by Val Wood
I didn’t know, she thought as they climbed back into the cart, I hadn’t realized what country folk did. I never guessed that they wouldn’t have any shops where they could buy groceries and that they’d have to fall back on their own resources. And that’s how they survive.
She said as much to Mrs Tuke as they turned about and headed back to the road, with Mrs Marshall waving them off until they turned a bend and were out of sight.
‘Ah, but it’s not ’same for everybody,’ she replied. ‘There’s some country folk who can die in a ditch just ’same as folk in town can die in ’gutter. We’re lucky that we’ve got a decent landlord and know how to turn our hand to helping ourselves.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘If poor folks get turned off their land or can’t find work, it’s as bad here as anywhere else, especially in winter. But for others . . . well, tek Mrs Marshall, for instance. Master Hart gave her that cottage for a peppercorn rent, and she’ll stay there for ’rest of her life. That’s his way of payment for good service. She was ’cook for his father afore him.’
‘And what about your farm, Mrs Tuke?’ Harriet asked because she was interested. ‘Does ’same thing apply?’
Mrs Tuke’s face tightened. ‘We have to mek it pay. And lads’ll have to shape up after we’re gone. There’ll be no favours then.’
They travelled on in silence except when Mrs Tuke urged on the slow-moving mare. ‘Come on,’ she said irritably. ‘Let’s be home afore dark or ’rain, whichever comes soonest,’ but the old mare simply pricked her ears, snickered, and plodded on at the same pace.
The clouds grew thicker as the sky darkened, and a few drops of sleet fell, but they were not too far from the farm now. Mrs Tuke pointed with her whip and was about to say something when Harriet heard the rattle of wheels and the drum of hoofbeats and turned to look behind her.
‘A carriage is coming Mrs Tuke. Should we pull in to let it pass?’ It was travelling fast and she didn’t think they could get out of the way in time, but it began to slow, the coachman drawing on the reins of four fine horses, as Mrs Tuke drew over to the side of the road. The coachman lifted his whip in acknowledgement, and as they were overtaken Harriet saw a man inside the carriage looking out.
Mrs Tuke sat for a moment, letting it pass by, but it continued to slow until it drew up alongside a pair of open gates. The carriage door opened and a man in a dark overcoat and top hat jumped out and walked towards them.
‘What’s up?’ Harriet said in trepidation. ‘We were not in his way.’
‘It’s all right,’ Mrs Tuke said quietly. ‘No need to be alarmed.’
The gentleman – Harriet could see that he was no ordinary man by his bearing as much as his dress, and the fact that he was riding in a splendid carriage – walked towards them. Mrs Tuke sat with her hands folded in front of her, the whip lying loosely across her lap. She lifted her chin as the man approached, and although Harriet saw her give a slight smile, she also noticed that her lips were trembling.
The gentleman touched his hat. ‘Well, Ellen,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be you.’ He put out his hand and she lifted hers and they touched fingers. ‘This is remarkable. How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time.’
‘I’m well, thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘And yourself?’
He nodded and glanced at Harriet.
‘This is Harriet,’ Ellen said. ‘She’s recently married our second son.’
He touched his hat again. ‘How do you do?’ he said briefly, before turning his attention again to Mrs Tuke. ‘Are you on your way home? The weather is turning for the worse; I’m afraid you might get very wet.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ve been visiting Cook – Mrs Marshall,’ she added.
‘I plan to visit her myself tomorrow. Does she need anything special?’ he asked, keeping his eyes on her face.
‘I’ve tekken a fowl for Christmas. Mebbe a sack o’ coal or a bundle o’ wood would be appreciated.’ Ellen Tuke looked down at her hands. ‘She seems happy in her cottage.’
He smiled, and Harriet thought how strikingly handsome he was, his eyes grey-blue, his sideburns streaked with silver. ‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘She deserves to be content after a long and loyal working life.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘I’ll not detain you; you should be getting home, but it’s very nice to see you again.’
‘And you too, sir,’ she replied, looking back at him. ‘I trust your wife is well?’
He smiled. ‘She is. You knew I’d married again?’
‘Yes, sir, I did. Four or five years now, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It had been a lonely life for my daughter since her mother died.’
‘I was sorry to hear of it. She was well thought of,’ Mrs Tuke added, and Harriet saw his eyebrows lift.
‘She was,’ he answered briefly, before tipping his hat once more and bidding them goodbye. He walked back to the carriage and stepped inside; the driver cracked his whip and they turned through the gates and drove away up the long drive.
‘Oh!’ Harriet breathed. ‘What a charming man. Isn’t that unusual in gentry?’
‘I suppose it is.’ Mrs Tuke gathered up the reins and urged Jinny on again. ‘But he allus was, even when he was young. Kind and considerate, too.’
‘So what was his name? Hart, did you say?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Christopher Hart, owner of Hart Holme Manor and much of ’land round here, including ours.’
‘And, you worked for his mother, did you?’
‘For ’family, yes. I was in service there. From being fourteen. I started in ’kitchen and worked my way up to being ’upstairs maid.’ She swallowed and her voice became strained. ‘I left when I was twenty when I married Mr Tuke. He was one of ’horse lads working on ’estate.’
But Harriet was not thinking about Mr Tuke. She was wondering how Christopher Hart could have known Ellen Tuke well enough to remember her all these years later, and why he would stop and greet her. Surely the son of the estate owner wouldn’t have paid any attention to the servants. But Mrs Tuke was still talking.
‘Master Hart – Christopher – was one of Mrs Marshall’s favourites. He was ’only son; he had four sisters, all older than him, so he was spoilt by everybody, including ’servants; when he was home from school he was always in ’kitchen. He didn’t go away to university like his mother wanted him to. He said he wanted to stay at home and learn to run ’estate. So that’s what he did, and – and so that’s why he knows everybody, like Mrs Marshall – and me.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Who was that?’ Melissa Hart asked her husband.
‘One of the servants from the old days.’ Christopher undid the top button of his coat and loosened the stock at his neck.
‘The old days?’ Melissa smiled. ‘You mean in your father’s day?’
‘Yes. Though I doubt that my father would ever have known her, or any of the house servants, for that matter.’
‘But you remembered her? How extraordinary.’
‘I recall them all from when I was a boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘You know I go to visit our old cook.’
Melissa nodded. So he did. He was good at looking after people. Except for me, she thought. I take care of myself as well as his daughter, who doesn’t appreciate any effort I make to be nice to her. She sighed. I’m becoming grumpy and bitter, and I don’t like myself very much. But she was intrigued that he should recognize and stop to speak to the woman and her companion, or daughter perhaps, in the battered old cart. She wasn’t an old servant. She couldn’t have been any older than Christopher was himself.
She was pleased to be home, even though she was sure that Amy would have some whining complaint about how late they were and that she had been on her own all day.
They had been attending the funeral of one of Christopher’s uncles at Beverley Minster and had been pressed to stay for refreshments afterwards. Melissa had known only a few of the other attendees. She was introduced as Christopher’s wife, but knew
that she was a poor substitute for the sainted woman who had died ten years before.
If I could produce a son, then I too would be everything that was holy, she thought, but then if I produced a child at all it would be something like a miracle.
The carriage drew up at the steps leading to the front door, which was being opened with exact precision by Boulder, the footman, even before the coachman had let down the step for them to alight.
‘Good evening, sir, good evening, madam,’ he said woodenly as they went into the hall. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey home.’ He helped Christopher off with his coat and took his hat while one of the maids helped Melissa out of her travelling cloak.
‘No, we didn’t,’ Christopher said. ‘The weather was cold and the roads were wet. And we’d been to a funeral, if you recall, and the Minster was freezing.’
‘Sorry, sir, of course. I beg your pardon.’
‘Oh, it’s all right, Boulder, we’re just glad to be home. Is Miss Amy about?’
‘She’s in ’sitting room, sir.’ The maid answered for Boulder. ‘I’ve just served her tea.’ She turned to Melissa. ‘Shall I make another pot, ma’am?’
‘Oh, please, Alice, if you would, but nothing to eat. I’ll wait for dinner.’ She raised questioning eyebrows at Christopher.
‘Ask Cookson to bring me a hot toddy, Boulder,’ he said. ‘And I too will wait for dinner. Can we have it a little earlier, Melissa?’
‘Ask Cook if it can be ready for seven, Alice, and we’ll have time to change.’
Melissa led the way into the sitting room, where Christopher’s daughter was sitting by the fire. A tray with a silver teapot, milk jug and sugar basin was set on a small table beside her, and she was sipping tea from a china cup.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ she asked petulantly. ‘Papa? I was beginning to think you were not coming home tonight.’
Her father sighed and sat down on one of the sofas, trailing his arm over the back of it. ‘You should have come with us and then you’d know how long these things take. We couldn’t rush away; it would have been disrespectful to my aunt and her family.’
‘They asked after you, Amy,’ Melissa told her. ‘They said how much they’d like to see you if you’d care to visit.’
Amy turned a bored expression to her stepmother. ‘I’m not going anywhere in this weather,’ she stated, and yawned. ‘And certainly not all the way to Beverley.’
Melissa sat down opposite her. ‘But you were thinking of going to your London aunt, and now you’ve almost missed the season.’
‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready,’ Amy answered sharply.
Her father frowned. ‘Please don’t speak to Melissa in that tone of voice, Amy.’
Amy raised her eyebrows and gave a condescending shrug, but they were saved from further comments by the arrival of Alice with more tea, followed by their butler, Cookson, carrying a small tray bearing a glass of hot toddy.
Christopher sipped the toddy, relaxing and pondering on the events of the day; he had found it very trying. He hadn’t known his late uncle Felix very well, but he’d got on well with his cousins, Felix’s two sons and a daughter, as they were all growing up. The elder boy, Simon, a few years older than him, had grown-up sons already married with children of their own, and if Melissa didn’t produce any sons the Hart Holme estate would go to Simon, if he should outlive him, and then to his eldest son.
Perhaps it’s me that’s at fault, he mused. But it can’t be. I’ve already produced a daughter, and dear Jane suffered several miscarriages and a stillbirth. Poor Melissa. I know she thinks she has failed me, but time is getting on. We’ve been married for five years now and nothing. Not a sign.
Amy finished her tea in silence and then stood up. ‘I’m going to change for dinner,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ her father remarked. ‘I thought you might have wanted to talk to us, seeing as you’ve been on your own for most of the day.’
Amy assumed a bored expression. ‘What should we talk about? The funeral? How very dreary. No thank you. I’ll see you at dinner.’ She walked to the door with her chin up, without making eye contact with either of them.
Christopher shook his head after she had left the room. ‘I don’t know what to make of her. She used to be such a sweet child. Is this what females are like at her age?’
‘It’s true that women can feel tense and irritable at certain times, but it’s nothing to do with that.’ Melissa drew in a breath. ‘We must accept it and shouldn’t make excuses about it. No, the fact, Christopher, is that she doesn’t like me. I don’t know if she would have been the same with any other wife you might have brought into her life, but I’m the one here sharing her father, when formerly she had you to herself.’
‘But we’ve been married for five years,’ Christopher protested. ‘Surely she’s accepted you by now?’
‘I think not,’ Melissa said sadly. And neither do I think she ever will, she thought, and wondered if that might be the reason why she herself was always so tense and thus unable to conceive. It’s wrong to blame the girl, I know, she thought, but I am constantly trying to please her and failing totally.
‘Should I speak to her?’ Christopher said after a few minutes of silence. ‘Find out just what it is that’s troubling her?’
‘She clings to the memory of her mother,’ Melissa said softly. ‘She endows the remembrance of her with everything that is wonderful. I understand that. Of course I do, but she is almost a woman herself, Christopher; she must put away her childishness. And,’ she said with a slight hesitation, ‘she should think of you; she should realize that you deserve a life without her mother.’
‘That’s the top and bottom of it, isn’t it?’ Christopher murmured. ‘She’s jealous. I didn’t want to admit it before, but I spoiled her; she and I did everything together after Jane died. She was only eight, just a child.’
‘And thirteen when we married,’ Melissa said. ‘Not an easy time for a young girl bordering on womanhood. That I understand too, but I wonder …’ She paused. ‘Would it be a good idea to ask Jane’s sister if Amy could go and stay with her for a few weeks after Christmas? She mentioned that she would like to. I’m sure that her cousins would welcome her, being of a similar age.’
Please say yes, she thought fervently, and knew she was probably being selfish in wanting Christopher to herself even for a short time.
‘I’m sure she’d be welcomed by any of her aunts, but you’re right, she would probably prefer going to Jane’s sister than any of mine, for their children are all older and married anyway.’ He ran his fingers through his short beard as he considered. ‘Shall I suggest it? Or perhaps we should ask Deborah first.’
‘Oh, ask first, and I also think it better coming from you, my love. I don’t want to appear as the wicked stepmother wanting rid of her.’
He laughed. ‘How ridiculous you are, Melissa.’ He reached across for her hand. ‘But it was your humour that attracted me when I first met you, although how you managed to have any after what you’d gone through I cannot conceive.’
‘That and my pretty face,’ she said jocularly, though she was aware that she was comely.
‘That goes without saying,’ he murmured, smiling gently and adding, ‘Do you ever think of him?’
She nodded, suddenly reminded of the time before she knew Christopher and of the man she was to have married, who was tragically taken from her. ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘We’d made so many plans.’
She cast her mind back to the young man she had known since childhood. Their parents had planned their betrothal, they both knew that, but they were happy with the arrangement. They were to be married when she reached twenty-one, but three months before her birthday Alfred was taken ill with influenza and died within a week.
Her sorrow had been deep, but made worse by the anguish of Alfred’s parents, and also her own, who proclaimed that she would now never marry and was doomed to spinsterhood with the constant memory o
f the eternally young, never to be forgotten Alfred. By the time she was twenty-three she had adjusted to life without him, but by then all her friends were married and there were few eligible men left, and she thought that her parents’ predictions were proving correct.
But then she met the widowed Christopher and realized that she could love again; he was twenty years older than she and she had thought that as a quiet, rather sad man living with his young daughter he would not find her in the least appealing. But she was wrong. Three months later he declared his love and they were married almost immediately, much to her parents’ and Alfred’s parents’ chagrin. Now, five years later, she still hadn’t given Christopher the son he desired above all else and sometimes she asked herself if that were the true reason he had asked her to marry him.
‘But,’ she added in response to his query, ‘I’m happy with you.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Christopher wrote to his sister-in-law. He’d had a good relationship with Deborah even after Jane died, and he told her of the difficulties he was having with Amy. I believe she thinks too often of her mother, he wrote, and it seems to me that she becomes melancholic at times. I want Amy to enjoy her life, as indeed her mother would have wanted her to. She’s at the threshold of womanhood and should be experiencing the joys of it, before one day settling down to what I hope will be a satisfactory married life.
He closed with the plea that she might be invited to spend time with her cousins, doing whatever young women did – balls, theatres and perhaps even travelling if they so desired – rather than living quietly in the country.
A letter came back almost immediately, with the news that Deborah and her daughters were on the point of sending Amy an invitation to join them for the London winter season and then travel with them to Switzerland, where they would stay for a month, if Christopher agreed.
He called Amy down from her room to tell her of the proposal. Melissa had gone for a walk in the garden, as it was the first sunny day they had had for a week.
