by Evie Grace
‘What’s going on here? Catherine? Drusilla? How dare you take advantage of the fact that I’m indisposed?’
‘I was feelin’ unwell.’ Drusilla laid the back of her hand against her forehead in the manner of an actress at the New Theatre in Canterbury.
‘You’ve been unwell a considerable amount recently. Is there something you aren’t telling me? You can’t deny that you’ve been walking out with that rogue Jervis Carter. It’s all round the village. You’ve been seen in the Woodsman’s Arms of a Saturday night, drinking and carousing.’ Ma spotted the bottle. ‘What’s that?’
‘Nothing, ma’am.’ Drusilla picked it up from the floor and staggered to her feet. ‘I swear ’tis mine. Jervis got it for me.’
‘Let me see.’ Ma held out her hand. ‘For goodness’ sake, give it to me.’ Drusilla laid the bottle in her palm. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘I found the bureau unlocked and the bottle gone,’ Catherine said.
‘So you stole it, Drusilla,’ Ma said.
‘I had to take it to get me through the day. Washin’ all those sheets and garments is back-breakin’ work.’
‘It’s no wonder you haven’t been yourself lately. When you are here, you’re usually asleep on your feet. Now I find out that you’re nothing but a common thief.’ Ma stamped her foot. ‘You are dismissed.’
‘No, not that.’ The maid’s eyes were dark pools of fear. ‘I’ll do anythin’. I’ll come in an hour early and finish an hour late every day to make up for it. I can’t afford to lose my position here.’
‘And I can’t afford to lose sleep worrying about what my lazy maid is going to steal next. Go! You can’t be trusted.’
‘What about my wages, ma’am?’ Drusilla held out her hands. ‘I need somethin’ to tide me over until I find another position.’
‘You won’t find one around here,’ Ma said sharply. ‘I’ll make sure of that. I shan’t be providing you with a reference.’
‘But where shall I go? What shall I do?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care. Go and take your shame with you. Don’t darken our door again.’
Drusilla looked towards Catherine.
‘Please, miss,’ she begged. ‘Can’t you put in a good word for me?’
In spite of their differences, Catherine’s heart went out to her. They’d worked alongside each other for years and suffered together from her mother’s scolding tongue. Didn’t she deserve a second chance?
‘Ma,’ she began.
‘Don’t go feeling sorry for her when she’s brought this upon herself,’ Ma interrupted.
‘It was the drops,’ Drusilla said. ‘Once I started, I couldn’t stop takin’ ’em.’
‘I won’t listen to any more of your excuses.’ Ma wagged her finger at her. ‘I won’t have you setting a bad example to my daughter.’
‘That’s the pot callin’ the kettle black,’ Drusilla muttered, at which Ma escorted her from the house.
‘What will she do for money?’ Catherine asked as she and her mother returned to the kitchen. ‘How will she live?’
‘I don’t know. She should have thought about that before she took a wrong turn. Now, you must go and do the laundry in her place.’
‘When will we have a new maid?’ Catherine looked at the mound of dirty linen on the floor in the scullery. ‘Have you got someone in mind?’
‘Oh no, not yet. I’m too weary to think about it now.’ Ma touched her brow. ‘Besides, I’m not sure that we need another. You’re sixteen years old and perfectly capable. And you don’t cost me a maid’s wages.’
‘What will people think when they find the Rooks no longer have an indoor servant?’ Catherine tried to play on the importance that Ma placed on her status in Overshill to make sure she got more help round the house.
‘I’ll tell them that we’re looking out for a suitable girl. In the meantime, we will manage.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t take those sleeping drops,’ Catherine said, wondering if the laudanum had affected her mother’s mind. ‘You take them day and night. I’ve seen you.’
‘They’re a great comfort to me. You shouldn’t deny me my small pleasures – I should suffer much worse without them.’
They all would. Catherine smiled wryly. When Ma suffered, everyone was compelled to suffer with her.
Catherine scrubbed Pa’s collars, put the wet sheets through the mangle and hung the washing out on the line. Later, she accompanied her mother to the vicarage with a basket of flummery and apple pie on her arm. When they met Mrs Browning, Ma suggested that Catherine carry her basket as well.
‘Thank you,’ the vicar’s wife said, handing it over.
‘It’s no trouble at all. My daughter is healthy and strong.’
It was all very well Ma demonstrating her ability, if not her willingness, to carry two weighty baskets, Catherine thought.
As they trudged up the hill to the wooded ridge, she began to feel the heat.
‘Look how her complexion glows,’ Ma said proudly.
‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Browning. ‘She is turning into a fine young woman, like my Jane.’
‘There is no one more beautiful than your Jane. She takes after her mother in appearance, and her father in bookishness.’
‘She is extraordinarily well read.’
‘She will make the perfect wife,’ Ma went on.
Catherine shrank beneath her bonnet.
‘She is far too young yet. I didn’t marry until I was twenty-one.’
‘I was betrothed at sixteen,’ Ma said. ‘I should like Catherine to attain such happiness as I did at a young age. I can’t see the point in waiting.’
‘Surely, it’s better to give a young person’s character time to settle before making a lifelong match.’
‘I’m of the opinion that it’s better for a couple if their characters form while they are together so as to create the conditions for a life of marital harmony.’
‘My husband and I are perfectly content in our marriage. I really wouldn’t recommend betrothal at sixteen, unless the girl was in the family way.’ Catherine became aware that Mrs Browning’s eyes were on her.
‘Oh no, not that,’ Ma said quickly. ‘My daughter has been brought up to know right from wrong.’
‘It is a pity she hasn’t had the benefit of some formal education.’
‘She attended the dame school. She can read and write and is far better at ’rithmetic than me. She can add numbers in her head, while I have to count on Mr Rook’s and my fingers if it is a big sum.’
Catherine smiled. It was her father who did the books and paid the bills.
‘We had a tutor to school the children. Jane has an ear for music, while Hector is a scholar of the classics, which will serve him well when he follows his father into the Church. We have a match in mind, although it will be many years before he is free of his studies and able to take a wife.’
‘Who would that be?’ Ma said as they continued through the woods. ‘Do tell.’
‘You wouldn’t know them. A friend of my husband, whom we met while we were living in London, has a daughter who is fair of face and virtuous of spirit, and has been brought up to understand the particular duties of a vicar’s wife.’
‘You never know what might happen during the years that they are apart,’ Ma ventured. The trees above them bowed and creaked in the breeze.
‘I have my heart set on it,’ Mrs Browning said rather curtly, as a small cottage came into view in the valley below.
When they grew closer, a dog like a rack of ribs on stilts came rushing out, barking and baring its yellow teeth.
‘Get away, cur,’ Ma shouted, taking a stick to fend it off. To Catherine’s relief, it slunk away and lay down on a mound of leaf litter to watch from a distance.
Mrs Browning knocked on the door and a woman emerged, blinking in the sunlight. She had a child at her breast and two more hiding their faces in her skirts.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs North.’
‘I hardly think so. Who are you that risks her life to call here?’
‘It’s Mrs Browning, the vicar’s wife, and her friend, Mrs Rook and her daughter, Miss Rook.’
‘Forgive me. I haven’t been to church for ever so long.’
‘The Reverend Browning hopes that we will see you there again soon. We’ve brought food for your children. My commiserations for your recent sad loss.’
The woman’s eyes gazed hungrily at the baskets as if she would pounce on them and devour them whole, wicker and all.
Catherine felt sorry for her. What had brought her so low and desperate?
‘Catherine, take hold of the baby for Mrs North,’ Mrs Browning said.
She looked around for somewhere that wasn’t filthy and alive with flies to put the baskets down, eventually settling for a bench made from a plank and two logs underneath the window. When Mrs North handed her the baby, the infant took one look at her and screamed. The other children joined in and Mrs North began to sob.
There was little comfort the women could give her. She had lost her husband in an accident with an axe that had severed his arm at the elbow. He had died within an hour, leaving her penniless with three small children.
‘I promise to keep you in my prayers,’ Mrs Browning said as they left. ‘Have faith that God will provide.’
Ma and Catherine expressed their hopes for an improvement in the Norths’ fortune, and returned through the woods with Mrs Browning. They visited Ma Carter and left bread, scraps of cold meat and some pickles for her hungry family.
‘I wish you had stood a little straighter and walked more ladylike,’ Ma said after they had parted with Mrs Browning at the vicarage.
‘How could I? Them baskets felt like they were filled with stones.’
‘You could have made more effort when Mrs Browning was looking in your direction. How am I going to find you a husband?’
Catherine walked on. She reckoned she could find one herself.
‘You see what will happen to you if you don’t marry well. Marry a poor man and you’ll always be wretched. Take a wealthy husband and you’ll have all the happiness that his money can buy.’
‘Money can’t buy happiness.’ She thought of the things that made her happy: a basket filled with eggs; the piglets playing in the muck; the feeling of exhaustion and elation at the end of the harvest; John’s slow smile; and most of all, Emily and Matty’s friendship. As far as she was concerned, her life was complete. She didn’t need a husband or his money, although she had no doubt that in the way of things, she would end up with the former, if not the latter.
When they reached the farmyard, they found the gate shut and their way blocked by a flock of sheep.
‘Oh my, what’s going on here?’ Ma said.
‘What do you think of my purchase?’ Pa said, pushing the ewes aside to let Ma and Catherine through.
‘You’ve bought them?’ Ma said.
‘That’s what I said.’ Pa smiled.
‘This is turning out to be one of the worst days of my life,’ Ma went on dramatically. ‘I’ve had to send our maid packing and now I find you’ve wasted good money on these scabby creatures?’
‘Drusilla has gone?’
‘Forgive me for enquirin’, but why has she left?’ George said, joining them. Matty and John moved up to his side. ‘I thought you were pleased with her on the whole.’
‘She’s bin a good maid, but I’ve been leery about her for a while. I thought it had something to do with her stopping out late, but I caught her taking sleeping drops and neglecting the laundry. I have an inkling that she’s walking out with Jervis and she’s under his influence.’
‘The rest of us Carters don’t have anything to do with him now that he’s living out Dunkirk way. He hasn’t been to visit his poorly ma for months. She’s very upset about it.’
‘Perhaps Drusilla will go to him,’ Ma said, fishing for gossip.
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ George said.
Ma returned to berating her husband.
‘Where is your sympathy for your poor wife’s aches and pains? Where is your compassion? You keep telling me there’s no money for new clothes, yet you go and spend out on a flock of sheep. Look at me, Thomas. These rags make me look like something the cat’s dragged in.’
‘There’s no use in going around the farm dressed in finery and feathers. You complain about the mud as it is.’
‘I’m obliged to keep up appearances when I’m doing my charitable works around Overshill.’
‘Mrs Browning doesn’t wear the latest fashions. She’s a modest sort of woman,’ Pa said. ‘You wouldn’t wish to outshine her, would you? You must hope to be renowned for your piety and generosity of spirit, not the richness of the laces and silks that you wear.’
‘You know what it’s like. I can’t possibly go around the village dressed like a poor person.’
Catherine glanced at Matty’s face. His expression was frozen. He looked torn between embarrassment and anger, and for a moment Catherine wasn’t sure which side would win. But Matty wasn’t Jervis, he had a sensible and respectful head on his shoulders and he let Ma’s comment slide off him.
‘The sheep will give John a purpose,’ Pa said. ‘Matty, show him what to do – drive them out of the yard.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Come with me, John.’
Pa, George, Ma and Catherine followed Matty and John into the field behind the stables where the sheep promptly scattered in a panic, unnerved by their new surroundings. Three escaped through the hedge into the orchard.
‘You’ll have to run faster than that,’ Pa hollered after Matty. He turned back to Ma. ‘There’ll be a nice bit of mutton for the pot, and fleece to card and spin for wool.’
‘You’ll be the death of me. How can you do this to me? I have more than enough to do without attending to a flock of toothless ewes.’
‘Margaret, light of my life, this is one venture that can’t possibly go wrong. Trust me. Catherine, go and help Matty round them up.’
Catherine ran down through the field and opened the gate into the orchard where Matty was scratching his head as he stared at the three sheep. She pulled a stick from the hedge and shouted instructions. The sheep bunched up and headed up the hill away from him towards the gate, but when they spotted Catherine, one turned and fled and the others followed.
‘They’re a skittish lot.’ Matty laughed.
It took three more attempts to persuade the sheep through the gate. When they hesitated, Catherine tapped the ground behind them with the end of her stick, which was enough to convince them to move on. They trotted into the field and made their way back to the rest of the flock.
Catherine closed the gate and Matty slipped the rope over the gatepost to hold it shut. He was seventeen now. He was taller and his shoulders were broader, but it would be some time before he filled out. His legs were like beanpoles.
‘You’re pretty skilful for a girl.’ He smiled.
‘I read the chapter about sheep farming when we were sitting up on watch that time, remember.’ She smiled back.
‘That seems like ages ago.’
‘It was.’ Pa said that sometimes it felt like the fire happened only yesterday, but Catherine didn’t feel that way. She counted the beginning of her friendship with Matty from that night, though it felt as if they had been friends for ever. They had grown closer, now and then sharing the responsibility for John’s care. In fact, Catherine depended more on Matty than Emily these days. Caring for John took up so much of her time that she hadn’t been able to see Emily so often. She missed her and the carefree times they had spent walking to and from school, but now when Catherine was looking for company from someone close to her in age, Matty was always close by at Wanstall Farm.
‘I’m looking forward to learning about shepherding,’ Matty said as they walked slowly up the field back to where Pa and George were standing talking, Ma and John having gone indoors. ‘Your pa say
s that if I do well, I can have one of the ewes as my own and keep her lambs. Just imagine, one day I could have a flock of Kent sheep.’
Catherine admired his enthusiasm and ambition. It was odd, because there’d been a time when she had thought herself superior to Matty, but today, she felt that they were equals.
On the Sunday, Catherine and Pa went to church. Ma asked her to remember Mrs North in her prayers while she stayed at the farm to look after John. Catherine took her place beside Emily. There was so much she wanted to tell her, but the sermon went on for what felt like hours, and the choir became restless, attracting everyone’s – apart from the vicar’s – attention.
‘I could do with a pint of a good strong beer,’ George sighed.
‘The hair of the dog,’ Matty chuckled.
‘I didn’t touch a drop last night.’
‘That’s because you poured it straight down. It barely wet your whistle.’
‘Hush,’ Stephen said. ‘We’re drawing attention to ourselves. The Reverend will have the music master back onto us.’
George swore. The very act of uttering an epithet under the roof of the church caught Reverend Browning’s ear. He picked up his prayer book and aimed it at the west gallery. It flew through the air, caught the balustrade and bounced into the choir. There was a gasp and a handclap from the congregation.
‘Well done, my man,’ said Squire Temple. ‘Good shot.’
‘Out!’ shouted the vicar. ‘Get out of my church.’
‘Now?’ said George, leaning over the parapet.
‘All of you. You have tried my patience one too many times.’
‘What about our wages?’ Matty joined in.
‘The wages of sin is death,’ the vicar lisped fiercely. ‘This choir is disbanded with immediate effect.’
‘Who will sing the psalms?’ George said, crestfallen.
‘The congregation will find their voice.’
‘Where will they take their timing from? What will their singing be without the uplifting tones of the clarinet and fiddle?’
‘They will do very well,’ the vicar insisted. ‘Do as I say and walk out along the aisle to show yourselves as the unruly rag-tag rabble that you are. I should have done this long ago.’ He held up his hands. ‘Thanks be to God for giving me the strength.’
