‘Can’t get much more peaceful than round here,’ said Worthy. ‘Though I’ve heard some awful caterwauling coming from the village.’
Kit smiled and asked why he was not attending the Jubilee celebrations.
He replied that with no disrespect to Her Majesty he had other more important things to do.
An interval of silence followed, eventually broken by a rare question from Farmer Treasure. ‘So, er, did your brother move here too, Miss Kilmaster?’
Kit’s smile faded. ‘No, we’ve had a bit of a falling out – I won’t go into the details. I just wanted to be on my own.’
Worthy gave no response but took note of her solitary status.
‘He’s still at Ralph Royd. As a matter of fact, I’ve just set my nephew and niece back on the road there – they came to visit me this afternoon. Poor Wyn, she’s got herself into a bit of trouble, if you get my meaning.’ Seeing that he did she went on, ‘Wanted me to tell her father, but I said, “You’re old enough now you’ll have to tell him yourself.”’ Suddenly realizing that in the space of five minutes she had told him a good part of her life story and more intimate details besides, Kit covered her mouth. ‘Hark at me! I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about our troubles.’ She berated her own talkativeness and sat quiet for a time, hands resting in the lap of her summer dress. But her interest got the better of her. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters, Mr Treasure?’
‘One brother and three sisters. I’m t’eldest. Two of t’girls are away and married, the youngest helps out at home.’
‘And your brother?’
‘Abel’s married too and lives in a cottage on the farm – that’ll go to me when my parents die, sithee, but it seems a shame when I’ve no children to hand it on to. My brother’s always been a bit resentful about that, but I suppose his sons’ll get it in t’end.’
‘You’re not wed, then?’ Kit thought him rather old to have never been married – especially as he was so eligible, being in line to inherit a farm.
‘Never found anyone I’d care to marry.’ A shadow passed over his face.
From the way he said it Kit recognized a man who had been hurt – one whose wounds took a long time to heal – and wondered over the circumstances.
Worthy felt her eyes on him – wanted to tell her that at sixteen he had been cruelly hurt by a beautiful girl with whom he had been infatuated and had sworn never to have any truck with women again; but instead he said nothing.
For some strange reason Kit felt sorry for him. In an attempt to remove his frown, she repeated her opinion that it was a lovely place to live and, finding herself at ease with him, began to tell him all about her travels – though she made no mention of the men in her life nor of the children she had lost.
His gruff manner having shown gradual improvement during the journey, Worthy displayed interest in her tale, but at the end of it said that he had never been out of Yorkshire and had no wish to. It was not meant to be an insult, he said, others could go where they chose. It was just that he himself could think of no better place to be.
‘So you enjoy being a farmer?’ enquired Kit.
‘I was born to it.’
Kit asked what sort of farm he had, and though that kind of life held little personal interest, she paid attention as he told her it was partly arable, partly livestock. ‘Oats, barley, peas, beans, taties, carrots, turnips, wurzels for the beasts. We used to grow more grain but we stopped bothering. Weren’t much point in face of all these cheap American imports. Fifty breeding ewes, half a dozen sows, four cows …’ His voice trailed away.
‘I should like to see it,’ she said at his conclusion.
He became momentarily awkward.
Kit reddened. ‘I beg your pardon, that seemed as if I were inviting myself!’
‘No, no you’d be quite welcome.’ Fearing that he must appear to her like a bumbling youth, Worthy scolded himself into order and perversely readopted his gruff pose. ‘You must come up to the farm and take tea with us one day.’ Damn! It had emerged as an order.
But his attractive companion bestowed him with a smile. ‘That’s most neighbourly. I don’t know many folk round here yet.’
‘My mother knows everyone worth knowing,’ said Worthy, wishing he could study those clear blue eyes without appearing too bold. ‘I’ll ask her to introduce you.’
Kit felt as if she might have made a mistake, was not yet ready to return to society – though she had enjoyed talking to this man. His slow, quiet speech was a comfort.
Their journey was almost over. On the village green celebrations were still going on, the pinafored children in paper hats sitting down to a tea of buns and jelly. Kit responded to their merry waves and noted that her companion did too. When he asked where to take her, she pointed the way to her house and, upon climbing down from the cart, asked, ‘Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?’
‘I’m sure you’ve had enough of my company for one day.’ Worthy made as if to gee up his horse.
Though reluctant to face the solitude of the house, Kit remembered his comment that he had better things to do, and let him go. ‘I’ve enjoyed your company very much, Mr Treasure. Thank you for the ride and I hope we meet again soon.’
Worthy seemed to want to say something, then simply nodded and clicked his tongue at the horse, turned the cart around and drove away.
Expecting nothing further of him, Kit steeled herself for another evening alone.
28
During the next few days other things were to occupy Kit’s mind. Thinking that perhaps she had been too harsh on Wyn, and knowing what a frightening situation it was to find oneself unmarried and with child, she travelled over to her old cottage – now her brother’s – to offer support. However, she was to find that Wyn had broken the news and moreover Kit found herself accused by Monty as a prime constituent in his daughter’s downfall – as she had known would happen. Telling them they could sort out their own battles, she immediately returned home to Soke, wishing she had never gone in the first place.
She had not been home long when someone knocked at her door. Still annoyed at Monty’s accusation, she answered the door with a look on her face that was less than gracious to her visitor – a woman of mature proportions whose face seemed rather familiar.
The visitor was taken aback. ‘Perhaps I’m come at the wrong moment…’
Realizing that she must have been frowning, Kit immediately banished her mood and gave rapid explanation. ‘I do beg your pardon. I’ve just had an altercation with my brother and – oh, well, you don’t want to hear all my family troubles, I’m sure!’
The elderly woman in the print frock and straw hat introduced herself. ‘I’m Phoebe Treasure. I believe—’
‘Oh yes, come in!’ Eager to make amends, Kit summoned Worthy’s mother over the threshold. ‘Let me fetch you some lemonade.’
Mrs Treasure’s miraculously unlined face performed the same non-committal twitch as her son, displaying friendliness without actually smiling. ‘Thank you kindly. It’s a long walk down that hill – though even longer going back. My son mentioned you were new to the village so I just came down to introduce myself and ask if you’d like to come for tea.’ When Kit said she would, Mrs Treasure added, ‘Perhaps if you’ve nothing better to do you’d like to accompany me right now? I could introduce you to a few folk on the way.’
Kit replied that she would appreciate this and once her visitor had finished her lemonade the pair made their way through the village, stopping here and there along the way for Kit to be introduced to her new neighbours.
Mrs Treasure had been right, it was a long walk up the hill to the farm but Kit proclaimed that it was well worth it – the view from up here was stunning. Gazing out across the fields of cows and sheep one could see for miles on this clear day. Nearer to home, the long grass in the meadow had been cut and exposure to the hot sun had turned it into hay, its sweet scent filling the air.
Her companion pointed out several figures who, wi
th wooden implements, were raking the hay and tossing it up on to a cart. Three of them were much larger than the rest. ‘There’s Worthy and his father and brother. They won’t be home for a while – it’ll give us time to chat.’ Turning back to the farmhouse, she took off her hat to reveal a bun of dark hair barely touched by grey.
Accepting an invitation to enter, Kit found herself in an expansive kitchen with a stone-paved floor, oak furniture and a large cooking range from whence came the aroma of onion gravy. Here she was introduced to Worthy’s sister, Ettie, and, finding both women pleasant company she chatted happily to them until, some time later, Worthy’s large frame appeared in the doorway. Though his face lacked exuberance, his blue eyes told that he was glad to see her.
Upon first meeting his mother Kit had noted the marked similarity, and it was true that Worthy did have her colouring, but now that she was introduced to his father, she found a resemblance here too – although George Treasure was six inches shorter and many pounds lighter and had the rather grizzled appearance of an elderly badger. She was not to meet his brother, Abel, yet; he had apparently gone home to his own cottage. The rest were just hired hands. Flanked by people of a similar height to herself – and Worthy even taller – Kit did not feel so out of place, and thoroughly enjoyed tea which, to the Treasures was a gigantic meal of Yorkshire Pudding, stewed beef and vegetables, with rhubarb tart to follow.
Afterwards, when the hired men had gone to their quarters, she offered to help wash the pots but Mrs Treasure said she would not dream of it and told Worthy to show their guest around the farm. Upon the couple’s exit, Phoebe’s unwrinkled face became more animated as she told her husband and family, ‘I never thought I’d live to see that boy make such a perfect match – and judging by her house she’s very well set up too!’
George Treasure was as laconic as his son. ‘Must be summat wrong with her if she’s never been wed at her age.’
Spying from behind the curtain, his daughter scolded him. ‘She can’t be much older than me!’
‘That’s what I said, there must be summat wrong with her.’ Mr Treasure’s dour expression did not alter, but there was hidden amusement in his eyes.
His wife took him to task, then unable to resist, crept up to join Ettie at the window.
Outside, the land was still bathed in golden sunlight. Kit shot a quick look over her shoulder at the farmhouse, smiling as her action created a flash of movement that betrayed the presence of spies – they were bound to be interested, she supposed. Of more interest to her were the ancient stone jambs of the farmhouse door, which she asked about now. Worthy told her that its builder had employed some of the old relics his ancestors had unearthed in their fields – Roman and Saxon monuments.
‘I’m forever ploughing old coins up too – here’s one I found today.’ He delved into his pocket and after rubbing at the dark brown disc displayed it on his palm. ‘I think you’ll find it’s Roman when it’s cleaned up.’
Kit bent over to look, noticing again how tapered were his fingers. ‘That’s fascinating! My nephew would love it.’
‘Take it,’ said the big man. ‘I can get plenty more.’
Kit showed gratitude and studied the coin closely for some time.
He seemed to warm to his subject. ‘I can show you the old Ermine Street, if you’d like.’
‘That was the old Roman road, wasn’t it?’ Kit had read about this. ‘You mean it’s still there?’
Worthy gave a nod and bade her come further up the hill, using the arduous climb as an excuse to offer his arm. Grabbing a handful of pink candy-striped dress and petticoat, she laid her free hand upon his forearm and hauled herself up the slope. Once atop the limestone summit he indicated an expanse of moorland where a panting Kit could make out an arrow-like ridge that marked the great Roman road.
Her voice was filled with wonder. ‘I never knew such things were on my own doorstep.’
‘Better than seeing it in any museum, I reckon,’ said Worthy.
She cast her eyes wider. ‘The Lord was certainly in a good mood when He created this.’
Worthy murmured agreement and the two of them stood gazing at the vista for a long time.
‘I might be cursed with a poor imagination,’ said her burly companion eventually, ‘but I find it impossible to grasp the concept of nothingness – what was there before God created this? Just blackness? But blackness has substance, doesn’t it? I can’t understand what there could be before the Beginning – do you see what I mean?’
Kit nodded. ‘What was the Lord doing before He created the earth and everything in it? Where did He come from – everything has to come from somewhere – and what about time? I mean, time can’t just start out of nowhere, can it? And as for the notion of eternity – well, it’s totally beyond my comprehension.’
His words were sombre. ‘If you think about it too deeply it scares you, doesn’t it?’
Not I, thought Kit, picturing the two Beatas in Heaven, and the joy of her reunion with them.
Worthy uttered a rare laugh to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Bet you never thought you’d get this when you were invited to tea – a total stranger discussing the meaning of life – and a sober one at that.’
He could not possibly know what memories his conversation had invoked, how she pined for her babies. Fighting the inclination to wallow in grief, Kit shared his amusement, then said, ‘I don’t feel as if you are a stranger.’
Worthy seemed pleased at this. ‘Mm, funny that, I don’t neither. I hope you’ll visit us again, Miss Kilmaster.’
With this latter statement appearing as a hint that she should be leaving, Kit had no choice but to suggest they make their way back down the hill.
Halfway down the grassy incline, Worthy performed a quick stoop, picked up a bit of earthenware and examined it. ‘Here’s a piece of Roman pottery.’
Still walking, Kit leaned over for a closer look and asked how he could tell.
‘You can just make out this writing here.’ He peered at it as if trying to decipher the marks.
‘What does it say?’ She showed keen interest.
He squinted at it closely. ‘Made by – Julius Caesar.’
‘Does it rea—’ She broke off as she saw he was pulling her leg, and laughed with him as he tossed the bit of modern pottery over his shoulder.
Back at the farmhouse Mrs Treasure asked if Kit would like a cup of tea before she left. Not wanting to outstay her welcome the guest refused, but was glad when Worthy said he would take her home on the cart.
After he had helped her up, Kit noticed Mrs Treasure nudge her son and hiss at him, ‘Now, don’t you dare come back here and say you forgot!’ But Kit merely straightened her candy-striped skirts, pretending she had not overheard. It obviously embarrassed him to be treated so by his mother.
Upon reaching home, however, she was to guess that Mrs Treasure had instructed her son to keep in touch for, prior to taking his leave, Worthy asked, ‘Would you consider it an intrusion if I were to call on you some time, Miss Kilmaster?’
‘I’d be delighted, and please call me Kit – or Katherine, if you prefer.’
‘Might I see you at chapel on Sunday, Katherine?’ When she answered in the affirmative Worthy added, ‘Then maybe we could go for a walk afterwards?’
Kit agreed and said he must come to luncheon too. With that, she waved him off and went indoors.
* * *
On Sunday Kit was to meet Worthy’s brother when the Treasure family’s arrival at chapel coincided with hers, and they invited her to share their pew. After joining in a series of rollicking hymns, and prayers punctuated by shouts of ‘Hallelujah’ and a final amen, Mrs Treasure was to introduce Kit to the minister, his wife, more villagers and local tradespeople, making great play of telling them that although she and Kit had only just met they had so much in common that she regarded her almost as a member of the family. .
It was obviously of deep embarrassment to Worthy, who, once they were alon
e and strolling along the lane, apologized to Kit. The starched Sunday collar and clothes seemed to add to his discomfort, making him less relaxed than on their previous meeting. ‘I hope you’ll pardon Mother. She’s that desperate to see me wed she’d have me take any old wife.’
Kit laughed.
Blind to the fact that he had insulted her, Worthy went on, ‘At least I’m not alone, she does it to my sister Ettie too.’
Kit said she liked his family. Though they were as undemonstrative as her own they had made her feel welcome.
‘The way you told it the other day, you don’t get on very well with your own,’ ventured Worthy.
Kit replied that it was not so much that – though they were all very different – it was more that she had never really fitted in. ‘They always wanted me to be like them and I’m just not. I know chapel folk are not meant to dance but I could never understand what was so sinful about it. I like dancing – at least I did in my younger days. I like nice clothes too.’
Worthy said rather admiringly that he had noticed this. ‘I lead a simple life meself, but I’d never condemn others for wanting something different. You must do as you must do, that’s my philosophy. Mother’s a bit strict on that kind o’ thing, wouldn’t let any of my sisters go the village dance – doesn’t like Father creeping off to have a glass of ale neither, but I don’t see any harm in it. Like a drink meself, as a matter of fact, in moderation.’ He looked down at her, bestowing that twitch of a smile.
Kit returned it more widely.
‘I think you mentioned your brother was a miner.’
‘I have two brothers,’ Kit informed him, ‘both miners. Owen used to live in the same village but after the last strike he was blackballed – he was a strong union man, you see – and he had to move to another mine. They don’t speak to each other now. Owen thinks Monty betrayed him by being one of the first to go back to work, Monty feels he’s been betrayed by Owen, whom he brought up.’ She suddenly glimpsed the anomaly here: if her brothers were humble miners how was it that she could afford to rent such an impressive house and wear such finery?
A Sense of Duty Page 57
