by Val Wood
She was within sight of the gates of the manor when she saw Fletcher sitting on a nearby fence. Her spirits lifted when she saw him wave and walk towards her, and yet she feared telling him all she had discovered.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked, jumping on to the cart. ‘I was getting worried.’
‘Were you?’ she murmured. ‘What are you doing up here?’ She didn’t answer his question and wondered why he was out on the road so close to the manor.
‘I kept looking out for you,’ he said, ‘and then started walking. I needed to think. Where’ve you been?’ he asked again.
‘Brough,’ she said. ‘You knew that.’
‘It doesn’t take all day!’
‘I know, but I thought you and your mother needed time alone and – and I sat by ’Haven for a while to eat my dinner.’
‘Pull in,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to you.’
They sat quietly, not speaking, gazing over the Harts’ meadowland above the road.
‘All this belongs to Christopher Hart, did you know?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered perfunctorily.
‘And he has no sons.’
‘No, he has a daughter by his first wife.’ She hesitated. ‘Mrs Hart is pregnant, but it’s not generally known yet.’
He turned to her, his face suddenly alert. ‘How do you know?’
She smiled. ‘She told me.’
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised at that. ‘Well in with her, are you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I like her. She’s straightforward and direct, and although she’s a lady she’s not pompous and seems to treat everybody equally.’
‘Huh,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if I can believe that.’
‘Fletcher, why are we sitting here discussing Mrs Hart?’
He folded his arms. ‘I didn’t intend to talk about Mrs Hart. It’s Christopher Hart that I find interesting.’
Harriet waited. It was time for Daniel’s feed. She was feeling tired and emotional after the events of the day.
‘I think my mother’s going off her head.’
‘What? What are you talking about? Fletcher, talk sense! I’m tired and hungry and I want to get back.’ She almost said back home, but increasingly she had begun to think that it wasn’t, not any more, if indeed it ever had been.
He turned to look at her. ‘She’s told me something and in one way it frees us to marry – if you’ll have me,’ he added wistfully, taking her hand in his. ‘But on ’other hand, she’s opened up Pandora’s box and a whole load o’ trouble has come my way.’
‘I’ve things to tell you too,’ Harriet said. ‘Perhaps I should explain first, for it’s important.’ She saw that he was listening and went on. ‘I met Noah’s real mother today. That’s why I went to Brough. I’d hoped to find out about her, but I met her, and what I found out …’ She didn’t tell him that it was Miriam Stone, the madam, who had blurted out the truth about Mr Tuke, ‘What I found out was that your da was not Noah’s father; someone else was. You’re not even half-brothers. You’re not related at all!’
Fletcher sat as still as stone, looking into the distance. Then he put his head back and began to laugh, but it was laughter without mirth, and he quickly sobered up. ‘Poor old Da. Poor old devil. To be cuckolded once is bad enough, but twice!’
‘What do you mean? You’re not mekkin’ sense.’ She shook his hand off. ‘Tell me what you mean.’
He covered his face with his hands and pressed his fingers hard against his forehead.
‘I mean,’ he said slowly, lowering his hands and facing her, ‘that Ma has told me that I’m not Da’s son either, that Christopher Hart is my father. And that’s why I say she’s gone off her head, for she’s saying that I must tell him, and if I don’t then she will, so that he knows that I’m his son and heir.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
‘Oh,’ Harriet gasped. ‘Surely not! Can that be true? She told me— But mebbe that’s why – that’s another reason she’s allus made so much more of you than she did of Noah. But …’ Her lips parted as she thought of Melissa Hart, pregnant at last after waiting so long. ‘You can’t tell them. His wife’s expecting a child.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ he said slowly, ‘because I’m not sure if I believe her, and how can I accuse him, a man in his position? And what proof is there?’
Ellen has told so many lies, Harriet reasoned, how can we believe anything she says? She told me that Mr Tuke had seduced her and made her pregnant. She said he’d threatened to turn her out of ’farm if she didn’t treat Noah as her own, and yet I discovered that ’tenancy is in her name; even Fletcher doesn’t know that. She’s blamed Mr Tuke for so many things, and she told me that Noah would be going to ’brothel when I was pregnant and now I know that’s not true, not that it matters now.
‘What will you do?’ she asked. ‘You must stop her from going to see ’Harts herself and causing trouble.’
‘How do I stop her – and what if it is true?’ he said angrily. ‘What then? I want nothing from him. And if it is true and he doesn’t know, why has she waited till now to tell me – and him?’
‘Because your da is dead,’ she said softly. ‘Your ma can say anything she wants and there’s nobody to question it. She told me,’ Harriet hesitated and her voice dropped even further, ‘she told me, when I was expecting Daniel, that Mr Tuke had seduced her and made her pregnant and that’s why they got married.’
Fletcher heaved a breath. ‘What a mess!’ He clutched her hand. ‘But it meks no difference to you and me, Harriet, not with what you’ve found out from Noah’s real mother. We’re free to marry once you are out of mourning. You will marry me, Harriet? Please. Say that you will.’
She wanted to say yes. Desperately she wanted to say yes. Yet she hesitated. She leaned her head against him. ‘I do love you, Fletcher,’ she murmured. ‘But we have obstacles in our way. How do we prove that we’re free to marry? Your mother married Nathaniel Tuke and gave birth to a son, you, in his name. In ’church register it’s recorded that I married your brother, Noah Tuke. In ’eyes of ’world you are my husband’s brother.’
He listened to what she was saying, and then said, ‘I’ve never seen my birth certificate and I don’t know if my birth was registered. Mebbe it wasn’t. When I went to America I asked Ma if I could have it, just for proof of who I was, you know, but she said she couldn’t remember where it was.’
Harriet sat and thought over their options and came to the conclusion that at the moment the problems were insurmountable. They needed time to decide what was the best thing to do.
‘We mustn’t rush into summat we might regret,’ she murmured. ‘This is a small community. News would spread, rumours would gather and we’d be ostracized.’
‘I wouldn’t care about that,’ he muttered. ‘I just want us to be together.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘We can’t live in isolation. We’d have to think about ’bairns we might have; whatever we did would reflect on them too. No, we must tek this carefully. First think about all ’possibilities and then decide.’
Fletcher wasn’t entirely happy about her suggestion but finally agreed that she was right. Gradually, too, he saw for himself how his mother was pushing Harriet out and making her feel unwanted: just little things at first, such as collecting the eggs herself rather than letting Harriet do it; telling Harriet there was no need for her to help with the milking because she could manage alone now there was only one cow; not allowing Harriet to cook or bake, for ‘I’ve allus done it myself; why would I need anybody else to do it?’
‘I’m totally spare,’ Harriet whispered to Fletcher on one of the few occasions when they were alone. ‘And I’m going to do summat about it.’
The following washday at the manor, when she and Mary were taking a rest from the laundry, she put her question.
‘Mary.’ She spoke clearly. ‘Have you ever thought of taking a lodger? Would you have room?’
Mary looked
across at her. ‘Why, m’dear! Is it you you’re thinking of? Are you not happy wi’ Mrs Tuke? Or is it your husband’s brother that’s ’problem?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said hastily. ‘Fletcher isn’t a problem at all, quite ’opposite, he can see what’s going on.’ She decided to confide. ‘I think that Mrs Tuke wants him to herself now that he’s home again, and – and she sees me as a threat. And she won’t let me help in ’house or on ’farm. I feel useless.’
‘Yes, I see.’ Mary rubbed at her cheek. ‘You’d think that Ellen Tuke’d welcome another woman’s company, especially when it’s a daughter-in-law.’ There was a glint in her eyes as she surveyed Harriet. ‘And especially wi’ a grandson.’
She knows, Harriet thought; or suspects that something’s not quite what it seems. She’s very shrewd.
‘So would it be for long?’ Mary asked. ‘I haven’t a great deal o’ space, as you’ll have seen, but,’ she kept her gaze focused on Harriet, ‘if it’s just a temporary difficulty, you can stay wi’ me until you’ve made up your mind what else to do.’
‘Oh, Mary! Thank you. Thank you so much. Would you – would you even consider looking after Daniel sometimes and I’ll do your work here at ’manor? And pay you, of course.’
‘Oh my, but I would, gladly.’ Mary’s face lit up in a huge beam. ‘Until he’s walking, which won’t be yet awhile, and I’d keep my eyes on him all ’time, you needn’t fear that I wouldn’t because of my being hard o’ hearing. When would you like to come?’
Fletcher was furious when Harriet told him she was going to live with Mary. ‘There’s no need for this,’ he protested. ‘I’ll talk to my mother.’
‘I don’t want you to,’ Harriet said stubbornly. ‘I’ll tell her myself, and you’ll see her reaction. I’m going to do it, Fletcher. We’ll both have ’chance of thinking over what we want to do.’
‘I know what I want,’ he asserted. ‘I want to be wi’ you for ever, and I thought you wanted ’same.’
‘I do,’ she murmured and touched his cheek with her fingers but dropped her hand as she heard the back door open. ‘But right now we can’t have what we want.’
Ellen came into the kitchen. She looked from one to the other and frowned. ‘What? What’s happened?’
‘I was just telling Fletcher that I’m moving on. I’m tekkin’ lodgings elsewhere.’ Harriet read the swift look of triumph on Ellen’s face and was sure that Fletcher must have seen it too.
‘Well, if you must,’ Ellen said in a moderate voice, which to Harriet sounded like an attempt to hide her delight. ‘You must do what you think best. And as I’ve said before, it’s not healthy having an unmarried man and a young widow living under ’same roof.’
‘Ma—’ Fletcher began.
Harriet was sure that Fletcher was about to object, and interrupted. ‘You’re quite right,’ she answered in the same tone. ‘Just what I’ve been thinking, and I was explaining to Fletcher that I was sure you wouldn’t feel hurt or offended, as he thought you might be.’
‘No, no,’ Ellen said. ‘Of course not. Where will you go? Back to Hull, I suppose?’
‘Oh, no. I love it out here in ’country and being by ’estuary. I’m going to lodge wi’ Mary and keep on working at ’manor; she’ll help me wi’ Daniel.’ She gave a chuckle. ‘There’ll be plenty o’ washing and ironing to do when ’mistress is delivered of her babby.’
The look of victory was wiped off Ellen’s face. The change in her was palpable and she clutched the back of a chair.
‘Are you unwell, Ma?’ Fletcher took her arm to help her sit down. ‘What is it? You’re as white as a sheet.’
Ellen brushed him away. ‘Nothing. Get off, it’s nowt.’ But it was, for she put her hand to her throat as her breathing quickened. Harriet brought her a cup of water, which she took and sipped. She handed it back and asked croakily, ‘When? When does she expect a bairn? How do you know?’
‘She told me herself,’ Harriet answered. ‘I don’t know when it’s due, but I do know that she and Mr Hart are delighted. Such good news, isn’t it?’
Fletcher took her to Mary’s the next day. She didn’t have many belongings to pack, having arrived at Marsh Farm with virtually nothing. Ellen stood at the door to wave them off.
Harriet gave a wry grimace as they drove up the track. ‘Your ma’s mekkin’ sure that I’m on my way,’ she said sourly. ‘Though I’m surprised she’s agreed that you can tek me.’
‘Don’t be like that, Harriet,’ he muttered. ‘It’s not like you.’
‘I know,’ she agreed, ‘and I’m sorry, but I see now how one person can influence another.’ She turned to him and added, ‘I hope she doesn’t change you, Fletcher. When Noah was a buffer between you she could put all of her anger on to him.’ She sighed. ‘Who knows what she might do now.’
‘You’re speaking of my mother, don’t forget,’ Fletcher said, his voice full of misery.
Harriet put her hand over his. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘This seems like our first disagreement.’
Mary was at the cottage door to greet them and for Harriet it was exhilarating to be welcomed so warmly.
‘Come along in,’ she said. ‘You’ll stop for a cup o’ tea, young man?’
‘Thanks, I will,’ Fletcher said, though his forehead creased at the unaccustomed offer of hospitality.
Harriet smiled. Now he’ll see how normal people behave, she thought, when there’s no hidden suspicion or distrust.
‘I remember you when you were a little lad,’ Mary told him as she busied herself with the kettle. ‘And mebbe you won’t know this, but I delivered you.’
Fletcher laughed. ‘I didn’t know that!’
‘Oh aye,’ Mary chuckled. ‘You were a bonny bairn, but then they all are. You didn’t have much hair, not like this bairn.’ She nodded fondly towards Daniel. ‘He’s going to break some hearts, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘And what about Noah?’ Fletcher glanced swiftly at Harriet. ‘He’d have been much darker, was he?’
Mary didn’t answer immediately, but put the teapot on the table and reached to get crockery down from a cupboard.
‘Erm – I didn’t deliver him,’ she prevaricated. ‘I think I onny saw him a couple o’ times when you were bairns playing wi’ our Tom out in ’meadow. But funny, isn’t it,’ she said, concentrating on cutting into a fruit cake, ‘how brothers and sisters can differ in colouring? Summat from way back, I expect.’
When Fletcher had finished his tea, Harriet walked back to the cart with him, leaving Daniel with Mary. The old mare was cropping the grass on the verge.
‘She’s very discreet, isn’t she?’ Fletcher said. ‘She knows summat, but she’s not telling.’
‘Yes,’ Harriet agreed. ‘She told me once that she didn’t know about Noah’s existence until somebody told her your ma had had another son.’
Fletcher nodded and gazed across at the estuary, a soft muddy brown today with creamy heads on slow-moving troughs. It was open here, with few trees; Mary’s cottage was set within a small garden and had a paddock overlooking the sandbanks. He breathed deeply. ‘I recall coming here now. A gang of us lads coming with Tom to visit his auntie Mary and allus getting cake and lemonade.’ He leaned towards Harriet and kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t get too comfortable, will you, Harriet? I want you back in my life.’
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Although Harriet was more relaxed in the comforting atmosphere of Mary’s house she was nevertheless sad. Fletcher was at home with his mother, and although he had come regularly to visit her when she had first left the farm, he had not been near for over a week. Perhaps, she mused, he’s having second thoughts about wanting to be with me; Ellen’s influence might be stronger than he imagined.
She and Mary were sitting by the fire. Daniel was asleep in a cot that Mary had fashioned from a large wicker basket and lined with a soft wool blanket, Mary was knitting and Harriet was gazing into the fire, busy with her thoughts.
‘Yo
u know m’dear,’ Mary murmured, ‘life’s too short to waste, and if, like me, you think it’s ’onny life we get – although,’ she added hastily, ‘you might believe that ’good Lord has other ideas for us – mebbe you should think on doing things to change it.’
Harriet gazed vaguely at her. ‘Change it? Change my life, do you mean? How?’
‘That’s summat you’d have to fathom out for yourself.’ Mary counted her stitches and started another line of knitting. ‘I never married, as you’ll have gathered. But that’s not because I wasn’t asked; oh, no, indeed I was. I had a young man once and he was very keen on marrying me, but my father was dead set against him – as indeed, I came to realize later, he would’ve been against any other man who might have been interested in me. My mother was dead, you see, and I was ’onny daughter left at home to look after ’house, and of course my da didn’t want to lose me. So I refused my young man and he married another. I’ve not been unhappy – I like my little house, but it was when I came to help other young women to birth their bairns that I thought of what I was missing. My father lived to be very old, and by then it was too late to change my life and much too late to have children of my own.’
She folded her knitting on her knee and looked across at Harriet. ‘So what I’m saying is, don’t leave it too late. You’ll soon be out of mourning and you’re too young to stay in widows’ weeds for ever. Tek a chance on finding some happiness afore it’s too late. Otherwise, one day, when your son is grown, he’ll leave you for another and you’ll be alone. Best to find love wi’ somebody else.’ She smiled, picking up the knitting again. ‘An’ I reckon there’s somebody waiting for you.’
