Moments of Time

by Moments of Time (Moments In Time) (retail) (epub)

  ‘Very well as it happens, Selina.’ He smiled. Sort of smiled, it even reached his eyes.

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  Jim was still smiling when the two women walked away. The Tremore contingent also left. Jim stood alone, his cap off, the sun making his hair shine like polished gold. He fished for a smoke. Held his head high, proud, satisfied. Selina Bosweld had said he ought to believe he was good enough for anyone. He did now. No longer was he workhouse scum. One day he would make something of himself. He wanted to move on, move up, to a better life. And his route, and for Sara, was through Sara. Through Wally Eathorne of Druzel Farm. He was hers for the taking. Wally’s parents had acknowledged it. It was time Sara thought differently too and considered the future. She would be a farmer’s wife instead of a farmer’s skivvy. Mrs Eathorne was ailing, was consumptive, so it was said, and wanted to see grandchildren playing at her hearth before she died.

  He and Sara would not sleep in the attics at Druzel Farm. He would make decisions on the farm; Wally and his father were easy-going, pliable sorts. Jim’s mind was made up. He would see his sister married within the year.

  From a backwards glance he spied the approach of Myrna Eathorne. Doubtless, the nosy shopkeeper was intent on inspecting the dancing platform. He was pleased to see this particular busybody bearing his way. Anything Myrna Eathorne was told or overheard would be all over Hennaford in an hour, and would make for many a tasty reworking, and, if this second part of his plan for revenge on Selina Bosweld worked, many an exclamation of disgust would be issued before the sports day got underway, to resurface, when it did, in public indignation. How he would like to have been in the infirmary when the seductress had been given her marching orders, but, he grinned maliciously to himself, he’d not miss witnessing the village unceremoniously giving her the boot!

  He sat down close to old Mr Quick. Waited. Made his voice loud and clear. ‘Poor Mrs Dowling, she’s some upset, you know, Mr Quick. I heard her telling Mrs Frayne that Miss Bosweld’s gone and ruined her cousin’s life. The cousin found out, you see, that her husband, who’s a doctor at the infirmary, was up to no good with some nurse. Well, turned out that this nurse was Miss Bosweld, and she was sacked the very same day. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, would you? She’s a bit modern, a bit eccentric, I suppose, but I always thought she was respectable. But you never know about someone, do you? Who’d have thought that she was a marriage wrecker?’

  ‘Eh? What?’ Old Mr Quick prodded Jim’s arm. ‘What’d you say, boy? You’ll have to speak up. Never heard a word you just said.’

  A gasp of shock came from behind the two men. Mr Quick did not hear this either, but Jim smiled all the way down the field to where his former lover was walking in the distance. ‘Never mind, Mr Quick. Sadly, word’ll get round soon enough, I suppose. Well, must get on. Have to build a pen for the piglet. Here, you have this last bottle of ale.’

  He dropped his own empty ale bottle back in the crate. When he turned round he saw Mrs Eathorne hurrying off, beckoning to a group of neighbours.

  Emilia and Selina were making their way along the side of the tall hedgerow, out of sight now and no longer hiding the filched bottles in front of their bodies. Emilia intended to turn back soon.

  Selina took off her cardigan and flung it over her shoulder, to enjoy the gilding of the hot sun. ‘Jim seems quite content now. I’m curious over what’s brought about the change in him.’

  ‘I suppose Sara finally got through to him. I spoke to him myself yesterday. He says he’s finally got everything sorted out in his mind.’

  ‘I feel quite bad about upsetting him. I should have behaved with more feeling; he was just an ordinary chap, a boy really, when I took up with him.’

  ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘Don’t you believe I’m sorry?’

  Emilia did not. ‘I hope you’ll be more careful in future.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you need worry about any lasting effects on Jim. From the steely look in him just now I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ After her defensive remark Selina allowed a pause of silence, then she grew jolly, buoyant, and Emilia knew she was trying to change the mood. ‘This is nice. Spending time with a friend. I hope you like me, Em, darling. Really like me.’

  ‘Haven’t you had many friends?’

  ‘Women friends? Oh, lots, from time to time. Some I’ve been especially close to. As for male friends, lovers, I’m not seeing anyone now. I think I’ve had enough of men for a while.’ At the lack of sympathetic response she was getting she went on in a rather pitiful tone, ‘I know you’re distracted at the moment, Em, but you do like me, don’t you?’

  Emilia hated this, she had more urgent, more disheartening things to consider and she had no real choice in her answer. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ Selina leaned across and hugged her round the waist and pecked her cheek. ‘I like you lots. I want us to get very close before I leave.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Sara had been in Alec’s thoughts day and night. He was thinking about her now while taking a bath before getting dressed for the big village event, his favourite for it was held entirely out of doors. The end of the evening was best: after the fun of the events, as darkness crept comfortingly down from the skies and the music turned to softer, quieter tones, the young and old alike would be lulled into a sleepy other-world, when all, even though not realizing it, would be at one with those who had gone on before them, and perhaps even somewhere deep in their hearts they would be touched by those who were to come. It was how Alec saw it – a vision conjured long since from his deepest thoughts. Usually saw it. Today he was thinking about Sara.

  So disturbed had he become over his attraction to her, the lust breeding in him for her, that he had turned to his long-standing mentor. Eugenie Bawden, the glamorous, town-dwelling hostess and long-time widow, who before his first marriage and before her own had been his intended wife. They had remained devoted friends, had become lovers until he’d taken charge of Jonathan. He had consulted her over his feelings for Emilia. Now he needed advice over his desire for the naive young workmaid he should be keeping only a paternal care for.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Eugenie!’ he had paced her drawing-room floor like a great threatened beast. ‘I can’t fathom out why I feel like this towards Sara Killigrew. I know I must send her away. But I’m responsible for encouraging the infatuation she’s developed for me. She’s going to feel so hurt and rejected.’

  ‘Sit down, Alec, you’ll wear yourself out.’ Eugenie, renowned for her wit, benevolence, youthful spirit, chain-smoking and raven-black dyed hair, had pushed him down on the nearest chair, which had taken considerable strength for he had resisted her. Then perching on the embroidered padded arm, she had taken his hand and brushed the tumbling dark hair back from his sweating forehead. She’d lit two cigarettes, hers clasped in a ridiculously long jade holder, and placed his between his lips. ‘Now, dear heart, take a deep breath on this.’

  She had held his head in the crook of her arm, stroking his hair, and he had leaned gladly against her breast, somewhat flattened in her chic tubular dress, but he was comfortably aware of the feminine bolstering against his throbbing temple. He smoked and waited. If anyone knew what he should do, it was Eugenie.

  Now, while he got out of the bath, rubbed his body rapidly and harshly dry, and dressed in a casual shirt, black tie, trousers and dark sports jacket, and dashed a comb through his thick black locks, he was wording and rewording how to translate Eugenie’s advice into the right approach to Sara, to spare her feelings. And then to Jim, for this involved him too. He would offer them a cottage of their own to live in, to form a distance from Sara. It was the best he could do; he couldn’t bring himself to sack her or find her a new position – what explanation could he give anyway? God, he prayed, please let this come out right.

  He nearly let out an oath to find Sara on the other side of the bedroom door. Looking at this shining, tender,
provocative young creature he felt a betrayer, and not a little bereft at what his good intentions would deprive him of. She was stunning. Perfect. Matchless. More promising than the clearest sunrise. She smelled of pure woman. And she could be his. The way she was looking at him now, her desire for him was transparent and so blatant it tempted his flesh like nothing ever had before.

  He clenched his fists, forced his voice to sound something in the way of normal. ‘Oh, Sara. I thought you’d gone with the others after the milking was over.’

  ‘I got held up. I thought I could ride with you.’

  ‘I see.’ Afraid he might lean forward and kiss her and be totally lost, he turned on his heel and headed for the front stairs. She hastened after him and with each step down he fought with himself. He cleared his throat. Angry with himself for now he must be cruel. ‘You shouldn’t take things for granted, Sara. It was silly of you. There won’t be any room in the car. I’m only taking it to pick up some of the elderly and infirm. Mrs Dowling asked for volunteers to collect those who couldn’t cope with being there for the whole event.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t know,’ she said, halting halfway down the stairs.

  His insides were as crushed as her tiny voice had sounded. ‘I must get on. The boys will be desperate to tell me if they’ve won any of the races. Borrow Mrs Harvey’s bicycle, if you like. I’ll… I’ll see you there.’ He snatched up his hat and was out of the front door, locking it behind him.

  Stunned, desolate, Sara slid down on the bottom step of the stairs, hardly believing what had just happened. Since the wonderful afternoon in Long Meadow she had kept introducing herself to him whenever she could, wherever he was, and at times he’d responded to her with interest and pleasure, calling her ‘precious girl’. But she had been blind! Taken for a fool. She had thought the times he had not been warm and friendly were because he was being careful in case someone else was about. She could see now why her unsuccessful pleas about the retaking of the photographs that Mrs Em had suggested had been met with his excuses of being too busy.

  One time, to try to get more reaction out of him, she had tried to make him jealous. ‘Wally Eathorne was here not long ago.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Alec had frowned. ‘Not a crisis over his mother’s health, I hope.’

  ‘Wasn’t nothing to do with her.’ She had tried to sound mysterious.

  ‘I take it then he didn’t want to see me?’

  ‘No, it was me.’

  Alec had stared at her, through jealousy, she had hoped. ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’

  He had given a heavy sigh at that. Impatience with Wally Eathorne, she had thought. But she knew better now. It had been impatience with her! He had lost interest in her, interest, even in her inexperience, she was sure had been there. Damn it, he was too much in love with Mrs Em to want love from anyone else. He adored Mrs Em, had been petting her more than usual lately. Sara’s face sunk into her arms. Lately he had referred to Mrs Em as Mrs Harvey, not Emilia, when speaking about her.

  On the bottom step Sara stayed and stayed. Steeped in misery, feeling lost, abandoned, foolish. The sun moved more and more to the west and no longer shone through the passage window.

  Was Alec, was Mr Harvey – she would call him that from now on and keep her distance – wondering why she had not shown herself at the sports? He might come back and see if she was all right. The thought lifted her wallowing heart. Just for a minute. No, he wouldn’t. His wife and children were there. He didn’t want his servant girl for anything but skivvying.

  Damn him. Damn him! How dare he trifle with her! How dare the wretched man set her hopes so high and stamp on them so unfeelingly. He’d want to be rid of her next. Masters were all alike. They didn’t really care about their staff. Jim often reminded her of that. ‘There’s them and there’s us, ’tis the way of things and there’s no good us wishing it otherwise.’

  Jim was right when he said, ‘We’ve got to stay on our guard. Always look out for ourselves. Never forget it, Sara.’ Just before he had left for the sports, all spruced up and in a strange, quiet mood, he had looked her straight in the eye. ‘Be nice if we got away from here and had a place of our own, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘But I’m happy here!’ she had wailed, thinking she would hate her brother if he did anything to upset her dreams.

  ‘All I’m saying is that it would be nice. Take Druzel Farm, for instance. I’ve been against it before but if you were to consider Wally Eathorne, the farm could be more or less ours one day. Wally and his father are easy-going sorts. We’d fit in all right there. Don’t look like that, Sara. If you married Wally you’d become an Eathorne, and they’ve got standing in the village. Don’t you ever want to be more than next to nothing? ’Cause that’s what we are, and no mistake. Well, I’m going to make something of myself. I’m going to see myself proud, make the buggers round here speak to me with respect, you see if I don’t.’

  Sara shot to her feet, ignoring the aches and stiffness of staying crumpled for so long. What had Jim meant? He would never have spoken like that if he didn’t already have something put in motion. He might already have a way out of her terrible predicament, for one thing was certain, she couldn’t bear to go on living and working here.

  She seethed aloud, ‘Leave me as next to nothing would you, Alec Harvey? We’ll see about that!’

  The dogs out in the yard started up an excited barking, yapping each in their distinctive voice. It wasn’t Jim come back to check up on her, they would not have made a sound. The terriers were not sounding aggressive, so it was someone they knew. There was many a kindly villager who might walk here to see what was holding her up. Or, quite likely, because he had said he was going to ask her to dance with him tonight, it was Wally Eathorne.

  Wally Eathorne grinned a little shyly when she opened the back kitchen door to his determined knocking. ‘Jim was getting worried about you, Sara. Me too. Not been taken poorly, have you?’

  He was not great in height and with her up on the doorstep their eyes were on the same level. It was different from when she had faced her master in a similar way on the slope in Long Meadow. Wally wasn’t the source of her girlish fantasies and this time she was in charge. She watched him blanch, his ruddy face drop in disappointment at her hard stare until she said, ‘Come in, Wally.’

  A glance in the hall mirror on the way here had shown her eyes were tinged red from unshed tears, her cheeks white from fury. ‘I had a headache,’ she said when they were in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry. Anything I can do for you?’ Wally had taken off his best tweed cap and he was passing it from hand to hand. A more ordinary man would have been hard to find. Wally wasn’t good looking, nor was he ugly. He had the usual sturdy build of a hard-working farmer, the usual wrinkles creasing the corner of his eyes and mouth from constantly grimacing into the wind and rain. Just turned twenty, he was teetotal, likeable, had a joking nature, was clean in his habits and treated his mother with respect. All positive aspects when a girl considered a man as a husband. Sara looked him over in the way Jim had suggested she should.

  Under her penetrating gaze, Wally was treading the carpet square under his best boots, risking a viciously scratched ankle if he stepped on one of the sleeping house cats. ‘Have you taken an aspirin?’ he said at last.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied quickly. ‘I’ll fetch my hat.’

  ‘You’re coming to the sports then?’

  ‘Yes. Just give me a minute.’

  ‘Oh, that’s… that’s…’

  She didn’t allow Wally time to make up his mind over his sentiment. She went through to the hall, to the front stairs where she had left her new cloche hat. She used the mirror to set it at the best angle.

  Wally Eathorne had an inquisitive streak. He went after Sara and in between giving her admiring glances, peered into the sitting room and the den, the doors left slightly ajar. ‘Grand place.’

  ‘Do you want to see something really grand?’ she snapped, su
ddenly furious with Alec again, this time for taking her for granted as a loyal servant.

  Wally looked unsure, but straight away he said, ‘All right then.’

  ‘Follow me.’ She started up the thickly carpeted stairs.

  ‘Is this all right?’ Wally asked doubtfully, but did as he was bidden anyway.

  At the top Sara led the way down the wide corridor to the master bedroom. She pushed open the door, went inside. It was in pristine order, as she had left it that morning, except for where Alec had dumped his work clothes, left his wardrobe door open and carelessly tossed down his comb. The place reeked of his aftershave, a smell she had once found intoxicating. Now she hated it. She had no right to be in here, but she didn’t care! ‘Can you imagine sleeping in a room like this, Wally?’

  He whistled through his teeth. Sara noticed he had straight white teeth. ‘Never.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Well, I… Sara, what’s upset you?’

  ‘I’m just sick and tired of cleaning and tidying up after others, that’s all!’

  She saw herself shaking in rage in the long mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. Saw Wally come up behind her. Place his rough stocky hands firmly on her shoulders. ‘Sara?’

  ‘What?’ she asked his resolute reflection.

  He spoke in one rapid breath. ‘Marry me, and although I can’t give you all this, I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make Druzel farmhouse a home as grand as possible for you. I’ll build more rooms on to it. Father wouldn’t mind. I’d do anything for you, Sara.’

  It was a tempting proposition, but she did not answer. Overwhelmed by all the emotions she had suffered during the last couple of hours, she did not even think for a while. Then she felt Wally’s mouth on her neck, behind her ear, kissing her. Felt his hot breath making her skin tingle. So he wasn’t backward in coming forward, as the older people said about those who quickly reached out for what they wanted.