by Evie Grace
There was a low gasp and a few moments of chatter as the families made their choice.
Mr O’Brien turned back to Pa.
‘We will take you at your word, Mr Rook.’ He spat on his palm and held out his hand. Pa took it and shook it firmly. The deal was done.
Pa lined the workers up, including the handful of strangers, to collect their baskets. The presence of the hooded ones made Catherine feel a little uneasy, but she knew her father couldn’t afford to send them away when he was short of pickers, thanks to Mr Moon.
She took a basket and began to pick the hops from the bines, scratching them from the plant as quickly as she could. On the good ones, the hops were the size of small pears while on the bad ones, they were more like peas and took longer to strip. Gradually, her fingers turned brown and her nose filled with the scent of hops, a mixture of apple, yeast and wild garlic.
When she had filled her basket, she took it over to the row of bins standing at the entrance of the hop garden. She tipped the contents into the Rooks’ bin in front of Pa, who was acting as the tallyman.
‘You’re one of the quickest,’ he said cheerfully.
‘You are your father’s daughter,’ George said, overhearing him.
Catherine frowned, wondering if Matty had spoken to his father about the revelation he’d made the day before, but George appeared to have commented out of innocence. He must know, though, she thought, gazing around at the hop pickers. She wondered how many people knew her shameful secret.
George emptied the Rooks’ bin, scooping the hops into a bushel basket. Catherine watched to see that he was fair. It was all too easy for the measurer to crush twenty bushels into a dozen.
Pa carried two sticks, one long one and a shorter one. He put the two pieces of stick together and scored a notch across both pieces with a knife for each five bushels picked. He entered the amount into his book, scratching the number onto the page with the stub of his pencil. He gave Catherine the shorter piece of stick to look after so there could be no dispute later over the amounts she’d picked because when the two sticks were put together, the notches would tally.
The next person to take a basket to the tallyman was one of the strangers, who held his cloak across his face. Pa looked into his basket, ran his hands through the hops and pulled out several leaves. He held them up level with the man’s eyes.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he thundered.
‘I don’t understand, sir,’ came a high-pitched voice. ‘You always get a few leaves in it.’
‘That there is more leaves than hops. I won’t have it.’ Pa reached into the basket and pulled out a folded blanket. His voice rang out across the countryside. ‘How dare you cheat me!’
‘I-I-I don’t know how that got in there,’ the man stammered. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Someone must have put it there.’
Pa yanked at his hood and pulled it from his head.
‘Jervis Carter!’ he exclaimed. ‘I guessed it was you. You know you aren’t welcome here. Leave your basket and get off my land. I never want to have the misfortune of seeing you around here again.’
‘What about my money?’ Jervis swore.
‘I won’t pay you a single penny.’
‘You took me on. You gave me work. I insist on being paid what I’m owed.’
‘You tricked me,’ Pa insisted. ‘George, what’s the meaning of this?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t know anything about it and that’s the truth. Son, what are you doing, risking everything in coming back here? Don’t you remember the last time when Tom threatened to set the constable on you? All you think about is yourself. You haven’t a thought for your father or brother who work here, bringing them shame by association.’
‘Pa, why are you talkin’ like that? You’re supposed to take my part.’
‘Because you are no longer my son. I turn my back on you and your so-called wife who even now at this moment is sitting in the shade sipping at her sleeping drops. I’ve seen her. The woman in the cloak is Drusilla.’
‘She is my wife,’ Jervis said. ‘There’s nothin’ so-called about it.’
‘It was a marriage made over a broomstick,’ George said.
‘Take that back,’ Jervis growled. ‘I won’t have you speakin’ of my missus like that.’
‘She i’n’t your wife in the eyes of the law. Go, and take her with you.’
‘I came to see Ma and make some money at the same time. I was goin’ to give it to her to help her out.’
‘If you cared that much, you would have come back a long time ago.’
Jervis turned back to face Pa, squaring up to him as if he was about to hit him.
‘I want my money, or else.’ He swore and cursed, uttering epithets that Catherine had never heard before.
‘Or else what?’ Pa said, standing his ground. ‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Jervis, that’s enow,’ George snapped, pushing his way between them. ‘What would your poor ma think of the way you’re behaving?’
‘Oh, I made a big mistake comin’ back here,’ Jervis said. ‘Nothing has changed. Pa, why do you still creep around on your belly to please the Rooks? Why do you make yourself beholden to the likes of Thomas Rook, who would make himself rich at the expense of others? I’d watch your backs, all of you.’
Neither Pa nor George deigned to respond, and Catherine watched them escort Jervis and Drusilla out of the hop garden.
‘Close your mouth or a beetle will get in.’
She turned to find Matty alongside her.
‘Go away,’ she said and she returned to the picking. The sun grew hotter and the beer began to flow. Whenever she thought she’d escaped Matty’s presence, he would be back, picking from the bine next to her. She scowled at him, picked up her basket and moved on. He followed.
‘Don’t blame the messenger,’ he said. ‘I wish I hadn’t said anything.’
‘Leave me alone.’
He seemed to take notice of her this time, leaving her to continue picking until the sun began to sink into the horizon.
George drove the cart laden with hops to the nearby oast for drying before they were packed into pockets and taken to the brewery owned by the Berry-Clays in Faversham. The locals made their way home, some via the Woodsman’s Arms which was stocked by the same brewery, while the travellers settled down for the night.
As the children’s laughter echoed around the woods and fields, Stephen dropped by at the farm to confirm the rumour he’d heard about Jervis being in Overshill that day.
‘We heard at the forge that he turned up with Drusilla,’ he said, meeting Catherine and Matty in the yard. Matty was on his way home while Catherine had decided to call on Emily. ‘My brother has the cheek of Old Nick.’
‘He’s either mad or desperate. He’s gone, anyway,’ Matty said. ‘Catherine, let me walk with you. I’m going in the same direction.’
‘I can find my own way, thank you.’ She turned away and walked out of the yard, aware that Matty was at her heels with Stephen not far behind.
‘Please don’t ignore me,’ Matty said as they headed into the village.
She glanced back at his face. She didn’t understand why he should be the one looking hurt when it was he who’d injured her with his words. She walked on apace.
‘What do I have to say to make you understand?’ she said as he caught up with her.
‘Excuse me, Miss Rook. I see that my brother is pestering you. Matty, push off.’ Stephen strode alongside them.
‘No, I shan’t. Push off yourself.’ Matty gave him a shove. Stephen grabbed him by the collar, and twisted it until he was choking.
‘Miss Rook doesn’t want you bothering her.’
‘What’s it to you? And why all the “Miss Rook”? She’s called Catherine.’
‘I’m being polite, addressing a young lady in the proper way,’ Stephen argued, ‘something you should learn to do.’
‘You?’ Matty exploded.
‘Sh
e i’n’t interested in you. She’s said as much.’
‘You mean you think she has a fancy for you?’ Matty began to laugh, inflaming his brother’s wrath. ‘You’re clung, duller than ditchwater. You’d bore her witless.’
Stephen hit out hard. There was a crunch as his fist made contact with Matty’s nose.
‘Ouch!’ Matty reeled and staggered against the wall, steadied himself, took a breath, and with blood streaming from his nostrils, put his head down and charged like a bull. He brought Stephen to the ground, threw himself on top of him and started pummelling his chest.
Stephen grabbed Matty’s arms and wrenched them apart so that he couldn’t rain any further blows upon him, but Matty twisted his body and dug his knee into Stephen’s stomach, making him grunt with pain and release his grip.
Matty leapt up and offered his hand. Gazing warily at his brother, Stephen allowed him to help him to his feet. He backed off a couple of steps then squared up to Matty for a second time.
‘Fight!’ someone yelled. ‘Hey, come quickly. There’s a proper scrap going on.’
A crowd appeared from nowhere.
‘Fight! Fight!’ they chanted. There was Mrs Clackworthy and a handful of regulars from the beerhouse, Mr and Mrs White, and Mr Millichip and Emily who came running down from the mill. Some of the Irish, including Mr O’Brien, also stopped on their way from the farm to buy beer.
‘What’s this about?’ Emily was at Catherine’s side. ‘They are killing each other.’
Catherine watched with a mixture of awe and fear that one or both of them would be badly hurt.
‘This is stupid. There’s been a misunderstanding.’ She stepped forwards. ‘Matty, Stephen, stop. Please, someone stop them.’
‘Catherine, don’t get involved.’ Emily restrained her. ‘It will do you no good to make a scene. Everyone will talk.’
‘I don’t care. How can we stand by?’
‘They are both strong fellows,’ one of the Irish said. ‘Don’t worry, lass. You’re Tom Rook’s daughter, aren’t you?’
She nodded.
Mr O’Brien stepped in. He grabbed at Stephen’s shoulders, but Stephen ducked away, turned and punched Mr O’Brien on the nose. Mr O’Brien thumped him back.
One of the other Irishmen joined in, helping Mr O’Brien to pin Stephen against the churchyard wall.
‘Watch his right hook.’ Mr White grasped Matty by the waist and pulled him back, but Matty fought him off. Another of the Irish joined in and soon there was a fist fight raging along the street.
Emily pulled Catherine back into the shelter of the church gate as the vicar came running out of the vicarage.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’ he lisped, but no one heard him without the vamping horn.
Len and Ivy appeared from the forge. Len strode into the fray. He took one of the Irish by the wrist, pulled him off his opponent and threw him sideways so that he staggered back across the street, landing in the hedge of one of the cottages opposite. His opponent took one look at Len’s scarred visage, turned and ran, sparking confusion and panic in some of the other men who were scrapping in the street. Len took on another one, rendering him incapable of further violence, before he caught sight of the brothers rolling around on the ground.
‘Stephen!’ he hollered. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ He stood over the brawling pair as everyone else stopped to watch. He leaned down and dragged Stephen up. Matty struggled to his feet.
‘What’s this? Two Carter boys fighting like cat and dog,’ Len bellowed.
Stephen had a bruise across his cheek and his eye was half-closed. He dusted himself down while Matty leaned against the wall, keeping his head back and pinching his nose. Blood trickled through his fingers and down his arm.
‘What the hell is this about?’ Len went on.
‘It’s over a girl,’ said Mr O’Brien to laughter. ‘It’s always about a woman.’
‘I’ve a mind to send you packing for scrapping on the street. You’re on the verge of finishing your apprenticeship and you show yourself up by doing this.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Stephen mumbled. ‘Matty, I haven’t finished with you yet.’
‘That’s enow. Forget it,’ Len insisted. ‘Come on, lad. You’re a mess.’
‘Go home, sister,’ Ivy said, turning away to follow Len and Stephen back along the road, but Catherine couldn’t leave Matty in the state he was in.
‘You should make sure he gets home safely. We can meet up another time to talk.’ Emily hesitated. ‘Is it important? You don’t seem yourself.’
‘Matty told me something terrible,’ Catherine said, unable to keep her secret from her friend. She lowered her voice. ‘I thought it was a dirty lie, but it’s true. Promise me you won’t say anything.’
‘You know me – I’m no telltale,’ Emily said quietly.
‘Ma and Pa are not my true mother and father.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘You don’t seem surprised.’
‘There’s always bin rumours, but nobody takes any notice of them. Don’t fret. It will all come out in the wash.’ Emily smiled. ‘Whatever that means.’
‘Thank you.’ Reassured that Matty hadn’t told anyone else and thereby made her the talk of the village, Catherine caught his eye. He nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She walked back in the direction of the farm and he followed, keeping a few paces behind until they reached the crossroads when he caught up with her.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that. I don’t know what’s got into my brother. He’s usually the calmest, most gentle person in the world.’
‘He thought you were bothering me. He was only trying to do the right thing.’
‘I suppose so.’ Matty tried to smile.
‘You look terrible.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down at the front of his shirt. When he spoke his voice was thick with blood.
‘I look like I’ve killed a pig.’
‘Come back to the farm – you can wash your face and borrow one of John’s shirts. If your ma sees you like this it will make her ill. You can wait in the granary so no one sees you.’
‘Are you sure?’ He hesitated. ‘I thought you hated me.’
‘I did at first after what you said.’ She softened. She had wronged Matty with her scorn. She had made him cry. ‘I’m truly sorry for how I treated you. I hope you can forgive me.’
‘It was my fault. I upset you. There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said. ‘I should have kept my mouth shut.’
‘In a way it’s a relief to find out because it explains so many things that I’ve wondered about. Now I know why I’m the odd one out, why I have dark hair not blonde, like Young Thomas, John and Ivy.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You are beautiful,’ he said quietly as they entered the farmyard.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. What did he mean? What was he trying to say?
‘Go and hide yourself. I’ll fetch a shirt.’
It was dark inside the house, since everyone had retired to bed ready for another early start in the hop garden the next morning. She slipped in through the back and filled a dish with lukewarm water from the copper kettle. She sneaked out through the hall and up the stairs, avoiding the fifth step which would creak and give her away if she placed her foot on it. In the spare room, she opened the linen cupboard where she found a piece of soft muslin. She listened on the landing to check that she hadn’t been discovered, but all she could hear was Ma snoring.
On her way out, she took one of John’s crumpled but clean shirts from the scullery.
Matty was waiting for her in the granary, sitting in the heap of straw that had been left from when the men had laid down their flails to harvest the hops.
Catherine sat down beside him with the shirt and muslin over her arm and the bowl in her lap. She dabbed the end of the cloth in the water.
‘This might hurt,’ she said softly, turning to face him, her heart a
flutter.
‘It’s all right. You make me brave.’
She touched the damp cloth to his lips. Slowly, she dabbed at the blood and wiped it away. She rinsed the cloth, squeezed it out and started again, cleaning the smears from his cheeks. She could hear his breathing quicken as she took his hands and dipped his fingers into the bowl, entangling them with hers as she washed the blood away. She wrung out the cloth again and dried his hands as best she could.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Now you must change your shirt. You can leave yours here and I’ll have a go at getting those stains out.’
‘I don’t want to get you into any kind of trouble.’
He was smiling. She could tell just from the tone of his voice.
She watched him unfasten the two buttons that held his shirt together.
‘I’ll mend that at the same time,’ she said, pointing towards a rip in the sleeve.
Her breath caught in her throat as his hand rose and trapped hers. She could feel his roughened skin against her fingers and smell his musky scent.
‘I haven’t anything, any way of thanking you, apart from this,’ he whispered. He leaned in close and planted the briefest of kisses on her lips. Trembling, she gazed into his eyes.
‘Is that all?’ she whispered. ‘I reckon you owe me one more at least.’
‘Really?’ He pressed his mouth to hers. The contact sent her head spinning with joy and desire. She giggled. She’d never felt such happiness.
Eventually, he pulled away.
‘Would you do me the honour of walking out with me?’ He blundered on. ‘If you aren’t already spoken for. And Mr and Mrs Rook don’t object.’
She held her fingers up to her lips.
‘Hush, Matty. I’m not spoken for. Stephen has no claim on me. I’m sure Ma will have her say, but Pa favours your father so I don’t think he’ll have any objection.’
‘You mustn’t feel obliged. I don’t want to ruin your life.’
‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes when things are bad, I get this feeling of dread. I get this sense that I’m doomed.’
