by Evie Grace
‘I understand.’ He frowned.
‘You want us to be married, so that I have a reason to stay on here in Overshill to be with the children.’ It was a practical proposition and she would give a practical answer. ‘I will consider it.’
‘You will?’ A shadow of regret and hurt crossed his eyes.
‘There are many reasons why it would be a good match – for both of us. People are talking. They’re saying that we’ve taken up with each other with indecent haste after …’
‘With Emily still warm in the ground,’ Stephen finished for her. ‘I’ve done my best to silence the gossip, but you know what Overshill’s like. I don’t like to hear anyone speaking badly of you. It isn’t right when you are here out of the goodness of your heart.’
She gazed at him, wondering if he had any idea how she felt about him.
‘I want to make a respectable woman of you, Catherine.’
‘I imagine that it would improve your chances of acquiring the tenancy of Wanstall Farm as well, if that’s what you’re planning.’
‘I believe that the squire will look on my request more favourably if I present myself as a married man. Every would-be farmer needs a wife.’
‘It doesn’t seem possible that I should ever return to the farm.’
‘But you’d like to?’
‘In the right circumstances.’ She was sorely tempted by Stephen’s offer. She’d learned from Pa Rook how to coax the crops from the light, loamy soil and knew – she thought of Matty and the book she’d read to him at the top of the church tower on the night of the fire – how to round up sheep. She was fond of Stephen – fonder than she could say – and she’d learned that when you were ground down by poverty, you didn’t have choices. But there was something inside her, a mulish streak, that wouldn’t let her accept. She hadn’t compromised her principles when the journeyman bricklayer had proposed a comfortable marriage. She wouldn’t give them up now.
‘It’s a lovely thought,’ she began again, ‘but I think it would be a mistake to marry out of convenience.’
‘It wouldn’t be on my side. That’s what I’ve been trying to say, but it hasn’t come out right because I’m a dolt,’ Stephen said. ‘Catherine, I’ve loved you since I saw you dancing at the harvest when you were about sixteen. I wanted you then, but by the time I asked you I was too late – you’d fallen for my brother. I knew I had no chance, which is why I turned to Emily. I grew to love her more deeply than I imagined possible and I’m hoping against hope that you’re willing to open your heart to me. I can offer you a home, friendship and a warm bed … when you’re ready.’
He loved her. He’d said in so many words what she’d been waiting to hear. She shivered, yearning to feel his arms around her and his lips upon hers.
‘I don’t think you realise how strongly I feel for you.’ He slid to his knees at her feet. ‘I couldn’t bear to see you every day if you should decide that we cannot be together.’ He took her hands, his touch like the fire that he conjured with in the forge. ‘I need you to put me out of my misery one way or another. My dearest, darling Catherine, will you marry me?’
She gazed into his eyes, her heart beating fast.
‘Oh, Stephen, my dearest man. Yes, I’d be honoured to be your wife.’
His lips curved into a smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said, reaching his hands around her waist. ‘I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.’
‘I know you will, and I will do the same for you.’
Still on his knees, he leaned up and pressed his lips to hers, setting her whole being aflame. She was home, where she was meant to be, with Stephen, who had been and remained the one constant in her life. He had been at her side at the Red Lion on that fateful day of the riot and at the courthouse in Maidstone, and she had returned the favour, coming to his aid when Emily had sickened and died.
‘We’ll be a family and maybe one day we’ll have children of our own,’ she added, pulling away slightly.
‘I’d like that. When we’re married, everyone will have to acknowledge you or they’ll have me to deal with. Mrs Browning will be compelled to speak with you when she comes with a kettle to solder, the same for Mrs White when she wants her ring mended. And Mr Nobbs when he comes with an order to beat out a ploughshare.’ He grinned. ‘I’m going to see the vicar before you can change your mind.’
‘Do you think that’s likely?’ she said, tipping her head to one side.
He shook his head and kissed her again.
That evening, after Jessie and Matthew had returned from their walk, soaked through but exhilarated, and they had all eaten together, Stephen helped Catherine put the children to bed, then sat with her once again in the kitchen.
‘We’ll meet with the vicar as soon as possible. I don’t want to miss out on a single day being married to you,’ he said as the baby started to wail from his crib upstairs.
‘I expect he’s hungry again,’ Catherine said, standing up and resting her hands on Stephen’s shoulders. ‘He’s growing so quickly.’
‘I’ll fetch him,’ Stephen said, getting up.
‘I’ll warm the milk through a little.’ Catherine went into the larder to collect it. When Stephen returned with Stanley in his arms, they sat back down side by side on the oak settle. Stephen fed the baby and carried him back to his crib. When he laid him down on his back, he started to fidget and cry.
‘Please, don’t wake the others,’ Stephen groaned as he retreated to the doorway.
‘Let me quieten him,’ Catherine said, and she began to sing her favourite lullaby, one she used to sing to Agnes. She became aware that Stephen’s voice had joined hers, melodic and deeply stirring, and by the time they’d uttered the very last notes, the baby’s eyes were closed, and Jessie and Matthew were fast asleep.
‘I shall retire to bed,’ Catherine whispered. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Goodnight,’ Stephen said.
She dreamed about Matty that night. She told him that she was marrying his brother and he gave his blessing in return. She wasn’t sure when she woke whether the dream meant anything or if it was merely wishful thinking on her part. She hoped that he would approve of the match. She thought that he would.
The next day, Stephen called on the vicar to arrange for the banns to be read, and in the second week of September, they walked to church together, just the two of them, hand in hand. Catherine wore a dress of Emily’s made from light blue muslin with an overlay of lace across the bodice, and altered to fit. Stephen wore a suit that was too small for him, too short in the legs and arms, and too tight across the shoulders, but he looked no less handsome for it, she thought.
They made their vows in front of the Reverend Browning, signed the register in the presence of two witnesses, George and Daniel, and walked back out into the sunshine. They paused at Emily’s graveside to pay their respects, the grave now marked with a small headstone.
‘Let’s go home,’ she said to Stephen.
He smiled.
‘The forge will be our home for another week, then we’ll be moving into the farmhouse.’
She gazed into his eyes.
‘You mean, Wanstall Farm?’
He nodded.
‘Mr Hadington has drawn up the legal documents. I’m due to meet him and the squire to sign them later today, and then it’s ours. We’ll be the new tenants. I hope you don’t mind. I wanted it to be a surprise, a wedding present.’
‘It’s certainly that, a surprise, I mean.’ She smiled back.
‘It will be a fresh start for all of us.’
‘What about the cost?’
‘We’ll manage. Trust me. I have it all worked out.’ He touched her face, the contact sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. ‘I know we’ll make a success of it – together.’
‘Together,’ she echoed as they headed out through the gate at the entrance to the churchyard. Stephen called for Daniel to accompany them, but he was nowhere to be seen.<
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‘He’s with one of the village girls, no doubt,’ he observed with a grin. ‘The wheelwright’s daughter is much on his mind. She’s always turning up at the forge with some or other excuse to talk to him.’
‘I thought he was rather keen on Maud.’
‘Oh, that’s old news.’ He held out his arm. Catherine took it and they walked quietly back to the cottage as husband and wife.
Mrs and Mrs Carter and the three children moved into Wanstall Farm, relocating the forge and taking on labourers to tend the hops and barley, while Stephen began to build a business in farriery and horse-doctoring.
A year later, there was a knock at the door. Catherine, carrying the baby on her hip, opened the door to find the vicar on the doorstep. She ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she’d had time to make a little effort with her appearance for this unexpected caller, and wondering at herself for beginning to sound like Ma.
‘Are you alone, Mrs Carter?’ the Reverend Browning enquired.
‘I am as far as it goes.’ She frowned. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea? I’ve made a cake – it’s caraway.’
‘Thank you, but there’s no need for sustenance. Mrs Browning has directed the cook to make a beef and kidney pudding for tonight.’
She offered him a seat, Stephen’s chair by the fireside in the former parlour which they now used as a family room. The vicar sat down and Catherine took a place on the settle opposite.
‘I’ve received a letter from your husband’s brother.’
‘Matty?’ Her heart stopped. Her vision blurred. What news and why now?
‘It’s a rather delicate situation, considering that you are only recently married. In fact, my daughter Jane, in her wisdom, suggested that I tore it up and burned it in the fire, but I couldn’t have that deception on my conscience, so I am here to hand it over to you to do with it as you wish.’ He lowered his voice as the sound of the children’s laughter drifted in from the farmhouse garden which she and Stephen were bringing back to life after months of neglect. ‘I shouldn’t feel obliged to open it, if I were you. You are married now.’
She didn’t need the vicar to remind her of that fact, she thought.
‘Let no man tear such a union asunder,’ he went on.
She gazed at the envelope, her heart pounding with apprehension. What if Matty was ill or asking for her help? She couldn’t just throw the letter unread into the fire. She opened it.
His mark was at the bottom of the parchment, but another hand had written the body of the missive. She felt a little faint as she read through it. It was like hearing from a ghost.
‘He says he is well,’ she said. ‘He has received a pardon. Well I never. He is a free man.’
‘Is he returning to Overshill?’
She shook her head.
‘He has raised the money to pay passage for me and our—’ She broke off abruptly, not wishing to reveal more than was necessary. ‘He plans that I should travel to Tasmania to meet him.’ How many years had she waited to see or hear those words? She felt a rush of guilt that Matty had stayed true to her, while she had not done the same for him.
‘That is rather inconvenient news at this time.’
Catherine checked the date on the letter. It had been posted many months before.
‘Would you like me to write back to him?’ the vicar asked.
‘No, thank you, I can do it myself.’
‘I assume that you’ll be letting your husband know about this.’
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘we have no secrets between us. Stephen knows everything. I’m very grateful for your concern, but I mustn’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have sermons to write.’
‘Indeed, I do.’ He stood up. ‘Good day, Mrs Carter. I’ll see myself out.’
Once he’d gone, she checked for the half a sixpence which she’d hidden on top of the grandfather clock that Stephen had acquired as a debt from one of his customers. Matty’s souvenir was safe, but she didn’t need it any more. One day, when Agnes was old enough to understand, she would hand it over to her as a keepsake of her real father.
She called the children together and told them she was going to the forge to see their papa. She carried Stanley in her arms while Jessie and Matthew walked along, holding hands.
‘Remember to mind the horses and the fire. And don’t try to pick up the hammer again, Jessie.’ She’d hauled it from the anvil on which it was resting on one occasion and it had fallen onto her foot.
‘I won’t, Mama ’Rin,’ she sang out.
Daniel was at the fire, pulling a glowing metal bar from its heart.
‘Hello,’ Catherine called. ‘Where’s Stephen?’
‘Over there by the granary,’ he called back.
She turned and walked towards the building where an elderly white horse was tied outside. Stephen was tapping nails into the horse’s foot. She watched him with fondness as a dove cooed from the dovecote he’d recently installed. Eventually, he looked up and smiled. He lowered the horse’s foot and straightened.
He moved towards them and took the baby from her. He held him up high, making him chuckle. Matthew stood, tugging at his father’s shirt, wanting a turn too.
‘And me, Papa,’ Jessie joined in.
‘Catch him, crow!’ Stephen began. ‘Carry him, kite.’
The others joined in.
‘Take him away till the apples are ripe. When they are ripe and ready to fall. Here comes baby, apples and all.’ Stephen let go of the baby, catching him up quickly and swooping him above his shoulders.
‘Please, Papa,’ Matthew begged.
Stephen gave each of the children a turn before sending Jessie and Matthew off with a trug and strict instructions to keep hold of Stanley’s hand while they hunted for eggs.
‘What brings you here, my darling wife?’
‘And children. I thought I would bring them out with me rather than let them get into mischief.’ Her forehead tightened. ‘I received a letter this morning.’
‘The vicar delivered it. I saw him – he asked me about making a new gate for the vicarage. What was it about?’
‘It’s from Matty – he’s alive and well. He has been pardoned.’
Stephen’s face travelled through a range of emotions from surprise to joy and then to sorrow.
‘Is he coming back to England?’
‘No. He asked if I would go to him—’
‘Then so be it,’ Stephen said abruptly. He stared at her. ‘I’m glad my brother is well. I’ve prayed for him so many times. You have to do what sits right with your conscience. If you wish to find him, I won’t stand in your way, although that will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I want you to be happy, Catherine.’
‘Oh, Stephen, I’m not going to Tasmania. My place is here at your side. This is my home. I belong here in Overshill with you.’
‘Do you mean that?’ he said.
She nodded, hardly able to speak.
‘My love.’
‘You are my best friend and most wonderful husband, and what’s more, I’m sure now that I’m with child. Our baby.’
He took her hands in his rough grasp and kissed her.
‘You have just made me the happiest man in all of Kent.’
She smiled as the sun slanted across the farmyard, its light banishing the shadows. She loved this man. He was the person who had been at her side, not Matty. They had been through good and bad times, the best and the worst. She would never leave him, just as she knew he would never dream of abandoning her. They were married, bound together, till death should part them.
THE END
Agnes Berry-Clay glanced back towards Windmarsh Court with its brick walls, tiled roof and chimney pots. The southern aspect of the house, on the advice of the architect who had designed it many years ago, had no windows to prevent the Black Death gaining entry on the prevailing winds. Fortunately, he had compensated for the lack of light by including tall arched windows to the grand rooms on the first floor
on the other three sides.
At the far end of the kitchen garden between the beds of earth, rows of winter cabbages and raspberry canes, Agnes and Nanny passed through the gate in the wall and stepped onto the path where the tang of salt and cold air caught Agnes by the throat, making her cough.
She tucked her hands inside her fur muff as they set out along the embankment, across the marsh and through the hamlet of Windmarsh, passing the church, two houses, and a row of cottages built from grey Kentish ragstone and flint. On their way back to the house, they walked along the road beside the long, reed-lined ditch of brackish water. They took this same route every day because of Mama, who forbade any deviation. Mama had a fear of strangers. She didn’t like open spaces and crowds. In fact, she rarely left the house.
They returned indoors. Agnes left her outdoor shoes in the boot-room and, having put on her slippers, caught up with Nanny in the kitchen. The oak dresser held plates, fish kettles and a colander, and a meat chopper and a brass pot of skewers glinted from the table. Cook – Mrs Nidget – was standing red-faced over a pan that threatened to bubble over on the range while a fire burned in the hearth. The scullery maid was stoking the flames with the bellow.
‘How was your walk, Miss?’ Cook said, looking up from the pan.
‘It was very cold,’ Agnes said. ‘I should like some hot chocolate.’
‘A “please” wouldn’t go amiss,’ Nanny muttered from beside her.
‘Please,’ Agnes added petulantly.
‘Of course you can, ducky. I’ll send it up to the nursery with some freshly baked scones and lemon curd.’ Cook had eyes like raisins, set deep above her doughy cheeks. She was almost as wide as she was tall, but Agnes doubted that her fulsome figure had any relation to the quality of her cooking.
‘I fear that you are spoiling the child,’ Nanny said, removing her gloves.
Not for the first time, Agnes noticed the tension between the two women. She felt sorry for Nanny: she didn’t quite fit in either downstairs with the servants or upstairs with the family. It wasn’t her fault – it was due to her position in the household, not her character.
