The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  When the bell clanged for the end of the school day, Rosie skipped and hopped at her side, keeping Kate company as far as the smithy, chattering incessantly. Kate made no reply and finally the younger child looked up and said, ‘Kate, a’ya cross with me?’

  ‘’Course not.’

  ‘Then what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, there is.’ Rosie danced lightly around Kate. ‘You bin in trouble at school?’

  ‘No.’

  Silence.

  They had reached the blacksmith’s, Rosie’s home, but the child grasped Kate’s hand and tugged at it insistently. ‘What, then?’

  The pent-up emotion of the last few days and the loneliness of this day burst out. ‘I dun’t want to go away to school. I dun’t even want to go on going to school. I want to work – like Danny. I want to be with Danny.’

  She saw Rosie’s eyes widen and her mouth open, but Kate snatched her hand away and ran, leaving the child standing in the lane staring after her.

  Kate ran and ran until she came to the lane alongside the dunes, but instead of following it, she scrambled up the slope, catching hold of the tough, spiky marram grass, and down the other side. Across the flat marsh, jumping the creeks, frightening a skylark into the air to defend its territory against her pounding feet, until she crested the rise of the easterly dunes and came to the beach. Her heart was pounding as she gulped air, her lungs bursting, but still she forced herself onwards, across the soft, dry sand until she came to the water’s edge where she sank down, sobbing and breathless. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face against her skirt.

  The incoming tide came closer, receded and then crept closer still, its waves probing with gentle frothy edges until she became aware of its coldness soaking through her skirts. Sudden anger spurted and she smacked the flat of her palm on the encroaching water, sending a shower of salt water over herself. ‘I won’t be sent away. I won’t go – I won’t!’ Now the tears that she had kept locked inside all day long spilled over.

  The sea retreated but came again; a stronger, bigger wave catching her unawares so that she lost her balance and fell backwards into the shallows. Soaked to her skin, Kate scrambled to her feet. Sobbing, the sea-water squelching in her shoes, she began to run.

  ‘Why, lovey, you’re wet through!’ Beth Eland reached out with gentle hands and pulled Kate into her warm kitchen. ‘Whatever happened? Did ya fall in a creek?’

  Kate sniffled and shook her head as she allowed herself to be led towards the rickety wooden chair set before the glowing range. A log settled in the grate sending up a welcoming shower of sparks.

  Kate hesitated before she sat down, glancing up at Danny’s mother. As if reading the girl’s thoughts, the woman smiled gently and said, ‘Go on, Mester Eland won’t mind you sitting in his chair this once. Now, off with these wet things.’

  Mrs Eland slipped the shawl off her own shoulders and wrapped it round Kate. ‘I’ll rinse ya pinny out and hang it on the line, else that mud’ll stain it. Eh, dearie me, even ya shimmy’s wet through.’

  She took Kate’s salt-stained clothes to the deep white sink under the window and worked the handle of the pump. Water splashed into the sink.

  ‘I dun’t know how I’m to get these dry in time for you to go home, Katie,’ Mrs Eland murmured worriedly, taking an enamel jug from a shelf of pots and pans running along one wall and coming back to the range to ladle hot water from the side boiler.

  Kate, her teeth chattering, held out her hands to the log fire, and wriggled her toes into the worn peg rug that covered the hearth. She felt the woman’s anxious glance on her.

  ‘Eh, ya shivering. I’ll just get these clothes in to steep and I’ll make you some hot milk with a spoon of honey in it.’

  Kate nodded and sniffled. She was still unable to speak.

  After her drenching in the sea, she had run along the beach. Sobbing and breathless, she had climbed the easterly dunes, crossed the marsh and come to the Point, deliberately avoiding going anywhere near her own home.

  Danny, she must find Danny.

  Now she lifted her tear-streaked face, her long hair straggling down her cheeks, to look up at his mother. ‘Where’s Danny?’ she asked.

  Mrs Eland bent over her as she gave Kate a steaming mug of milk and honey. ‘There now, drink this. It’ll warm ya. Danny? Why, he’s not home from work yet.’

  Kate wrapped her cold hands round the mug and sipped the hot liquid. ‘How long will he be?’

  The woman stood looking down at her, her brown eyes full of concern and something else Kate could not quite understand. There was more than just sympathy for her bedraggled state; there was a sadness in Beth Eland’s eyes. ‘Katie, ya’ll have to forget our Danny now and make new friends at school. Ya going to a new school soon, aren’t ya?’

  The child’s green eyes flashed with renewed vigour. Her mouth was set in a line of rebellion. ‘I dun’t want to go. I won’t go!’

  Mrs Eland sighed heavily. ‘If it’s what yar mam wants . . .’

  Kate gazed up appealingly at the older woman. ‘Couldn’t you speak to me mam? Mebbe she’d listen to you . . .’

  ‘No!’ Beth Eland’s sudden sharpness startled Kate and the mug she held wobbled, splashing hot milk on to her bare leg. The woman’s eyes softened, but there was still a deep-rooted pain in their depths. ‘Yar mam and me dun’t talk to each other, child. Ya know we don’t. Not since – not for a long time.’

  She turned her back on Kate and went back to the sink, plunging her hands deep into the water and wringing out Kate’s dress and pinafore, twisting the fabric in her grasp with a pent-up anger.

  ‘But . . .’ Kate began and then fell silent. Mrs Eland’s back was rigid; it was obvious that further pleas would be fruitless. ‘Where on earth have you been?’

  Kate faced her mother’s anger squarely. Inwardly she was trembling but she clenched her jaw stubbornly, her bottom lip pouting.

  The tirade continued. ‘We’ve been worried sick. Your father’s been up and down that lane three times searching for you, right as far as the school. He even knocked on the school-house door to ask the headmistress . . .’

  Kate’s insides quivered afresh. That would mean more trouble at school in the morning. She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘I got me clothes soaked and I – I . . .’ She hesitated but there was no point in lying. Her mother was sure to find out the truth. Mrs Eland wouldn’t tell her, but Grannie Harris very well might.

  When Danny’s mother had rinsed her clothes and hung them outside in the wind to dry she had come back into the cottage and stood before Kate once more. Her eyes were gentle and concerned again; the sudden, unusual hostility of a few moments before gone as swiftly as it had come.

  ‘You ought to be going home, Katie. Yar mam will be worried.’

  Kate had looked away, staring into the flames. ‘I dun’t reckon she’ll miss me, not now she’s got the babby.’

  She felt the soft sigh on her cheek and was surprised to feel the touch of the woman’s lips brushing briefly against her forehead. ‘Oh, Katie love,’ Beth Eland murmured and then, more briskly, ‘I’ll just nip next door. Mebbe Grannie Harris has some old clothes her girls have grown out of . . .’

  A few moments later Mrs Eland returned with her arms full of an odd assortment of clothing. Panting slightly, she dumped the bundle on her kitchen table and for a moment the anxious look in her brown eyes was lifted as she laughed. ‘Eh, Katie, Grannie Harris is such a hoarder. I reckon some of these clothes are Enid’s!’ Enid was Grannie Harris’s daughter and Rosie’s mother. Kate knew the garments must be years old!

  Mrs Eland held up a shapeless dress. ‘It’s a bit big, but it might fit you. Fancy her keeping it all this time . . .’

  They giggled together when Kate, a few moments later, stood before Mrs Eland, the long dress flapping around her ankles, the waistline somewhere around her slim, girlish hips. The older woman p
ut her hand to her mouth as if to stifle her laughter. ‘It looks dreadful, Kate, but it’ll have to do. Ya can borrow my shawl and a pair of woollen stockings. You’ll look like a scarecrow, but at least it’ll get you home . . .’

  The laughter faded for they both knew what awaited Kate then.

  And now she was standing before her mother’s wrath.

  ‘I am waiting for an answer, Missy.’

  ‘I – came home on the beach and fell in the sea. I went to the Point.’

  Her mother’s frown deepened and some instinct made the girl bend the truth a little and omit mentioning Danny’s mother. ‘Grannie Harris lent me these clothes,’ she finished, praying fervently that neither Mrs Eland nor even Danny would bring her own clothes back to Brumbys’ Farm when they were dry.

  ‘Ya’ll get ya’sen to bed this minute and no tea or supper.’

  ‘But Mam . . .’

  ‘I dun’t know what I’m going to do with you, Kate Hilton. You’ve grown so wilful and disobedient, ya’ll be the death of me. Mebbe your new school will mek you toe the line.’

  Four

  ‘Kate? Kate, are you asleep?’

  It was her stepfather whispering from the doorway. Kate lifted her head from under the bedclothes. ‘No, I’m not asleep, Dad.’

  The door creaked as he pushed it wider open and stepped down the one step into her bedroom. He was carrying a glass of milk and a plate with a wedge of crusty bread spread thickly with fresh butter.

  In the dimness of her bedroom – it was dusk outside her window now – he smiled down at her. ‘Your mother’s busy outside with the milking. Don’t you tell her I’ve brought you this, will you?’

  Kate sat up and reached for the milk eagerly. Crying had dried her mouth and left a salty taste on her lips.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said between gulps, ‘you – went looking – for me.’

  He sat down on the bed, holding the plate ready for her. ‘You should have come straight home, Kate. I told you this morning. It was the first time you’ve had to walk all that way on your own . . .’

  As his words reminded her, fresh tears started.

  ‘We were worried, that’s all.’ His tone was firm, making her understand that she had been thoughtless, but he stroked the hair back from her forehead with a gentle gesture that took the sting from his reproach.

  ‘Me mam’s not really going to send me away to school, is she?’ Kate asked, her green eyes wide and appealing. She struggled inwardly, wanting to ask if it was because of the new baby. But Lilian was his child – and she wasn’t. Even though this gentle, kind man was as good to her as any real father could have been, Kate thought, still she was not his child.

  She bit deeply into the thick bread and butter and filled her mouth to stop it speaking.

  He sighed and stroked her hair again. ‘You’re growing up, Kate. You’re almost a woman and – and your mother’s worried about you spending so much time with – with – well – boys.’

  She saw him hesitate and thought that perhaps he was embarrassed to touch upon delicate, feminine matters.

  A mischievous grin quirked at her mouth even through her recent tears. ‘Me mam has told me about the birds and the bees. I mean, I know I mustn’t let boys do to me what the old boar does to the sow when he visits.’

  Her grin widened at his shocked gasp. ‘Kate!’

  ‘Oh, I’ve often watched,’ she said airily, wiping the crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand.

  ‘You shouldn’t talk like that. It’s not the sort of talk for young girls . . .’

  He paused and she saw he was staring at her through the gloom. ‘What?’ she prompted.

  He sighed and she felt the waft of his breath on her face. ‘Maybe,’ he said slowly, thoughtfully, ‘that’s what your mother means. You need to learn to be more – more ladylike.’

  Kate gave a snort of laughter and then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. ‘Me? Ladylike?’ The thought was so comical that for a moment it drove away her tears.

  ‘Your mother’s only trying to do what’s best for you.’ Her stepfather patted her hand, picked up the empty plate and glass and stood up. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Kate. But I can’t promise to make her change her mind, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Dad. But if you’d try.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ he agreed, but she knew that was as much as he was able to promise.

  There was one thing about her mother, Kate was obliged to acknowledge, she didn’t bear malice and stay angry for days on end. The next morning when Kate appeared at the breakfast table, washed, dressed and ready for school, Esther Godfrey greeted her daughter with a smile and planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Ya lunch box is ready on the side there. Dun’t forget it. D’ya want more milk on ya porridge?’

  ‘No thanks, Mam.’

  Kate sat at the kitchen table and ate while her mother picked up the baby from the cradle in the corner, sat in the Windsor chair by the fire in the range and opened her blouse front. The baby nuzzled greedily and began to suck loudly. Deliberately, Kate concentrated on her porridge.

  ‘Shall ya come to church with me on Sunday, Katie? It’s time I was churched after having Lilian. Ya Dad’ll mind her for once.’

  Eagerly, Kate said, ‘Ooh yes, Mam. I’d like that.’

  She was rewarded with one of Esther’s radiant smiles. ‘That’s settled, then.’

  Happily, Kate finished her breakfast. On Sunday, for a few precious hours, she would have her mother all to herself.

  She didn’t see Danny again until Morning Service on the Sunday. He was sitting in his usual place beside his mother on the opposite side of the church. Kate, being first in the pew and landing up against the white-washed wall, knelt on the hassock and covered her face with her hands. Slowly she spread her fingers a fraction and peeped between them to study Danny’s bent head. Although he was dressed in his Sunday best suit, the collar of his white shirt stiffly starched, his face looked thinner than just a week ago and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

  All local children worked from an early age – it was the way of all their lives – but Kate guessed that Danny’s first full week as a working man had been tough and exhausting. It was written on his young face.

  As the congregation stood to leave at the end of the service, Kate shifted from one foot to the other impatiently.

  ‘Stand still, Kate, and stop jiffling. I’ve to see the vicar about our Lilian’s christening,’ her mother whispered. ‘Just be patient, will ya?’ Behind her mother’s back, Kate pouted. Now she would not be able to catch Danny before he left with his mother to walk the two miles home.

  The vicar greeted Esther Godfrey warmly and patted Kate on the head with annoying condescension. ‘So, Mrs Godfrey, you want to bring your little one to be baptized.’

  ‘We thought between harvests, Vicar. About the end of July.’

  ‘Mmm, yes, yes, I think we could fit you in after Morning Service. Shall we say the last Sunday in July?’

  Kate watched her mother nod agreement, shake the vicar’s hand and walk swiftly down the path to their pony and trap.

  Kate skipped beside her. ‘Walk properly, Kate. You’re no longer a child.’

  Kate sighed, but obeyed.

  It was a fine, warm morning and once on the coast road the pony trotted smartly, the breeze lifting his silky mane.

  ‘There’s Danny – and Mrs Eland. Can’t we give them a ride home, Mam?’ Kate shouted above the noise of the wheels. The only reply her mother made was to slap the reins to make the pony go even faster. Esther Godfrey stared straight ahead, not even glancing down as they passed the pair.

  Kate saw Mrs Eland and Danny step on to the grass verge to allow the trap to pass. Danny looked up at Kate, grinned and waved, but Mrs Eland – just like Kate’s mother – stared stonily ahead and made no acknowledgement that the trap had even passed near them.

  The day Kate had so looked forward to had ended in disappointment.
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  ‘We’re moving to the Point on Saturday.’ Rosie’s cherubic face was one broad grin as she clambered up into the trap for her daily ride to school with Kate the following morning. ‘We’re coming to live in the end cottage.’ She flung herself against Kate. ‘Won’t we have fun? I’ll be able to come and play every day and help you on the farm, c’lecting eggs and feedin’ the hens, won’t I? Do say ya’ll let me, Katie?’

  Kate could not prevent tears filling her eyes.

  ‘What’s the matter? Dun’t you want me to come and live near you?’ The merry smile died and Rosie’s lower lip quivered.

  Swiftly, Kate hugged the younger child tightly. “Course I do. But – but I might not be there mesen.’ She glanced at her stepfather. The indulgent smile that had curved his gentle mouth when the excited Rosie had climbed into the trap faded. He looked away and flicked the reins to make the pony walk on.

  ‘What d’ya mean?’ The little girl was mystified.

  ‘Me mam might be sending me away to school. I’ll only be here in the holidays.’

  Rosie blinked rapidly. ‘You – you mean you won’t come home at night?’

  Kate, unable to speak, shook her head.

  Rosie, sitting beside her, snuggled closer and took Kate’s hand in her small one. She patted it and then held it tightly for the rest of journey to the school. Neither of them spoke again. Not even Rosie could think of anything to say.

  Moving day for the Maine family caused great excitement for everyone who lived at the Point.

  The Godfreys lent their farm wagon and the two horses – Boxer and Bonnie – to pull it. Jonathan Godfrey drove it to the smithy, helped Walter Maine to load all their belongings and then, with the high load wobbling precariously, drove back along the coast road towards the Point. Later in the afternoon Kate went with her mother in the pony and trap to fetch the rest of the Maine family.

  ‘Enid, you look done in,’ Kate heard her mother say in a voice that forbade any argument. ‘Ya’ll come back to the farm and rest awhile and let the others unload and settle things in. Kate can look after the bairns.’