by Evie Grace
‘It’s so tempting,’ she went on wistfully.
‘I know, but there’s no point in spoiling it now. You’ll be able to paddle as much as you like when the plaster comes off.’ Rose was dreading it – she couldn’t see how Mr Carter could remove it without taking Minnie’s leg off as well. ‘Donald, we should go.’
‘I’ve told you, there’s nobody here. I can’t see any harm in taking a chance if it means we fill our bellies tonight.’ He handed Rose a sack from the barrow. ‘Minnie, you be lookout.’
Rose thought for a moment. She was hungry. Desperate. They all were. She remembered Baxter and the way he had described his hunger as like rats gnawing at his body. She understood now.
It was wrong, but if the fish were there for the taking … once wouldn’t hurt, would it? She uttered a silent prayer for forgiveness for what she was about to do as she slipped off her shoes and followed Donald into the river. The gravel scraped the arches of her feet as she waded along behind him, working upstream and keeping to the far bank where the branches of the overhanging trees and bushes trailed across the surface of the water.
Donald stopped suddenly and raised his finger to his lips.
‘There,’ he whispered as she peered past his shoulder.
‘Where?’ She couldn’t see anything except for a few fronds of weed against the freckled riverbed.
‘You have to get your eye in. Just there.’ He pointed. ‘You can just make out the edge of its fin.’ He knelt on one knee and reached under the water. ‘You start at the tail, and tickle it with your finger all the way along the belly until you reach the head, when you can’ – he paused before continuing – ‘grab it by the gills, like this.’
He wrenched a silver fish from the river with a splash, sending sparkling droplets of water flying across Rose’s line of vision. He laid his catch on the bank and hit it on the head with a stone.
‘Where’s the bag? Quickly. We want to try for another one before they sense something’s amiss.’
Rose held the sack open and Donald dropped the fish inside. She twisted the top closed, her heart beating fast. It was exciting, exhilarating. For the first time in a long while, she felt alive.
‘You have a go this time.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she said.
‘Chicken.’ Donald grinned and Rose couldn’t help grinning back. She would show him, she thought, thrusting the bag into his hand before walking along the stream with her dress flowing behind her in the current and her eyes staring into the water, hunting for fish. At first she wasn’t sure whether she was seeing stones or prey, but then she made out the shadow of a trout against the riverbed.
She knelt down carefully, feeling her belly tighten against the cool flow of the water. She reached out her hand for the tail and missed, and the fish shot upstream.
‘Try again,’ Donald said. ‘Go in slower this time.’
‘What makes you such an expert?’
‘Ah, that would be telling.’
‘Tell me then.’
‘It was Arthur.’
‘Arthur?’
‘He says every young man worth his salt should know how to tickle a trout. Oh, I miss him.’
‘So do I.’ Rose tried again, and this time, she felt the cool, slippery smoothness of the fish’s tail and its belly and then, with her heart in her mouth, she grabbed it tight at the head and pulled it from the water.
‘It’s a big one,’ Donald said. ‘Hold on tight. It’ll fight you.’
It struggled fiercely for its life, and part of her felt sorry for it when she laid it on the bank as Donald had done with the first fish. He stunned it for her.
‘There, it’s done,’ he said as she stared down at the dead eyes and gleaming skin before he slid it into the bag and waded back across the river, holding her hand. They crossed the pebbles to the barrow where he gave the bag to Minnie.
‘Well done,’ she said, clasping her hands together with delight. ‘What a catch! Now all you have to do is chase down some taters to go with them.’
‘Tuck that under your skirts,’ Donald said cheerfully to Minnie. ‘If anyone asks, don’t admit to anything on pain of death. Let’s go before we are found out.’
‘But you said—’ Rose began as a sudden cracking sound echoed around their ears. ‘Run!’ she exclaimed, but it was too late because a man was almost upon them, a smoking pistol in his hand. He was an elderly but wiry figure, dressed in a torn smock with his trouser-legs tied at the ankles with string.
‘Don’t shoot,’ Minnie said, trembling as Rose and Donald moved to either side of the barrow. ‘We’re out for a nature walk, that’s all.’
‘Oh, it’s you, the orphans.’ The man moved closer. ‘What exactly is the nature of your walk?’ Rose didn’t like the way his hands shook, an infirmity of age no doubt, but it was unnerving to see it when the finger of one of those hands was on the trigger of a pistol. He turned to Minnie. ‘Lift your skirts, young lady.’
‘I will not,’ she said, flushing. ‘That is most improper of you to ask.’
‘It isn’t when you’re clearly up to no good – we have a lot of poachers trying their luck on the estate. I tell you, I won’t have it. Lift your skirts or I’ll do it for you!’
‘Minnie, you don’t have to do that,’ Donald said, but Minnie gave him a look and eased her petticoat to her knees. ‘Will that do, mister?’
‘I’m not convinced. By all rights, I could ask you to turn out that barrow, but I can see that you are an invalid …’
‘We took a wrong turn,’ Rose said. ‘The gate was open and we didn’t think there would be any harm in extending our Sunday afternoon walk. It’s a hot day so when we saw the river we couldn’t resist …’
The man lowered his pistol. ‘I’ll let it go this time, but if I find you here in the future, I’ll call for the constable.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Rose said, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘You’ll see neither hide nor hair of us again.’
‘That was a lucky escape,’ Minnie said, bursting out laughing as Rose steered the barrow home with Donald. ‘Oh, that was funny. The look on that man’s face! I don’t know how I didn’t give it away. All I could think was that I was sitting on the fish.’
‘I don’t know why you are in such a rush, Rose,’ Donald said.
‘I just want to get away from there. If the truth be told, I feel ashamed of what we did. I mean, I’m glad we have food for the table, but it wasn’t ours to take. We stole it.’
‘It will taste all the better for that, you’ll see,’ Donald said.
He was right. The fish was delicious baked in a pan over the fire and eaten with bread and a swig of beer.
‘We have disposed of the evidence,’ Donald said, chuckling as he took the bones out to the midden at the end of the garden. ‘I hope that puts your mind at rest, Rose.’
‘You must promise me you won’t go tickling trout again. I thought that man was going to kill us.’ With a shudder, she recalled the glint of his pistol and his shaking hands.
‘I’m not stupid. I won’t go back to the same place in a hurry.’
‘You mustn’t go at all. I hope he doesn’t squeal on us to Mr Carter.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like Ma.’
‘Do I have to tell you what will happen if you get caught?’ she went on.
He shook his head. ‘You think I’m some dozy clodpole, but I’m not. I won’t get caught, I promise. You really must start trusting me.’
Rose mopped up the last of the fish with a hunk of bread, all too aware that promising not to get caught wasn’t the same as promising not to step out of line in the future.
Another day passed, and on the Tuesday morning after their trout-tickling adventure, Mrs Carter called at Toad’s Bottom.
‘I thought you’d like to come over to the farm. Minnie can sit and watch while we pick the soft fruit and make jam. This time next year, you’ll have some of your own to use in preserves. Has Donald dug that bed for the c
anes yet? Old Pa Carter used to have great success with his raspberries.’
‘We’d like that. Thank you, Mrs Carter,’ Rose said.
‘Oh, that’s enough of that. Call me Grandma, like the others do.’
‘Yes, Grandma,’ she said, smiling. It was going to take her a while to get used to having a grandmother when she’d spent so many years without one.
They helped Minnie into the barrow and Rose towed it along the track where the wild flowers were in bloom in the hedgerow: ragged robin; clover and cranesbill, untouched by the scythe.
‘We’ll go through the yard, Rose,’ Mrs Carter said, opening the gate for her.
They passed Donald who was helping Matthew in the forge, pumping the bellows to fire up the furnace, and wiping the sweat from his brow as the coals turned orange. Rose parked the barrow alongside the pump as the cockerel crowed from the roof of the pigsty and the geese honked to be let out of the barn.
‘Put your arm around my shoulder,’ she said to her sister.
‘No, I can manage by myself.’ Minnie took her stick, which Mr Carter had modified and made into a crutch for her, and climbed awkwardly out of the barrow before the three of them headed into the house and joined the maid in the kitchen.
‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Mrs Carter asked.
Rose glanced at Minnie. ‘A little, thank you.’
‘The crust of the bread,’ Minnie said and Rose shot her a look.
‘That won’t keep body and soul together.’ Mrs Carter sent the maid to the pantry to find a meat pie and cake.
‘Donald has already had his fill,’ the maid said, returning with half a pie. ‘The cake is all gone.’
‘He’s a young man with a good appetite,’ Mrs Carter said fondly. ‘We’d better get baking this morning. Alice, you start on the cakes with Minnie, while Rose and I pick the fruit. There are blackcurrants, raspberries and rhubarb. Mr Carter loves a rhubarb crumble.’
She handed Rose a trug made from chestnut and willow held together with copper nails, and they went out into the garden. Rose’s grandmother showed her how to select the tender, pink-veined stems of rhubarb, then snip bunches of fragrant blackcurrants from the bushes, and pick gooseberries without being caught by the spikes on the branches. It was warm work in the sunshine as they made their way along the rows of plants, and the dumbledores buzzed lazily among the leafy branches of the medlar, reminding Rose of home.
‘This is ideal weather for picking,’ Mrs Carter said. ‘Did you grow any fruit at all in Canterbury?’
‘We didn’t. The garden was very small, much smaller than this, and one of the men from the tannery looked after it.’
‘I expect your ma kept house for you all, didn’t she?’
‘Oh no, she left that to our housekeeper. Ma was a teacher – she ran a school.’
‘I see. Your grandfather and I used to attend the same school in the village here. I remember reading to him …’ Mrs Carter reached into a bush and plucked out a gooseberry, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘My husband doesn’t like me to talk of him – the thought of days gone by fills him with sorrow, but I think of them from time to time. Matty was on watch at the top of the church tower one night, but the other men who were supposed to be watching with him hadn’t turned up. I read him a chapter about sheep from a farming book – he was surprising in that way, a poor country lad with a thirst for knowledge.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘it was a memorable night. A gang of men came through Overshill and attacked the farm, setting the rick and stables on fire. Matty raised the alarm, and all our neighbours came running to help put the fire out. No one was hurt and the flames didn’t reach the house – we had a lucky escape.’
‘Matty was my grandfather?’ Rose said.
‘Oh yes, and he was quite a character. As a boy, he was a cheeky ruffian who delighted in playing tricks on me, then he grew into a handsome young man. You wouldn’t believe it now, but there was an occasion when the Carter brothers got into a fight over me. You see, Stephen was a little in love with me even back then, but I chose his brother. Listen to me, rambling on …’
‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, transfixed by her grandmother’s tale. ‘Do go on.’
‘Matty and I were about to be married when Jervis – the eldest Carter boy – went off to join Sir William Courtenay.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Ah, we thought he was the Messiah at first. He gave the impression of being a good man with his preaching and his promises of riches for the poor, but he turned out to be a liar and imposter. He had a gaggle of followers who ranged the countryside with him, trying to persuade others to join them in rising up and overthrowing the wealthy farmers and landowners.
‘There was a battle over at Bossenden, not far from here, and to cut a long story short, Matty and Jervis were charged with murder, convicted and sentenced to transportation for life.’ She couldn’t disguise her venom. ‘I hate Jervis for what he did to us.’
‘My grandfather was a murderer?’ Rose said, shocked.
‘Oh no, he wouldn’t have hurt a hair on anyone’s head. He was wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit – he attempted to stop Jervis, who was a hot-headed thug at the best of times, from firing his gun, and when it was too late, he tried to stem the flow of blood from the victim’s wounds. The evidence against him was too compelling to overthrow – he was arrested with blood on his hands.’ Mrs Carter sighed deeply before changing the subject. ‘Let’s go back indoors – we have more than enough for crumble and jam.’
In the kitchen, she asked Rose to rinse the dust from the jars and wipe them dry, while Minnie stripped the blackcurrants from their stalks with a fork into a big brass preserving pan. The maid added sugar and water, placed the pan on the range and gradually brought it to the boil, continuously stirring it with a wooden spoon, and skimming the scum from the top.
‘I’ve done the jars,’ Rose said.
Her grandmother picked one up and held it against the light from the window.
‘No, that won’t do. It must be perfect or the contents will spoil.’
Rose washed and dried the jars again.
‘That’s better. Next, you and Minnie can shape papers an inch and a half larger than the tops of the jars. When we’re ready, we’ll brush them with beaten egg white – when you’ve tied them on, they’ll dry out and form a tight seal.’
They stayed at the farm all day, sieving the boiled fruits through muslin to make jellies, or pouring them straight into the jars to make jams. To make the lids for them, Rose placed a paper on the top of each jar. She tied a piece of string around the top of the first one, and Minnie pressed her finger on to the first throw of the knot while she threw the second. She pulled the ends tight, trapping Minnie’s finger.
‘Ouch,’ she said.
‘You’ll have to move out of the way quicker,’ Rose smiled. ‘Next one.’
Later on, when she was back at the cottage sitting by the ashes of the fire in the kitchen as she patched Donald’s jerkin in the light of a flickering stub of candle, Rose mulled over her conversation with Mrs Carter. Her grandmother must have been with child when Matty Carter had left England’s shores, she thought, putting two and two together. The needle slipped as she stitched, causing her to prick herself. She made a knot, snipped the thread and sucked the blood from her finger. That’s why there had been so much trouble for the family: for Mrs Carter, for Agnes and now for her and her siblings. She would never succumb to a man’s advances before marriage, especially now that she’d suffered the consequences.
Chapter Sixteen
The Gentleman Who Pays the Rent
As time went by, Rose began to feel a sense of tranquillity, living in Overshill away from the Kingsleys and the busy streets of Canterbury. She worked hard in the cottage, making it a home and looking after Minnie, while helping her grandmother in the house, but no matter how many hours she put in and no matter how much extra Donald did on the farm, they never seemed to have en
ough food on the table. She wished she could ask for more, but Mr Carter had made it clear that she shouldn’t.
Towards the end of August, the jellies and jams that Mrs Carter had given her for helping pick the fruit had gone. She’d also run up a small amount of credit at the bakehouse, and couldn’t see any way of paying it back. The garden was almost bare, apart from a row of winter cabbages, which wouldn’t be ready until February or March, and the hens Mrs Carter had promised them hadn’t yet materialised.
On a sunny day at the beginning of September when she was taking a quarter of an hour away from her chores in the farmhouse to spend time with her sister, Rose walked in from the garden where she’d been checking on the old coop that Donald and Sam had repaired together.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ Rose laughed when she saw her sister in the kitchen with a range of sharp implements lined up on the table: the knife that Mr Carter had sharpened at the forge, a knitting needle and a skewer.
‘I have an itch.’ Minnie grimaced as she poked a twig of hazel inside her plaster cast. ‘And I’m trying to find something to scratch it with. This stick’ – she pulled it back out again – ‘is too bendy and the knife too big. And I tried tying one knitting needle to another, but they came apart and one is stuck down by my ankle. Oh, Rose, I’m fed up with this. It’s been more than six weeks. Surely the bones are mended by now?’
‘I’ll talk to Mr Carter,’ she said – finding the opportunity much sooner than she expected because a few minutes later he arrived at the cottage door, shoving Donald roughly along in front of him.
‘I’ve just found this one helping himself to Mrs Carter’s beans,’ he said, his eyes flashing with anger.
‘I did not,’ Donald said. ‘I never.’
‘Turn out your pockets – go on.’
Donald fished around in his jacket and, like a conjuror, pulled out a handful of green beans, a potato and three onions.
‘You have very deep pockets, boy,’ Mr Carter said. ‘Proper poacher’s pockets. Don’t tell me you found them just lying around because I know you haven’t.’
‘Donald, how could you?’ Rose exclaimed.
