The Kitchen Maid

by Val Wood

He nodded. ‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Only I wish that Hill would come.’

  ‘He’ll come,’ she said. ‘He promised that he would.’ Though it is getting late, she thought. Perhaps he won’t come until the morning.

  ‘Do you recollect saying that you were going to leave this house to Christina, Stephen?’

  ‘Yes.’ He gave her a wry look. ‘I’m not going to die yet, Jenny, even though I might feel like death right now.’

  ‘Please don’t joke,’ she said. ‘It’s not funny. But as I was coming here with your father after I’d been told you’d had an accident, I wondered if you’d done anything about it. Drawn up any papers or whatever it is that you have to do?’

  ‘I could have been killed, I suppose?’ he murmured. ‘Like that other poor fellow.’

  ‘Yes,’ she choked. ‘You could have been. And I would have been left with three babies and a small child!’

  ‘Four babies,’ he said softly. ‘Christina’s not much more than a baby, is she?’ He pointed to the dresser. ‘In there. In the drawer. I’ve written out a Last Will and Testament. It needs witnessing. I was waiting for George. Get it,’ he said. ‘Have a look at it.’

  She insisted he took a little more soup and then looked for the paper. He had made it out as promised, leaving Lavender Cott and its contents in trust to his adopted daughter Christina and the rest of his estate, including his horse and waggon, to his wife, Jenny. He also stipulated that any monies owing should be paid out of the estate. But he hadn’t signed it.

  ‘Any monies owing?’ Jenny asked. ‘Do you owe anyone else apart from George Hill?’ She looked at him. ‘Not any of ’navvies? Not for playing cards or – or anything?’

  ‘I’m not about to die, Jenny!’ His voice was suddenly sharp.

  ‘I hope not,’ she said, contrite at even bringing up the subject. ‘It’s just – it’s just that I don’t ever want to go begging to your father.’

  ‘No, nor do I. I’m sorry. No, there’s nothing else owing, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. I don’t intend leaving this mortal coil just yet.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘There’s not much, Jenny. I spent most of my wages,’ he confessed. ‘It’s been such a long time since I had money in my pocket that I spent most of it unwisely. I went drinking and playing cards with the men. But I haven’t spent the compensation,’ he assured her. ‘That still hasn’t come, which is perhaps just as well or I might have spent that too.’

  ‘Don’t talk now,’ she urged him. ‘Take your medicine and try to have a sleep. I’m sure Dr Hill will come, if not tonight, then in the morning.’

  Whilst he was dropping off into a doze, Jenny searched in the drawers and cupboards for a bottle of writing ink and a pen. When she found it, she dipped the pen in the ink and carefully carried it and the Will to Stephen. ‘Stephen,’ she said softly. ‘Put your name on here.’ She put the pen into his fingers. ‘You forgot to sign it.’

  With his eyes half closed, he put pen to paper and signed his name. She sighed. It was done. ‘Please forgive me, Stephen,’ she murmured. ‘But I’m so afraid. Not for myself, but for our children.’

  It was nine o’clock in the evening and Jenny had locked up. She had been upstairs and decided that it was too cold to sleep up there, and that she and Thomas would sleep in a chair by the fire, when there came a soft tap on the door. ‘It’s George Hill,’ was the answer when Jenny came to ask who it was. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late.’ He took off his scarf and a flurry of snow floated off it. ‘I’ve been kept by a young woman in a difficult labour, and the roads are very icy up here. How has he been?’ he asked, looking towards Stephen.

  ‘He’s a little better, I think, and he’s had some soup.’ She felt nervous now that he was here, wishing that she had waited before getting Stephen to sign the Will.

  ‘I won’t waken him then.’ The doctor put his fingers on the side of Stephen’s neck. ‘His pulse is steady.’

  ‘He’s not in any danger, is he?’ Jenny asked. ‘He didn’t remember anything of what happened.’

  He pursed his lips. ‘Not so far as I can tell, but the injuries to his chest worry me; he may have broken ribs. The leg injury will heal providing it’s kept clean and doesn’t become septic.’

  ‘He’s not going to die?’ she asked nervously, and then, taking a deep breath, she said, ‘It’s just that – he’s made out a Will, and – and he wanted you to witness it.’ She fetched it from the dresser and handed it to him.

  A small frown appeared above his nose. ‘But he’s signed it already. He should have waited. I’m supposed to witness his signature, not what is in the Will!’

  ‘Oh!’ she breathed. Now am I to be found out?

  ‘Did he think his death was imminent? Surely not!’ The doctor sat down by the table and looked at the document. ‘It’s his signature anyway,’ he said. ‘It’s an illegible scrawl, but he never did have a good hand. If you bring me a pen and ink, I’ll sign it, even though it isn’t strictly the way to do things. But it might put his mind at rest, and yours too.’ He looked up at her as she brought the writing materials. ‘You don’t need to worry, Jenny. I would stand up to Stephen’s father on your behalf if it ever became necessary.’

  Her mouth trembled. How foolish I am, but I was – am – so afraid. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember that. And Stephen said that you are to be paid what he owes you out of his estate! But I’m sure he’ll pay you back himself,’ she added in a rush. ‘When he’s recovered.’

  Dr Hill nodded. ‘In time. All in good time. I’ve never pressed him, Jenny. And I won’t.’ He hesitated. ‘I shouldn’t say this, for I have no real regard for Stephen’s father after the way he behaved in the past, but if you could get them speaking to one another, it might be a good thing for Stephen to return to Laslett Hall to recuperate.’

  ‘He won’t want to go,’ she said. ‘He won’t want to leave here.’

  ‘It needn’t be for long, just until the spring. Are there any animals left?’

  She considered. There were only a few hens. The gypsies could have those in exchange for guarding the house. The pig and goat weren’t there; Stephen must have sold them. There were just the two dogs and they could take them with them. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘The horse and waggon! Where are they? Surely he’s never sold them!’

  He hadn’t sold them, nor did he know where they were when she asked him the next day. ‘Stolen,’ he exclaimed weakly. ‘Whoever brought me back must have taken them! As soon as I can get out of the house, I must find out what happened.’ He groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘I’ll never be able to afford another waggon!’

  The gypsies confirmed that the waggon had been driven away after Stephen had been brought home. ‘Two men,’ Floure’s husband, Paul, told Jenny. He was a man of few words. ‘They came to ask us where you were, lady, then they drove off.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘We told them nothing.’ He gazed at her from handsome dark eyes. ‘Do you want us to find them?’

  ‘Can you?’

  He nodded and grinned. ‘Yes. We can do that. A few days only and we’ll bring them back.’

  It was just two days later that Jenny looked out of the window and saw them. A child was on the horse’s back between the shafts of the waggon, and a gypsy was leading it through the gate into the meadow. ‘The gav-engro – constable – might come,’ Paul Lee told her when he came to the door. ‘Those thieves saw us.’

  ‘If ’constable comes I’ll tell them we sent you to get them back,’ Jenny said. ‘My husband will be so pleased. Thank you very much.’ She hesitated and then said, ‘We – we can’t pay you for your trouble.’

  Paul Lee shook his head. ‘Your rom said we can stay here over winter. We won’t be turned off?’

  ‘You won’t be turned off,’ Jenny assured him, ‘and if we go away for my husband to recuperate, I’d like to think you’d watch ’house? You can have ’hens in payment.’

  He agreed
and said she should leave the dogs. ‘We’ll feed them,’ he said. ‘They can guard the house.’

  She was reluctant to leave them; she had seen the gypsies’ dogs, which were thin and scrawny. ‘One belongs to my little girl,’ she said. ‘You will look after them?’

  ‘Don’t worry, lady,’ he said. ‘You have the word of a Romany.’

  The following day at noon, Jenny heard the click of the gate. She looked out and beyond the gate she saw the carriage. Running down the path was Christina and following her, leaning heavily on a stick, was Mr Laslett.

  ‘Stephen!’ She turned to where he was resting in a chair by the fire with a blanket round him. ‘Your father has come.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jenny let in a rushing, laughing, excited child who flung her arms round her, and then dashed towards Stephen to hug him.

  ‘Good day to you, Jenny.’ Mr Laslett removed his ancient top hat and ducked his head as he entered the low doorway. ‘I trust Stephen is feeling better?’

  ‘Better than he was, but not fully recovered,’ Jenny replied, taking his hat from him. ‘His chest is still painful.’

  John Laslett cleared his throat as he stood in front of his son, and then held out his hand. ‘Good to see you are returning to health,’ he muttered. ‘We were worried about you.’

  ‘Were you?’ Stephen stared up at his father, and Jenny almost held her breath. Would he reject the hand of reconciliation? Then Stephen blinked and sighed and held out a pale hand. ‘Forgive me if I don’t get up,’ he said in a low voice. ‘My leg –’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know,’ his father answered hurriedly. ‘I saw it. It was a nasty wound.’

  Jenny brought forward a chair for John Laslett and thought how fortuitous it was that Christina had come too, for with her chatter she broke the awkward pauses. ‘Grandpappy said I can have a little pony, Papa.’ Christina clapped her hands. ‘Can we get Star back? He had to go away,’ she explained to Stephen’s father, ‘because he ate too much.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Both men spoke in unison and Christina laughed merrily. ‘Mama,’ she gurgled. ‘They both said we’ll see!’

  Jenny gave a nervous smile, and busied herself making a pot of tea and getting out cups and saucers. ‘I’m sorry I’ve no milk,’ she began.

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ her father-in-law said gruffly. ‘Drink it without.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten.’

  Mr Laslett sipped his tea and there was a silence for a few minutes, then he cleared his throat again, and said, ‘You’ll have finished on the railway now, I suppose? After the accident?’

  Stephen glanced at Jenny, then at his father. ‘Who told you?’ he asked abruptly.

  John Laslett looked down at Christina sitting on the rug at their feet, and took another sip of tea. He rubbed the sides of his mouth with his knuckles. ‘No grown-up,’ he murmured. ‘Just childish chatter!’

  ‘Without prompting?’ Stephen’s voice grated.

  ‘Entirely.’ His father looked at him squarely. ‘I’ve plenty of other things to occupy me without interrogating a child!’

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’ Stephen nodded.

  ‘The line will be almost finished anyway, isn’t it?’ his father asked. ‘Damned trains! I remember when they started talking about this line, must be nearly twenty years ago. Lord Hotham held it up, of course. Wouldn’t let them on his land. But even he gave in, in the end. Just as you did, I suppose.’ He gazed into space with a disgruntled look on his face. ‘I heard that George Hudson is back in this country again, but trouble seems to follow him. Gossip is that he’s still in debt, might even go to prison.’

  ‘That’s such a pity,’ Jenny broke in. She had picked up Thomas and was gently rocking him. ‘He’s done so much for this country. People want ’railways. Ordinary people anyway!’ she said defiantly. ‘I don’t mean landowners. Ordinary folk who can get about much easier.’

  ‘You’re probably right, Jenny,’ Stephen admitted. ‘It’s just that I didn’t want to give up any of my land, or my privacy. I don’t like to think that people can look down from the trains and see my property. But yes,’ he answered his father. ‘This line is scheduled to be finished and in use by May. But they’ll have to manage it without me.’ He looked down at the leg wound, and the blood which was still seeping through the bandage. ‘I didn’t make much of a contribution and I wonder now if it was worth it.’

  ‘Will you come home?’ his father said suddenly. ‘To Laslett Hall, I mean. See how we get on? I realize you won’t want to leave here. Memories and all that.’ He spoke in a brisk, abrupt manner. ‘But now that you’ve children to consider.’

  Stephen said nothing but stared down at Christina. Then he reached out and touched the top of her dark head, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger.

  ‘You don’t have to stay for good,’ his father continued. ‘But come at least until you are well again. Close this place up until the spring. It will stand over winter. No harm will come to it.’

  Jenny could see that it had taken a great deal of effort for John Laslett to ask, but Stephen’s face was stony. Please, she thought, don’t ask your father to apologize.

  ‘I made mistakes,’ the older man went on. ‘I admit that. We should have talked things through, but we only ever wanted what was best for you.’ His voice had a pleading quality to it.

  ‘What was best for me?’ Stephen said harshly. ‘I knew what was best for me and we disagreed on that.’ He pondered for a moment, then gave a hard swallow. ‘But yes, we should have talked rather than argued.’

  ‘Papa!’ Christina’s childish treble broke in. ‘If I get a pony, can Serena ride on it too?’

  He looked down at her. ‘Serena’s too small to ride,’ he murmured, then patted her cheek. ‘But we’ll sit her on its back, just as we did when you were small. All right.’ He relented, his eyes still on Christina. ‘We’ll come for the winter, but only on condition that George Hill can attend me whilst I’m there.’

  A noticeable look of relief crossed his father’s face. ‘I’ve nothing against Hill,’ he said. ‘He’s a fine doctor. Just a touch opinionated, that’s all!’

  Now that the horse and waggon had been recovered, Stephen insisted that they drive back in it to Laslett Hall. ‘You and Christina can return in the carriage,’ he told Jenny, ‘and I’ll drive the waggon.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she answered. ‘You’re in no fit state.’

  John Laslett agreed with her. ‘I’ll drive the damned waggon if you insist on taking it,’ he groused, ‘and you and Jenny can travel in the carriage with the child.’

  ‘No,’ Jenny declared. ‘Not with your gout! I’ll drive it and Stephen can come with you.’

  That wouldn’t do either as Stephen didn’t want Jenny to drive it alone; nor, she suspected, did he want to travel with his father. In the end, Jenny drove the waggon with Stephen propped up with pillows and blankets in the back of it, following the carriage which held Mr Laslett and Christina, who waved a hand from the window as they went at a slow and steady pace.

  ‘We could have left ’waggon behind,’ Jenny called over her shoulder to Stephen. ‘And ’Romanies would have fed the horse.’ She had given them instructions regarding the dogs: to feed them once a day and fasten them up in their kennel at night. The Romanies in turn had asked her to give them a letter stating that they could stay on the land, in case the law came and told them to move on.

  ‘I dare say they would have, though I don’t trust them entirely. But that’s not why I wanted to bring them.’ Stephen shivered with cold, despite the blankets.

  The waggon was difficult to drive. The road was icy and the horse skidded going downhill. Jenny gripped the reins tightly. ‘Let him take the lead,’ Stephen shouted to her. ‘Don’t grip too hard, he’ll find his feet. No,’ he continued, ‘if I have my own transport I can come back if Father and I fall out. I don’t want to be stuck there waiting on his convenience!’

 
; He’s still embittered, Jenny thought, grimacing against the biting wind which blew in her face. But is he resentful against his father for refusing to accept Agnes, or against fate for taking Agnes away from him, when no-one else could? It’s not easy being a second wife, she meditated. I feel as if I should make excuses for still being here, alive and well and mother of his children.

  ‘Jenny!’ Stephen called to her.

  ‘Yes?’ She half turned to see him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ Her shawl slipped off her shoulders and she grabbed hold of it. He half stood, half knelt behind her and draped the shawl over her cape, one which Arabella had lent her, then taking one of his blankets he put it over her knees.

  ‘Just for being you,’ he said, kissing her on her cheek. ‘I know I’m crotchety and it won’t be easy at Father’s. But I’m asking you to forgive me now for what I might do or say whilst I am there.’

  She felt a sudden surge of emotion and took a deep breath. ‘You must try to put ’past behind you,’ she said, her voice wobbling.

  ‘It’s not so easy,’ he said. ‘I’m not strong like you. I’m driven always by passion. I can’t think logically or rationally as you do.’

  She was startled by his assessment of her. Is it true? she thought as they continued on their journey. I hadn’t thought of it before; Stephen and his father share the same temperament, which is why they clash; whereas I, and I’ve never thought to give my behaviour a name before, I follow a chain of reasoning and deliberation. I have passion, though, hidden away, but – shrewd! That’s what I am! Just like my mother. Jenny thought back over her life since first making the decision to go to Beverley, and the events thereafter. Yes, that’s it! Shrewd! Though I’d never admit it. And that is why I have survived.

  ‘I feel like the prodigal son!’ Stephen muttered to Jenny as they drove up to the house. The servants had gathered on the front step to greet him. Cook, who had been there since before he left home, Dolly, who held Serena’s hand and struggled to keep hold of Johnny; the other maids and the lad, Ben, who didn’t know him at all. He nodded at them as the females dipped their knees and the lad took off his cap. He kissed Arabella, who stood behind them, and murmured to her, ‘Whose idea was this?’