The Honeyfield Bequest

by Anna Jacobs

  Deirdre had an idea, but waited till her husband had left for work before she checked it. And yes, Kathleen’s birth certificate was missing from the drawer. Her daughter must be intending to get married, thank the Lord.

  She’d not tell Fergus about that but leave him to find out for himself, or else he’d blame her.

  Sitting down at the table, she started weeping. She’d never see her youngest daughter again, she knew it.

  Then she changed her mind and hoped she wouldn’t see Kathleen, because Fergus would half-kill the poor girl if he caught her. He hated to be crossed, especially in his own home. And lately he’d been drinking more and getting angry more easily.

  It wasn’t good to drink so much, but there was no way she could stop him.

  Chapter Four

  When Kathleen woke the sun was high in the sky and she guessed it was around noon. She ate the squashed, messy buns and scooped up some water in her hand. After using her hairbrush she fastened her long hair back in a bun and tidied her clothes as best she could. Then she sat down again, wondering how to pass the time because she’d left her library books behind.

  The minutes seemed to pass slowly and she listened to the birds and insects busy around her, wishing she were busy too. She didn’t enjoy being idle.

  The road carried very little traffic and only three vehicles passed. Each time she heard one coming she jumped to her feet, hoping it was Ernest. There were chinks in the thin planks that formed the walls of the hut and she could see through them without being seen.

  But none of them was him.

  She couldn’t help worrying. It seemed to be later than he’d expected to get there. What if he didn’t come? What if he’d changed his mind about marrying her?

  It began raining, a damp, chilly drizzle that made her shiver. She wished she could have brought her coat, but her family kept their coats on hooks in the hall and her mother would have noticed if hers had been missing.

  Huddling down in a corner she waited … and waited … trying to believe Ernest had meant what he said and wouldn’t let her down. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure of him yet.

  Eventually, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves and the rattling of a large cart and let out a groan of sheer relief when she saw Ernest perched up high on the driver’s bench. The man beside him was driving and she wondered what was happening, why Ernest wasn’t in charge of the vehicle.

  She heard him say clearly, ‘Stop here.’

  The cart came to a halt. He jumped down and hurried into the field, running across to the entrance of the hut, heedless of the rain. ‘Are you all right, Kathleen?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Just a bit cold because I couldn’t bring my coat. Who’s that man? I didn’t think you’d be bringing anyone with you.’

  ‘No. Nor did I. But it’s a heavier load so they wanted two men on it. I’ve told Wally I’m doing a favour for Mrs Newman, taking a niece of hers across to stay with her. So it’d be best if you talk about your Auntie Rhoda.’

  ‘But now someone will know where I’ve gone.’

  Ernest nodded unhappily. ‘But if I call you Mary, Wally won’t know your name. Maybe I should slip him some money to keep quiet.’

  ‘No. He’s bound to mention it sooner or later if you do. How about …’ She thought hard for a moment, then had an idea that might work better. ‘We could say I’m escaping from an employer who tried to molest me, and if he finds out where I am, he’ll kill me? That’ll explain the bruise and why I need to hide under the tarpaulin.’

  Ernest’s heavy face lit up. ‘Good idea! I’ll go back and tell Wally, then when I signal, you come across to join us.’

  She made sure the other man saw her badly bruised face and when he looked at her pityingly, she dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll not say anything about where you’re going, miss,’ he called to her as Ernest helped her up on to the back of the cart and covered her carefully with the tarpaulin.

  As they set off, she heard him say to Ernest, ‘Men who beat women should be took out and hung. If anyone touched my sister, I’d beat them twice as hard. I would indeed.’

  ‘You’re right, Wally. But her auntie will look after her.’

  ‘Aye. You need your family when you’re in trouble.’

  Kathleen had found a space between two boxes where she could sit and not be jerked about too much, but she was still cold.

  Ernest hadn’t had any idea what to say about her. He didn’t seem to be very clever.

  He’d said his father shouted at him a lot. Perhaps that was why. She’d have to be careful how she treated him – she must never call him stupid like his father did. Poor Ernest. He seemed so unhappy.

  He definitely wasn’t the sort of man she’d have chosen to marry.

  The cart slowed down as it passed a sign saying Monks Barton. Kathleen peeped out from under the canvas as they stopped in front of a neat cottage in a street of similar dwellings. Everything she could see looked tidy, not just the houses and front gardens but the small church, the inn, the village green and even the duck pond in the centre.

  The village seemed welcoming, if that wasn’t being too fanciful. Then she remembered why she’d come and sighed. What had got into her father lately? He’d never hit her like that before. He hardly ever spoke to his wife in the evenings if he didn’t go out, just sat reading the newspaper from cover to cover.

  She looked out of the other side of the canvas cover and saw Ernest slip a coin to his driver, heard him suggest Wally buy himself a drink at the Merry Ploughman and come back in an hour. This suggestion was greeted by a beaming smile.

  Then Ernest came round to help her down and escort her to the front door. Kathleen thought it best to stand a little to one side, leaving him to do the talking.

  The door was opened by a tiny woman, slender and white-haired, with twinkling blue eyes, who flung her arms round Ernest and stood on tiptoe to give him a smacking kiss on each cheek. ‘Why didn’t you send word you would be passing through? I’d have made you a cake and—Oh!’ She noticed Kathleen and looked at him questioningly.

  ‘This is my friend Kathleen Keller and I wonder if I could ask your help for her?’

  ‘Of course, dear. Any friend of yours is welcome here.’

  As Kathleen stepped forward, Mrs Newman saw the bruise and gasped.

  Inside the house Ernest tried to explain why they’d come and got tangled up within a few sentences, so Kathleen put her hand on his arm and took over, describing her predicament and what Ernest wanted to do.

  ‘You two are going to get married? Does your father know about this, Ernest?’

  ‘No. And he mustn’t until it’s done.’ He put an arm round Kathleen and spoke more firmly, ‘I couldn’t bear it if he stopped us.’

  ‘Well, I never!’ But she had been studying Kathleen as they spoke and must have liked what she saw, because she said quietly, ‘I’ll help you in any way I can, dear boy. And your friend. You know that.’

  Kathleen felt him sag against her in relief.

  ‘You did right to come to me. Your young lady can stay here till you’re wed and I’ll keep her safe. The world can be cruel to young women. I’ve seen it time and again and it always pleases me to be able to help someone.’

  Kathleen surprised herself by bursting into tears and Mrs Newman put an arm round her shoulders and gave her a firm hug, even though she was a much smaller woman. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged her and that made her sob even harder.

  By the time Ernest left, it had been decided that he wouldn’t visit them until Friday when he’d come for the evening meal, which he often did, so his father wouldn’t wonder at it. Mrs Newman would make arrangements for them to speak to the curate afterwards.

  ‘We don’t often see the vicar here, just the curate, who lives next to the church,’ she explained. ‘It’s rather a small congregation, even with the families from nearby farms. But the curate is a really kind man and I’m sure h
e won’t object to marrying you two.’

  ‘I don’t think Kathleen should be seen until we’re married,’ Ernest said again.

  ‘She can’t stay in the house all the time, or it’d cause comment. And she’ll have to attend church on Sundays because they’ll be calling the banns.’ Mrs Newman clicked her fingers as inspiration struck. ‘I know. We can pretend she’s just lost her mother, which will explain why she’s had to come to me for help. It was a good idea to pretend I’m her auntie, Ernest dear. Well done. My friends know I have one or two nieces who live in other parts of the country.’

  His pleasure at this praise shone from him.

  Mrs Newman wrinkled her brow in thought. ‘What’s your real mother’s name, Kathleen? It’ll be on your birth certificate, so I’ll need to know.’

  ‘Deirdre.’

  She repeated it. ‘Right. We’ll say she was my half-sister. You can wear black and a hat with a veil to church, so your face won’t be very clear to anyone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t have any black clothes, Mrs Newman.’

  Her kind hostess smiled. ‘I can help there. I look after the charity box at church and some of the better-off families round here are very generous with their cast-off clothes. I don’t know what the villagers with big families would do without their help.’

  She took a step backwards and studied her guest. ‘You’re quite tall, aren’t you? But nice and slim. We can alter something for you, if necessary.’ She turned back to Ernest. ‘Now, dear, I’ll tell the curate you’ve loved my niece for a while, but she had to look after her poor sick mother so you couldn’t get married. Now that she’s alone and penniless, you want to get married straight away to look after her. Have you got that?’

  He repeated the basic facts and she nodded. ‘Well done, dear. Is that story all right with you, Kathleen?’

  She didn’t like the idea of building a new life on lies, but what choice did she have? ‘I’ll do whatever you think best, Mrs Newman.’

  ‘Remember to call me Auntie Rhoda from now on.’

  The little clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour and Ernest sighed. ‘I can’t stay much longer. You’ll keep Kathleen safe for me, won’t you, Rhoda?’

  She kissed his cheek. ‘Of course I will.’

  Because he was looking at her hopefully, Kathleen kissed his other cheek and he gave her a quick, shy hug. After he’d left, she looked at her hostess a little nervously.

  Rhoda smiled at her. ‘I haven’t seen my lad looking so happy for a long time. That father of his has a lot to answer for, always shouting at him, and it sounds as if your father is as bad with you. Now, let me show you to a bedroom and you can unpack your things, then we’ll have a nice boiled egg for tea and some of my gingerbread to follow.’

  She patted Kathleen’s arm. ‘Things will work out, you’ll see. I hope you’ll make my Ernest happy. He isn’t hard to please and is always grateful for kind words.’

  She turned round at the door to add, ‘You seem like a bright young woman and you must realise he’s not very clever. But he’s a dear, kind boy, always has been, and he’d do a lot better if his father treated him lovingly instead of criticising him all the time.’

  She frowned and said, ‘Ernest sometimes drinks too much when he’s unhappy, but I don’t think he’ll do that after he’s married to you. I saw the way he looked at you and I saw you help him out when he got confused.’

  ‘I’ll do my best to make him happy – and to help him whenever he needs it.’

  Rhoda gave her another long, searching look, then nodded. ‘That’s all I ask. Just do your best and be kind to him. There’s many a married couple managed, for all their differences. It just takes a bit of kindness.’

  Ernest came to tea on Friday, enjoying the fussing and attention from the two women, and exclaiming in pleasure at his favourite cake for afters.

  It took so little to please the poor man, Kathleen thought.

  When the meal was cleared away, they all went along the road to see the curate, a scrawny young man with thick spectacles.

  ‘You didn’t tell me your sister had died, Mrs Newman,’ Mr Pether said reproachfully.

  ‘Not my sister, my half-sister. Deirdre was much younger than me and we weren’t close. I didn’t find out she was dead in time to go to the funeral.’

  ‘It was a very simple affair,’ Kathleen said quickly. ‘I didn’t have the money for anything fancy.’

  After a quick glance at her birth certificate, he handed it back to her. ‘I’ll call the first banns on Sunday. You must both be in church for that.’

  Ernest nodded and squeezed her hand, looking blissfully happy.

  ‘And when you’ve called the banns for the third time, perhaps you could marry them straight after the service, Mr Pether?’ Mrs Newman suggested. ‘Just a simple ceremony because of Kathleen’s bereavement.’

  ‘Of course. Of course. I enjoy marrying people, I must confess. So much hope goes into a marriage, well, into most of them, anyway.’

  That made Kathleen feel sad. It would be a relief to be out of her father’s hands, but she wasn’t sure how it would be to be married to Ernest Seaton. She’d tried out her future name in her bedroom, whispering, ‘Mrs Seaton. Mrs Ernest Seaton.’ But it had sounded strange.

  Not until they were back at ‘Auntie’ Rhoda’s house did she realise something. ‘Mr Pether didn’t ask me if I was Church of England.’

  ‘I noticed. Let’s not mention that. I can lend you my prayer book and teach you what you need to know so that you don’t show yourself up in church on Sunday. We worship the same god, after all. I’m sure he won’t mind which church you say your prayers in.

  ‘And bless him, Mr Pether always has his head in a book, so he won’t think to ask any probing questions. He’s a gentle soul, but not very practical. People round here keep an eye on him and try to see he isn’t cheated.’

  Chapter Five

  When Ernest had taken his leave that first Sunday, Kathleen sat lost in thought, still wondering if she was doing the right thing.

  ‘If you don’t want to get married, speak out now or forever hold your peace,’ Auntie Rhoda said suddenly. ‘My lad is already building his hopes on you.’

  ‘It’s all happened so quickly,’ Kathleen explained. ‘I don’t want to back out now, I wouldn’t do such a thing to him. I just wish we didn’t have to be so secretive.’

  ‘Well, I think you’ll make poor Ernest a lot happier than he has been lately and he won’t make you unhappy. He hasn’t been happy for most of his life, poor lad, and I’m sure he won’t start drinking again, not if he’s married to you.’

  Kathleen didn’t like the sound of a husband who drank too much. Her father had been drinking too much lately and always got loud and bossy after a few pints of beer. ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘I’m over sixty years old, child. I think I’ve learnt a thing or two about people in those years. And I know my Ernest better than anyone else does. Now, let’s go through your clothes and see what you need. I have some clothes in the poor box which we can alter for you. You’ll need a winter coat, for a start.’

  ‘If they need altering, it’ll be a problem. I’m not very good at sewing, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then I’ll teach you to sew while we’re at it. That’ll pass the time very pleasantly, you see if it doesn’t. And it saves so much money to make and mend your own clothes.’

  She produced a skirt from the charity box which was far nicer than anything Kathleen had ever owned before and it had a lovely jacket to match. They were both in a khaki colour.

  ‘Why would someone give such a good outfit away?’ Kathleen asked in surprise.

  Auntie Rhoda sighed. ‘Dear Mrs Carringham-Griggs at the manor house gave me this. She bought it during the war in South Africa when the colour became very fashionable, but khaki didn’t suit her and then she had a baby and grew plumper, so it no longer fitted, either. I’ve been saving it for someone special, because it’
s too good for everyday wear. Try it on.’

  The skirt fitted perfectly, but was too short.

  Auntie Rhoda picked up the hem. ‘Aha! Lucky for you it has a good deep hem. If we let it right down and buy some braid to cover the mark on what used to be the bottom edge, it’ll be perfect for you.’

  The jacket was tailored with wide lapels in contrasting dark brown velvet. It came down over the skirt to about twelve inches below her waist. Kathleen stared at herself in the mirror. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever owned. My family didn’t have much spare money for clothes, you see, and my mother can’t sew.’

  ‘Well, the jacket could have been made for you. And I’ve found another skirt and a couple of blouses from the same lady. Oh, we’ll have you looking really elegant for your wedding, my dear.’

  Auntie Rhoda had the skirt hem unpicked before teatime and took the opportunity to demonstrate to her guest how to sew a seam with small, even stitches. She set Kathleen to practising on a piece of fine cotton, which would make a good handkerchief when hemmed.

  ‘I’m making a lot of work for you,’ Kathleen said guiltily.

  ‘I shall enjoy having you here, dear. As for extra work, I never like to sit idle.’

  ‘I don’t, either. I used to borrow books from the library and I was going to classes to become a secretary one day. I could only read when Da went out for a beer because he didn’t like to see anyone wasting their time on books.’

  That earned her a sharp glance from those bright blue eyes and Auntie Rhoda made a tsk-tsking sound. ‘Well, I have plenty of books and I would never stop someone reading once their day’s work is done.’ She gestured towards a bookcase crammed with books of all colours and sizes. ‘You’re welcome to borrow any of them, my dear.’

  ‘Really?’ Kathleen fell to her knees in front of the bookcase, reading the titles and wondering which to choose first.