by Val Wood
‘My darling girls are beautiful. Serena is like her name, and so unlike her twin brother. She will one day make a good marriage and I’m sure want for nothing, yet how can we tell? Christina, my very own, is a good sweet child. Well, hardly a child at sixteen, yet she has childlike qualities, innocent and trusting and not at all worldly, which worries me when I think that she might become involved with someone who admires her beauty, but doesn’t understand her naivety.’
Jenny put away her pen and placed her notebook with the many others which had chronicled her life. No-one knew that she wrote them. They were for her eyes alone and contained her hopes, fears, secrets and admissions. Sometimes weeks and even months went by and she didn’t write at all, but whenever she was unsure of something or a worry assailed her mind, then she took out her notebook and wrote down her difficulties. She rarely looked back through them for she feared that there might be something which she would be tempted to change or erase, and that, she thought, would be dishonest, for I am writing of my life as I see it, without embellishment or fantasy. Yet as she pondered on this, she knew she was shutting her mind to some other unease of which she didn’t write.
‘Mama!’ Christina knocked on her door. She was a pretty girl with dark glossy hair and rounded curves, bordering on womanhood. Whenever Jenny looked at her when she was merry and smiling, she could see in her the image of her father, Christy, and was struck forcibly by a mixed pang of distress, guilt and premonition.
‘Could we go to Lavender Cott, Mama? We haven’t been for ages, not since before the winter. Please?’ Christina looked at Jenny with pleading eyes. ‘The primroses will be out in the garden, and the narcissi. And the house will need airing. It’s been closed up for months.’
Jenny smiled at her daughter. What did she know about a house’s wanting airing, or of sweeping away cobwebs? But perhaps it was time she was taught. At other times, when the children were small and they had been to see the cottage, Jenny had tied up her hair and put on an old apron which had been left behind the door, and had swept and dusted whilst the children had played in the orchard. Perhaps now was the time for her to take Christina alone.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘You and I will go tomorrow. Serena and William will want to come but they must stay behind for their lessons.’ All the children had had the services of first a string of governesses and then a tutor. Jenny was not too happy about having a live-in governess; she was afraid of showing her own inadequacies in front of educated young women. Mr Laslett had insisted that was how it was to be, or else, he said, the boys should go away to school. She didn’t want that either, as she knew Johnny would probably run away, or get into terrible mischief if she wasn’t there to control him, and Thomas and William would have been very unhappy.
‘If it’s just the two of us, Mama, can we ride over? Oh, please,’ Christina implored. ‘The weather is going to be good all of the week, Tom says so, because the mist is low over the dewponds in a morning and there are a lot of midges about of an evening.’
‘Well.’ Jenny laughed. ‘If Thomas says so, then it must be right. But I don’t know about riding such a long way,’ she said dubiously. ‘I’d rather go in ’trap.’
‘I’ll take care of you,’ Christina said. ‘We’ll ride nice and steady.’
Christina was a good horsewoman. Since her first rides on the pony Stephen had bought her and the subsequent mounts Mr Laslett had given her, she had ridden every day she could, groomed and tended the horses herself and latterly, with Mr Laslett, whom she always called Grandpappy, had chosen the horses herself. She was faster and more efficient than her brothers or Serena, and said that if she had been a boy, her desire would have been to ride in a horse race like the one at Kiplingcotes, which was the oldest horse race in the country.
Jenny, on the other hand, was a reluctant horsewoman and had only learnt to ride so as to accompany Christina. She rode an elderly plodding mare that seemed as reluctant as she was to go off the estate and into the surrounding countryside. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘If it’s a nice morning, but we must set off early, for it will take hours to get there at ’pace I ride.’
Mr Laslett, now that he was old, was more crotchety than ever, and constantly bewailed the fact that he couldn’t do as much as he once had. Now, when Jenny went to tell him of the intended visit to Lavender Cott he was aghast. ‘Two women alone! All that way? No, it’s much too far! You must take someone with you. One of the stable lads, or ask Crowther. See if he can spare somebody. You see! I don’t even know all of the men’s names since he took charge. Interfering women,’ he mumbled.
Jenny decided to humour him. It had been her suggestion that he employ a married hind who could live at the back of the house and take on the responsibility of the farmhands, whilst his wife would do the cooking for them. When the old cook had left because of infirmity, it had been difficult to find a replacement who was willing to cook for the men as well as the family.
‘We don’t need anyone to accompany us,’ she said, knowing all of the men would be busy. ‘We know the way.’
‘You might take a tumble,’ he insisted. ‘You’re not a good horsewoman. You could break your bones and what would we do then? Arabella’s no good at organizing anything. I wish she’d get herself married off! I’d give her a good dowry,’ he grumbled. ‘But it’s too late now.’
Jenny sighed and prepared to give way. In a way it was a relief and she didn’t like to upset the old man. ‘We’ll take ’trap, then. Will that be all right?’
‘I suppose so,’ he muttered. ‘But get back before dark. I shall worry otherwise. Tell Arabella to come in,’ he said. ‘I’ll not be left kicking my heels on my own and feeling useless.’
‘You know very well that you’re not useless,’ Jenny said. ‘Crowther always comes in to discuss any issues with you.’
‘He doesn’t listen,’ he grumbled. ‘Why do you want to go anyway?’ he asked. ‘The place must be falling down. It should have been sold years ago.’
‘It’s not mine to sell,’ Jenny said quietly. ‘It’s Christina’s inheritance.’
John Laslett grunted. ‘I wouldn’t have left her out,’ he muttered. ‘You know I’m fond of the child.’
‘Yes,’ Jenny acknowledged. ‘I realize that. But Stephen didn’t know that at ’time. He didn’t want her to be left with nothing.’
He looked at her, narrowing his eyes. ‘And I suppose he thought I might turn you off without a copper as well, did he?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think he thought that. He knew you would want his sons, and you couldn’t have them without me.’ It was a bold statement but she knew it to be true.
He nodded silently, then said, ‘Have you ever told Christina that she isn’t Stephen’s daughter? I’ve never heard it mentioned.’
‘I – I’ve never tried to keep it a secret.’ Jenny trembled. ‘But I’ve never discussed it with her. There have been times when I almost did.’ Times when Stephen’s sisters, Laura and Maud, had intimated that Christina wasn’t a proper cousin to their children, but which had been glossed over or ignored.
‘Tell her,’ he said bluntly. ‘She’s old enough to know. Time that she did. Coming up to womanhood. Better that you tell her than she find out from someone else.’ He patted his fingers on his mouth and gazed at her. ‘You’ve never said who he was. Her father, I mean,’ he said. ‘At least, never in my hearing.’
‘No,’ Jenny murmured, thinking that it was to her father-in-law’s credit that he had never asked any probing questions about her past, not since she had told him that she had once been a servant. She always assumed that he wasn’t interested and was greatly relieved for that. ‘No-one has ever asked,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never wanted to talk about it. It was a very painful time.’
‘Mmm,’ he muttered. ‘Well, she’ll want to know, mark my words that she will, so tell her. Get it over and done with. Was he a man to be proud of?’ he asked abruptly. ‘A good working man?’
He
would assume that, Jenny thought, knowing that I’m from a working background. On seeing her hesitation, John Laslett added, ‘Not that it matters now; it’s water under the bridge after all this time. But tell the girl. Prepare her.’
‘The gypsies are still here!’ Christina exclaimed as they turned up the track to the cottage and saw the benders in the field and the drift of smoke from the campfires. ‘I would have thought they might have moved on by now.’
‘Perhaps they’re waiting to see us.’ Jenny smiled. ‘Perhaps they knew we were coming.’
‘How could they know, Mama?’ Christina laughed. ‘They haven’t got second sight!’
‘Haven’t they?’ Jenny murmured. ‘I’m not sure about that.’
Christina jumped out of the trap to open the gate. ‘Here we are,’ she said gaily. ‘Home at last!’
Jenny felt a stab of sadness. It had been so long since they had left. Johnny, Serena and Thomas had been too young to remember and William hadn’t known the house at all. Christina had good memories of it. She had been born here, her early childhood years were here, and her memories were strengthened each year when they came to visit, to make sure the thatch was sound and that there were no leaks.
‘Floure is coming,’ Christina called to her mother as she fastened the pony and trap securely.
Jenny looked up and saw a figure walking across the meadow towards the house. Jenny waved and Floure waved back.
‘We waited for you,’ the Romany said when she came up to them. ‘We must move off now. The spring fairs are starting; we have horses to buy and sell. Everything is all right here, lady. There’s been no trouble this winter. The people hereabouts know that we can stay on your land.’
‘Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘We’re grateful that you watch over everything.’ She glanced towards the embankment. ‘Have ’trains bothered you?’
Floure shook her head. ‘We moved further down with our backs to them,’ she said. ‘They’re dirty and noisy and frighten the horses.’
There were several horses grazing in the meadow and Christina eyed them keenly. ‘We should get another mount for William, Mama. He’s outgrown Little Prince. Look,’ she said excitedly, pointing into the meadow. ‘There’s Jay, do you see him? The brown cob. He used to be mine,’ she said to Floure. ‘He was so gentle and easy to ride.’
‘Yes, miss,’ Floure said. ‘You sold him to Mrs Crossley up on the high Wolds some time back. She’s my mam’s cousin; half Romany she is. She’s a good hoss breeder. Goes to Appleby fair.’
‘Yes, that’s right, we did,’ Christina said. ‘I went with Grandpappy and he bought me another in exchange. Oh, Mama! Can we buy him back for William?’
Jenny told her that she would think about it. Here is my dilemma, she thought. I have to ask my father-in-law whenever I want something extra. Although John Laslett was not ungenerous with the housekeeping allowance, and Jenny kept a meticulous book of expenditure, there was certainly never enough left over to buy expensive items. He always made the decisions about those.
The Romany had been looking at Christina as they were speaking. Now she glanced at Jenny. ‘She’s a grown woman now,’ she said to her. ‘One day she’ll go back to where she belongs.’
Jenny clutched her throat. She didn’t know why the gypsy made her feel uneasy, but she always did, and hadn’t she said the same thing to her about going back? ‘She belongs with me,’ she muttered. ‘She’s my daughter!’
Floure nodded thoughtfully. Then she smiled and turned away. ‘No need to be afraid,’ she said, as she departed. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘What was she talking about?’ Christina asked as they went inside the house. ‘What did she mean, go back to where I belong? I belong at Laslett Hall, don’t I, the same as everyone else?’
Jenny picked up a cushion from a fireside chair and shook it. A cloud of dust flew around and she wafted it away from her face before replacing the cushion on the chair and sitting down. ‘I don’t know what she meant, but – but you and I don’t really belong at Laslett Hall, not as the others do; Johnny, Serena, Thomas and William.’
Christina took a sudden breath. ‘Why? What do you mean? Of course we do.’ Her eyes flickered anxiously. ‘Tell me what you mean.’
‘I hadn’t meant to – that is, I wanted to choose a time to tell you something,’ Jenny said. ‘I wanted to prepare myself, and you. I thought that here would have been an ideal place, but – I’m not quite ready.’
‘For what, Mama?’ Christina pulled a chair nearer to her mother and sat down, leaning anxiously towards her. ‘Is it something I did when I was a child?’ She pressed her lips together. ‘There’s always been something, I don’t know what. Something that somebody said, that made me unhappy.’
Jenny swallowed hard. Just how much should she tell about Christina’s real father? Should she tell how he died and what had happened to her afterwards? She looked at her daughter’s trusting face. Christina had worshipped Stephen and he in turn had treated her as his very own, in fact the one and only time they had almost quarrelled was over Christina, when he had demanded to know what she would tell her.
‘Lavender Cott is yours, do you realize that?’ she asked Christina. ‘Stephen left it to you.’
‘To all of us. Yes, I remember. I asked you if I could play in it.’ Christina gave a wistful smile. ‘I do miss Papa, even now.’
‘Not to all of you,’ Jenny said quietly. ‘Only to you. Not even to me.’ The compensation from the railway company had eventually been paid to her, but it hadn’t been very much and she had insisted, despite the doctor’s reluctance, on paying George Hill what Stephen had owed him for so long. ‘He wanted to be sure that you had some security.’
Christina looked puzzled. ‘Because we were dependent on Grandpappy otherwise? But so are the others – so are you! Why was I singled out?’
‘Because.’ Jenny took a deep breath. ‘Because all the others belong to the Laslett family.’ She saw the expression on Christina’s face fall as she spoke. ‘And you do not.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Christina flinched as if she had been struck and tears glistened in her eyes. ‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘Why am I not the same?’
‘Because Stephen was not your father,’ Jenny said softly. ‘Even though in his eyes and his regard you were his daughter.’
Christina’s cheeks flushed. ‘I don’t understand. He was always there, ever since I can remember.’ Her mouth trembled. ‘How can he not – I mean, if he isn’t – then who is?’
Jenny hesitated. Where to begin? ‘I was living here at Lavender Cott,’ she said, ‘and was expecting a child – you! Stephen – your adoptive papa – brought you into the world. There was no time to fetch anyone and he – you mustn’t ever tell Aunt Bella or the other aunts – he was ’only one there who could help me. I shall never forget ’look on his face when he held you. An angel, he said you were.’
Christina wiped away a tear that was trickling down her cheek. ‘Yes, I remember he used to call me that,’ she sniffled. ‘I never knew why, especially when my hair was so dark. Angels are fair.’
‘Are they?’ Jenny raised her eyebrows. ‘Who says so?’
Christina gave a slight shrug of her shoulder. ‘But if he was there at my birth, where was my real father?’ She started to cry. ‘I can’t bear it. Papa!’ She put her face in her hands and wept. ‘Papa!’
Jenny came and knelt beside her and put her arm round her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, her own voice trembling. ‘He loved you as his own, that’s what matters.’
‘The Romany! She knew,’ Christina suddenly burst out. ‘How did she know? She said I would go back where I belonged!’ Her manner was distraught. ‘What did she mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jenny admitted. ‘She was talking nonsense! Floure doesn’t know anything about you. She first came here when you were only a little girl. She brought her own daughter and you played together.’
‘Yes,’ Christina took a sobbing breat
h. ‘I know. And I’ve seen her since, when I went with Grandpappy to buy horses up on the Wolds.’ She swallowed away her tears. ‘So he’s not my grandfather either? Do I have anyone, Mama? Or is it just you and me?’
‘You have just ’same people who love you as you had five minutes ago before I told you.’ Jenny tried to pacify her, patting her gently. ‘Everything is just ’same as it was. Only your birthright is different because you had a different father.’ She got up from where she had been kneeling. ‘Let’s light a fire and air the place and whilst we’re doing things around your house, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.’ Or almost, she thought, closing her mind on the image of her past, and her fears; for I can’t tell her every single thing. Some matters are best not told.
‘I was very young when I first met your real father,’ Jenny told her as they swept and dusted, and she mused that Christina was going about her tasks with vigour. Was it with anger at what she had discovered or because she now realized that the cottage was hers alone? ‘Younger even than you are now. And I loved him right from the start.’
‘Did he love you?’ Christina stood with her hand to her cheek and it almost broke Jenny’s heart when she saw the likeness to Christy in her.
‘Yes, he did,’ she said, with a catch in her voice.
‘But Papa loved you too! He did. I know that he did!’
‘Yes,’ Jenny agreed. ‘But it’s possible to love more than one person.’ They’d gone upstairs to dust the bedrooms and she looked out of the window and saw the embankment and the railway line, but could no longer see the grave because of it. ‘Your papa – Stephen – loved someone else before me.’
‘Agnes!’ Christina came and stood beside her, putting her arm round her waist. ‘Sometimes he took me with him to visit the grave. He told me that it was a lovely lady who had died, and that there was a baby there too, a little Agnes.’
Jenny swallowed as a lump came into her throat at the memory of the child she had lost. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘My baby.’ But she couldn’t speak of how she had told Stephen that that child was for Agnes. She wasn’t, she grieved. She was mine, but my heart told me that to make reparation I must give her up to Agnes.
