A Sense of Duty

by Sheelagh Kelly

  ‘So you didn’t know?’ She seized on his answer.

  ‘Katherine’s entitled to her privacy—’

  ‘She’s your wife!’

  ‘Everyone has their little secret, Mother,’ said Worthy, remembering a childhood incident in which he had set fire to the barn and someone else had got the blame.

  ‘I haven’t, nor have you.’

  He wasn’t about to confess now. ‘The point is—’

  ‘The point is that Kit reckons to have nothing to hide yet she won’t let anyone read her letters and keeps her bank book hidden!’ Mrs Treasure had a habit of turning away when she made a comment, then returning with a ‘so there’ kind of nod; she made such a gesture now.

  ‘She doesn’t hide her normal bank book, she’s just kept this one separate for some reason. I’ve always known exactly how much she’s got in the bank – Oh, I’m that daft!’ Worthy smote his head. ‘I remember now, Katherine told me she’s been putting money away for the babby. I didn’t take much interest what she said about it then, but that’s what this will be.’ He tapped the book. ‘Now tell me exactly where you found it. I don’t want her to think my mother’s been prying, do I? When informed, he pocketed the item. ‘Well, I’m going to put it back, and don’t you dare go bothering Katherine about it.’

  ‘If you know about it, all well and good.’ Phoebe shrugged and crossed her arms. ‘I just thought it was a funny sort of place to keep a bank book.’

  ‘Katherine’s got things all over the house—’

  ‘Don’t I know it!’ came the disgusted exclamation.

  ‘—in case robbers come!’ finished Worthy. ‘Now, you’re clear about what I said? I won’t have her upset with the babby expected so soon.’ Receiving his mother’s promise, he went back to work.

  * * *

  Though curious and a little upset that his wife had chosen to hide this from him, Worthy never mentioned the incident. Hence, Kit had no idea that anyone had discovered one of her secrets. The fact that Phoebe had started to treat her in a different manner held no relevance for Kit, other than to show she was annoyed about her daughter-in-law’s laziness. The latter was determined not to risk losing another child by tackling strenuous farm work, though Phoebe’s attitude did concern her, for they had been such good friends before, and she resolved to pull her weight again after the baby was safely born. Worthy understood this without being told, but how could Kit explain it to his mother without disclosing the reason?

  Another month went by. Kit tried to show willing by helping to pluck the Christmas fowl but got little praise for her contribution. Thank goodness there was something she could do sitting down, Phoebe muttered to her daughter, wrenching feathers out by the handful as if she would like to do the same to Kit. Nothing, it seemed, would repair this fall from grace.

  The Advent days were mild, allowing Kit to make one last visit to her relatives before the birth of her child in spring. Contentment with her husband had added a great deal of weight to her frame of late, thus disguising her pregnancy and allowing her to travel without fear of inviting offence.

  Alas, bad news awaited her at Ralph Royd. Kit and Worthy did not proceed beyond the outer door. The only member of the family still on her feet, Ann Kilmaster told Kit that Monty and his children had gone down with influenza. Half the colliery village had succumbed to this scourge, which had affected the whole country. Gwen had caught it too and was blaming Ethel for fetching it from Leeds. They were all very ill.

  Kit’s primary instinct was to protect her baby and run, but instead of turning tail she forced herself to ask if there was any way she could help. Monty’s wife thanked her, but said she and Worthy would be well advised to isolate themselves on the farm until the danger of contagion was over.

  ‘I’ll drop you a line to tell you when it’s safe to come,’ concluded the weary-looking Ann, and shepherded them towards their trap.

  Worthy went ahead to untie the reins from a post. Whilst waiting for him, Kit felt a nudge. Turning to Ann she glanced down and, responding to the urgent, secretive gesture, quickly took possession of the latest cheque. It was to remain in her pocket until the following day.

  * * *

  The pigeons who roosted in the rafters of the shed were becoming a nuisance. The next morning before breakfast, Worthy picked up a lantern and his gun and went to reduce their numbers. In his absence, Kit dragged herself up on to a chair, then on to the oak table which was directly beneath a beam that ran the width of the kitchen. Sides of bacon, legs of ham and bunches of dried herbs were suspended from the beam, but to Kit it had other uses. The sporadic noise of Worthy’s gun confirming his whereabouts, she reached up and felt along the upper surface of the beam for her bank book. It was not there. Alarm fluttered in her breast. She was certain this was not just a slip of memory – someone had taken it. Threatened by panic, more concerned that Worthy might have found it than a thief, she waddled gingerly along the table, her fingers creeping a good way along the beam before accidentally dislodging the book and knocking it to the floor. With a sigh of relief mixed with impatience, she took a tentative step from table to chair, tottering slightly before reaching the ground and eventually bending with great difficulty to pick up the book. After a quick look inside it, she inserted the cheque between its pages and shoved it into the pocket of her tartan flannel dress, with the intention of taking it to the bank later that morning. Worthy was transporting a last consignment of geese and chickens to the Christmas market and she intended to go with him.

  After breakfast, Worthy loaded the cart with live fowl, helped his pregnant wife aboard and took her to market.

  At this busy time of year, the usual crowd was swelled threefold, extra stalls laden with mistletoe, holly and other greenery, and a virtual forest of Christmas trees, the scent of which plunged Kit into brief nostalgia for the yuletide ball at Postgate Park. Above a cacophony of animal ululations, Kit told Worthy as usual that she would meet him later after performing her business, but today Worthy objected, saying that as there were only the two of them why didn’t she stay and keep him company. It was a lovely day and she was well wrapped up. ‘I shan’t be long selling these and we can have a look round the shops together and have some dinner.’

  Unable to use the excuse that she wanted to purchase a Christmas gift for him, for she had used this before, Kit remained at her husband’s side as he unloaded the crates of fowl, and sat by him on a bench whilst he proceeded to sell them.

  The fowl went quickly. Within an hour there were only a couple left. However, discomforted by her full bladder, Kit said she really would have to leave him on his own for a minute and go find somewhere to relieve herself.

  She had fully intended to leave the cheque in her pocket, to save it for another day, but on the way back from emptying her bladder her route took her directly past the bank and she decided not to waste this opportunity. Brushing her way through the crowds, she went inside.

  Worthy had sold his last bird. Upon stacking the empty crates on the back of the cart, his eyes followed the direction his wife had taken some minutes ago, expecting to see her head and shoulders above the crowd, but there was no sign of her blue feathered hat. After a moment of contemplation, he decided to go to meet her.

  The bank was full. Kit swayed impatiently whilst her turn came, was debating whether to wait at all, when finally a space appeared at the counter. It took only moments to deposit the cheque. Deposit book in hand, she hurried from the bank – and encountered her husband.

  She gave a little cry of exclamation, her face turning a deep red. ‘I was just passing the bank and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone – oh, that makes it sound as if I had a widdle in there!’ She hid an embarrassed laugh behind her glove.

  After his initial flicker of surprise, Worthy did not appear in any way indignant, and made no move to confront his wife. Though his eyes glanced at the book in her hand, he did not ask what it was, making Kit think that perhaps he already knew, that he was
the one who had moved it from its hiding place. So why had he not said anything?

  Unable to think quickly, she said with another sheepish laugh, ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t trying to spend all your money! This is just a little account I keep separate – I told you about once living in York, didn’t I?’

  The big man nodded, his eyes fixed to her face. Streams of shoppers meandered round them.

  ‘Yes, I thought I had.’ Kit tried to make light of the bank book in her hand. ‘Did I say I put my house up for let? Oh, I couldn’t remember if I told you – probably because it wasn’t worth mentioning – well, anyway, when I get the rent every month I just pop it in here. It’s hardly worth the bother, but I had difficulty in selling the place so I decided to put it up for let. The regular payments will make a nice little nest egg for the baby.’ She held out the book to show him she had nothing to hide.

  He wanted to believe her, but in the face of such obvious fabrication, Worthy could not help feeling saddened. Nevertheless, he did not mention that he already knew about the sum enclosed, and made perfunctory examination of the bank book. ‘I could have saved you the bother of trailing into town and done it for you.’

  Relieved to have one secret out in the open, Kit told him she would be glad of his help in the future and told him to keep the book in his pocket. ‘Much as I like coming into town, I don’t think I’ll be able to drag myself here much longer.’ Taking his arm, she gave it a loving squeeze and asked if they could find a restaurant, for she was absolutely famished.

  Skilfully concealing his woe at her lies, Worthy said that as it would probably be their last outing together before the baby, he would take her to the best one in town. His wife issued a gay laugh and joked that the owner would probably take one look at the hefty couple and bar them from the place, fearing they would clear him out. Worthy laughed too, desperately trying not to succumb to the darker side of his nature, yet underneath a little of his respect for her had died.

  * * *

  Thereafter, apart from an occasional outing to market, Kit was confined to the farm. Visitors were few, though there was a letter from Ann to say that, thankfully, all had recovered from their influenza. In addition there was correspondence from her nieces and from Amelia to help her while away her long days up to spring.

  The time of birth crawled nearer. From the nucleus of dormant primrose leaves, came tiny bright green shoots. Impatient to hold her baby, fearful that something would go wrong, Kit was glad of anything to take her mind off it and was even more glad if this was a visit from her nephew.

  This Friday afternoon, her joy at seeing him was especially pronounced, for Phoebe had been driving her mad, rushing about cleaning things that did not have to be cleaned. ‘Probe!’ Kit greeted him with open arms but, encumbered by her pregnancy, was slow to reach him. ‘Is the pit playing today?’ Kit wished her mother-in-law would go away and leave her to enjoy this visit in peace but there seemed little chance of that, Phoebe had put the kettle on and was laying out three cups and saucers.

  Cap in hand, he looked somewhat concerned. ‘Nay, we’re on strike. You know t’union was hoping for a ten per cent rise every year?’ Similarly worried, his aunt nodded as she lowered herself back into a chair. ‘Well, masters’ve ganged up on us this year. I hear some pits’ve been offered what they want – Uncle Owen’s done all right by all accounts – but union says they’re not allowed to accept it unless everybody in t’Federation gets it, so notice went up t’other week and we’re all out.’

  Kit asked how Probyn’s father was coping.

  ‘Oh, we’re all right – at least we can’t get evicted this time thanks to you giving us your house.’ At his aunt’s sudden look of alarm, he blushed. It was so difficult to know what one could mention in this house. He tried to cover his slip. ‘Anyroad, I’m not bothered when we go back! I’m having a grand time going rabbiting and whatnot.’ He rambled on for a while, then came to the real reason for his visit, ineptitude taking over. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve got some bad news. Aunt Charity’s died.’

  Kit gave a little cry of shock – then began to weep.

  Probyn shifted uncomfortably in his chair, telling his youngest aunt that her sister had had an apoplectic stroke yesterday. ‘Funeral’s on Monday – they’re not expecting you to go, o’ course. Me father said he’ll represent you.’

  Kit was still weeping for her easygoing sister, Charity’s favourite saying echoing in her mind – Never mind, it’ll wash. ‘I can’t believe it. She was only forty-three.’

  Mrs Treasure senior made commiserating noises. ‘It’s no age, is it?’

  Probyn sat for a while, playing with his cap, whilst his aunt intermittently wept and voiced her disbelief. He was glad when Kit changed the subject. He wished Mrs Treasure would give them some privacy, but she obviously found his chat so interesting that she had no wish to miss anything.

  All too soon, it was time for Probe to leave. Voicing the hope that the next time he visited she would have a new cousin for him, Kit accompanied him to the gate, her eyes still red from weeping. With his uncle too busy with spring lambs to transport him home, Probyn was having to travel on foot. Before taking his leave, however, he slipped the latest cheque into her hand.

  ‘I thought I were going to have to take it back home with me,’ he whispered, ‘with Mrs Treasure being there.’

  Sniffing, Kit waylaid his fears and said he no longer had to maintain the subterfuge. ‘Your Uncle Worthy knows about it now.’

  Probyn looked most relieved. ‘Oh good. Does he know everything?’

  Kit shook her head quickly. ‘No, it’ll only hurt him.’

  Probyn murmured agreement. ‘I’m sorry about letting slip that you gave us your house – d’you think she noticed?’

  Kit said she did not think so, although privately she too had been very concerned about this.

  Holding his cap by its peak, Probyn flicked it on to his head and, with a final wave, embarked on his homewards journey.

  One hand pressed to her side, Kit waddled back to the farmhouse. To her relief Phoebe had gone, allowing her to sit and wallow in grief over her sister’s death, until it was time to put her husband’s meal on the table.

  It was dark when, lantern in hand, Worthy plodded across the yard, hungry both for food and for his wife’s company. The beasts whose gentle lowing could be heard from the shippon were warm and secure, but there would be no such comfort for him. Once fed, he would have to brave the night again, for a predator had been mauling his lambs. A quick movement from the nearby cottage caught his eye. Silhouetted in her doorway by lamplight, his mother was summoning him. With a sigh for this delay, he traipsed through the darkness to see what she wanted.

  Phoebe’s urgent whisper joined the faint clucking of the hens as they settled down for the night – it was never silent on the farm. ‘Did you know your wife used to own a house before she came here?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did, Mother.’ Worthy ached all over. A tethered sheepdog had jumped up to greet him but fell back, subdued by his lack of response.

  Phoebe made a sound of disapproval. ‘She must think we’re a charity or something – I mean, she shouldn’t rely on you to keep her. By rights anything she owns is yours now.’

  Worthy rubbed his head – he had been plagued by a splitting headache all day. ‘No, they changed all that, Mother. A married woman can keep her own property. Anyway, I do get the benefit of it, from the rent Katherine’s tenants pay.’

  His mother frowned. ‘You mean she charges her brother rent? Oh well, that’s not so bad then.’

  He was baffled and impatient. ‘Where does her brother come into this?’

  She clicked her tongue. ‘He lives in the house she used to own at Ralph Royd.’

  Worthy shook his head, wishing he had not, for it felt as if it might drop off. ‘No, you’re getting mixed up—’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ Phoebe was adamant. ‘Young Probe was here this afternoon; he let something out about her
giving them her house.’

  Worthy stared at his mother for a second, then turned his back on her. ‘Well, what does it matter if she wants to give it away? It’s nowt to do with us.’

  ‘By the way, her sister Charity’s died,’ Phoebe called after him.

  With curt acknowledgement, he went home. Kit met him with a sad smile and made to help him off with his coat. He groaned as if was removed from his aching body, drawing sounds of sympathy from his wife, who held the towel for him whilst he washed. His evening meal was on the table. There was a cheque lying there too.

  ‘Mother’s just told me about your sister. I’m sorry, lass.’

  Kit nodded and fought back tears.

  ‘Probe all right, is he?’ He began to wolf down his meal, afraid to reveal his annoyance over yet another conundrum.

  Kit gave a worried smile and told him about the strike. ‘I hope it’s not as drawn out as the last time. They were locked out for about five months.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I read about the evictions.’ Another large forkful was inserted.

  Kit studied him. The words were not delivered in any peculiar way, nor did he come right out and ask her, but she feared that Worthy’s mother had not confined her gossip to news of Charity’s death. Alarm prickled her skin. If he did not question her directly what was she to say: ‘Oh, by the way, I owned another house besides the one in York that you’ve only just found out about’? How many more did she own? he would want to know. And what other secrets?

  But he seemed his usual self, ploughing through his meal until the plate was empty. Coming to stand beside him, she said of their child, ‘He’s been very quiet today.’

  Without speaking, Worthy put his arm around his wife and pulled her close so that her bulging abdomen came level with his face, then rested his head against it, closing his eyes. Looking down at him, Kit was filled with love.

  Then she felt his head. ‘Oh, you’re red hot!’

  Worthy retained his position. ‘I’m dead beat.’