook her head. Nothing, she thought, nothing at all. He had never wanted to talk about his former life.
‘Driffield is a very busy town,’ Arabella informed her. ‘It has a brewery, a tannery, a market, and shops with everything anyone could want. I could almost wish that we lived there instead of where we do. I shall take you one day if Father can spare the carriage.’
They came off the road that led to Great Driffield, and took small roads which were signposted to Kirkburn, and Eastburn, which Arabella said was medieval, and travelled past isolated farmsteads and smallholdings. ‘We’re coming towards our land now.’ Arabella languidly pointed a finger. ‘Isaac Johnson farms over there.’ She indicated a distant farmhouse at the end of a long track. ‘He has three hundred acres, two sons and a rabbit warren. Over there’ – she pointed vaguely north – ‘is an old manor house, which is practically a ruin. Over the brow to your left is the Masons’ farm; they have six hundred acres, two daughters, a son and a nephew. They are both eligible,’ she said with a sigh. ‘The gentlemen, I mean, but terribly dull.
