by Val Wood
Once back on the track she began to run, past their cottage and towards the road to the village. She could hardly speak by the time she reached the Marstons’ house, which was in darkness. She hammered on the door, not caring if she startled anyone or woke the children.
‘I’ve – I’ve found him,’ she gasped as her uncle unbolted the door. She held her hand to her waist, where she had a piercing painful stitch. ‘He’s – he’s …’ She took a breath and then let out a wail. ‘He’s dead! Shot. He’s lying on ’river bank. I can’t move him. Come with me! Please. Or ’river will take him. ’Tide’s running fast.’
‘Come in, lass, and wait while I get dressed.’ Her uncle was in his long johns and vest. He reached for his cord breeches, which were lying over the back of a chair, and put them on. ‘You shouldn’t have gone down there on your own,’ he said, his voice muffled as he pulled on a flannel shirt and a woollen jumper over the top of it. ‘You might have tummelled in and we wouldn’t have known.’
Her aunt came into the kitchen; the family slept together in the other room. She wore a long grey nightgown and her hair hung down her back. She took in Mary-Ellen’s distress and came towards her, putting her arms round her. ‘Your uncle Ben will fetch somebody to help him,’ she said. ‘There’s no need for you to go back.’
‘No. No. I have to go! They’ll not find him. He’s halfway between ’village and home. I walked past him once.’ She gave a sob. ‘It was when I turned back that I saw him. He must have slipped. It’s treacherous on ’top of ’bank. I should have told him, Aunt Lol,’ she cried. ‘I should have said and then he wouldn’t have gone!’
‘Telled him what, dearie?’ Lol asked. ‘When could anybody ever tell your da owt?’
Mary-Ellen put her face in her hands. ‘That we were getting a fowl,’ she whispered. ‘I knew that he would bring one.’
‘Leave that now,’ Lol said. ‘You can’t go blaming yourself for what might have been, and knowing your da as we do he’d probably have gone out anyway.’ She patted Mary-Ellen’s mouth with her finger. ‘Say no more about that.’
Mary-Ellen trudged back with the men, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other. Ben had woken two neighbours and they had brought an old door to carry back the body. They agreed, on looking at the skid mark, that as he was aiming his gun he had probably slipped or lost his balance, with tragic consequences.
‘I remember it happening once afore,’ one of the other men said. ‘Dost tha remember that time? A few years back, ower in Holmpton?’
It was of no consolation to Mary-Ellen that it had happened before. She was quite convinced that it was her fault. That she was the one to blame.
He was carried back and laid on his bed and at midnight the doctor came to pronounce on the death. The next morning the constable was sent for. He came after he had eaten his Christmas dinner, having decided there was no rush when he was told that it was deemed an accident, not suicide and not murder.
Jane arrived home for the day, but after visiting Mary-Ellen and seeing the body of her uncle she returned early to Skeffling as she couldn’t bear the sight or sound of Mary-Ellen’s weeping, nor eat any of the Christmas goose. She told Jack Terrison what had happened when he saw her sniffling into her handkerchief as she crossed the yard. He told the foreman and the other lads, and by the following morning Joseph and his father had also heard the news of the disaster.
‘I’d better go over, Father,’ Joseph said, trying to keep calm, for the first he had heard was that there had been a fatal shooting at Welwick Thorpe and he had been horrified to think that it might have been Mary-Ellen. On enquiring further he had discovered that Isaac Page had died in an accident. ‘It’s only common decency to ask if we can help.’
‘Mm,’ his father replied. ‘I suppose the young woman will go to live with relatives, if she has any. She’ll not be able to pay the rent on her own.’
‘We can’t turn her out!’ Joseph said in alarm.
‘No, she can stay for a while. The rent will be paid in advance anyway, isn’t it?’
‘I believe so,’ Joseph said, determining that it would be. He saddled up Ebony, having told his mother that he would be back as quickly as he could but not to delay the Boxing Day luncheon. The family and their guests should begin without him. ‘Miss Page might need some advice,’ he explained. ‘For the funeral and so on.’
‘I fail to see it,’ his mother had replied. ‘She’ll have friends to rally round her. People in that kind of situation always do.’
He approached the cottage cautiously, aware that there might be someone with Mary-Ellen, though his instinct was to rush in and comfort her. Mrs Marston came to the door. She had a child in her arms and a toddler at her skirts.
As Joseph wasn’t working today and was expected to help entertain their house guests, he had dressed on rising in formal indoor clothes: a dark green morning coat with matching waistcoat and narrow trousers, and black leather shoes. When he decided to ride to Welwick Thorpe he had changed his footwear for long boots and over his coat had put on his caped mackintosh, which although it stank of rubber would keep him warm and dry. He took off his top hat and greeted Mrs Marston.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m so very sorry to hear of Mr Page’s demise. I’ve come to offer Miss Page my condolences and any assistance that she might need.’
Lol gave a sigh. ‘It’s good of you, Mr Ellis, but I doubt you can be of any help. My niece is quite bereft.’ She looked at him directly and said bluntly, ‘I’d ask you in, but there’s onny one room and Isaac is laid out in it.’
Joseph took in a sudden breath as he remembered the bed where he had lain with Mary-Ellen. Her father’s bed. ‘Will she see me, do you think?’
‘I’ll ask her. I was on my way home. Mr Marston has gone back to work and I’ve my other bairns to see to.’ She gave another sigh. ‘A Christmas spoiled,’ she said. ‘And we didn’t do justice to that fine goose you kindly sent us.’
He murmured some platitude and she backed into the cottage and closed the door behind her. Mary-Ellen would agree to see him, he was in no doubt, but surely she wouldn’t stay here with only her father’s body for company?
After a few moments, Mrs Marston came out again. ‘Mary-Ellen said if you’d give her a minute she’ll come out and speak to you. If you’ll excuse me, Mr Ellis, I’ll be on my way home.’
He watched her as she trudged down the track, holding one child by the hand and the other close to her chest. She was unsuitably dressed for the cold weather and he felt guilty, wrapped warmly in his winter clothes.
The door opened and Mary-Ellen came out. He was shocked by her pallor and her red-rimmed eyes. ‘My darling,’ he whispered, coming towards her. ‘I’m so sorry.’
She drew back from him. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m wicked and corrupt.’
‘What nonsense is this?’ He was alarmed at her demeanour. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock, Mary-Ellen.’
She stared at him with wide tearful eyes. ‘I didn’t tell him,’ she whispered. ‘Didn’t tell my father that you were bringing a Christmas fowl. If I had, he wouldn’t have gone out with his gun. It was my fault that he died.’
‘That’s foolish talk,’ he said. ‘This wasn’t the first time he’d been out shooting?’
Silently she shook her head and tears trickled down her cheeks. He wanted to take her in his arms and whisper endearments, to soothe her pain. ‘Well then,’ he said softly. ‘It could have happened at any time. He was on the river bank, I understand?’
She didn’t answer, but only swallowed, and so he went on. ‘I almost fell in the river the other day. The ground is very muddy. Ebony slipped but fortunately recovered.’ It was a lie. Ebony was sure-footed, but he wanted to bring Mary-Ellen reassurance. To ease her troubled mind.
‘I can’t see you again,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t come.’
‘What?’ He was startled. ‘Why not?’
‘We’re bad for each o
ther. It’s not to be. I don’t want to see you.’
‘You don’t mean that, Mary-Ellen. You can’t mean it!’ Joseph came out in a cold sweat. She didn’t know what she was saying. She must be temporarily unhinged with the grief of her father’s sudden death.
‘I mean it.’ She looked straight at him and it was as if he was a stranger. ‘It’s madness to think of it. We live different lives. Nowt in common.’
‘I love you,’ he pleaded. ‘That’s what we have in common. I know we have different lives, but it needn’t stop us loving each other.’
She gave a low hard laugh. ‘And how do you suggest we continue?’ she asked. Her voice was cutting. ‘What do you propose? I must leave here now and find work. My father kept me.’ Her hand waved towards the cottage. ‘Such luxury he kept me in, as you know. But now I must keep myself.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut in and he saw fire flare in her eyes. ‘Perhaps you’re going to suggest that you keep me? That I become your doxy? That you pay me every time you come to see me, so that I can pay ’rent.’
He shook his head miserably. ‘Don’t speak like that, Mary-Ellen. Please don’t say those things.’
He saw the tremble on her lips as she strove to keep from crying and he took another step towards her. She lifted her arms and in a sudden fury she launched herself at him and hammered her fists against his chest.
‘Don’t you see!’ she wailed. ‘Don’t you understand? It’s because I wanted you that my father is dead! I had to keep you secret from him. Couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell anyone about you.’
He locked his arms about her to hold her fast. ‘Then the fault is mine as much as yours,’ he said softly. ‘We’re both guilty.’
He felt her go limp in his arms. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Only mine.’
‘Don’t turn me away, Mary-Ellen.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘We’ll think of some way out of this dilemma. I can’t live without you.’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘There’s no way out of it,’ she murmured. ‘You can’t live with me, and I can’t live with you.’ She lifted her head and he kissed her wet cheeks. ‘Don’t come again – at least, not for some time. I have to think about what to do.’
‘Don’t do anything in haste,’ he said urgently. ‘Don’t go away! Don’t do anything without telling me first.’ He looked down at her appealingly. ‘You owe me that, Mary-Ellen, and you know that you can stay here, don’t you? You don’t have to leave.’
His mind was working furiously, trying to think of a solution. Perhaps if she was to live in Patrington or Hedon. She could find work there in order to look respectable and they would find somewhere to be together. Or, he thought, if she wanted to stay here he would arrange for the rent to be paid; that would be easy enough to do if she agreed, but it would mean that she lived alone.
She wiped her tears on her sleeve. ‘First I must see to my father’s funeral. Then I must mourn. And after that – after that …’ She shook her head and whispered, ‘I don’t know.’
Because the Ellises had only just taken up the title deeds of Welwick Thorpe, their agent had not yet visited the cottage and so it was easy enough for Joseph to alter in the account book the details of dates and amounts of rent that had been paid by their new tenants. He carefully adjusted the amount so that it appeared that Isaac Page had paid three months in advance. ‘Most unusual, I quite agree,’ he told the agent when the latter brought it to his attention. ‘But there we are. I believe there’s been cockfighting in the village. Perhaps Page had a good run of betting and wanted to have security of tenure. Leave it with me. I’ll speak to Miss Page at some time in the future. She’s within her rights to stay there, anyway.’
He asked his father if he would be present at Page’s funeral as a mark of respect, claiming that he himself had other things to see to. I can’t bear to be near Mary-Ellen without wanting to take her in my arms, he brooded. Anyone would be able to tell that I desire her.
Jack Terrison had asked the hind if he might have the morning off to attend the service. When it was mentioned to Joseph he was suspicious that Terrison might have an ulterior motive: a wish to see Mary-Ellen.
‘Tell him to come straight back after church,’ he said brusquely, ‘and not go to the wake.’
‘That’s what I did tell him, sir,’ the foreman said, puzzled by his attitude. ‘We’re clearing out ’foldyards and starting wi’ muck spreading. Terrison knows that; he’ll not stay away long. Onny pay his due respects.’
Joseph walked away across the stable yard and saw Jane, who he now knew was Mary-Ellen’s cousin. She was dressed in her cloak and bonnet and he called to her.
‘Are you going to the funeral?’
She dipped her knee. ‘Yes, sir. Cook said I could go as he was my uncle. I’ve to come straight back, though.’
Joseph nodded. ‘Would you kindly give my condolences to your cousin,’ he said. ‘And assure her of our best regard for her future.’
‘Yes sir.’ She dipped again and he thought how unlike the cousins were. One so meek and one so full of fire and passion.
I must see Mary-Ellen again soon, he mused as he watched Jane scurry down the drive. My life cannot continue without her. I am nothing without her!
CHAPTER TWELVE
I said I never wanted to see him again. When I told him that he should stay away, I meant it. Mary-Ellen viciously struck her gardening fork into the ground. Her father had cleared the vegetable plot and started the digging, but had failed to finish it. But now I want to see him. One of the tines struck a stone and she picked it up and hurled it as far as she could. I want him, I need him, and I know that he’s no good for me. We’re no good for each other and if he should come I shall tell him so again, in case he wasn’t listening the first time.
She stretched her back. The ground was heavy and hard to dig. Why hasn’t he been? It’s over a week since Da’s funeral and I’ve to make up my mind what to do. She had been into the village and enquired if there was any work at the inn which her father had patronized. She had been told that there was a line of women waiting for work before her. I’ll have to go to Patrington, she thought, and ask there. The new agent will be coming for the rent soon.
Perhaps he won’t come, she thought, thinking of Joseph. Perhaps he’s afraid that I might rely on him now that Da’s not here. Well, he’s got another think coming! I don’t need him or any man. I can survive on my own. She took a breath and went to fetch a spade. The gardening tools were hanging in the cow shelter, except that now there was no cow to shelter. Mary-Ellen couldn’t afford to feed her so had sold her, but had kept the hens, which she fed on kitchen scraps and vegetables and the last of the corn.
Her father’s old waterproof coat, the one he used for gardening, was hanging on a peg and on seeing it she felt the sudden pang of the guilt that hit her every night as she climbed into bed. The bed that had been her father’s.
Uncle Ben had helped her move the iron bedstead to a different position. Now it was against the wall where she had previously slept on her palliasse. She had dragged her father’s straw mattress outside and symbolically set fire to it on the vegetable plot. As she watched it burn she had pondered that another part of her life had gone. The dry straw had crackled and fizzed, and spat bright sparks up into the sky before turning into a conflagration. Mary-Ellen thought of the loss of her mother and now her father, who lay with his wife in the churchyard.
Isaac had contributed to a scheme which paid for his burial, but the rest of the funeral costs had been met by local people. Men whom Isaac had known or worked with had a whip-round for him. One of the Parrott family had come to see her and told her that they too had made a collection, and had handed over a sum of money to be put towards the cost of a funeral tea.
She put her hand tenderly on her father’s coat. Though they hadn’t always seen eye to eye – she was too much like him for their relationship ever to be easy – she realized now how he had protected her, even to the e
xtent of keeping her at home where she would be safe. ‘Well, I’m on my own now, Da,’ she murmured. ‘You’re not here to look after me any more.’
She picked up the spade and turned to go back into the garden and there was Joseph standing in the entrance of the shelter. ‘Am I welcome?’ he asked softly. ‘Or is it too soon?’
Mary-Ellen held her breath but couldn’t hold back the tears. She heard the pleading in his voice, saw the wistfulness in his eyes. She put her hands over her face and sobbed. ‘It’s no use,’ she wept. ‘I’ll ruin your life. One of us must go away. It can’t be you so it must be me.’
In one long stride he was by her side and holding her close, kissing her wet cheeks, stroking her neck and murmuring sweet endearments. ‘I love you, Mary-Ellen. If you go away I shall come after you. Wherever you go I shall follow.’
She put her face up to his. ‘Love me,’ she whispered. ‘I’m lost. Hold me close.’
He put Ebony in the shelter so that the horse couldn’t be seen from the track and together they went into the cottage. He saw that it looked different. The bed had been moved and there was a rail with a curtain drawn across it so that it was hidden from view.
He slid the bolt across the door and held out his arms to her. She nestled into them and said softly, ‘I wasn’t ever going to see you again.’ She gazed into his tender blue eyes. ‘But God help me, for I can’t help myself.’
‘We were meant for each other, Mary-Ellen.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘I’m not prepared to give you up. I think of you night and day and I need you.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘We can’t control what will happen in the future. We can only take our happiness now.’
He stayed an hour and then rode away home, promising that he would come back that night. When he arrived at Burstall House, he went into the ironing room and asked the young maid there to fetch him another blanket to put on his bed, saying he had been cold the previous night. He took a bottle of wine from the dresser in the dining room and filched a bunch of grapes from the table. These he secreted in his leather knapsack, and then during the early evening he took the blanket from his bed and placed it inside a horse blanket in the stable.
