Myrtle tried to justify the expense. ‘She did tell me when I’m going to wed though.’
‘That remains to be seen,’ said Kit, which in retrospect she decided was rather cruel and thus tempered her tone. ‘Oh well, I suppose it serves me right – our Monty always said no good came of such things.’
Finding herself trembling, she surveyed the group before her and, to cover her upset, started to laugh. Each was clutching the remnants of a toffee apple and had a scarlet circle around the mouth. Probyn had red goo all over his cheeks and even in his sandy hair. ‘Oh my goodness, you look like a collection of clowns. Whatever is your mother going to say? And, Master Tish, we’ll have to get you cleaned up before we take you back!’
One by one the chavelled cores on sticks were hurled away, only Wyn and Probyn having anything left, Wyn because she liked to spend time savouring such treats. Kit, Beata and Ethel spat on their handkerchiefs and began to attend to small faces, when there was a sudden wail. Probyn’s apple had parted company with the stick and fallen into the dust. Kit did her best to comfort him, but how could one explain to a toddler that one had only sufficient funds to purchase tea and could not buy him another?
Sensing disaster, Wyn began to gnaw ferociously at her own apple, but it did her no good.
‘Here!’ Beata grabbed it and held it before Probyn’s bawling face. ‘Wyn’ll share hers with you, won’t you, Wyn?’
The latter watched with great resentment as a row of milk teeth mangled the apple and gave a subsequent beam that was laden with red toffee. ‘Just because everyone else was greedy and ate theirs first, why should I have to have his spit all over my apple? It’s always me who has to share. When I grow up I’m going to marry a rich man and I’m not going to share anything with anybody!’
Aside from incidents like this, and the unpleasantness with the gypsy, the afternoon had generally been a huge success, at least this appeared to be Myrtle and Tish’s opinion, the latter saying he had never had such a lovely time in all his life and begging Kit to come to his and Myrtle’s aid again. She promised she would, so long as he brought some money with him next time. If he was going to be a married man he would have to take responsibility for his own expenses.
The afternoon was rounded off by a visit to a cake shop where Kit had just enough to buy each a meringue for tea, these being consumed as they waited for Algy to come and take them home.
The footman showed mild repugnance at the collection of sticky- fingered children that he was expected to transport in his shining vehicle and also voiced surprise at the extra body.
Kit explained. ‘Fancy us meeting Myrtle here! I said she might as well travel back with us.’ This said, she orchestrated the seating, making sure that the scullerymaid was beside her swain, whilst she herself clambered next to the driver.
Algy flicked the reins, sympathizing with the horses, who had an awful effort to set the landau in motion, and was even grumpier when Kit decided to while away the homewards journey by reciting everyone’s name backwards, starting with his.
‘You are Nonregla Ggob!’
The children howled with laughter and begged to know their names backwards.
‘You are Ecila Retsamlik, you are Htiderem Retsamlik …’ Each was listed in turn, right down to the youngest. ‘He is Nyborp Retsamlik!’
Thoroughly enjoying the game Tish demanded to know what his name was. Quick as a flash, if slightly inaccurate, thirteen-year-old Rhoda cried, ‘Shit Nihplod!’ and immediately covered her mouth, which threw everyone into hysterical laugher, including Algy, and even the strait-laced Ethel.
After receiving her children home safe and sound, Sarah invited the remaining occupants of the carriage to stay for tea but, to her relief, by reason of duty they were forced to decline.
When they arrived at Cragthorpe Hall the servants’ sitting room was empty except for Beth Garbutt, everyone else at their labours.
Kit sank into a chair and swore she had never felt so tired. ‘You’d better go tell Mrs Grunter you’re back, Tish.’ Being so involved in his love affair she felt entitled to treat him as an equal.
First he took his leave of Myrtle, saying he had had such a lovely time. It was the best day of his life. Myrtle told him it was really Kit he had to thank for that, and he did so.
Kit had gained a degree of affinity with him by now. ‘There’ll be lots more, Tish,’ she promised. ‘I’ll see to that.’
He was about to go, then turned to ask wistfully, ‘Do you think they’ll let us get married, Kit?’
She dismissed his concern with a gay little laugh. ‘You’re almost twenty-one and can make up your own mind! You won’t need to ask anyone’s permission. Just keep it secret for a few months and you’ll be dandy.’
Issuing more thanks, he left. Myrtle accompanied him as far as she dared. Kit smiled to herself, feeling rather self-satisfied until a voice from the direction of the fireplace threatened her attitude.
‘You won’t do the lad any favours by telling him he can lead a normal life,’ came Beth Garbutt’s grave warning.
Whilst at odds with this antiquated view, Kit maintained a polite silence, and humoured Mrs Garbutt by offering a cup of tea. What could this old lady possibly know of today’s youth?
* * *
All the way up to summer, Kit continued to assist Myrtle’s love life, which often extended into the occasional outing. Whilst none of these were so stimulating as the fair, any opportunity for the lovers to meet was gratefully seized, both waiting on the day when Tish would come of age and their union would reach fruition. Although genuinely concerned for them both, Kit now had other things on her mind, for the blooming of the lilac proclaimed that the family would soon be returning and with them, hopefully, her own beloved.
With no letter from Thomas at all since Christmas, Kit was forced to live on optimism, but this emotion was to be cruelly dashed when the Dolphin family returned unaccompanied.
How Kit railed at the injustice! Yet who was there to listen apart from Beata? The rest of the Kilmaster household remained ignorant of her plight. Even had they known, Kit would have expected little sympathy for mere romance, for again this year the miners had suffered a costly strike over reductions in wages. Faced with similar threat, other pits around Yorkshire had followed suit. Their various union leaders, predicting disaster, had tried to negotiate a sliding scale, whereby the miners did not lose out if the price of coal fell, but this was refused by the Ralph Royd Coal Company. With such divisiveness amongst the separate unions, the strike accomplished little. Yet again, Owen and his ilk had been forced to slink back to work with their tails between their legs.
His union beginning to lose what few members it had acquired, even the staunch Owen had been so dejected that he had contemplated severing his link with the lodge, although Kit was to find on her latest visit that he had somewhat recovered his ideals and was now trying desperately to persuade his brother to maintain his union dues.
Monty asked what benefit had he enjoyed. None. It was a total waste of money.
‘It isn’t! They’ve granted us our check weighman, haven’t they?’ This was one concession to which the company had agreed. Now the colliers could be assured that they would be paid correctly for what they had hewn. ‘For us to be able to pay him we need to keep membership steady.’
Bouncing his son upon his knee, Monty was grudging. ‘Well, if it’s to protect our interests, I’ll reconsider. At least I’ll see something tangible for my union fees, I zuppose.’
Owen clarified the situation. ‘Nay, his wages won’t be coming out of them. This is a separate issue. You’d still have to pay your union dues.’
Monty balked. ‘As well as contributing to this fellow’s wage? Well, how can that be right? I thought you meant we’d be getting zommat to show for our money.’
‘You will be!’ Owen leaned forward. ‘Tell me, if you stop paying union dues, where’s your pay going to come from if we have to go on strike?’ Seeing this was ineffective,
he dangled a carrot before Monty’s nose. ‘Think about this: it could be you who’s elected as weighman. You’re always going on about your aches and pains, wouldn’t you prefer a job on the surface? There’s plenty who’d support thee.’ His brother was known as a man who could be trusted.
Monty was dubious. Would it mean he had to suffer the intimidation from the management that had put Owen in court for his beliefs last year? ‘I can’t afford that, I got a family to think of.’
Owen dismissed this idea. ‘It would be the men who pay your wages. The master can’t sack you.’
Monty showed his brother he was not that naive. ‘Why’re you not offering to do it?’
Owen asked how could he propose himself. The discussion went on.
Too preoccupied with thoughts of Thomas, Kit drifted off to another place, paying no further heed to union rubbish.
* * *
How the summer dragged for this lovesick parlourmaid! Indeed it was almost at an end, and the time was approaching for Master Wyndham to return to school, when quite unexpectedly, upon return from her afternoon off, Kit learned from kitchen gossip that two extra rooms must be prepared by Thursday: Viscount Postgate and Master Denaby were coming to stay for the last few days of the holiday!
Standing behind the master’s chair at luncheon, with three days yet to go until Thomas’s arrival, Kit wished the family would not dally so long over their meal, for her enforced inactivity appeared to make the clock stand still. Never a glutton for work, this was one time when she would have preferred to be kept busy. Tortured by the thought of Thomas as yet so far away, she forced herself to concentrate on the meal, which in itself was torment. Oh, to be partaking of her own luncheon, instead of having to stand here watching others consume one course after another.
The tinkle of silver cutlery against bone china, the delicate crunch of puff pastry as a knife sliced into it, the rich gravy oozing out between succulent pieces of steak, fragrant juices dribbling off a fork – so well did she focus all her senses that she began to salivate, her tongue experiencing every mouthful of wine. Kit had in fact never tasted anything stronger than shandy, but imagined now that sweet viscosity against the back of her throat, the image so sensuous that it made her close her eyes …
‘My name is Shit Nihplod!’
No one could believe what they had heard – Kit least of all. After all these weeks Tish had remembered! Eyes well and truly open now she watched a look of horror pass across the face of every member of the family. Only Algy seemed to find it the slightest bit amusing, though the solemn atmosphere soon persuaded him to conceal his smirk.
Mrs Dolphin was staring, dumbfounded, at the huge vase of flowers in front of her, from whence the voice had come. Having hoped to impress, Tish found himself the subject of accusing faces, and consequently shrank.
Mr Dolphin mopped his thick, mustachioed lips on a linen napkin. ‘Eustace, I demand to know where you heard such language!’
Frightened by the tone of voice, Tish said nothing but looked straight over his father’s shoulder at the person behind. A furious Mr Dolphin abandoned his meal and rose to confront Kit. ‘I demand to know the meaning of this!’
Kit tried to explain. ‘It was just a silly game, sir!’
‘Game?’
‘When I took Master Tish for an outing to the fair and I were telling my nieces what their names were backwards and—’
‘Who gave permission for you to take my son to the fair?’ Mrs Dolphin found her voice.
Kit whispered that it was the housekeeper, who was duly summoned to explain herself whilst Mr Dolphin tapped an impatient foot.
Mrs Grunter was unaccustomed to being subjected to such ire. ‘If you please, ma’am,’ she replied with dignity, ‘I merely thought it would be . a nice treat for Master Eustace. You have permitted him to be in the company of servants before.’
‘But not one of such low standards!’ snapped Mrs Dolphin. ‘Are you aware of the crude speech she has taught him? Suffice to say I have no wish to repeat it. What if there had been guests present? Well, we shall certainly ensure it never happens again.’ She looked coldly at the miscreant. ‘Kit, you have imposed upon my charitable nature too long. This time your crime is too serious to be forgiven. You will leave the house immed—’
‘No!’ Tish jumped out from behind the shield of foliage, knocking his chair clean over and rushing around to join the argument. ‘She’s my friend, you can’t send her away!’
‘Eustace, she is not a friend, she is a servant!’ barked his father. Automatically, Kit had reached into her pocket and was now twisting a handkerchief through her fingers, a sure sign that she was petrified. They couldn’t sack her – she would never see Thomas again!
‘She is my friend, she helps me!’ Tish took hold of Kit’s arm. ‘I won’t let you!’
‘Eustace!’ His father gave stern command. ‘Go to your room!’
‘I won’t! You talk to me as if I’m a boy but I’m a man. Kit told me when I’m twenty-one I can be married! And I am twenty-one now so you can’t tell me what to do any more!’
Kit’s stomach lurched in terror – was he also about to reveal her involvement in his relationship with Myrtle?
But no, Mr Dolphin could never even contemplate such a farcical idea as Tish being married, though his son’s vehemence did unsettle him and he sought to make his order less officious. ‘Eustace, old chap, stop making an ass of yourself. I’m afraid, that despite what others may have told you, I can tell you what to do and I am ordering you to go to your room. You’ve just displayed quite ably that you’re not cut out for marriage – why, who indeed would take you on, seeing you behave like this?’
Tish threw an anguished look at Kit, who silently urged him with all her might not to divulge anything further. However, he was not so dim-witted as to do that, being quite aware that his parents would not approve of his choice and having been sworn to secrecy time and again by both Myrtle and Kit. His only recourse was to repeat his claim. ‘I am going to be married! I’m twenty-one now and I’m going to be married.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ his mother sought to humour him. ‘Now do as Father tells you.’
‘No, you’re going to send Kit away and I won’t let you!’
‘Tish, darling, please calm down!’ Alarmed, Mrs Dolphin came forth and made timorous attempts to pacify him but he lurched away from her, working himself into a complete rage, lashing out at the furniture and sending it toppling.
Dancing out of range of a falling vase, Mrs Dolphin played with the white ruffle down the edge of her bodice, looking terrified and at a total loss, beseeching her husband to do something, but he too seemed unable to cope with the situation and turned to Algy for assistance, telling him to restrain the youth. Seeing the footman dive upon her obviously deranged brother, Miss Agnes started to cry. The two younger boys were equally at a loss until their father shouted at them to help Algy overpower the maniacal figure.
With no sign that his son was about to calm down, Mr Dolphin shouted, ‘All right! All right, Tish, We’ll allow Kit to stay!’ Even then it took a long time to subdue the distraught young man, who was eventually led sobbing from the room with the firm promise that Kit would not be sacked.
Regarding their promise of reinstatement as an excuse to pacify their son, Kit retained her fear of dismissal, twisting the handkerchief into knots.
Her fears were well-founded, for the moment the door closed Mr Dolphin turned to the housekeeper. ‘Mrs Grunter, I want this creature out of my house!’
‘Husband!’ Thankful that Tish was out of her sight, yet still afraid of the subsequent rage if he should find out he had been duped, a breathless Mrs Dolphin put forth a substitute idea. ‘Much against my better judgement, I beg you not to go back on your word. Heaven knows what he will do—’
‘He’ll be locked in his room until he calms down!’ Always averse to such treatment in the past, Geoffrey Dolphin was beginning to regret his former liberal attitude.
‘It’s too late
to adopt such measures now,’ replied his wife, with a hint of censure. ‘After you have allowed him so much freedom, he may go completely …’ She could not bring herself to utter the word insane. ‘No, for his own safety we must keep our part of the bargain. Better we just move Kit into the laundry. At least she will have no need to come into the house—’
Mr Dolphin interrupted, wanting to know how Tish would know the difference between total dismissal and relegation to another building.
‘Believe me, he will know,’ said his wife. ‘Our son may have many shortcomings, but he is not completely without reckoning. He will demand to see her to make sure we have not reneged.’ At her husband’s cognizant nod, she added helplessly, ‘I’m afraid this is the best we can do for now.’ Catching the look of vast relief that swept over Kit’s face, her demeanour hardened. ‘But do not be deceived that you are getting away scot-free! I have words yet to say to you. How dare you put the idea of marriage into that child’s head?’
Any admonition that the mistress had to offer was of little consequence. Kit’s mood had, in a matter of seconds, been elevated to one approaching euphoria. Indeed, had Mrs Dolphin wished to promote her she could not have thought of any better way, for the laundry, being a separate building, did not come under the housekeeper’s jurisdiction; the women there were largely independent and could slip out into the garden whenever they liked – and a lover could come to pay suit without fear of reprisal.
12
Upon witnessing for himself the sight of Kit in her new role as laundress, Tish was pacified and, with her encouraging whisper that she would continue to help him and Myrtle whenever she could, he promised that he would give no further trouble.
Thrashing away with her posser, Kit was stirred by distant memory, but did not recognize her mother’s shadow, for she had been too young when orphaned to recall this task they had shared. Besides, there were more urgent matters on which to contemplate. She had been exiled here amongst the steaming tubs and gushing mangles for two and a half days and already the constant immersion in hot water had played havoc with her hands. She must concoct some nourishment, for word had reached her ears that Thomas had arrived – at any time they might be reunited – and it would not do for her fingers to be caressed and be mistaken for sandpaper.
A Sense of Duty Page 23
