Owen said they might see her on the way home. Rolling down his shirtsleeves to make himself decent, he lighted his pipe and accompanied them to the ostler’s in the village of Aldwaldwyke – only a matter of minutes away across a field – where Worthy had left the horse and trap. ‘I wish I hadn’t come,’ he muttered at the looks that were directed at Kit and Worthy in their best clothes. ‘You’re showing me up in them rags.’
Passing the ancient cross outside the White Hart, Kit had the fleeting picture of Ninian Latimer, but did not dwell on it. Whilst Worthy went into the stable to collect his horse, she chatted to her brother in the evening sunshine.
A rider came trotting down the lane that led to Postgate Park. Kit knew him immediately and, with a prick of alarm, moved surreptitiously into the shadows, affecting to be dazzled by the sun, hoping he would not see her. Of all days, she must bump into him now, without a chance to warn him of her marriage.
It was to no avail. Spotting one of his workers, the Viscount turned to make brief address as he rode by. ‘Kilmaster.’
Owen tugged at his cap and murmured a response.
Almost past, Ossie recognized the tall, finely dressed woman beside Owen Kilmaster and immediately hauled in his reins. ‘Kit!’ Kneeing his mount to perform a half-turn, he came back to where they were standing. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, my lord.’ She smiled, but cast a glance over her shoulder to see if Worthy was within earshot – what if Ossie should ask about Valentine?
‘I’m most pleased to hear it!’ Viscount Postgate sensed that his presence was not wholly welcome. Knowing Kilmaster to be a surly chap, he assumed Kit’s nervousness to be caused by her brother’s presence, but just then a huge man came out of the stables leading a horse in harness.
Turning quickly, Kit exclaimed with a blush, ‘Ah, this is my husband, Worthy Treasure! Worthy, this is Viscount Postgate whose family I used to work for.’
The two men appraised each other, Worthy raising his hat. Pipe in mouth, Owen watched the interplay, an idea forming in his mind. Did this nobleman number amongst Kit’s lovers? He seemed unduly friendly for a former employer.
It turned out that Worthy was already acquainted with the other, and they had brief exchange. Then, looking down from his horse, Ossie gave congratulations on Kit’s marriage and said he sincerely hoped they would be as happy as he and his wife, adding that he had been blessed with two fine boys and hoped they would be too.
Worthy wondered why his wife was so flustered but put it down to shyness at being addressed by an aristocrat. Thanking the Viscount for his interest, he watched him ride away, then backed his own horse between the shafts of his trap.
‘Hang on, love, I’ll give you a hand.’ Owen stuck the pipe between his teeth and went to help his brother-in-law. ‘Know his lordship then, do you?’
Worthy nodded. ‘Father bought some land off the Earl not so long ago.’
This caused amusement. ‘Eh, Kit,’ exclaimed her brother, ‘this lad o’yours must have a few bob.’
Breathing a little easier, Kit formed a smile. Worthy showed understated mirth too and said he had heard that the Earl was not doing too well from his tenants, many of whom were feeling the pinch from the agricultural slump, which the Treasures had so far managed to avoid. Owen said he hoped that did not mean a cut in wages for him, then smiled to himself over Worthy’s fine handling of his sister as he helped her up into the trap, making it appear that she was a featherweight.
Kit said she would see Owen next Saturday, then took her leave. Waving them off, he went home.
* * *
There was much mumbling going on, opined Monty to his wife, the following Saturday when they attended his nephew’s coming-of-age tea party. ‘There’s zommat queer going on here. Don’t normally see Gwen skulking in a corner; she’s too busy bossing everybody about. It’s more like a meeting of some secret society than a birthday party.’ Whilst the rest of the family – aunts, uncles, nephews, nieces – were crammed into Gwen’s modestly furnished living room, Monty’s sisters connived in the scullery.
Uninvolved, his wife simply smiled and shrugged. Aside from Kit, Monty’s sisters were a clannish lot and hardly ever included her in anything.
‘Are you sure he’ll come?’ Gwen was whispering to Kit, whilst pretending to be loading the sandwiches on to plates whilst Charity buttered more alongside.
‘Well, he said he would,’ answered an anxious Kit. ‘But have you reckoned how to keep him here long enough for a reconciliation? The minute he sees Monty he’ll be off.’
Gwen had thought of this. Her husband would keep one section of guests in the back room – Monty amongst them – whilst Owen would be shown into the front parlour with another section. Once he was seen to be relaxing, they could bring the two together. ‘You get on with these sandwiches,’ she ordered her sisters, ‘And I’ll go into the front and keep a lookout for him.’
‘I always fall for it,’ complained Charity to Kit, and waded into another pile of bread with her butter knife.
Some time later, Owen, Meg and their adult children arrived. Following the plan, Gwen spirited them into the front parlour and for a time everything went well. Kit wrung her hands and murmured to her husband that she hoped things would not misfire, then mouthed a query to Gwen, asking if it were time to bring the two together.
Gwen straightened her back. ‘Monty, can you give me a hand to clear up some of the pots from the parlour? We’re running short of cups.’
This was just the sort of thing to make Monty suspicious, hissed Kit to Charity. Their brother was never expected to help around the house. However odd he might consider it, Monty made no comment. Guessing that he did not want to appear a sluggard in front of his new wife, Gwen enlarged on this idea – if his wife were there it might prevent a scene between him and Owen. ‘Ann, can you help too?’
Glad to be included, Monty’s attractive wife followed him to the parlour. Taking Charity’s example, Kit summoned her husband to come too, all crowding into the doorway of the front room to prevent either of the brothers escaping.
The moment Monty’s auburn head appeared Owen knew he had been duped. Glaring around for the culprit he spotted Kit in the passageway and stabbed an accusing finger at her. ‘You, you lying—’ He tried to make his way to the door but was held back.
‘Isn’t it time you stopped all this daft carry-on?’ reproved Gwen. ‘Come and sit down with your brother. You haven’t seen him for years.’
Owen still struggled, followed by his wife and family, who obviously held his view for their faces were as dark as his. ‘I don’t waste me breath on blacklegs!’
Monty was equally furious, a red tide emerging from his starched collar and flooding across his cheeks. ‘You pompous little shit!’ The fact that he hardly ever swore lent more impact to his oath.
To cries of ‘Language!’ Owen stopped trying to carve an escape route to the door and offered retaliation. ‘You’ve got the first letter right – only it’s not P for pompous, it’s P for principle! But you’d know nowt about that, you bloody turncoat.’
In an instant Monty’s hands were around his brother’s throat. With a lot of hair-pulling the women eventually managed to haul him off and he was dragged along the passage into the back room, his new wife clearly horrified.
Red in the face, Owen ignored Kit’s plaintive apology and, shoving Meg before him, he barged out of the house.
There was a moment of shocked silence, then mumbled disapproval of the outrageous display.
Unhappy, Kit linked arms with Worthy for support and shook her head at Gwen. ‘I told you he wouldn’t have it.’
‘The stubborn little—’ Gwen was flustered at having her son’s celebration spoiled. She marched into the back room to confront her elder brother, but Monty was to jump in first.
‘I wish you’d all mind your own damned business!’ After years of practice at suppressing his temper, he was livid at his sisters for making him lose it now. Witho
ut apology, he too strode from the house, pursued by his worried wife.
‘Men!’ snorted the eldest sister. ‘Well, I wash my hands of both of them.’
Kit glanced at Worthy to see what he made of it all, performing a comical grimace as their eyes met.
It was difficult to restore the same light-hearted atmosphere after such violence. Kit did her best to salvage Donald’s party with a few jokes, but she was glad when the afternoon was over, and commented to her husband as they drove home, ‘What a rum lot families are.’
30
Kit thought it best to wait a few months before going to apologize to her brothers for her part in the deception. In fact, she told Worthy, she felt no great desire to see any of her family again after that shameful episode. What must he think of them?
Christmas was to pass without her usual visit to Ralph Royd, although she did send gifts of food with Probyn when he came to deliver the latest cheque. He was one relative she was always pleased to see and she felt great sympathy for her nephew who had not yet grown used to working underground. She was pleased to learn, though, that his disgruntlement was only for the work itself; the camaraderie of men was a great delight to one raised in a houseful of women.
To coincide with his visit a letter came from Amelia in America. After eighteen months of marriage to Worthy Kit had stopped being nervous about him reading such missives, for although they were filled with Serena’s accomplishments there was no reference to her natural mother.
Amelia’s letters were to mark each quarter of the following year, one arriving at Easter with the gambolling lambs, another to mark hay-making – which Kit was additionally pleased to receive for she was laid low at the time from some nauseating complaint – and yet another to celebrate Harvest Thanksgiving.
Reading the latest correspondence, after a back-breaking day of pulling wurzels, Worthy’s heart went out to his wife. Her sister must surely be a thoughtless person, rambling on about her own little girl when she knew Katherine was childless. Perhaps he should write and ask her to reduce the exuberant tone of her letters. He had been secretly concerned about Kit of late. She was much quieter than usual – distracted.
Seated on the other side of the hearth, her face cast in firelight as she mended a torn hem, Kit glanced up to smile, but caught his frown and immediately asked what was amiss, fearing that she might have overlooked some detail that pertained to Serena being hers.
Worthy put the letter aside and stretched his long body. ‘Oh, nothing, I were just thinking.’
She guessed what the subject might be. With the sewing resting on her lap, she nibbled her lip and beheld him almost shyly. ‘I didn’t want to tell you yet, till I was sure, but …’
His expression became alert, and his mouth began to turn up at the corners.
‘Don’t get your hopes up, it’s too soon!’ Kit made an entreating gesture, but found herself suffocated in a bear-like embrace and laughed at his sounds of delight, all the while begging him not to set too great store on this, she might be mistaken, but even as she said it she knew her feelings to be true; she was carrying Worthy’s child.
The joy was all consuming – though this was not to devalue her grief over her lost babies, which would be for ever part of her – but with the grief impossible to share with Worthy, she chose to share his joy instead.
Her entreaties for him to make no announcement yet were useless. Within an hour of his rising the next morning every member of his family was acquainted with her condition and were offering their applause. Worthy even wanted to transmit the news to her own family but she prevented this, saying she would rather wait for medical confirmation first. Even so, Kit could not help a twinge of smugness at proving the fortune-teller wrong. What a ninny she had been to let such nonsense rule her life.
* * *
Once her fecundity had been established, Kit allowed Worthy to take her over to Ralph Royd to announce their glad tidings and from there to Owen’s house – though here she was to find her announcement overshadowed by his own triumphant crowing: the miners had just won another ten per cent pay increase. Since last year’s reward the new Federation had acquired even more members – their number now totalled almost a hundred thousand! His prediction had been right, boasted Owen: with such widespread support they could expect ten per cent every year now.
By now, October, he had forgiven her interference, but despite being in such a good mood he made it plain that he and his brother would never be reconciled. Kit accepted his wishes. She had her own family to think of now.
Everyone, it seemed, shared the couple’s gladness over this long-awaited child. At every turn came more congratulations. Kit had never been so happy and contented in her life. Yet, beneath her euphoria lurked an element of worry. Having already given birth to two babies her labour would probably be short – too short for a first child. How could she explain this? Weary of subterfuge, and having come to know her husband intimately, Kit teetered on the brink of revelation, of stepping down from the pedestal upon which he had so obviously placed her. Worthy loved her – surely this Christian man would forgive her sins, accept her for what she was? Over and over in her mind she practised her confession, almost reached the point of divulgence, until at the last nerve-racking moment the risk would present itself as too great and she would retreat into secrecy.
Confined by this worry, the memory of her lost children and her steadily increasing girth, Kit felt it impossible to carry out her chores around the farm and, with the aim of conserving her energy, spent her days sewing or reading, awaiting the springtime birth of her child. Whilst her besotted husband might be happy to pamper her, others were not. Ignorant of how precious this baby was to its mother, Phoebe thought it scandalous that Kit had chosen to neglect her duties – but was even more amazed when Kit’s lack of industry extended to the home.
‘Doesn’t take much stamina to sweep the floor!’ she complained privately to her own daughter. ‘I just went in now and there’s crumbs and muck everywhere. There’ll be rats in before she knows it. It breaks my heart to see that house go to ruin. I never had Kit down as a slattern but she’s certainly heading that way. I mean, she’s hardly five months gone. I’d better not find she’s neglecting my boy or there will be trouble.’
Unable to bear the squalor, Phoebe took it upon herself to keep the farmhouse up to its former standard of cleanliness, hardly bothering to conceal her disapproval and not even waiting for Kit to leave the house before she started sweeping and dusting around her.
Far from being shamed by this Kit was rather annoyed for, in her opinion, the house was tidy enough – though she voiced no complaint to the culprit, instead lamenting to her husband.
‘Let her do it if she’s daft enough,’ said Worthy, ever the peacekeeper. ‘Nobody’s blaming you for looking after yourself.’
‘It’s not from selfishness that I do this but for the baby!’ protested Kit. ‘I’m so fearful of losing—’
‘I know!’ The big man pushed her gently into a chair. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this baby too. Take no notice of Mother. If she comes in interfering, just leave her to it, get your coat on and come up to the fields and have a natter to me.’
This Kit took to doing, further devaluing herself in Phoebe’s estimation – for what wife with any respect would leave her mother-in-law to do her work!
Returning after her latest escape Kit found the house spotless and her red-faced mother-in-law preparing lumps of bread and butter for the afternoon tea-break. Soon after, on a draught of wintry air, a tired-looking Worthy, his father and a bunch of hired men came in from the fields, rubbing their hands before the fire. Everyone, it seemed, had earned their rest except Kit.
There was little talk whilst appetites were being slaked, each concentrating on the matter in hand. Only when the level of tea in his large mug had been considerably reduced did George Treasure utter words. ‘Suppose you men’ll be wanting a week off then.’ It was Martinmas, when the hired workers recei
ved their wages. ‘Be coming back for another year, will tha?’ The young men said they were willing, if he would have them. ‘You’ll do,’ he told them.
‘Don’t tease the lads,’ said Phoebe. ‘They work a lot harder than some we’ve had.’ Her comment was not a slur on Kit but she took it as one and, after the tea was drunk, she was the one to collect the pots and carry them to the sink.
The men, including Worthy and his father, lumbered back to the stubbled fields, some to plough, and some to sow. Phoebe called out to Kit that she would see her later and left. Kit breathed a sigh of relief at being left alone, and collapsed into an armchair, lovingly stroking her abdomen.
‘Worthy!’ Hearing his name, the big man stopped and waited for his mother to catch up with him.
‘You go on!’ Phoebe flicked a hand at the other men who had also looked round. ‘It’s this one I want.’
The elderly Mr Treasure rolled his eyes and departed. His wife was wearing that look of intrigue which could only spell trouble.
‘I was dusting the top of the rafters and I found this!’ With a quick glance to check that Kit was not watching from the window, Phoebe pulled a small book from her apron pocket.
Worthy looked amused at the lengths to which his mother had gone. ‘Dusting the top of the rafters?’
‘Look at it!’ she urged him. ‘It’s a bank book – and it’s got Kit’s name in.’
Worthy’s earth-stained thumb flicked the pages. The balance therein was insignificant compared to the funds Kit had brought to the marriage, but he noticed that it comprised regular instalments.
When her son’s face remained passive Phoebe prompted him. ‘Did you know about it?’
He closed the book. ‘It’s neither summat nor nowt.’
A Sense of Duty Page 61
