‘I’m going to do better than that!’ Kit turned mischievous. ‘I’m going to help you see more of each other.’
Myrtle was overwhelmed by such kindness but asked how this could be achieved.
‘For a start I can take messages between the pair of you! Don’t you see? I’m allowed in the main house, I can reach Tish at any time, tell him when the coast is clear – or I can help you sneak out into the garden!’ Spurred on by the enthusiasm on Myrtle’s face, Kit divulged her own illicit love affair, listing the wonderful things about Thomas, saying they were hoping to be married too, telling the startled girl that it would be so much nicer for her and Tish to meet amongst the daffodils and crocuses than in this dingy old passageway that stunk of cabbage. Yearning to be with her own lover, Kit derived almost as much pleasure from this substitute, excitedly conjuring all manner of plans for the scullerymaid’s first proper tryst, much of it inspired by the derogation she had just suffered at the hands of her employer.
Final words were exchanged before they entered the kitchen. Told that it was Myrtle’s afternoon off tomorrow, Kit arranged to take word to Master Tish and then help both of them sneak out into the garden. ‘And see how old blubberlips likes that!’ came her triumphant whisper.
* * *
Not so bold as her co-conspirator, Myrtle would only agree to meet Tish in her own free time, thereby reducing the risk. If Cook wasn’t expecting her to be in the kitchen, said Myrtle, there would be no one sent to look for her. For a time, the arrangement served to take Kit’s mind off Thomas, as she gleefully skipped from one end of the house to the other, delivering the secret messages. She had grown fond of this most unfortunate couple and her efforts to help them were genuinely motivated – though admittedly a measure of her enjoyment came from the knowledge that she was cocking a snook at her employer, and doing it under his very nose.
However, there was little danger of being caught out, for Mr Dolphin’s attention was devoted to his wife, who had succumbed yet again to her usual depression, a mood that was not to lift until the Lenten roses began to force their creamy heads through a black layer of leaf mould, heralding the family’s departure for London.
Kit had had no word as to when she could next expect to see Thomas – though certainly it would not now be at Easter, for with the family away there could be no excuse for him to visit Cragthorpe Hall.
More relaxed in his parents’ absence, Tish could now enjoy a new freedom with his sweetheart, whilst for poor envious Kit the only consolation was a trip home to Ralph Royd.
Acquiring a lift from a carter who had arrived with a delivery from Castleford in the afternoon and had stayed for tea in the servants’ hall, Kit decided to travel home that evening and so be able to enjoy a full day’s holiday at home tomorrow. Her escort was not a great conversationalist and the journey was passed mostly in silence. Feeling under no obligation to talk, Kit was quite happy to sit there in the dark, swaying in response to the movement of the cartwheels, occasionally bumping against the man beside her. Only when they began to descend a ridge did she find something to interest her.
‘What’s that?’ She pointed to a distant flickering light that appeared to hang in the heavens.
‘Fair at Pomfret,’ her companion murmured.
Soliciting a fuller answer, Kit learned that the assumed heavenly comet was in fact a naphtha flare hanging on a tall pole at the top of the helter-skelter. That it could be seen from six miles away was thanks to the ingenuity of a showman trying to attract custom. His tactic had certainly worked on Kit. With growing excitement she pestered the man for more information until they came to the bridge which led to Castleford, whence she thanked him for the ride, alighted from his cart and travelled the last segment of her journey on foot, feet moving like pistons in her haste to be home and organize an outing.
Though the younger ones were on school holidays, Beata and the older girls were compelled to work the next day and complained about being left out. Kit saw no problem. The carter had told her that the fair had only just set up and would be here for a week. If she could arrange to have next Saturday off would Monty allow the children to go with her then? With his consent came a unified yell from his offspring who gathered round their aunt begging to hear what the fair had to offer. Kit waded into glorious detail and enjoyed a secret smile at their obvious excitement, for she was keeping the most enjoyable part to herself – she was going to take Master Tish and Myrtle!
* * *
Upon returning to Cragthorpe Hall, Kit went first to Myrtle to convey the plan, then approached the housekeeper and explained that her brother’s children had been so disappointed at being deprived of a trip to the fair yesterday that she wondered if Mrs Grunter would be so kind as to allow her to take next Saturday off and she would make up the time in the following week. The housekeeper was most obliging, and this being so, Kit took the opportunity to lay her cards on the table.
‘I wonder,’ she tried to look demure, ‘do you think the mistress would have any objection if I were to ask Master Tish to accompany us? He gets so little enjoyment when the family’s in London that I thought it might be a nice treat for him.’
Little Mrs Grunter tilted her head and held the parlourmaid with piscine eyes, looking for subterfuge. There was just something about Kit, pleasant a girl though she might be, that the housekeeper did not completely trust. Yet what subversive motive could there be? Intellectually Master Eustace was a child and it was not as if he hadn’t been entrusted to a servant’s care before. Kit had nothing to gain by her invitation, more the opposite. After a period of cautious thought, Mrs Grunter agreed, but with a reservation. ‘I shall ask Algernon to take you in the carriage. We can’t have Master Eustace walking all that way, besides which, he’s in need of male supervision.’
Thwarted, Kit grappled for an answer, and as usual resorted to lies. ‘Oh, there’s no need to take Algy from his work, Mrs Grunter! Leastwise, I’m sure we’d all be obliged for a ride to the fair but there’s no call for him to stay. My brother will be there to watch over us. Algy could just come and collect us at the end of the afternoon.’
This receiving the housekeeper’s approval, Kit went straight to Myrtle, telling her that she would have to make her own way to the fair and to meet them at a prescribed time and place.
Thus it was that Kit rolled up at her brother’s house in an open carriage driven by a footman in full dress livery with white gloves and a cocked hat, astounding the villagers who gathered to stand and stare at the glossy black landau, its matching pair of horses and its haughty driver.
Algy, piqued at having to go all the way to Pontefract and back again at night and not even be allowed a ride on the prancers, hoisted one girl after another into the landau, treating them like sacks of flour. ‘That’s seven already! Thank goodness they’re not all built like you.’ He scratched his head over the number of bodies jammed into the leather seats. ‘We’ve still got to fit you and Master Tish in – where’s Mr Kilmaster going to sit?’ ‘Oh, I’m not comin’,’ replied Monty.
Algy looked enquiringly at Kit, who blustered, ‘I thought he would be!’
The footman didn’t believe her. ‘You just told Mrs Grunter that so I wouldn’t be allowed to come with you.’
‘I didn’t, honestly!’ The spring breeze caught the brim of her bonnet, causing her to hold it in place. ‘You can come if you want, I won’t tell.’ She hoped he would not call her bluff, for then he would be privy to the secret liaison between Tish and Myrtle.
Luck prevailed. Algy said huffily that he had no wish to go where he wasn’t wanted – besides he had arranged to go to the fair himself with Rosalind on his day off. He ordered Kit to climb in the back. This she did, clasping Probyn on her knee. With Tish sitting alongside the driver, and the carriage loaded to capacity, they set off. Beribboned auburn hair streaming in the wind, the girls waved merrily at their parents and neighbours until they were out of Savile Row, thence breaking into jaunty song which persisted all a
long the way.
Across the dirty river and onwards they sang, towards the pottery kilns that stood like giant beehives, the joyous expectation in each heart overruling the sordidness of their destination. Castleford had once been an important Roman town, but its antiquity was lost amongst the belching smoke of glass kilns where bottles were churned out by the million, its waterways sullied by coal-laden barges, oil slicks and debris. Through the dismal industrial town rolled the carriage and out the other side, along the arrow-like stretch of the old Roman route towards the ancient castle of Pontefract and its fields of liquorice.
Once Algy had dropped off his load and departed, still grumbling about having to come all the way back tonight, Myrtle emerged from hiding, Tish running to meet her like one of the excited children who accompanied him. Then, with the lovers walking hand in hand ahead where Kit could keep an eye on them, all descended on the fair.
The site had been decorated with flags and bunting, striped awnings that rippled in the breeze, which also bore the scent of liquorice from the town’s numerous factories. Amongst the many fruit and vegetable stalls were ones selling bibles, religious zealots exhorting folk to come and be saved. But Kit joked to Beata that she and her charges had already given their hearts to God and were in need of more worldly pleasures. Childish eyes widened at the sight of the big wheel and helter-skelter, swing boats and gallopers with red flared nostrils and golden bridles. Somewhat out of keeping with his new-found responsibilities, Tish was first on board the roundabout, pushing others out of the way, though he did urge Myrtle to climb up on the brightly painted horse beside him. Naturally, the children wished to follow suit, jumping up and down to emphasize their pleas. Kit, muttering that apparently she was the only one with any money, took out her purse and counted out several coins, handing them to the man in charge. Beata offered to contribute. Rhoda too handed over the penny that she had been granted from her wage packet, but Kit smilingly refused, as was her habit, saying it was her treat, though she would have expected the housekeeper to have provided Master Dolphin with cash.
‘I want to go on Dapple!’ cried Wyn, pointing to a spirited-looking grey, whom everyone else wanted to ride. This occasioned a squabble, even little Probyn straining to climb aboard.
In the end Kit said that as she was the one paying she would have first turn and, sitting astride Dapple, took Probyn on her knee.
There was a united cry over their brother being so favoured: ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Oh wisht! He’s only little.’ Beata said if the fighting continued she would take them all home and on top of that they would have to walk.
After each had enjoyed two goes on the gallopers Kit said they must move on or at this rate she would run out of money within five minutes. Still, there were more demands on her purse as they came upon a sideshow where dogs and monkeys, dressed like humans, performed tricks and acrobatics. Upon emergence from here they were summoned by a showman to yet another tent with the promise that they would see the fattest lady on earth.
Young Alice was unimpressed, telling her sisters. ‘I didn’t reckon much to her. She’s not even as fat as Aunt Kit.’
Though hurt, Kit shared a laugh with Beata, guessing from the tone of Alice’s voice it had been meant as a compliment. Their amusement was cut short by Ethel, who pointed out that Tish had run ahead with Myrtle and the lovebirds were in danger of being swallowed by the crowd. Gathering her smaller nieces, Kit hoisted Probyn into her arms and rushed to catch up.
Myrtle reacted to Kit’s censure with an apology and the promise that she would try to keep Tish in check but he was just so excited. ‘I wanted to go and visit that fortune-teller but he only wants to ride the gallopers!’
Kit eyed the master’s son, who was sitting on such a roundabout now. ‘Master Tish, you’ll have to get off, I haven’t got enough money.’
Myrtle apologized again, this time for her lack of contribution, and said she would pay for Kit to have her palm read.
‘Me dad wouldn’t like that,’ came Ethel’s stern warning. ‘He says people shouldn’t try to find out the future.’
Kit agreed, but when the other confessed that she dared not go on her own, she announced that she would go along just to keep Myrtle company. Having managed to unseat Tish from his garish nag, the assorted group made their way to the fortune-teller’s tent where a leathery-skinned crone in a colourful headscarf and festooned in gold ushered Myrtle inside. Knowing Tish would be fidgety, Kit gave Beata half a crown and told her to buy toffee apples for everyone. Then she followed Myrtle into the tent and the gypsy dropped the flap behind them.
In the eerie glow of an oil lamp the three sat down at a table. For long moments the tanned face gazed at Myrtle’s palm, her customers perched nervously on the edge of their chairs. When she eventually spoke it was of mundane facts, telling Myrtle what kind of work she did, which could easily be deduced from one look at her broken fingernails and rough red hands, and that she came from a large family who had endured many struggles, which could safely apply to a large percentage of families around these parts.
Then, she came to the future. ‘I see much resistance to certain plans you’ve made.’
Myrtle glanced excitedly at Kit, both knowing that this could only mean the love affair with Tish and the desire to marry. ‘But will I overcome it?’ She yearned to know.
The gypsy did not raise her eyes from the girl’s palm, murmuring thoughtfully, ‘Someone who says they’re a friend will help you achieve your aim, but you’ll come to wish they hadn’t.’ She glanced up at Myrtle, saw the deep concern and, reverting to the lines on her hand, gave an addendum. ‘I see a union—’
‘You mean I’ll marry?’ Myrtle was desperate to receive confirmation.
‘You’ll marry.’ The gravity on the gypsy’s face belied that this would be a happy occurrence. ‘A man of a higher station than yourself, if I’m not mistaken.’
Myrtle let out an excited gasp. ‘When, when?’
‘Before the year is out.’
‘Will there be children?’ Myrtle was on the edge of her chair.
‘One.’ Her information apparently completed, the gypsy dropped Myrtle’s hand and held out her own palm.
Delighted, Myrtle placed a silver coin upon it and the two girls made to rise but a hand shot out and grabbed Kit’s wrist, pulling her back into her seat. ‘Your turn!’
Kit balked and tried to pull her hand away. ‘I don’t believe in hocus pocus.’
Myrtle offered again to pay and urged her to remain. ‘She was right about me!’
‘You don’t know that!’ scoffed Kit. ‘It could be coincidence – she might have made a lucky guess.’
Annoyed at this slander, and determined to earn more money, the gypsy made a concerted struggle to decipher the lines on Kit’s palm. ‘I see a man – no, many men!’ she began, and with that one utterance Kit’s curiosity got the better of her. She settled herself more comfortably on the chair, an eager Myrtle in attendance.
Relaxing, the old woman traced a nutbrown digit over Kit’s palm. ‘You’ll have a very long life, very long indeed, with many changes of direction. Oh, this is a very complicated hand to be sure …’
‘When will I marry?’ came the urgent interjection.
‘All in good time,’ was the stern reply. ‘You’d do well to curb that impulsive nature. It’s going to get you into trouble more than once.’
Kit didn’t care to be told how to behave by a gypsy, and muttered to Myrtle, ‘Huh! As if it isn’t bad enough being told how to behave by your betters.’
This did not pass unheard by the gypsy, but for the moment she concentrated on trying to decipher Kit’s marital fortunes, over which she appeared to be having trouble. ‘The signs are very confusing here, very weak … Indeed, I can’t see you marrying at all.’
Kit glowered. ‘That’s rubbish! I’m as good as engaged already.’
Insulted, the gypsy’s leathery face turned hard. She thrust Kit’s hand aside and
crossed her arms. ‘You know best, then.’
There was such authority in the woman’s manner that Kit, who had been about to jump up and leave, now became desperate to have the matter rectified – the gypsy had, after all, given Myrtle an accurate assessment. Trying to assume a mocking air, but underneath very perturbed, she extended her hand again, knowing as she did that it was not in her best interests – Monty would have a fit if he knew.
The gypsy reverted to poring over the young woman’s hand, for the moment saying nothing. She was still annoyed that her talents had been dismissed as rubbish, had taken a dislike to the fat girl’s arrogant face, and was determined to take her down a peg or two.
‘You must have been mistaken.’ Kit’s tone was not so rude now, but she was insistent on hearing a brighter prognosis. ‘You did say you saw many men—’
‘I didn’t say they’d all be queuing up to marry you, though.’ The gypsy stared hard at Kit’s palm. Usually so certain of her ability, she was, in truth, having difficulty in predicting this young woman’s chances – but as matrimony was obviously of such great importance to Kit, she acted on a spiteful whim, and denied her a happy forecast. ‘I see no marriage, I see no children.’
Kit was so alarmed and disappointed that before the woman could tell her any more she pulled her hand away and jumped up.
‘You haven’t paid!’ The gypsy was quicker to the exit.
Afraid of her, Myrtle delved in her purse, but a red-faced Kit exclaimed, ‘We’re not paying for lies!’
‘What reason have I to lie?’ Undaunted by Kit’s size, the gypsy barred the way. ‘If you don’t like the truth you’re welcome to leave, but not before I get my dues!’
‘I did say I’d pay for you!’ Anxious to escape, Myrtle proffered a coin, which the gypsy was quick to seize, only then stepping aside to let the girls pass.
‘Absolute rubbish!’ repeated Kit for the benefit of others who might fall for the crone’s trickery and also for the group of girls who clamoured round to hear what was amiss. ‘I knew it were a waste of money.’
A Sense of Duty Page 22
