by Val Wood
‘But I don’t understand why you would need to ask,’ her employer said, frowning a little. ‘As far as I know, the tenancy is in Mrs Tuke’s name and always has been.’
But – I don’t understand, Harriet thought. What about when Ellen said that Mr Tuke had threatened to throw her out of the house if she didn’t look after Noah?
‘Oh. I must have misunderstood her, ma’am. Oh, well, that’s a relief.’
Melissa sat down on the chair and looked down at Daniel, who was sleeping soundly. Then she glanced up at Harriet. ‘In case you haven’t guessed,’ she said softly, ‘I am at last with child.’
Harriet carefully put down the iron, unsure whether to continue with the ironing. ‘I’m very pleased for you, ma’am. You and Master Hart must be delighted.’
‘We are.’ Melissa laughed. ‘Don’t tell a soul, but I took your advice.’
Harriet wrinkled her eyebrows. ‘My advice, ma’am?’
‘Yes.’ Melissa dropped her voice confidentially. ‘Do you recall when I asked you how long it had taken for you to become pregnant? You said – was it four months? And every night!’
Harriet blushed and put her hand over her mouth. Had she really told her that?
Melissa laughed again. ‘I realized then why I wasn’t getting pregnant. Am I shocking you, Harriet? Women – ladies like me – don’t talk of such things, do we? Or at least we are expected not to, and I certainly wouldn’t discuss it with anyone else I know.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘But I don’t think I shock you, do I?’
Harriet smiled. ‘No, ma’am, you don’t.’ Then she considered. ‘Do you think I might ask you a question?’ At Melissa’s nod, she murmured, ‘Do you think that doing something which might be considered wrong – if it hurts nobody – could be …’ She searched for the right word.
‘Justified?’ Melissa suggested.
‘Aye, yes, that’s it.’
‘It would depend on what kind of wrongdoing, I suppose,’ Melissa said thoughtfully, ‘and what effect it would have on the person committing the act.’
‘It would be in search of ’truth,’ Harriet said. ‘Nothing else, really.’
‘Then I would say yes, it could be justified.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘But as I’m quite devious myself, perhaps I’m not the best person to give such advice.’
‘I’d reckon you are, ma’am.’ In view of the fact that Ellen had misled her over the tenancy, Harriet decided to steam open the envelope before leaving the ironing room.
The letter was a revelation, for it seemed it was written in reply to one that Ellen had sent to Fletcher in January, after the Christmas tragedy, for he began by saying how nice it was to hear from her; yet judging by the tone of the rest of the letter she hadn’t mentioned the deaths of Mr Tuke or Noah. He asked how his father was and hoped that Noah was managing and harboured no hard feelings towards him, and trusted that Harriet was in good health. He added that he hoped they’d had a reasonable winter and asked if there were many spring lambs. He went on to say that America was a huge country and money could be made there, but as money isn’t my main reason for being here I’m not too sure about staying. I’m used to a small neighbourhood, I suppose, he concluded, and sent his regards to everyone.
Harriet was horrified that Ellen hadn’t told him about the tragic loss of his father and Noah. Why hadn’t she? Why would she keep such a thing from him? The letter, she decided, after all her deliberations on the rights or wrongs of opening it, had left more questions than answers.
She carefully put the letter back inside the envelope and closed it up, then put a piece of old linen over it, pressed it firmly with the iron and put it back in her pocket. Then as an afterthought she brought it out and looked again at Fletcher’s address, and memorized it.
She handed the letter to Ellen on arriving back at the farm and told her that she’d met the postman on her way to the manor, which was perfectly true. ‘He thought it was for me,’ she added, telling a small white lie.
Ellen snatched it from her. ‘It says Mrs N. Tuke,’ she snapped. ‘It’s obvious it’s for me.’
‘I’m Mrs N. Tuke too,’ Harriet reminded her. ‘But I knew it was for you because I saw ’American postage stamp. Of course,’ she said in a vague manner, ‘my brother might have been writing to let me know he’d left Australia, except that—’
‘He wouldn’t know your married name or where you live,’ Ellen butted in sharply. She put the envelope in her pocket.
No, he wouldn’t, Harriet thought. More’s the pity. It would be nice to have someone from my own family to talk to. But I must accept that Leonard’s gone and never likely to come back. ‘Are you not anxious to read the letter?’ she asked. She shook her head and sighed. ‘Poor Fletcher. He’ll be very upset when you give him ’news about his da and Noah.’
Ellen was about to get something out of the oven, but she turned at that. ‘What meks you think I’m going to tell him?’
‘Surely?’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘Surely it’s his right to know? He might want to come home.’
‘I’ll tell him when I’m good an’ ready,’ Ellen muttered between clenched lips, ‘and not afore.’
Not for the first time, Harriet wondered how she could continue living here with Ellen Tuke, who rarely spoke to her unless it was about household or farm matters. But she knew she had no option at present but to stay. Where else could I go with a young child? There’d be no work for me, not even at the manor once Daniel begins to walk, unless I can find a child minder. But that idea was abhorrent to her. She could never trust a stranger.
She suggested to Ellen that she might ask Mary if she knew anyone who would farm the second field rather than leaving it fallow, and after thinking about it Ellen agreed. ‘Tell her if she knows somebody they can rent it for free but that we’ll share ’profit, if there is any. There’s still time to sow another crop, or somebody can use it for grazing as long as they look after ’animals.’
I’d prefer that, Harriet thought as she walked up to Mary’s cottage. I like to see cattle or sheep in ’fields. Cows with their tails swishing away ’flies, and ’sheep grazing so peacefully.
Mary was always pleased to see her and they sat chatting over a cup of tea, with Mary bouncing Daniel gently on her knee, and Harriet wishing that Mary were Daniel’s grandmother rather than pretending that Ellen was.
‘I do know somebody who wants a bit o’ land as it happens,’ Mary said, when Harriet asked her. ‘My nephew. He’s a bargeman. An’ come to think of it, I know a couple o’ farm labourers who need a strip big enough to grow their own vegetables and a bit o’ corn. In fact they could mek it like ’old strip farming from long back, and there’d still be room for a few sheep or goats. I’ll ask for you. Have you heard owt from Mrs Tuke’s other son? Him that went away?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘But he’s written to his mother. He’s in America.’
‘America!’ Mary exclaimed. ‘You’ll not be seeing him again then?’
‘Probably not,’ Harriet agreed, suppressing a sigh, for Ellen hadn’t disclosed anything about the letter she’d received, and had Harriet not steamed it open she would have known nothing at all about him.
She recalled the comment that Noah had made when Fletcher had told them that he was leaving; Noah had tauntingly said he’d give it twelve months and Fletcher would be back with his tail between his legs.
Will he be back, as Noah said? Has he been waiting until the twelve months are gone by to prove his brother wrong? He doesn’t know that Noah is no longer here to mock him; neither does he know that Noah is only his half-brother, but that doesn’t matter either, for even if he still feels ’same way about me as I do about him, I’m still his brother’s widow. And because of that, legally, and morally as it says in ’Bible, we can never be together.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The year progressed; two labourers and Mary’s nephew, Tom, came forward in response to Harriet’s request. They were planning to w
ork together to produce vegetables for their own consumption; on a small area of land they’d grow turnips for animal feed, and keep another patch for half a dozen sheep and a similar number of goats.
Harriet chatted to them whenever they came to tend the field, always taking Daniel out with her, strapped to her in a shawl. She also called on Mary in her cottage. She enjoyed her company and she knew the older woman liked to see Daniel; one day when she was there Mary gave her a parcel of woollen coats and leggings she had made for the baby. ‘I know you don’t have much time to knit,’ she had remarked, ‘and I’ve allus liked to do it.’
She regularly walked down to the estuary bank. She wanted to defeat her memories of the day when Noah and his father had been lost. I have to confront my fears, she thought, but also treat the estuary with respect.
When the tide was low, the salt marsh was beautiful, fine-leafed sea grasses colonizing the rivulet bed, reeds swaying gently, making soft rustling whispers when the breeze ran through them. There were daisies and sea pinks, which the labourers called asters and thrift. They called the marshy land flats and carr.
She was beginning now to recognize the wading birds by their cries as they searched the mud: the ack-ack-ack of the colourful shelduck, the chuckling chorus of the dabbling teal, the bubbling trill of the curlew and the wailing peewit of the lapwing as they flew erratically above her.
Tom, the bargeman, who also owned his own coggy boat, hammered a stake into the bank and tied the boat to it. He told Harriet he liked to fish in the estuary and said he’d bring her the odd flounder or young salmon, which he did, often. He also worked the land during the week, depending on what shift he was on.
She was feeding the pigs one day when she saw him in the other field. He waved to her and she walked across to talk to him. They spoke of the weather, which was warm but had been wet, and of how the crops were doing, and then he startled her by asking about Fletcher. ‘Have you heard from him lately?’
She was shocked into wordlessness. ‘Erm.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I – erm, he writes to his mother, not to me. How do you know Fletcher?’
He grinned. ‘Oh, everybody knows everybody else round here. I’ve known him and Noah since we were bairns. It was me that set Fletcher off on his travels. I took him in ’barge from Brough down to Hull to catch ’train.’
‘I see,’ she breathed. ‘And, so – have you heard from him?’
‘Aye, a while back. I had a letter, oh, ’end o’ last year.’ He leaned on his spade. ‘But I didn’t get round to writing back till mebbe March, when I told him I was sorry about his da and brother not being found. Not heard owt since,’ he mused, frowning a little. ‘Course, he might have moved on and not received ’letter.’
Harriet asked him where had he written to and he said somewhere in Ohio, so she knew it was the same town she’d seen on Ellen’s letter.
So now he knows, Harriet pondered as she walked back to the house. I wonder what he’ll do? She decided that she wouldn’t mention anything to Ellen. Two can play at that game, she thought. It’s like cat and mouse and I’m not comfortable with it, but I can’t afford to antagonize her; she has ’upper hand.
On a hot day in late July, Ellen decided to drive into Brough. ‘I’m going to call in and see Mrs Marshall,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen her since she was ill, and I need to buy flour and I’ll tek some eggs to sell. We’ve more than we need now that they’re laying so well.’
Harriet nodded. It would be nice to have the house to herself, she thought, just her and Daniel. She’d put him on the floor on a blanket and let him stretch and kick his limbs without the risk of being trodden on.
She helped Ellen to bring out the cart and mentioned that the old mare was looking thin and scraggy. Ellen fastened her bonnet but didn’t comment, just cracked the whip and moved off.
‘Yes, well, enjoy yourself,’ Harriet muttered to Ellen’s back as the cart turned up the track. Sighing, she turned to go back into the house, but as it was such a lovely day, instead of playing inside with Daniel, she carried him into the field and spread a blanket on the grass and they both lay on their backs with the sun beaming down on them.
Ellen clattered along the top road but pulled up when she saw the postman walking towards her. ‘Owt for me?’ she asked tersely.
‘Not today, mum,’ he said. ‘Waiting on a letter from your son, are you?’
‘That’s not your concern,’ she said sharply, and saw his eyebrows lift. ‘And I’d be obliged if you’ll put any correspondence addressed to me in ’post box and not give it to anybody else.’ She cracked the whip and the mare moved slowly off again, leaving the postman staring after her.
‘Come on,’ she urged the horse. ‘I haven’t got all day.’ This hoss’ll have to go, she thought. She’s served us well but she’s past her prime. With money I’ve saved from ’stallion and ’plough hoss I’ll buy another mare.
She was driving towards Hart Holme Manor and her thoughts turned to Christopher Hart as they so often did, especially now that Nathaniel wasn’t there to intrude upon them. I could mek some bother there, she contemplated, a twisted smile on her lips. But I won’t just yet. I’ll bide a while; his wife isn’t going to produce a son for him, that’s obvious, so when ’time is right and Fletcher comes home, as he will when I tell him that them two have gone for ever, then ’way is clear.
Course, I’ll have to get rid of her and her son first. They’re nowt to me, but for now it suits me to have her here. She works well, I’ll give her that, but I’ll not have her giving ’eye to Fletcher. Thinks I didn’t notice owt afore, but I did. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve got other plans for Fletcher that have tekken a lot o’ years to come to fruition.’
She was almost at the manor gates when she screwed up her eyes and slowed the mare. Someone was walking purposefully along the road towards her. Christopher! She smiled. How did he know she would be driving along here when she so rarely did? He wasn’t wearing his hat and his long hair shone bright in the sunlight.
She waved and shouted. ‘Christopher! Christopher, it’s me – Ellen!’
He raised a hand, continuing to stride towards her. ‘I’m so pleased to see you,’ she called. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
She drew the mare to a standstill. She still loved him. Had always loved him, and had thought he loved her once, in spite of their differences. She sighed, recalling how she had taken advantage of him that one time when he’d been slightly drunk and she’d persuaded him into the garden; but a few weeks later she had heard in the manor kitchen, that hotbed of gossip, that his father had told him he must look for a wife. It was Cook, Mrs Marshall, who had warned her and she hadn’t minded his first wife, for she realized that his parents had chosen her for him, and of course he was expected to marry well.
But this second wife, she was young and fair-complexioned and pretty, just as she herself had once been, she thought bitterly, and that, she had decided, was why he had chosen to marry her.
‘Ma?’
What was he saying? Why did he say that? And why was he dressed like a common working man instead of in his fine clothes?
‘Ma,’ Fletcher repeated. ‘Are you all right?’
She stared at her son. Her son! Fletcher. Not Christopher after all. What was he doing here? This wasn’t part of the plan.
Fletcher put his hand over hers, which still clasped the reins. ‘It’s Fletcher, Ma. Who did you think it was?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I – I wasn’t expecting you. I thought – I thought …’ How has this trick been played? I’m not ready. I haven’t got everything settled in my mind.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked, and when she looked vaguely at him he added softly, ‘About Da and Noah. Why didn’t you tell me in your letter?’
‘Who told you?’ she snapped. ‘It was her, wasn’t it? She’d no right!’
‘Who do you mean? Harriet? No.’ He gazed at her worriedly, wondering if her m
ind had turned because of the disaster. ‘It was Tom Bolton; you remember Tom? He wrote to say he was sorry about Da and Noah. He told me he’d been in ’search party that had gone out lookin’ for them. He said that ’Humber could be treacherous if you didn’t know it. But they did know it, Ma, we all did, so what happened?’
She couldn’t tell him and seemed confused at seeing him, so he took hold of the reins, which she was gripping so tightly, and turned about and headed back home. And it was there, as they pulled up in the yard, that he saw Harriet with grass in her hair and a child in her arms and he smiled and thought it was the most beautiful sight he had seen in a long, long time.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Harriet wanted to rush forward and take him in her arms but she had to hold back, aware that Ellen was watching. But Ellen seemed vague, looking at Fletcher as if she wasn’t sure who he was or why he was there.
‘Fletcher!’ Harriet walked towards him and he kissed her cheek. ‘This is a surprise.’ Her voice dropped. ‘It’s good to see you, though we’re a sad household.’ She glanced at Ellen, who was watching her intently. ‘Your ma will have told you about your da and Noah?’
Fletcher swallowed. ‘I’d heard,’ he said. ‘I heard from an old pal, Tom Bolton. He’d been out on ’river wi’ search party. Why didn’t somebody write and tell me? I’d have come home straight away.’
Harriet gave a slight shake of her head. ‘We – we didn’t …’ How could she say that his mother didn’t want him to know? ‘It was such a terrible time.’ Tears came unbidden to her eyes. ‘Such a shock to lose them both.’
‘And not yet found?’
‘No. Over six months and nothing,’ she choked, and didn’t know if her tears were for Noah and his father or emotion at seeing Fletcher again.
‘Are we going to have a cup o’ tea, Ma?’ he called to his mother. ‘I’ll put ’hoss away.’ Ellen muttered something and went indoors.
‘Harriet,’ he breathed. ‘I couldn’t bear to be away from you any longer. I thought before that I couldn’t live with you so close and belonging to Noah, but never to see you was worse. I was thinking of coming home when I heard from Tom.’ He stepped nearer and gazed at Daniel in her arms. ‘A girl or a boy? No, he’s far too beautiful to be a boy.’
