The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  Half an hour later, her stepfather came in through the back door.

  ‘All on your own, Katie? Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Upstairs. Lilian won’t settle.’ She set another of her mother’s best cups carefully on the draining-board.

  Jonathan picked up a tea-towel and began to dry the pots. He grinned at Kate, the familiar, lopsided smile crinkling his eyes. ‘All the excitement of getting herself christened, I expect.’

  There was silence between them, the only sounds being the clatter of china as together they washed and dried it, setting it carefully on the kitchen table for Esther to put away herself in the cabinet in her front parlour.

  He was an unusual man, Kate mused. Not many men would help with the household chores the way he did.

  ‘Babies – little babies – ’ he began hesitantly, ‘are not much fun. She’ll be different when she’s grown a little.’

  ‘I shan’t be here that much, shall I?’ Kate muttered.

  The silence lengthened and she felt he was searching for the right words. ‘Kate, you mustn’t think . . .’

  ‘At last!’ Esther stepped out of the kitchen into the scullery. ‘I thought she’d never settle!’

  Kate saw the glance that passed between her mother and stepfather.

  ‘You all right, love?’ His blue eyes were full of tender concern.

  Her mother moved and stood close to him, reached up and, placing her palms against his chest, kissed him gently on the mouth. Still holding the tea-towel in one hand and a plate in the other, his arms went around her and they stood together, oblivious now of Kate’s presence. Whatever he had been going to say to her had flown from his mind the moment her mother had stepped into the scullery.

  Kate bent her head over the soapy washing-up water, her hair falling forward to hide her tears.

  *

  ‘It’s all settled – you start in two weeks’ time.’

  Her mother was standing before her dressed in her best costume and pulling off her gloves. ‘I’ve been to Lincoln on the train today and seen the headmistress – Miss Denham. I’m to take you on the Wednesday – the day after the term actually starts. She says that will give everyone else time to have settled back into school.’

  Kate felt the colour drain from her face, but no words would come. All she could do was stare at her mother in shock.

  But Esther Godfrey, full of her day in the city, of her success with the headmistress of the St Mary’s School for Young Ladies, was not even looking at her daughter. Now she was turning away to talk directly to her husband. ‘Has the baby been all right? It’s a long time to leave her, but I had no choice. It’s a good job I’ve started weaning her.’

  ‘Did you see Mother and Father?’

  ‘Yes – I had a nice dinner with them and a long chat with them about the school. They reckon she’ll be fine there, and they’ll take her out on a Sunday afternoon. The headmistress said that was when the girls are allowed out with family or friends. Well chaperoned, of course.’

  ‘Peg would fetch her. Did you see Peg? Is she all right?’

  ‘No, she was at work, but I asked after her and she’s fine.’ She paused and Kate saw the mischievous smile curve her mother’s lips. ‘I must say, I like your dad. I reckon he took quite a fancy to me.’ Almost coquettishly, Esther smoothed tendrils of her hair that were escaping from the combs.

  Jonathan caught her by the waist and planted a kiss on her mouth. ‘Well, of course he would.’

  ‘He’s like you, ain’t he? I mean, you’re like him.’

  ‘I would like to think so. I admire my father – he’s kind and gentle and all his pupils adore him . . .’

  ‘Is he a teacher?’ Kate butted in, desperately seeking some kind of hope. ‘Will he be there – at the school I’m going to?’

  Her mother and stepfather looked round at her, surprise on their faces. They had been so busy planning, deciding her future, that they had forgotten she was even in the room.

  Jonathan shook his head, ‘No love. He teaches at a boys’ school. He won’t . . .’

  ‘Then I won’t go,’ Kate stormed. ‘I won’t!’

  She whirled around, rushed out of the kitchen and through the scullery and dragged open the back door. Then she was running – across the yard, out of the gate, across the lane and up the dunes through the trees – ignoring the shouts of her stepfather behind her.

  ‘Kate! Kate, don’t, love. Please don’t!’

  She stayed in the sandy hollow until the sun had sunk behind the dunes, waiting. Waiting for the time when she knew Danny would be home from work. Then she climbed out of the hollow and, taking a diagonal line across the marsh, came out at the back of the line of four cottages at the Point. She could hear shrieks of laughter coming from the stretch of grass in front of the cottages and recognized Rosie’s high-pitched excited chatter organizing her younger brothers in their game. She listened intently. Was Danny there, too?

  She moved towards the back door of one of the centre cottages where Danny lived. His mother came out of the little wash-house set at right-angles to the back door and almost dropped the basket of washing she was carrying.

  ‘Why, Kate! You made me jump.’ Mrs Eland peered closely through the shadows at her. ‘You in bother again, lass?’

  Kate shook her head and qualified the negative response by saying, ‘Well, not exactly.’ There was no doubt she would be in trouble for having stayed out so late. ‘Where’s Danny?’

  She heard Beth Eland’s soft sigh. ‘He’s with his dad up at the headland. They’re at the boat.’

  As Kate turned away, the older woman said, ‘Kate – you – you ought to be finding ya’sen other friends now Danny’s working, y’know.’

  Kate stood still. Her heart was pounding in her chest as if she had been running a mile. Oh, no! Not Danny’s mother too! And it wasn’t the first time she’d said as much, either. She turned slowly to stare at Beth. The older woman’s brown eyes were troubled. ‘It’d be – for the best, lovey,’ she added softly.

  Was everyone trying to keep her away from Danny? Kate couldn’t believe it. She gave a sob and, turning away, began to run. She did not stop until she reached the point of land where the river widened out into the sea.

  ‘Danny. Danny!’ she shouted, standing on the grassy headland directly above the muddy river bank. The tide was receding and the Elands’ fishing boat was almost stranded on the mud where Robert Eland had moored it earlier in the afternoon at high tide.

  She shaded her eyes against the bright gold of the setting sun, low in the western sky. A shadow moved on the boat. ‘Katie? What you doing here? Summat wrong?’ He clambered over the side and swung his way up the wooden planking of the small jetty that straddled the mud to the boat.

  ‘What’s up, Katie?’ He peered at her through the gloom and although she could not see the expression in his eyes, she could hear the concern in his voice. It caused a lump in her throat and tears to prickle her eyelids. At least Danny cares, she thought. The words came tumbling from her lips in a jumble, falling over themselves in her eagerness to tell him of her distress.

  ‘Me mam’s been to Lincoln – to that school – it’s all arranged. I’m to go in two weeks. She’s sending me away!’ The last was on a wail of despair.

  He came and stood in front of her. He put his arms about her and she clung to him, burying her face against his shoulder. They stood on the headland, silhouetted against the red gold of the setting sun. She felt his hands, rough and calloused with the heavy work he now did daily, but surprisingly gentle, stroke her hair. ‘Don’t cry, Katie. It’ll be all right. Perhaps you’ll enjoy it when you get there . . .’

  ‘I won’t!’ Her words were muffled against him but none the less vehement. ‘I’ll hate it! I’ll miss you so much!’

  Involuntarily his arms tightened about her. She lifted her face up and tilted her head back and then wound her arms around his neck. They gazed at each other.

  ‘Katie . . .’ he b
egan, but whatever he had been going to say, the words remained unspoken for at that moment a shout made them both turn to see Kate’s mother, her skirts held high, running towards them. ‘Keep away from her, Danny Eland. Dun’t you lay a finger on her else I’ll . . .’

  Kate gasped, shocked to see the rage on her mother’s face. Two spots of vivid colour burned in Esther’s cheeks and her hair was coming loose from its combs and falling down her back.

  She reached them and grasped Kate’s arm roughly, jerking her away from Danny.

  ‘Mam, you’re hurting. Don’t . . .’

  ‘I’ll hurt you, me girl, if I ever so much as catch you with him again.’

  Kate began to struggle against Esther’s grip. This was Danny her mother was talking about; Danny Eland, her lifelong friend.

  ‘Mam . . .’ she began, but Esther was dragging Kate away from the headland, away from Danny. Kate half-turned back to him, tried to twist out of her mother’s grasp. ‘Danny . . .’ She gave a cry of anguish, but her mother’s hold on her arm only tightened.

  He made no move. He was standing on the headland, silhouetted against the burnished evening sky, a lonely, bemused figure, as much at a loss to understand what was happening as Kate herself.

  Doors were opening in the cottages and faces peering out as Esther Godfrey hustled her daughter homewards. Grannie Harris and next door to her, Mrs Eland, stepped out on to the grass.

  As they drew level, Esther shook her fist. ‘Keep him away from my girl, Beth Eland. Keep ya bastard away. If ya don’t . . .’ She paused to drag in a painful, heaving breath. There was menace in her tone as she added more quietly, ‘If ya don’t – I’ll see he knows the reason why!’

  Six

  The day she had been dreading had arrived.

  The summer had passed all too quickly and already it was September. ‘I’ll miss the Harvest Festival and the Harvest Supper at the Grange.’ All her protests were in vain. Her mother was adamant and there was nothing Kate, nor her stepfather, could do about it. Esther Godfrey remained inflexible even in the face of her own father’s wrath. From the kitchen Kate had listened as Will Benson had stood in the doorway of the pantry, whilst Esther churned the butter.

  ‘The city’s no place for that lass,’ he had railed. ‘She’ll be miserable . . .’

  ‘She will be if you keep putting the idea into her head,’ her mother had snapped back.

  ‘But, Esther . . .’

  ‘No “buts”, Dad. Kate’s going to boarding school for a couple of years and that’s that.’ The handle of the barrel churn flew round under Esther’s angry hand, until they could hear the flip-flop of the thickening butter.

  ‘Huh.’ Will Benson turned away from the pantry door. ‘Well, I reckon ya’ll regret it, lass. Dun’t say Ah didn’t warn ya.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Esther said, grimly determined.

  Coming back through the kitchen Will took hold of Kate’s arm and led her out into the yard. ‘Come and see me off,’ he whispered. When they were outside he stood before her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her with what looked suspiciously like tears glistening in his eyes.

  ‘Katie love, there’s nowt more Ah can do.’

  Kate shook her head sadly. ‘Dun’t worry, Grandad. You tried.’

  ‘Now listen to me, lass. The village where I live – Suddaby – you know it, dun’t ya?’

  Kate nodded.

  ‘Well, it’s between here and Lincoln. If ever you need help, you send me word and I’ll come to ya.’ He gave her a gentle shake as if to emphasize his words. ‘Remember now, won’t ya?’

  Kate looked up at his worried face, feeling suddenly the older of the two, as if it were her grandfather who needed the reassurance that she would be all right. She forced a smile to her mouth and said as brightly as she could manage. ‘I’ll remember, Grandad. Dun’t you worry. Mebbe me mam’s right and I’ll love it when I get there.’

  They were brave words but there had been a hollow ring to her feigned confidence.

  Now it was the morning she must go.

  She took a last look around the big bedroom that had been hers alone until now, for only last night her mother had talked of moving the baby into the big room, ‘Now that Kate will only be home in the holidays’.

  So, already it was no longer ‘her’ room. Kate’s glance roamed over her well-loved toys; the rocking horse standing in the corner, forlorn and neglected for Kate had long since outgrown him. No doubt Lilian would soon be big enough to ride him again and she’d soon have her fingers into all Kate’s other toys too; the doll with the china face, the wooden doll’s house her stepfather had made for her. The whole of the front opened in two big doors revealing four rooms, hallway and landing. Two miniature pot dolls inhabited the house and the tiny furniture was all made to scale.

  The girl turned away and went downstairs feeling strange and awkward in her new school uniform; a long-sleeved winceyette blouse with a tie in the school colours of brown and gold and a brown pleated gym-slip falling straight from her shoulders to just below her knee. The matching braid girdle tied around the waist made her feel bulky and shapeless.

  ‘I feel like a sack of ’tates tied round the middle,’ she muttered gloomily. Thick brown woollen stockings held up by suspenders buttoned on to a Liberty bodice made her legs hot and in her sturdy winter boots her feet were sweating.

  At the bottom of the stairs she turned to the right and went into the best parlour with its plush chairs and polished brass fender. An organ stood in the corner, but no one ever played it. In the middle of the floor her trunk stood open all neatly packed and ready to be closed when the last-minute things had been added.

  Her mother had been sewing for weeks making blouses, pyjamas and even the serge gym-slip. ‘Three of everything!’ Esther had exclaimed when the list had arrived. ‘I can’t afford them fancy prices to be buying all ya need ready made. My sewing’s as good as anyone’s – I’ll have to make as many things as I can.’

  Now everything was packed in a huge trunk ready to be loaded into the trap. Her stepfather was to drive Kate and her mother to the station in Lynthorpe where they would catch the train to Lincoln. ‘Be sure to get a porter to organize taking her trunk up to the school when you get to Lincoln,’ he told them.

  ‘I don’t need to be tipping no porter to carry something we can carry oursens . . .’ her mother began indignantly.

  ‘Esther,’ Jonathan said quietly, ‘it won’t look good at the school. Believe me. If you want your daughter to become a “young lady”, she’s got to start acting like one.’

  ‘Dun’t mean she’s got to be idle,’ her mother muttered but as Jonathan opened his mouth to speak again, she put up her hand palm outwards. ‘All right, all right, we’ll do as you say.’

  And now there was only an hour left before they must leave.

  Kate turned and left the parlour and walked back through the narrow hallway, the stairs leading up on her left, and to her right was the front door which opened out on to the garden. Then she passed through the living room, pausing only to glance round, just looking at all the familiar things as if for the last time. The furniture was old-fashioned but everything was polished and sparkling. A red chenille cloth covered the table and red velvet curtains hung at the window. On the mantelpiece brass ornaments shone and twinkled. Slowly she came to the kitchen.

  Huge hams from the last time they had killed a pig hung from hooks in the ceiling and to her left was the door leading down two steps into the pantry where all the dairy work and the butter-making was carried out. In the centre stood a plain, scrubbed table and on the far wall was the huge range, the centre of the home almost, Kate thought. It heated the water, boiled and cooked all their food, and its fire warmed them on cold winter days and nights. They even bathed in turn in front of it every Friday night in the tin bath that hung on a peg in the wash-house.

  Her mother had let down the clothes airer on the rope from the ceiling and Kate paused a moment to watc
h her hanging freshly ironed clothes over the wooden slats.

  Kate moved on out of the kitchen and through the back scullery. She opened the back door and stepped into the yard.

  Her mother’s voice followed her. ‘Dun’t you go getting ya new uniform messed up.’

  ‘No, Mam,’ came the automatic reply.

  It was a soft, September morning when the heat of the summer was gone and there was a freshness in the air. Kate lifted her head and breathed in all the smells of the farmyard, the scents of home. The cows, the horses, even the pigs and always the breeze carried a hint of the sea as a background perfume.

  ‘Goodbye, Boxer, goodbye, Bonnie.’ She patted each of the heavy horses in turn and they nudged at her shoulder over the half-door of their stable. ‘I ain’t no sugar,’ she apologized and added ruefully, ‘Not in this stupid dress, I ain’t.’

  She looked in at the pigs and then wandered round the side of the house past the pond with the huge weeping willow tree bending over and trailing its fronds in the water and round to the front of the house which faced westwards. She stood a moment among the fruit trees laden now with the fruit which usually she helped to pick.

  This year she would not be here.

  She gazed out across the flat fields beneath the huge expanse of sky. Stooks of corn stood sentinel in the fields waiting to be collected and brought to the farmyard to be stacked. She would not be here to hear the familiar cry, ‘Harvest home, harvest home’, when her mother placed the last sheaf on the last load. She would not be able to join the gleaners who scoured the fields for every last wisp of corn.

  She turned away and went back through the yard and out into the lane. She stood for a moment poised on her toes, holding her breath. She glanced back over her shoulder but there was no one in the yard. Then she began to run.