A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  * * *

  Her future wealth confirmed, Kit felt safe enough to leave behind the constitutional crisis that had begun to build in London and return to York for a while. It might be deemed contrary, when she had fought so hard to remain here, but in the knowledge that he would not dare evict her she felt able to come and go as she pleased. Besides, she had another trip to organize.

  Upon arrival in York she went to see Amelia and asked if she had divulged the news to anyone else. Her somewhat enraged sister asked what Kit took her for – she had no wish to be the subject of pointing fingers and gossip. Kit would have to tell the family herself.

  Kit replied that she would leave them in ignorance for a while, for she would be staying in London until the child was born. But she wanted Amelia to do her a favour. She would be inviting Probyn to come and spend the school holiday with her in York – ostensibly. In truth, said Kit, they would be enjoying a vacation in Spain. The youngster had had such a rotten time of it with the strike, she added hurriedly at the sight of her sister’s dismay, and Kit needed somebody to accompany her on the voyage. He would come to no harm. She just needed to forewarn Amelia, in case Monty should ask if she had seen the lad.

  Amelia pointed out that upon sight of Probyn’s sunburned face his father would immediately guess something was amiss, but Kit replied that the weather here had been glorious of late, no one would know the difference, and anyway, how could he possibly guess the lad had been to Spain.

  * * *

  So, with Amelia’s co-operation, Kit had been able to arrange the illicit voyage to Spain, endowing her overawed nephew with an everlasting memory of a sunlit beach, an azure sea and sky, and the sight of his Aunt Kit discarding her blue velvet cloak at the water’s edge to reveal the most immodest costume he had ever laid eyes on.

  Now, four months later, all Kit had to remind her of that wonderful time was the memory of a boy’s happy face and a silver thimble bearing the name Villa Garcia. The latter wedged on her finger, she immersed herself in the creation of an expansive layette, for there was little else to do on these foggy November days in London, trapped as she was by her elephantine proportions. Still, she had managed to conceal her pregnancy for a long time, allowing her life to continue as normal. None of her friends knew even now, for they took her absence to be due to the yellow-brown fog that was so thick as to prevent one seeing further than three feet ahead, providing valid reason not to venture out. Any intrepid visitor was to be told by the maid that her mistress was in York where she went quite often. Kit had no wish to share this precious secret with any of them for, nice as they were, they would undoubtedly consider her mad for wanting to keep her baby and try to talk her out of it. Whatever the personal cost, she would allow no one to spoil this longed-for occasion.

  With the birth imminent, Kit had thought it best to inform her family of the situation by letter. They had not as yet responded. Even the servants had only recently become aware of her condition; Kit knew this to be so by eavesdropping on their gossip, their ignorance stemming from the fact that Miss Kilmaster was normally robust, an extra stone in weight making no great impression. Naturally they had made no mention of this to her, though she would have to broach the subject with Dilly, who would be required to fetch the doctor when it was time.

  That time came on Christmas Night. Had Kit’s girth not prevented her from venturing into the outside world the severe winter most certainly would have. There was only one place to be on a night such as this. After her loneliest festive period ever, Kit had just heaved her massive body into bed, when to her horror she began to wet herself. Unwilling to cry out for assistance, she rolled out of bed and with great difficulty perched on a chamber pot until the trickle eased. Afterwards, though not entirely comfortable, she dragged the bottom sheet with its sodden patch from the mattress and replaced it with fresh linen, finally crawling back into bed.

  However, she still felt most restless and when, in addition to her leaking bladder, she began to develop backache, she got out of bed and spent much of the night pacing about her room trying to relieve the discomfort. From time to time the pain would ebb, allowing her to get back into bed, but just when she was falling asleep the niggling ache would prod her into wakefulness again. By the early hours, she was so exhausted that she eventually drifted off, pain or no.

  Accustomed to bringing her mistress a cup of tea in the mornings, Dilly found Kit already out of bed, standing with one hand pressed to her arched back, her face contorted in torment. By now, its intensity increasing, Kit had understood the significance of the backache and after this latest spasm waned she ceased to groan, puffed out her cheeks in temporary relief and told Dilly to go and fetch the doctor straight away. She was feeling very frightened.

  In view of the adequate reward he had been promised, the doctor and an accompanying midwife arrived quite promptly, his calm manner as he examined her and his advice that the birth would be an easy one if she had got this far on her own, helping to reduce Kit’s terror.

  So confident was he that the birth would pass without incident, that he went off to finish his breakfast leaving the still anxious mother-to-be in the midwife’s capable hands, saying he would be back in ample time for the delivery.

  Emitting one deep-throated growl after another, in accompaniment to the waves of torment that continued to grip her throughout the morning and well into the afternoon, Kit cursed him for a lying toad, cursed him and all men alike, her pain gradually building to the point where she feared she might be ripped apart, and she let out one agonized yell – at which she heard her baby cry.

  In a rush of splitting flesh and blood and mucus, Beata Kilmaster was separated from the womb, seized by the ankles, smacked rudely on the bottom, then wrapped up in a parcel and given to her anxious weeping mother to hold.

  Blinking back tears, overwhelmed by joy and relief, Kit fixed loving eyes to the perplexed navy-blue ones of her new-born, and hugged the tiny creature to her breast. At last, came her inward sigh of happiness. Bless the Lord, at last.

  24

  Being cooped up so long had made it something of an ordeal to re-enter the outside world. A fortnight after giving birth, feeling odd and vulnerable – in fact a different person altogether – Kit had watched through the open front door as Fred loaded her baggage into the carriage. Then, with Dilly’s assistance, she had braced herself against the bitter cold and ice, and tottered down the path bearing her precious load.

  A final kiss for the little maid who had been so supportive, and Kit was off, bound for King’s Cross and home.

  But where exactly was home? Kit stood in her cold and empty house in York, shushing her crying infant, surrounded by baggage and unsure what to do. The most sensible thing would be to light a fire, but Beata was famished and demanded feeding now. Wrapped in her tasselled carrying cape of deep blue wool, she was warm as toast, but her mother shivered upon bearing her breast to the frigid air and rocked back and forth as much to keep warm as to lull her baby.

  After the child had gorged and had fallen asleep, a trickle of milk oozing from one corner of her rosebud mouth, Kit laid her down and went about setting a fire in the hearth. Yet even with the coal ignited and a cup of tea in her hand there was a miserable air about the room. Beneath her smart velvet outfit she felt isolated and somewhat frightened. There had been curious looks from her neighbours upon her arrival carrying a child. Questions would be asked, ones which Kit was not yet prepared for. She needed to be around people she knew. After finishing her tea, she put her hat and coat back on, scooped up her sleeping child and braved the elements to visit her sister.

  Amelia, in her usual uniform of black dress, white apron and frilled cap, stood at the open door, staring at the dark blue bundle in her unmarried sister’s arms for an extended moment before shaking herself from her trance, blushing furiously, and letting her in.

  Greeting Albert and moving to the fire, Kit made comment on the terrible weather. Both her sister and brother-in-law replied
in similar vein, then Amelia put the kettle on and told Kit to sit down.

  When after a some minutes no comment had been made on her baby – not even to enquire over her name – Kit said, ‘Well, this is Beata. Do you want to hold her?’

  Acting self-consciously, hoping her employer would not come in, Amelia wiped her hands down her apron and came forward to peep inside the quilted silk hood with its feather trimming, before accepting the package.

  Kit watched her sister’s expression to try to gauge her feelings. Amelia’s pale lips formed a smile as she presented the babe to her husband, yet there was a hint of disapproval, resentment even, and it was not long before she was returning Beata to her mother. Even with no actual statement that she should not have come here, this was the feeling conveyed.

  For a second, tears burned Kit’s eyes. So consumed was she with love for her child that she had hoped others would feel this way too. Was she to be made an outcast by her own? To take her mind off this hurt, she asked for news of the family. Were their brothers speaking to each other yet? Amelia answered in the negative. Owen never attended the monthly family get-togethers now. But then neither did she.

  ‘I was going to ask you about that,’ said Kit, shifting the babe in her arms. ‘Will they all be there this Sunday, d’you know? It would be good if I could catch them together, save me having to pay them separate visits.’

  Amelia looked at Albert, both thinking that it would have been kinder not to visit them at all – discretion had never been one of Kit’s traits – but each found it rather embarrassing to say so. She told her sister that Gwen, Charity and Flora would probably be there.

  ‘I thought I might stay for a while,’ mused Kit. ‘Just till I get used to being a mother.’

  Amelia suffered a fresh shock of embarrassment. How could her sister have such blatant disregard for others’ sensibilities?

  ‘It’s nice to have family nearby.’ The instant she had said it, Kit wondered if she might have erred by this thoughtless implication that Amelia was not sufficient reason for her to stay in York.

  But surprisingly there was no outburst. It appeared that Amelia was actually discouraging her from coming here. As confirmation of this, there was no invitation to tea and Kit was forced to visit the shops on her way home, for there was nothing at all in the house. Plus, there were more strange looks when she arrived home with her baby. After a disconsolate evening, Kit decided to lock up her premises and go to Ralph Royd the very next day, hoping for a better reception than the one she had had here.

  On Saturday night, she made no big fuss of arriving, preferring to install herself at her own cottage before going to visit her family. As had been the case in York, the uninhabited cottage held no welcome, but there was plenty of coal and the thought of her kin nearby helped to warm the atmosphere.

  Of course, news of her arrival had already been broadcast by the village gossips, and there was no hint of surprise when she turned at her brother’s house on Sunday afternoon. There was, however, a great deal of discomfort on all sides as room was made for the unmarried mother and child to enter. It was almost like having to meet one of Owen’s union deputations, so grim were the faces. Having been afraid of exposing her baby to tuberculosis, Kit was relieved when Sarah did not ask to hold her, but was hurt that none of the others did either, only her nieces and Probyn showing any form of gladness that Kit was home.

  Once settled into a chair, she smiled around the gathering, taking in each face, noting the differences, especially in Sarah whose appearance had deteriorated rapidly, the glint gone from her hair and eyes.

  Gwen, though, was still as dominant. ‘I hope you’ve been churched, my girl?’

  Kit replied that there had been no time for this – she had only been out and about for a couple of days.

  Her eldest sister was firm. ‘Well, make time, if you don’t want to lose what little support you got.’

  Sarah added to this, ‘Heavens, my mother would never have allowed you over the threshold!’

  Kit looked meek. ‘I’ll go to chapel tonight.’

  ‘What, here?’ Monty was not unpleasant, merely uneasy. ‘How long do you intend to stay then, Kit?’

  She replied that she hoped to remain in the village for a while, which produced disapproving mutters all round.

  In the awkward silence, Kit caressed her precious burden and asked, ‘Have you seen anything of our Owen?’

  There were more black looks and murmurings to the effect that he no longer enjoyed contact with Monty’s family. Monty himself looked none too happy at having to work underground again. Since being deposed from the respected role of check weighman he had endured much victimization for his part in breaking the strike. His tubs had been sent back down by the master’s weighman as being made up by the addition of stones. Unable to prove sabotage, Monty had put his objection to the new check weighman who was meant to protect him, but had got nowhere. Only by stoicism in the face of such malevolence could he hope to emerge from this. Meanwhile, the price of coal was still depressed, he told Kit, and the money he brought home was set accordingly. Thank goodness there were not so many mouths to feed now.

  Taking this as a hint, Kit said she would be happy to contribute. ‘I’ve brought a nice bit of ham for tea, and some fruit and stuff.’ She reached over with one arm and delved into her basket.

  Monty cleared his lungs and spat on the fire. ‘Well, just don’t go throwing your money around expecting others to look after ’ee when it’s all gone. You got a child to care for now.’

  ‘She’s extremely well provided for,’ said Kit, thereby informing the listeners to her baby’s sex.

  ‘Well, that’s one thing, I suppose,’ replied Gwen. ‘Poor thing ain’t got much else going for her.’

  Kit bowed her head.

  ‘Eh, it’s a queer do,’ exclaimed Charity. ‘Come on then, let’s have a hold!’ She almost seized the baby out of Kit’s arms and hefted her as if to guess her weight, commenting that she was nowhere near as big as her mother had been.

  Relieved that someone was at last taking notice, Kit gave a little laugh and said thank goodness.

  ‘Oh, you’re a canny little thing, aren’t you?’ Charity bestowed a welcoming smile on the baby. ‘And look at all that red hair! Eh, who could hurt ’em?’

  Tentatively, others joined the examination of Kit’s child, Flora enquiring her name. Upon being told that she was called Beata, there were nods of remembrance for her namesake’s untimely departure. Kit had feared Sarah might object, but she did not appear to mind this so much as that the child had been born at all, this coinciding with others’ feelings.

  After suitable inspection had been made of the babe, Monty was the one to make the announcement: ‘Well now, Kit, you’ve done wrong, there’s no pretending we’re happy about it because we’re not. But as we see it, it’s no good taking it out on the child. What’s done is done, and it’s our duty to rally round.’

  Gwen offered her own opinion. ‘And I hope you know how lucky you are. Most in your position would find themselves on the street.’

  Kit showed suitable gratitude. ‘I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.’

  Gwen was appeased. ‘Well, at least having this little one has stopped you gadding round with all them fellas. Reckon they’ll steer well clear of ’ee now. Right, we going to have our tea then?’ She made as if to take charge.

  ‘I can do it, thank you very much!’ Frail as she looked, Sarah ordered Gwen out of the way, and sought to conclude the affair by a warning: ‘Just don’t expect others to be so tolerant, Kit. This place isn’t the same as it used to be.’

  * * *

  Kit was to recognize this quite quickly during the following week. There were new faces in the community since the strike, many of the old ones having been exiled with Owen, others gone of their own accord. The former camaraderie that had pervaded the mining village, in which she herself had been embraced, was now thinly spread. Bad feeling persisted amongst the
old order against those who had broken the strike and between their families. Unacquainted with Kit, all the newcomers saw was a brazen unmarried hussy with a child, and accordingly she was to suffer gross insults.

  Upsetting as this was, Kit refused to let it drive her out until she was ready to go, disregarding the fact that the insults were extended to the family who supported her, thus demeaning them in the eyes of their neighbours. It had been bad enough when Kit had attracted gossip over her men friends. Now with a child as evidence of her lack of morals, the Kilmasters were a magnet for contempt.

  But Monty refused to be bullied, saying that he had fought to keep this family together and would continue to do so, conveniently forgetting that one of its number had chosen to defect.

  Whilst Monty never spoke about his younger brother at all, Kit had made an effort to visit Owen to see how he fared under his new employer. She found he and his family well and grateful for her intervention on his behalf, but he seemed most despondent about the plight of the union, which had lost much of its gains since the strike.

  ‘And we all know who to blame for that!’ he told Kit – though he refused even to mention Monty’s name and warned his sister not to mention him either.

  It was impossible, therefore, for Owen to attend his new niece’s baptism. Sad though this made Kit, there was no lack of candidates when it came to choosing godparents, for despite their aversion to her illegitimacy everyone had come to love the little red-headed baby. Kit herself doted on the child, though she jokingly admitted that Beata had brought terrible weather with her. Three months after her birth, when the daffodils should have been in bloom, the earth was still invisible under a layer of snow and ice.