That ease of things was resoundingly missing from Weavern Farm, and most particularly with Rose, who chafed and fretted and made suggestion after suggestion as to the baby’s father.
‘Will you give it a bloody rest? There’s clearly no point trying to make her tell us who it was, he’s boggled her mind,’ snapped William, finally, eyeing his daughter with an angry sadness that was almost disgust. And since that appeared to be his final word on the matter, it was left to Rose to do whatever she thought should be done next. The following morning she put on her best dress and a straw hat with a rumpled blue ribbon normally reserved for church, the harvest home and the like, and instructed her mute daughter to do the same.
‘Come along, don’t drag your heels,’ she told Clemmie, whose silent questions about where they were going went unanswered. Clemmie didn’t have any best shoes, and she generally went barefoot in the summer, but Rose forced her into her boots, ignoring her protests. Then they set off up to Weavern Lane and towards Slaughterford, and though Clemmie went meekly it was with a growing sense of unease. How people knew the things they knew was often mysterious to her – a lot of their interactions passed her by as she kept to herself. But Rose marched right past Thatch Cottage without a glance, and Clemmie relaxed just a little. Sweat soaked through the back of her mother’s dress, making an oval shape in the small of her back, and Clemmie pulled on her hand to try to slow her down, only to be shaken off. ‘No, Clem, this needs to be dealt with,’ Rose muttered, her attention elsewhere.
They went to Manor Farm, and when she realised it, Clemmie tried again to refuse. Rose shot her a ferocious look that brought her to heel, and she fidgeted nervously as her mother banged at the door. The cob peered at them over his stable door, ears pricked; Hilarius, the horse groom, walked across towards the barn, raising one bony hand in salute as he went. Clemmie raised her hand in reply, but he’d already turned away. Then the door opened, and Rose clasped Clemmie’s hand tightly, and the housekeeper showed them into a cool, stale parlour to the far end of the house. In the sudden stillness, Rose looked harried. Her face was red and wet from the walk, and she blotted at the sweat with her fingers to no effect. Frizzy hanks of her hair, as mad as Clemmie’s, had escaped from beneath her bonnet, and when she caught sight of herself in the foxed mirror over the fireplace, she gaped in horror. They looked like a pair of scarecrows, and Rose coloured even more. Clemmie shrugged, to say that it didn’t matter, but at that moment Nancy Hadleigh came into the room with her usual abruptness, and Clemmie slunk back slightly, looking down at the pattern of twisting vines and flowers of the rug, and her dirty boots, smudging it.
Nancy shut the door behind her and came across to sit on one of the chairs. She was wearing a plain black dress with no ornament, and no jewellery. Her hair was combed back and held, immaculately, in tortoiseshell combs, and her extreme composure created a severe contrast to her visitors. Clemmie could feel Nancy’s antipathy for them – for her – sharpening her edges. She wanted more than anything to leave, and wondered what on earth her mother planned to say.
‘Won’t you sit down, the pair of you? Mrs Mattock, isn’t it?’ said Nancy.
‘Matlock, your ladyship. Rose Matlock, and this is my girl, Clemmie.’ Rose was clearly rattled; her wide eyes roved the room, and Nancy smiled faintly.
‘No ladyships here,’ she said. ‘Miss Hadleigh will suffice. Yes, I know Clemmie. The one who’d been having lessons in speaking, down at the mill. Now, what brings you to see me?’
‘Well,’ said Rose. She nodded to Clemmie and they sat down, awkwardly, side by side on a sofa. ‘I hate to disturb you, but I’ve been racking my brains over what to do. It’s my girl here. She’s … been put into the family way.’
‘Ah,’ said Nancy. ‘And yet I have heard no wedding bells of late?’
‘No. No, there weren’t no wedding, as yet.’
‘She doesn’t look … with child. Are you certain?’
‘Oh, yes. That is, as certain as can be until she begins to round out in belly and breast. But certain enough.’ There was a pause, and Nancy didn’t blink.
‘Do go on, Mrs Mattock.’ This was delivered in a frosty tone.
‘Yes. Well, Miss Hadleigh, my Clem here can’t talk, as you know, in spite of Mr Hadleigh’s kind efforts towards curing her of it. So she can’t tell us who it was took advantage of her.’
‘Yes, I can see how it would be difficult for her to do so.’ Another pause, and Nancy’s steely gaze fastened onto Clemmie. Rose swallowed, and Clemmie saw with sudden clarity what her mother’s words, and what she was driving at, might seem to imply. Nancy Hadleigh had never liked her lessons, and had already sent Clemmie packing from the farm once before. She got up to go but Rose pulled her back down.
‘Stay still, Clemmie! Well, your – Miss Hadleigh – what with Clemmie bringing the milk to the mill most days, I can’t help wonder if that’s where she met this fellow, whoever he might be. And I know this would have been better addressed to Mr Hadleigh, but with that not possible … My other girls tell me Clemmie has a sweetheart, you see, but she won’t tell us who it is, so we’ve no other way to find him out … to make him marry her, see, and do right by her.’
‘If he’s free to marry, and willing to,’ Nancy pointed out, coolly.
‘Ar. That’s so,’ said Rose, miserably, as though she hadn’t considered that possibility. ‘I hope you understand only desperation has brought me here, to lay such a thing out in the open. But I hoped you might understand how such a thing could happen, and be willing to … keep it close. I’ve no doubt the whole world would know of it, quick as you like, if I were to go and ask around at the mill. But I wanted to ask if you could help us. If you had any idea who the villain might be. We’ve been so blind to it all, out at Weavern, but perhaps you’ve seen her walking out with a young man, or perhaps talking to one of your workers, down at the mill?’
The silence in the room rang. Clemmie didn’t dare to look up. She hated to hear her life, her love, described in such terms. There had been nothing shameful in what she and Eli had done, nothing in the least bit demeaning. Or at least, there hadn’t been until that moment. Nancy Hadleigh appeared unmoved, yet she radiated disgust. Bewildered, Rose ploughed on, though Clemmie tugged at her hand to make her stop. ‘He’d have known, you see, that she couldn’t tell on him. Do you see? Whoever he is, he’d have known that, and thought he could do just as he pleased with her, and ruin her, and not face the consequences.’
‘Just what exactly are you implying?’ said Nancy. Rose stared, and shook her head fractionally, and when she spoke her mouth sounded dry.
‘I’m not implying, your— Miss Hadleigh … I only meant to ask if you’d seen her about the mill with anyone, or if any of the men working for you at the mill has spoken of it …’ She trailed into silence in the cold glare of Nancy’s suspicion.
‘No,’ said Nancy, at last. ‘I’ve not seen her about with anybody, nor heard anything of it. Not that I tend to concern myself with the grubbier goings-on of the work force. All your sort have become far too used to Alistair being kind, and overly indulgent. I daresay he would have tried to help you, as you seem to think he would. But it wouldn’t have been appropriate, and nor is your asking it. And I really don’t see how we can help you. It seems to me to be a matter for your family to deal with, perhaps with greater discretion than you have shown here today. I imagine it would be best for your family’s reputation that this did not become common knowledge.’ She stood up, so Rose and Clemmie did the same.
‘But what should I do, then? About bringing the fellow forward?’ said Rose, hurriedly, in a last-ditch attempt as Nancy opened the door to dismiss them. Nancy watched Clemmie intently, and Clemmie shied away from her.
‘We’ve more than enough to cope with here at the moment, Mrs Mattock,’ Nancy said, tightly. ‘I’ll thank you not to lay your troubles at our door as well.’
They walked back down the hill in silence, Rose marching with just as much purpo
se as before, pulling Clemmie along by her hand when she dragged behind. Clemmie wanted to say, Stop. It’s all right, Mum, no need to fuss. When they got to the bridge, Rose turned on her.
‘Oh, do come on, Clem! Why must you lag like that?’ She took a huge breath as if to go on, but then seemed to simply deflate. ‘Can’t you understand it, Clemmie – what a fix you’re in?’ she said. ‘No one’ll have you now, not with some rogue’s bastard on your hip. You’ll be on your own.’ She shook her head, and Clemmie hated to see how careworn she looked, how tired and afraid. ‘Perhaps your dad’ll let you stay on with us, but I don’t know. I just don’t know. He’s so strange since our Walter died, I don’t know if he’ll be stormy or fair. I never know.’ Clemmie tried to take her hands to reassure her, but Rose pulled them away impatiently. ‘You need to find a way to tell me, Clem. You have to find a way to, so we can get you wed, or get the man punished. It’s the only way. Will he, do you think? Is he free to wed? Please tell me the bleeder’s not already got a wife?’ Clemmie shook her head at once, and Rose sagged slightly. ‘Well, it’s not much but it’s something.’ Rose heaved another sigh, pressing her fingertips deep into her cheeks. A soft breeze rustled the silver leaves of the riverbank willows, and it carried the scent of flowers. Clemmie breathed it deeply, and smiled. She couldn’t understand how her mother wasn’t feeling all the rightness she was feeling, in spite of Nancy Hadleigh’s cold comfort. She pictured her wedding to Eli, and Rose jostling their child on her knee, and William thawing – his first grandchild starting to fill the hole that Walter’s death had left. She pictured the time that was coming when all would be well, and wished she could pass her thoughts directly to her mother. With an exasperated sound, Rose marched on again, back towards Weavern, and this time she left her daughter to follow on at her own speed.
A quiet few days came next, and more hushed, terse conversations between Rose and William. Josie, Mary and Liz listened at doors, and underneath windows, and from the stairs, and Clemmie left them to it. She churned the butter and strained the curds and turned the cheeses, and walked here and there as she always had, waiting to hear from Eli. She waited to hear what his plan was, and when they would begin to live it, and in the meantime she saw babies everywhere. The sow had a litter of twelve, and at dawn the roe deer fawns tottered along at their mothers’ heels on legs like stilts. A hopeless squawking woke them one night and they looked out to see a vixen carrying away one of the hens, three boisterous cubs bounding alongside her. Then, on the fourth morning, the atmosphere at the breakfast table was bleak.
‘What is it?’ asked Mary, but nobody answered her. Rose put her husband’s plate down in front of him with a bang, and the eggs had black edges while the tomatoes were all but raw. He glowered at her, and she glared back, defiantly.
‘Come along, Clemmie,’ she said, undoing her apron. ‘We’ve an appointment to keep.’ Clemmie rose obediently, though she would far rather have known where they were going, and who they were to see. She noticed her sisters exchange a serious look, and Josie’s eyes had gone very wide. Rose shut the door behind them far harder than was necessary.
Apparently, their everyday clothes were good enough for this visit, as were Clemmie’s bare, dusty feet. Rose walked with her arms folded and her chin tucked in, as though, this time, she was as unwilling to go wherever they were going as her daughter. When they got to Thatch Cottage and Rose hurried up the path, her face still downturned, Clemmie panicked. She followed her mother with feet gone numb, on legs that shook, desperately trying to think how her secret had been discovered. Eli had told her his father still hadn’t found work, and was around a good deal of the time, and he already had that crushed look his father gave him, along with a bruise on his jaw and bloodied knuckles from an argument with his brother. There hadn’t been any visits to Mrs Tanner for a while, because of the risk of running into Isaac; no more cuddling the little ones or cups of nettle tea. Involuntarily, Clemmie made a noise in her throat – a whine of distress and fear. She had no idea what was about to happen, no idea what Rose would say. She only knew that it would not go well. If Eli were there, if Rose accused him outright, she didn’t know what he would say, or do. She didn’t like to think what would happen if Isaac were there as well. She shut her eyes and gulped for air, heart hammering, her mind in too much disarray to think or react, to do anything other than follow as her mother knocked, and the door opened, and they went inside.
Clemmie darted a look around the room, struggling to see in the darkness. Eli’s grandmother was asleep in her chair, and his mother was sitting at the crooked table, and besides the two of them the room was empty, the house quiet. She breathed just a little bit easier. Mrs Tanner met Clemmie’s eye with a look – questioning, and pleading for calm. Shaking, Clemmie tried not to give in to her panic, or let it show on her face. She was desperate to say out loud, there and then, that she hadn’t asked for any of it, that she hadn’t told anyone about Eli, and had no demands to make, other than to be left be. She sensed the stiffness in her mother’s body; felt how she loathed to be there. But Rose wasn’t angry. In fact, there was something almost apologetic about the way she stood, and clasped her hands, and waited to be spoken to. Mrs Tanner, without getting up, gestured for them to sit.
‘Mrs Matlock,’ she said, guardedly. She flicked her eyes at Clemmie, who felt sweat oozing down her spine and between her thighs. She was trembling so badly she was sure they would see. ‘Something I can help you with?’
‘This one’s got a child inside,’ said Rose, baldly. Mrs Tanner let her face register just a little surprise. Clemmie held her breath, certain that her mother’s next words would be to name Eli, to demand marriage and retribution. The pause boomed in her ears, filling in the gaps between the thumping beats of her heart. She waited; she could only wait, with no idea of how it would end – of what Mrs Tanner or her mother would say next. ‘It wants getting shot of,’ said Rose. ‘I’ve heard you know ways of doing that.’
It took a moment for the words to make sense to Clemmie. When they did, they hit her with such force that her body jerked out of the chair, knocking it onto its back, and she stumbled away until she hit the far wall, and stood staring, aghast. Rose gave her a quick, unhappy glance. ‘Her father says as much, and there’s no arguing with the man,’ she said, turning back to Mrs Tanner. Clemmie began to shake her head, and tears made the room wobble and lurch. Mrs Tanner looked taken aback. She said nothing for a moment, then looked at Clemmie, meeting her eyes for a second. Clemmie saw sympathy there, and something like resignation. Mrs Tanner cleared her throat.
‘How far along is she?’ she said.
‘Not long.’ Rose shook her head. ‘Won’t be more than a worm, still.’ Not a worm, thought Clemmie, a piglet. A baby. Mine and Eli’s. She clasped her hands protectively across her middle, and stared at Mrs Tanner in terror. Mrs Tanner shook her head minutely.
‘Is this what you want, girl?’ she asked her, and Clemmie shook her head violently.
‘She don’t know what she wants!’ said Rose, with a tremor in her voice. ‘She can’t know! What’s she going to do with a baby? William won’t have it – where’s she going to go with it? How will she live?’
‘Doesn’t look to me like she wants shot of it,’ said Mrs Tanner. ‘I’ll not do it against her will. It’s not right, that.’
‘Not right?’ said Rose. ‘None of this is right, by God!’
‘Perhaps it might come so, given time,’ said Mrs Tanner, carefully.
‘Well, do go on and tell me how,’ said Rose, shaking her head.
‘Look at your daughter, Mrs Matlock,’ said Mrs Tanner. Rose seemed reluctant to, but when she did, and when she saw Clemmie’s distress, she slumped in her chair, defeated.
‘But what’ll she do? William will turn her out, he says. What then?’ She sounded hopeless, and Clemmie wished with all her heart to be able to explain. Just then, she almost wished Mrs Tanner would speak on her behalf, and tell her mother about Eli, and ea
se her misery – if news that the baby was a Tanner had any hope of doing that.
Mrs Tanner got up and went to a cupboard on the wall. She fetched out a small paper packet and handed it to Rose.
‘Perhaps you can find a way to change his mind on it,’ she said. ‘Take this. Give it to him in his tea or his beer.’
‘What will it do?’ Rose took it, a strange, suspicious kind of hope kindling on her face.
‘It’ll … put lead in his pipe, shall we say. He’ll need you then, right enough, and that kind of need, once tended to, makes a man grateful.’ Mrs Tanner smiled slightly, and Rose fingered the packet speculatively.
‘Been a goodly while since he needed that from me,’ she said, then shook her head. ‘He was so set though, so hard, I don’t think he’ll change his mind and keep her and the littl’un. I don’t think she can keep it.’
‘But look at your daughter – see how she holds her belly! See how rabbity she is! She loves that child already, loves it right through. You can’t make her kill it, can you?’ Rose turned to look at Clemmie, and Clemmie saw all her mother’s resolve melt away.
‘Do you love that baby you’ve got, my girl?’ she asked, and Clemmie nodded at once, knees sagging in relief. Rose sighed heavily, like she was exhausted. She got up, still holding the paper packet in her hand. ‘I pray God this works,’ she said. ‘How much is owed?’
The Hiding Places Page 26
