Her face a picture of anguish, she rose suddenly and made for the door. ‘I have to have time to think!’
Gwen opened her mouth to offer more persuasion but Amelia’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, urging her to leave well alone. She looked worriedly at Albert, thankful that they had not revealed their plans about going to America, for that would surely have jeopardized the outcome.
As the door closed on Kit, the atmosphere relaxed. In the burst of animated conversation that followed, an annoyed Probyn had to remind others that his mother had just died. What irked him most was that his father seemed to have forgotten too.
* * *
Even by Christmas they had still not managed to solicit a positive response from Kit, though they continued their gentle persuasion. Gwen’s bullying might be disguised in a velvet glove, but Kit felt under extreme pressure, most of it from a personal source. One moment she had thought to conquer her selfishness and hand over her baby to Amelia, the next she was filled with an unbearable ache to keep it. She was vulnerable and weepy, thoroughly divest of any festive spirit as every day brought her closer to that terrible decision.
Bumping into Probyn this Saturday on the corner by the post office, she felt the urgent need for young company, and asked if he would like to come and have a cup of tea with her.
His nose red from cold, Probyn gave anxious apology and backed away as he spoke, in a hurry it seemed. ‘I’d love to Aunt, but I have to go watch ’em kill Smirthwaite’s pig.’
‘Oh well, you’ll have to go then.’ There was sadness in her smile.
Probyn continued his backwards walk, the sound of porcine squeals making him even more hasty. ‘I’ll come and see you later, though!’
Kit gave a smiling nod as her nephew pelted away, but knew there would be something more important to occupy him later.
Snow fell. The grocery windows were decorated with Valencias, muscatels, currants, lemon peel and angelica. Confectioners vied with each other for the best plum cakes and sweets. Butchers displayed gigantic sides of beef and pork and birds galore. In total contrast to previous years Kit spent the period in quiet contemplation, deriving what little joy she could from the child whilst it was still safe inside her. Yet its playful kicking served only to remind her of the trial to come.
* * *
The year of political controversy and personal tragedy came to an end. January brought firm resolution – Kit would do right by everyone, would give her baby up and start afresh – then just as quickly she reneged. How could she bear to part with it? You’ll be able see it, they persuaded. Yes, but in someone else’s arms.
The snow continued to pile up. At least it kept them from her door. Not that it really mattered; with or without them the argument went on inside her head.
Hoping she still had weeks left to go, Kit was shocked to awake one winter morning to experience birth pangs. Her first instinct was to ignore them, pretend this wasn’t happening. Rising, she went about the business of the day.
Alas, within three hours the pains had become intense enough to make her groan. Prodded by fear, panic, but most of all anguish, she went outside and looked for someone to act as messenger. Catching sight of a boy shifting snow, she called out and dispatched him to the midwife’s house. There was no point in sending him to inform Monty; Sarah was no longer there and neither of his girls was qualified to attend a birth. Kit would just have to cope on her own.
The birth was quick. A mere five hours later Kit held her baby, another daughter, in her arms. Mrs Carlton, the midwife, asked if she would like anyone informed. It seemed callous to leave this newly delivered mother alone with nothing more than a cup of tea. Propped up with pillows, Kit gazed down at the black-haired baby, such a serene little thing. ‘Not for now,’ she murmured. ‘Somebody’ll be round soon enough.’
Left alone, she lowered her face to inhale the new-born’s scent, pressing gentle lips to its cheek, luxuriating in the sense of creation.
Too soon, her reverie was disturbed. The babe was not an hour old when a knock came at the door. To ignore it was to achieve nothing, for the person entered unbidden and called from the foot of the stairs, ‘You up there, Kit?’
Loath to reply, Kit nevertheless allowed her brother to come up.
Cap in hand, his face red from the cold, Monty approached her bed, showing no surprise at the new-born. ‘Somebody saw Mrs Carlton with her bag.’ He stood for a while looking down.
Kit sighed, ‘I suppose they’ll all have to know now.’
Monty sat on the edge of the bed. ‘It’ll be a while afore they come – the roads are blocked.’ Noting the flicker of relief, he sought to deter her from complacency. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do, then?’
Kit shook her head, her mouth trembling.
‘Bain’t wise to leave it too long, Kit, nor to get too attached to her. The decision will have to be made eventually.’
‘But not now,’ said Kit firmly.
Monty did not push the matter. ‘Shall I send Wyn over to stay and look after you?’
Kit said if he could manage without Wyn then she would appreciate the help. After he had gone, she settled back down to enjoy these precious moments.
* * *
A week was to pass before news reached the outside world. A week filled with joy and sorrow and indecision, during which Kit had wept at the drop of a hat. She was still feeling depressed and unsafe when Gwen and Amelia descended on her, the former having made it her duty to inform the other.
Initially they made great play of asking how she was, and paying only scant notice of the baby. Low as she felt, Kit knew where their priority lay.
‘I’ve called her Serena.’
Amelia looked as if she had been slapped over the face. She turned to Gwen who, for once in her life, was speechless.
‘I think it suits her,’ added Kit. ‘She’s such a quiet little thing – ever so good.’ She bestowed a lingering kiss to the sleeping babe in her arms.
Then without further warning she held out the bundle to Amelia.
Nonplussed, her sister took possession, still unsure whether this would only be temporary.
Immediately, Kit wanted to rescind the gesture, but fought the urge. Never before had she bowed to popular opinion, had always done as she wanted without a thought of the consequences for others, but at last looking at life through her daughter’s eyes she knew that the sacrifice must be made.
‘There’s a cheque for five hundred pounds on the sideboard,’ stammered Kit. ‘It’s for her schooling and to give her as good a life as possible — don’t argue, I want the best for her. Take all her things with you when you go, the pram, everything. I couldn’t stand seeing it here.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to bear it, hearing her call you Mother.’
Amelia did not notice Gwen’s triumphant smile, aware only of the weight of her own responsibility, the child in her arms. ‘You won’t have to.’ Trembling both with excitement and for her sister’s pain, she tried to convey the news in as kind a manner as possible. ‘Our employers are moving to America and they want us to go too. It’ll be a new start for all of us.’
Kit stared at Gwen, who obviously knew nothing about this either.
‘It’s all been very rushed.’ Amelia blushed at the lie. ‘But I think it’ll be better all round, don’t you?’
Gwen was quick to recover from her shock and sought to persuade Kit of the benefits. ‘Wounds heal a lot better if it’s a clean cut – better if it’s over quick.’ She steered Amelia towards the door. ‘Best go now. We don’t want to prolong it for Kit, I’ll get the rest of the stuff.’
It wasn’t meant to be like this! The mother’s hands reached out as if to retrieve her child, but after a hasty word of thanks Amelia spirited the bundle from the room, from the house, from Kit’s life.
27
Perhaps they were right about a new beginning, thought Kit when the crying stopped. Perhaps she should sell up and move to another place. But to what e
ffect? Wherever she lived, every morning when she opened her eyes her first thought would be for her lost babies.
This morning was just the same. Kit lay there for a moment, trying to gather the enthusiasm to get out of bed. Serena was in America now and had been for almost three months. Kit had not held her baby since the day she had handed her over to Amelia, though she had received a photograph of Serena with her adoptive parents marking the start of their new life. Since the parting she had tried to continue as normal, occupying herself with sewing and had coped quite well considering. But it was very difficult to rub shoulders with the kin who had made her give Serena up. Perhaps it would be a good idea to minimize contact with them and start afresh where no one knew her.
A knock came at the door, forcing her to rise and go downstairs. Accepting a couple of letters from the postman, she saw that neither of them came from America and left them unopened on the table whilst she dressed.
After breakfast she examined the contents of the envelopes, one of which was from Mr Popplewell, inviting her to come for dinner next week; Kit gave a tight little smile then laid it aside and opened the other which came from the Local Vaccination Officer, asking why she had not yet protected the child whose birth had been registered three months ago.
The pain welled up as fresh as ever. Kit screwed the letter into a ball and threw it on the fire, then burst into tears. Still sobbing, she reached for her coat and went outside. The snow had gone and the spring was comparatively mild, though it had been raining overnight and the bare brown hedgerows were draped in jewelled gossamer.
She set off at a brisk pace, without direction, just walking, walking, walking for miles. Heading north, she tramped for a couple of hours, came to a village she had not visited before and, without stopping, came out at the other side. It began to drizzle. Without a hat her auburn hair turned to frizz. Her legs and feet ached.
Across field and ford, she stumbled. The muscles in her thighs throbbed at the uphill journey. The rain eased. The sun came out, dazzling her. Finally, exhausted, she paused on a hillside and stared out across a deep ravine at the town clustered on the limestone ridge opposite. In the sunlight, the wet roofs of the houses glistened like ruby and agate. A renovated church tower glowed as butter. One would never guess that the earth beneath was honeycombed with mines. From here, the vernal landscape resembled the face of a sleeping baby.
Staggering, slithering and sliding, her skirts covered in mud, Kit descended towards the valley and came to rest against a wooden fence, clinging to its upper rail as if her life depended on it.
Unaware of time, she stood in a trance looking across the lower valley. Just then, a fox ran across her view, mouth panting. Without stirring, Kit watched it hasten across the field and disappear beneath a hedge. Shortly afterwards, a pack of baying hounds came streaming over a wall and onwards after the scent, followed by the hunt resplendent in pink and black. Kit gazed dispassionately at the scene.
‘It’s a grand sight.’
Startled, she turned to find a man at her side, admiring the same view. Unusually, she had to look up at the speaker. He was much taller than herself, a huge man of heavy build with a wide leather belt emphasizing his girth.
Too consumed by grief to pay much heed to his appearance, she reverted her gaze to the field, only now actually seeing what was taking place before her, acutely aware of how the fox, the pursued, the victim, must feel. She, who had tasted the savagery of the human animal now began to question the rights of man over lesser beings.
‘Would you care to be hounded so cruelly?’ Though her blue eyes were directed straight ahead she felt him look at her sharply.
His reply was dismissive. ‘They don’t feel fear like we do,’ he said with the supreme arrogance of man.
‘How do you know? Have you ever been a fox?’
‘Well, I never looked at it like that. You can’t invest a dumb animal with human emotions.’
‘What are human emotions?’ she demanded, still without looking at him.
He could not answer.
‘I thought man was meant to be kind to his fellow creatures.’
His expression was not so friendly now. ‘You wouldn’t be so sentimental if you’d seen a chicken coop after old Reynard’s paid a visit.’
‘Then you should take better care of guarding your chickens.’
The man said huffily that his chickens were his business and strode away. Kit stood there for a while watching the pursuit, thinking back to Lord Garborough’s treatment of his hounds, which was no better than that of the fox they hunted. Once they had outlived their usefulness they were dispatched. A bit like the servants. On consideration, that was not quite fair. She could find no complaint as to the way she had been treated, with courtesy and kindness, but now she recognized that they were only being good to her because it was the duty of superior beings to be charitable to those beneath them. She began to share Owen’s view of the ruling class. Just because they were richer or of nobler birth, should they be granted the power of life and death over others?
The hunt vanished into the distance. Coming to her senses, Kit looked around, somewhat bewildered. She had no idea where she was. Had she not upset the man he could have set her on the right road. Retracing her steps, she paused at the top of the rise to take another look at the encircling countryside. It was undoubtedly beautiful. Now that the air no longer held the baying of hounds it was very peaceful too. The warm red roofs of the village held invitation. In that instant Kit made up her mind to sell up and move here – though she would rent rather than buy, for if she had learned anything from past impulsive purchases it was that she could not seem to stay in one place for long. Returning to the highway, she consulted a signpost, then took the road home.
* * *
One thing bothered her about leaving Ralph Royd: her widowed brother’s welfare.
But, to her great surprise, when she divulged her news on the following Sunday morning after chapel, Monty seemed unconcerned. He even went so far as to say it was a good idea – they must all make new lives for themselves some time. Noting the look of slight disapproval that passed between the two young women and Probyn, Kit felt that there was something much deeper to this last remark, but was too apathetic to try to guess what it might be. Grateful for the lack of obstacle, she began to make plans for her future.
Remembering only that her journey had taken her northwards, Kit set off one Saturday morning to look for the place she had found so appealing. Alas, she had not guessed it was so far away. When, hours later, she came to the ridge where she had rested before and spotted the village across the ravine, she saw that there were many more miles yet to travel. Dispirited, she sat down to rest. Then to her great good fortune she saw a cart rolling along towards her. Hurrying back to the road, she hailed its driver who agreed to give her a lift to her destination.
However, on its way there, the cart was to pass through another village, one too secluded for her to have seen it before, a most picturesque and charming place surrounded by undulated wooded slopes, its walls softened by moss and lichen. A place of peace. Along the main street a beck tumbled over a bed of pebbles; as the cart followed its gurgling course Kit was to see that it emptied into a pond where ducks and water-hens dabbled. Nearby was an ancient inn and a small green. At the end of the street, just as the cart was about to leave the village, it passed a stone house, solid and square, its front garden crammed with spring flowers and a board that said ‘To Let’.
It was as if this was meant to be. Acting on impulse, Kit asked the man to stop and, thanking him, got down from the cart.
Whilst the prospective tenant was still at the gate running her gaze over the roof and walls, a gentleman appeared at the door and came to meet her. Finding him most polite, Kit accepted his invitation to enter. It took but two minutes to examine the interior to know that she would like to live here. Kit tentatively enquired the rent, which was rather steep but, too embarrassed to haggle and fearful that someone e
lse would beat her to it, she agreed to a twelve-month contract. Over a pot of tea she learned that the lessor and his wife would be going abroad in June which, Kit told them, would give her ample time to sell her own property. The fact that they were leaving behind their furniture caused no problem, for this house would easily accommodate her own belongings too.
After shaking hands on the contract, she made ready to embark on the long journey home. Discovering that his well-dressed tenant was about to set off on foot, the man said he could not allow such a thing and went to fetch his horse and trap.
When he proposed to convey her all the way home, Kit made only feeble argument and was secretly glad that he chose not to heed it. Given more time in which to stare, she drew quiet pleasure from the journey. Leaves were beginning to burst from the stark branches that formed a network over the lane, the verges to either side yielding a predominance of gold.
Another vehicle was trundling up the lane towards them. The man driving Kit steered his more nimble horse and trap to one side to allow the other to advance, crushing daffodils and dandelions in the process. As the heavy cart horse clip-clopped past, its driver raised his hat and called a greeting to the other.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Langley – much obliged!’
‘Good afternoon to you, Farmer Treasure!’
With this brief exchange the vehicles went their separate ways. Kit thought she recognized the farmer from somewhere but it was not until she was well on the way home that she remembered him as the man who had watched the hunt with her.
The landscape began to change, pocked-marked by industry. Upon reaching Ralph Royd in the late afternoon Kit thanked the man who had brought her and asked him in for a cup of tea. However, to her acute embarrassment she found that the caddie was empty – she had become rather absent-minded of late. Chuckling, Mr Langley told her not to worry and said he hoped they would be in touch soon apropos the house. Feeling silly, Kit waved him off, then instead of going inside, went to the grocer’s to purchase some tea, intending also to visit Monty and give him the news.
A Sense of Duty Page 55
