‘I said, shall I put the kettle on, ma’am?’ lied Cara, a cocky air about her, her whole attitude telling Kit just how low a rung of the ladder she occupied in the maid’s estimation.
Kit glared down at Cara for a second, then turned her back and began to walk away, instructing her to fetch something to eat to the dining room, whilst she herself went up to her room to freshen her appearance.
In the pretty panelled bedroom, her annoyance turned once again to concern. What on earth was she going to do about Valentine? He had said she should treat this house as her own but when she had done he didn’t like it. Well, she would just have to wait and see what happened. Because Kit was damned if she was going to apologize.
But during supper, she recalled Valentine’s instruction for her to tell him when Probyn had gone, and decided to do just that. After finishing her meal, she told Cara to send Fred to her, and in the hiatus she scribbled a note and was putting it into an envelope when the manservant came in.
‘Do you know the whereabouts of Mr Kitchingham’s flat in Westminster?’ she asked. When he replied that he did, she handed him the envelope and asked him to deliver it.
‘What – now?’
Kit had been about to express regret for sending him out so late, but decided now that he was getting as uppity as Cara and she did not like it. ‘Well, I don’t mean next week! It’ll make a change for you to earn your brass. Go on then!’
With an undisguised sigh the footman left.
Hours later, wondering where he had got to, Kit visited the kitchen to find him half asleep by the fire, Cara knitting nearby and the scullerymaid getting things ready for morning.
‘What you doing lozzocking here?’ she demanded crossly. ‘I’ve been waiting for a reply.’
‘There wasn’t one.’ Fred stretched and rubbed his eyes.
‘I think you’re forgetting something.’ Kit eyed him threateningly.
‘There wasn’t one, ma’am.’
Though miffed at the information, Kit inclined her head, and said that as she would be retiring, they could go to bed too.
‘How long d’ye give her?’ asked Cara, thinking their mistress had gone.
Kit lingered in her passage to witness Fred’s reply. ‘A week,’ he said.
Cara emitted a musical titter. ‘Ah, come on now! Much as I can’t stand her myself, I’d give her at least until Christmas.’
‘You didn’t see his face when I gave him her note,’ said Fred.
Kit’s heart sank.
‘Come on now, Fred, make a sensible bet.’
‘All right, I’ll say she’ll be gone within a month.’
‘And I say Christmas – how much?’
‘Two bob.’
‘You’re on!’
With a grim expression, Kit marched up to bed, though her anger was to keep her awake for hours.
* * *
When Valentine did not respond to her message the following day, nor the one after that, Kit began to suspect that perhaps the servants were right. He intended to end the affair.
Disallowing this to concern her, for it was not as if she was without money or property of her own, Kit passed the time amongst her female friends, and the evenings with her face buried in a book – though she was forced to admit to some degree of tension over being kept in ignorance of his plans.
It came as a total surprise when he turned up on Friday evening as if nothing untoward had happened, greeting her as charmingly as ever and explaining his absence as being due to nothing more sinister than pressures of work. The House of Lords had rejected the Liberal Government’s Franchise Bill which would have extended the vote to thousands of small property holders, thereby plunging the country into political crisis. So crucial was the issue that there was a suggestion of Lord Randolph Churchill crossing the House to join the Liberals because of it – so could he please rely on Kit’s understanding if he had to rush away suddenly?
Moreover, there was to be apology over another issue. ‘I’m sorry for that silly little episode over your nephew.’ Genuinely remorseful, he sandwiched her hand between his, embellishing it with a ticklish kiss, before leading her to the sofa. ‘But you see, Kit, I so look forward to our times together that I detest anything to spoil it. I’m sorry if that sounds callous, I know how much you care for your family.’ Their names had become familiar over the years. ‘I really don’t mind if you bring the whole tribe of them here – just so long as you warn me first. Please believe me, it was purely disappointment that caused such a childish display. Am I forgiven?’
Kit gave immediate absolution, plus an energetic embrace that had him instantly aroused, drawing forth the request that they postpone supper until his more important appetite had been placated.
In the aftermath of a vigorous bout of sexual capers, Kit enquired if he really meant it about her bringing members of her family here. She would not, of course, include all of them, for most disapproved of her way of life. But she would like perhaps to invite the younger ones occasionally. With his affirmative reply, she asked if this extended to his villa in Spain too. ‘Our Probe’d love it there.’
Valentine rolled his happy mustachioed face across the pillow to kiss her. ‘My dear, at this moment I would grant you anything. Just so long as you let me know when you wish to go.’
Kit tested the water. ‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to take him till next year – in the school holiday.’
He nodded his agreement. ‘August would be convenient from my point of view.’
‘So you’re not going to get rid of me yet, then?’ asked Kit.
He showed surprise. ‘How could you even ask such a thing?’
‘The servants have been taking bets on it,’ she told him, her tone one of relieved amusement.
He chuckled and snuggled up to her. ‘Ah, but they don’t know how much pleasure you give me.’
Experiencing his fresh arousal, Kit laughed and held him at bay. ‘How can you be ready again so quickly? Wouldn’t you like supper first?’
‘After supper, then.’ He scissored his legs, ejecting himself from the bed, and in cheerful fashion began to dress.
Kit too arose and was to copy his less formal mode of dress, donning first a nightgown and then a peignoir – in part, as illustration to the servants that it was she who made the rules here and not them.
If there was going to be anyone leaving by Christmas then it would not be Kit.
* * *
Notwithstanding the political crisis that enforced several absences, the relationship between Kit and Valentine continued to bring mutual pleasure – though it was easy to tell from Cara’s expression that she still held on to her original wager. Kit had wanted to sack her, but Valentine said she had not really committed any misdemeanour, servants were wont to play these silly games, and he would have such trouble to find another general maid who could cook so well. Kit had to agree that the Irish girl was very efficient, but prayed for Christmas to arrive so that the silly wager could finally be laid to rest.
During the interim, she wrote a letter to her brother in Yorkshire, telling him to expect her in December as usual, including a little note for Probyn in which, knowing his deep interest in all things military, she sought to allay his fears about General Gordon by saying she had learned that a relief expedition was being sent to Egypt and that would put paid to the Mad Mahdi once and for all. She also included a message that told him he could expect another holiday next year if he was good.
In preparation of her trip, she went into town to buy presents – though only for the younger members of the family. After that first year Monty had suggested that, however grateful they were, it wasn’t fitting for her to buy such things as they could not return the gesture.
Unusually, she was to get a reply from Monty, telling her that though she would be welcome he was not sure how much hospitality he could show her, for today a notice had been posted at the pit-head saying that the company intended to change the rates. It was all a bit complicated
for her to understand as she did not work down the pit, but in essence it would seem that the colliers’ wages were to be cut. That didn’t directly affect him, for as weighman he was paid by the miners, but it affected the miners themselves. Owen and his union were trying to do something about it, but Kit knew what the Ralph Royd Coal Company was like for digging its heels in. So – Monty ended – she was welcome to come but it might be a lean time and he would understand if she chose not to sacrifice her usual comfortable lifestyle.
Kit showed the letter to Valentine, asking if he could do anything about her brothers’ plight. To which he shook his head and said he was up to his eyes in legislation at the moment.
She nodded. ‘I read in the paper that the Tories are going to introduce another bill allowing women the vote after the Christmas recess – is that true?’
‘Yes, that old chestnut again,’ sighed Valentine. ‘It hasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of getting through.’
‘But you’re going to vote for it, aren’t you?’ prompted Kit. When younger, she had shown little interest in politics, but now, especially as a property owner, she felt more need to have a say.
‘But of course!’ He reacted in his usual charming manner. ‘That is, if I’m still here. Did you read of today’s explosion?’ When Kit said she had not read the evening paper yet, he sought out the article. ‘Those odious Fenians tried to blow up London Bridge – two minutes after I’d crossed it!’
‘My God!’ Kit’s arms reached out to him.
He donated a little chuckle, patting her hand. ‘It’s wonderful that you care, my dearest, but I’m still here, am I not? No, it was another of their usual botched efforts, just a little damage to one of the arches.’
Kit exhaled with a look of relief. ‘Even so, I’m going to worry about you all the time I’m away!’
Kissing her, Val said he would be thinking of her too, and looked forward with pleasure to their reunion.
* * *
Forewarned about her brothers’ situation, in addition to the gifts Kit packed several large parcels of food into her bags, then with last instructions to the staff, she left for Yorkshire.
As ever, she went first to York to see Amelia. Then, upon hearing that her sister had already paid a recent visit to Ralph Royd, as had Gwen and the others, she travelled on alone, arriving on Christmas Eve just as the miners were finishing their day’s toil, a moving mass of shadows in the dusk.
Despite the bleak aspect, the naked trees dotted with redundant crows’ nests, the winter was very mild compared to previous years, and Kit found herself perspiring under her heavy baggage as she staggered along Main Street. Ahead of her, one by one, she saw the gaslights come on as the lamplighter moved about the village. Depositing part of her cumbersome load at her own cottage, where there was disappointment over Mr Popplewell’s absence, she rejoined the procession of home-going miners and advanced up the incline to Monty’s house. Normally, in their safe return home, there would be light-hearted banter from the colliers, especially in view of the festive holiday, but Kit sensed an air of hostility, and there was sombre response to her good-humoured greetings.
Spotting her brothers just ahead of her, along with Owen’s son, who had lately joined his father down the pit, she broke into a heavy trot and caught up with them just as Monty was turning into Savile Row. About to proceed to his own street, Owen stopped abruptly under a gaslight to inform his sister what had occurred, his mood as black as the layer of coal dust on his face.
‘You heard what’s going on, then?’ he asked Kit.
‘Our Monty said they wanted to cut your rates.’
‘Oh nay!’ The billy goat face made instant repudiation, his exaggerated response giving lie to his words. ‘Nay, we’ll be getting exactly t’same as we got before – I mean, it must be reet if manager’s told us, mun’t it?’
He recited a list of facts and figures which Kit failed to understand, but it was evident that beneath his airy tone he was furious. ‘Apparently it’s all down to bad sorting and filling – we haven’t been doing it reet, sithee, mixing too much little coal with t’big stuff and they’ve got all this coal piled sky high, but they can’t sell it ’cause the stingy merchants won’t pay ’em enough. Company’s had a reet bad year, poor lambs. Eh, I do feel sorry for ’em – an’ it’s all the silly miners’ faults. But, manager sez, if we do it this new road we’ll earn exactly t’same money – so we’ll all be laughing, won’t we?’ He made a grand gesture at the stream of colliers who passed him. ‘Eh, it’s grand to see such smiling faces, in’t it?’ In mock jollity, Owen concluded by relating the manager’s parting words. ‘“Anyroad,” he sez, “I wish you all a Merry Christmas an’ a prosperous New Year and I’ll be happy to discuss the new proposals at any time.”’
‘So, how did it end?’ asked his concerned sister.
‘We told him to shove it up his bum,’ said Owen, then suddenly reverting to his weary pose, started to back away towards home with his son, telling them he would see them both tomorrow.
Kit proceeded along Savile Row with Monty. ‘What a terrible do. Will there be a strike?’
He gave a grim nod. ‘It’s highly likely. What they’re proposing is tantamount to a thirty per cent cut in wages, whatever the flowery terms they might like to use. Owen’s trying to avoid that by asking for arbitration but the company won’t allow it – won’t have any outside interference.’ They reached home, whereupon Monty sighed as he imagined his wife’s reaction. ‘Now for the difficult part. I’ll bet you’re glad you came.’
* * *
In a way, Kit was glad she had come, for at least it meant she could offer support. After the Christmas period, instead of returning to London, she sent a letter to inform the servants that she may be forced to extend her stay in Yorkshire for a week or so, instructing them to let Mr Kitchingham know if he happened to turn up in her absence. Her life suitably organized, she joined the rest of the village womenfolk in attending the daily outdoor meetings that were held in the field by the colliery, and prayed for a happy outcome.
Mr Popplewell had now returned from his break, as delighted to see Kit as she was to see him. It was so good to know that at least she could rely on one person to provide a light hearted distraction in this anxious period – though even now the village gossips remained a nuisance.
Despite the return to work after Christmas the situation intensified. Letters flew back and forth to the newspapers: complaints from miners over inaccurate reporting, responses from the coal owners saying that the fall in profits gave them every right to expect the miners to pull together. After all, it had been the ten per cent pay rise they had won which was partly responsible for this as the high wage bill meant that other pits could undercut them. As usual the colliers had brought this on themselves.
A strike loomed, though even Owen questioned the wisdom of this for with such plentiful stocks, all the owners had to do was sit tight and empty bellies would soon force the miners back to work. However there was principle involved. Supported by a resolution by the Executive Committee, the Ralph Royd Lodge formerly rejected the proposed change and the men went on strike on the last day of the year.
* * *
Comparatively little hardship was suffered during those first few weeks of the strike, for the colliers received payment from their union. The thirteen shillings a married couple received, plus a shilling for every child under twelve – which in Monty’s case only included Probyn – might be a drastic reduction on the usual wage, but was supplemented by gifts of food from local tradesmen, plus financial aid from a neighbouring pit. The Christmas food parcels Kit had intended for her own family had, as was usually the way in times of trouble, been shared amongst the strikers. Being spread so far these had not lasted long, but Kit intended to provide more. They would not starve.
However, Owen reported inevitable discord over the fact that non-union members were receiving funds and, after great debate, and the threatened withdrawal of support from the neighbour
ing pit if this continued, such payments were withdrawn, immediately plunging families into distress. Seizing on this, the employers resorted to every underhand method in order to get the miners back to work: the privies were left unemptied and were in a dreadful state. To compound matters, the village was now ravaged by an epidemic of measles; several children had died.
Kit and the rest of her family were lucky enough to escape with heavy colds, presenting a picture of misery with their bloodshot eyes and red-raw noses. She tried her best not to moan, though others did not share her fortitude. Having experienced previous hard times in the village, a bad-tempered Sarah announced that this must surely be the worst.
Owen, similarly afflicted, issued a scold. ‘Count yourself lucky. Our poor Chairman’s had to cut short his stay in Switzerland because of us, poor lad.’
Blowing her nose for the umpteenth time, Kit reproved him. ‘Rotten hounds, spoiling Mr Latimer’s holiday.’
‘Are you having a good time here, Kit, that’s what I’d like to know?’ quipped Owen, wiping his own proboscis. When she rolled her eyes, he added, ‘Well, you might not have much to eat here but at least you’re out of t’way o’ them Fenian bombs in London.’ Unable to afford a newspaper he had gleaned this information from the rather tattered copy that Peggo provided for his customers. ‘Tried to blow the whole Government up this time.’
Kit felt her stomach turn over and put a hand to her mouth. ‘Are you just kidding me?’
‘Nay!’ Owen hunched over the fire and rubbed his hands. ‘There were two dynamite explosions at Houses of Parliament and another one at Tower o’ London.’
Kit’s heart was thudding. ‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘Aye, I think so – don’t know how many.’ Owen noted her concern now and guessed the reason.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to go and see—’ Kit rushed about like a headless chicken, not knowing which way to turn, picturing Val in the carnage.
A Sense of Duty Page 45
