Chaff upon the Wind

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Yes, yes, yes, Kitty. Don’t fuss so. You’re beginning to sound like my mother.’

  Yes, me fine lady, Kitty thought grimly. And I feel like it, an’ all. But again she said nothing, knowing full well that in the months ahead she would have to be everything to her young mistress. Maid, friend, comforter, mother and maybe even midwife. Thank goodness she had been beside her own mother when she’d given birth to the youngest. At least Kitty knew what lay in store even if Miriam didn’t know what awaited her. Caught up in the whirlwind of this new romance, Miriam seemed to have forgotten that she was carrying a child. Or she was deliberately ignoring the fact.

  The following day was wet and cold and a strong wind blew across the vale of York.

  ‘It’s not quite the weather for our little trip, Miss Franklin.’ Kitty watched as Anthony Radford took Miriam’s hand in his and raised it to his lips. He was quite a nice-looking young fellow, Kitty thought, eyeing him critically, though she wouldn’t have called him handsome. His colouring was too dull for Kitty’s liking. Mousy hair and pale grey eyes and a skin that was almost sallow. Compared to the earthy, swarthy features of Jack Thorndyke, poor Anthony Radford looked insipid. Yet he seemed kindly and was undoubtedly a gentleman. And, as Miriam had said, a wealthy one too, if the gleaming new motor car parked in front of the hotel was anything to go by.

  ‘But we’ll drive a little way out of the city. I know a quaint little restaurant where we can have lunch. Low beams and a log fire burning. You’ll love it . . .’ He crooked his arm and with a small laugh of delight, Miriam put her hand on it and allowed herself to be led out to his motor without so much as a backward glance at Kitty.

  Kitty was lying on her bed late in the afternoon while the light faded from the window of her small room. She had spent the day inside the Minster, marvelling at the beautiful stained-glass windows, walking on tiptoe across the flagstones so that her footsteps did not echo in the reverent silence. Now she was tired and she felt herself drifting into sleep when suddenly the door was flung open so violently that it crashed back against the wall and shuddered on its hinges.

  ‘Kitty, Kitty, get up. Get our things packed. We’re leaving.’ Miriam was grasping her shoulder and shaking her awake.

  ‘Wha—?’ Kitty struggled to sit up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. ‘Whatever’s the matter, miss?’ But even as she asked the question she was swinging her legs to the floor, standing up and straightening her uniform. ‘What’s happened?’

  Her question followed Miriam out of the door, for she was hurrying out of Kitty’s bedroom, across the landing and down the stairs towards her own room. ‘Don’t argue, Kitty. Just do as I say.’

  So, Kitty followed.

  As she entered Miriam’s room, her young mistress had already flung wide the wardrobe doors and was scooping armfuls of clothes from their hangers and flinging them on to the bed as if there was not a moment to lose.

  ‘I’ll ring for the bellboy to bring our trunks and boxes, miss.’

  ‘Yes, you do that, Kitty, but hurry. We must go.’

  ‘But where are we going?’ Kitty asked helplessly. ‘We can’t keep moving about like this. Not for much longer, specially when—’

  Miriam whirled around, her green eyes flashing angrily. ‘Do as you’re told, Kitty, get our things packed.’

  Kitty took a deep breath and decided to stand her ground. She liked York, she liked the hotel they were staying in. She didn’t want to go. And unless Miriam had a very good reason, she was damned if they were going to move on again like a couple of gypsies.

  ‘Not,’ she said with quiet, controlled firmness, ‘until you explain to me why we have to go.’

  Miriam came towards her and for a split second Kitty thought the girl was about to strike her, but suddenly the fight seemed to drain away. She gave a groan and put her hand to her belly and sank down into a chair near the window. Covering her face with her hands, she said, in a muffled voice, ‘We’ve got to go, Kitty, else we’ll be found out.’

  Kitty moved closer and knelt in front of her, trying to pull her hands away from her face. ‘Why? Is it something to do with Mr Radford?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ With sudden impatience, Miriam stood up, flinging Kitty off balance so that she ended up sprawling in an ungainly heap on the floor. Taking not the slightest notice of her maid, Miriam began pacing the room with angry, jerky movements.

  ‘We were talking . . .’ she waved her hand expressively. ‘You know how it is?’ Kitty did not know for she had never been wined and dined in expensive restaurants by a wealthy young gentleman, but she made no comment. ‘He was telling me how his family have a large estate just south of York and – and that they have land in other parts of the country. In other counties. He – he asked me where I came from . . .’ She leaned on the wide windowsill and rested her forehead against the cool glass. ‘Oh Kitty, I wasn’t thinking. I told him. And – and then,’ her voice dropped to an incredulous whisper, ‘I can hardly believe it, he – he said he knew someone from that part of the world. Sir Ralph Harding and, more particularly, his son, Guy.’ Flatly, she said again, ‘Kitty, he knows Guy. In fact it’s worse than that, he’s quite friendly with him. Evidently, Guy often c-comes to York . . .’ Her voice faltered and fell away.

  ‘Oh miss,’ Kitty said, aghast. ‘It must be the people your mother meant. That was why she was so adamant that we must not stay long in York.’

  ‘But it’s so stupid. To think, out of all the people in York, I have to meet up with him.’

  ‘Well yes, it does seem too much of a coincidence to be believed, but there it is. It’s happened.’

  Miriam glanced at Kitty. ‘So, what are we going to do?’

  Kitty bit her lip. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said slowly at last, her voice heavy with disappointment. ‘We had better leave York.’

  ‘What are you waiting for then, girl? Get packing. There’s not a moment to lose.’

  ‘There’s one thing we must do first, though, miss.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Check what money we’ve got.’

  Miriam blinked. ‘Money? What do you mean, what money we’ve got?’

  ‘Your mother only gave us a certain amount and this hotel has been expensive. Then there was your new gown . . .’

  Miriam frowned. ‘But I thought Mother made arrangements for money to be sent to us?’

  Kitty nodded. ‘She did. At Robin Hood’s Bay.’

  ‘Well, won’t the old witch send it on?’

  ‘We haven’t told her where we are, have we?’

  Miriam pulled a face. ‘Then you’d better write and tell her, when we’ve got settled somewhere.’

  Silently, Kitty thought, but how long will we be in the next place? Aloud she said, ‘I will, but in the meantime, have we enough money for our fare to – well – wherever we’re going and enough to book into a small guesthouse or rooms?’

  Miriam looked at her blankly. ‘How should I know? I don’t know anything about money.’

  Kitty, sighing at the helplessness of spoilt little rich girls, said, ‘Show me what we’ve got left.’

  Miriam found her purse and tipped out a few coins on to the bed. ‘There. Satisfied?’

  Kitty counted it swiftly. ‘There’s not nearly enough here. Is that really all?’

  ‘Well, yes. You see, I thought the hotel would just give us a bill at the end of our stay and that my father . . .’ She stared up at Kitty. ‘Oh. I hadn’t thought.’

  ‘Exactly, miss,’ Kitty said grimly. The girl had indeed thought nothing out. ‘How can your father possibly settle the bill when he thinks you’re in the south of France, or somewhere?’

  Miriam stared down at the coins. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Kitty folded her arms and tapped her toe on the floor. ‘Well, in my class, miss, if we need a bit of extra money in a hurry, we pawn summat.’

  Miriam looked up at her again and blinked. ‘Pawn? What’s that?’

  Kitty was star
tled. ‘You mean, you don’t know what to pawn something means?’

  Miriam shook her head.

  ‘Most places have one. We’ve got one in Tresford.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Old Mr Rivers on Main Street.’

  ‘Oh. I always thought that was just a second-hand shop.’

  ‘Well, it is – of sorts. What Mr Rivers does – and I expect it’s more or less the same anywhere – is lend you money on an object of some value for a certain length of time, say a week or maybe two.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘You redeem it. You pay him back the money he lent you, plus a bit for him having lent you it.’

  ‘Sort of interest, you mean?’

  Now it was Kitty’s turn not to understand a term, but she was a bit more wily than to admit her ignorance. ‘I expect so. And you get the goods back.’ She giggled. ‘A lot of the farm labourers’ wives take their husband’s best suit in on a Monday and redeem it on a Saturday ready for Church on Sunday and then, by Monday, it’s back in the pawn shop.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Miriam was quiet for a moment as if thinking. ‘But what can we pawn?’

  Kitty was amused at the ‘we’, as if Miriam assumed her maid had anything worth pawning, but she said, ‘Well, there’s your rings of course, but I don’t think you should pawn them, miss, as we might not get back to redeem them and . . .’

  Miriam shuddered. ‘Oh heavens, no. If my father found out I’d pawned his mother’s rings . . .’

  She did not continue. She had no need to do so, for Kitty understood only too well. She put her head on one side, eyeing Miriam and knowing she was taking a risk. ‘There is that new dress you’ve bought. You’re really not going to have much use for it for a while, now are you?’

  She had fully expected an angry outburst, but Miriam merely looked at the dress lying on the bed waiting to be packed and said dolefully, ‘No, I suppose you’re right. Take it, Kitty, but mind you get a fair price for it.’

  An hour later Kitty was walking along a narrow street searching above her head for the pawnbroker’s sign. There were various signs bearing shopkeepers’ names or advertising the nature of their business, like the huge broom-head that hung above one entrance, but nowhere could she see the well-known trade mark of the pawnbroker. It was not until she had walked up and down the same street three times reading every sign that she realized that the lamp decorated with a leaf design was, in fact, adorning the premises she was looking for.

  As she entered the dusty interior, a bell above the door clanged and an elderly man shuffled out from the back of the shop.

  ‘How much could you give me on this gown, please?’ Kitty asked holding up the blue satin garment.

  ‘My word, that’s a fine gown.’

  She felt the old man eyeing the maid’s uniform beneath her cape. ‘Belong to your mistress, does it?’

  Kitty nodded.

  ‘You pinched it?’

  Kitty gasped and indignation flooded her face. ‘No, I did not.’

  The old man grunted and reached out with dirty fingers to touch it. ‘Mm, well, I could only give you two pounds.’

  ‘That’s not nearly enough.’ She made as if to fold up the dress. ‘I’ll look for another broker.’

  ‘Wait a minute. Now, don’t be so hasty.’

  They haggled for at least ten minutes until Kitty had driven the man to ten pounds. ‘You see, we’re leaving and I somehow don’t think we’ll get back to redeem it,’ she told him truthfully, ‘so I am sure you’ll be able to sell it at a good profit.’

  She knew by the gleam in the man’s eyes that she was right in her assumption.

  Within an hour of Kitty’s return to the hotel they were packed and, with the bill settled, on their way out of York in a hired motor car and on the road to Harrogate.

  ‘It’s a very nice place, Harrogate. A spa town.’

  ‘Whatever you say, miss,’ Kitty murmured, growing increasingly weary of all the moving from one place to another.

  They travelled in silence for several miles until Miriam said suddenly, ‘What if Guy finds out, Kitty? He won’t want to marry me then, will he?’

  Appalled, Kitty said, ‘Is that what you’re planning to do? Go back and marry Mr Guy?’ She knew that Mrs Franklin still clung to the hope, but Kitty had thought it a vain one. Surely Miriam – and her mother – would not deceive the poor young man? But it seemed that she was wrong.

  Miriam shrugged. ‘What else can I do?’

  ‘But do – do you love Mr Guy?’

  The girl’s face was stony. ‘What’s the good of loving someone? I thought – I thought I was in love with – with him. And look where that’s got me.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t marry Mr Guy if you don’t love him, miss. It – it’s not fair on him, because he loves you. Anyone can see that.’

  Miriam sighed and then asked bluntly, ‘Do you still love Jack Thorndyke, after all you know about him?’

  Now it was Kitty’s turn to sigh and say heavily, ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool, Kitty Clegg.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t help myself. I’d do anything – anything to get him to marry me.’

  ‘Really?’ Miriam said slowly. ‘Would you really?’

  Kitty looked away from her mistress to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes. Her glance went out of the car window across the moors stretching into the far distance. ‘Yes,’ she said, quietly. ‘I really think I would.’

  With her face averted, Kitty did not see the scheming look in the green eyes of her young mistress.

  Twenty-Five

  They found lodgings in a guesthouse on the hill leading up from the Spa rooms. The landlady, Mrs Lawrence, was a kindly soul who reminded Kitty of Mrs Grundy. On the journey, Kitty had managed to persuade Miriam to wear the rings once more and to act the part of a recently widowed mother-to-be.

  ‘Your mother was right, you know. It’ll be so much easier, when – when your time comes.’

  Miriam, still shaken from her recent brush with the possible exposure of her shame, agreed, though Kitty could see that it was with reluctance and the stormy expression in Miriam’s fine eyes warned Kitty of more petulance to come.

  Kitty was enchanted with the town just as she had been with the city of York, though for different reasons. The old city with its feeling of history, its beautiful Minster and quaint, old streets had fascinated her, but Harrogate seemed elegant and the carriages and motor cars spoke of affluence and a place visited by the wealthy. Even the shops seemed to cater for the rich rather than for a lowly maid. But Kitty was not envious, merely enthralled.

  Not so Miriam. As her condition became more obvious and impossible to hide, so she became bored. Her irritability increased and Kitty found herself with no freedom to explore the town. Miriam demanded her maid’s presence and attention the whole time now.

  ‘Let’s go to the baths, miss – madam,’ she suggested, trying hard to remember to address her mistress as if she were indeed a married lady.

  ‘Whatever for?’ Miriam frowned.

  ‘It’s like a meeting place for the ladies of the town on certain days and – well – soon it won’t be seemly for you to go out except for a little walk after dusk.’

  ‘How can I go for walks here?’ Miriam asked listlessly. ‘It’s all hills. I’m out of breath by the time I’ve walked a few paces.’

  ‘Then it’s high time you walked a bit more,’ Kitty replied sharply. ‘It won’t do you nor your baby any good if you neglect your health.’

  Coldly, her mouth tight, Miriam said, ‘What do I care about Jack Thorndyke’s bastard?’

  Kitty pulled in a deep breath and before she had stopped to think what she was saying, the words were pouring out of her mouth. ‘Well, I care what happens to his child. And I’ll tell you summat else. I wish it were me having his child, bastard or not. I’d love it, I’d care for it. Love it and care for it, I
would, while there was breath in me body. There now, it’s said.’ She swung away and marched out of the room before Miriam should see the tears smarting in her eyes.

  Left alone in the bedroom, Miriam stared at the door. ‘Would you?’ she murmured, the calculating look once more in her eyes. ‘Would you indeed, Kitty Clegg?’

  ‘It’s no good, Kitty, I really can’t walk any further.’ Miriam leaned against a lamp post and panted heavily. Through the dusk of the August evening, Kitty peered at her.

  ‘You feeling all right?’

  ‘It’s this awful backache. I’ve had it for a while and it seems to be getting worse.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you say something? Come on,’ Kitty said firmly, ‘we’d best get you back to the boarding house. Now.’

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’ Miriam said, but allowed Kitty to take her arm, turn her round and begin leading her back up the hill towards their lodgings.

  ‘Maybe your time’s come. Backache’s one of the signs that you might be going into labour.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, it is,’ Kitty replied shortly, anxious now to get her mistress back into the house.

  By the time they reached their rooms, they were both panting with exertion and anxiety.

  ‘I’d better get Mrs Lawrence to send for the midwife. Go and lie down, madam, and I’ll be back in a minute . . .’

  Five hours later, Miriam Franklin gave birth to a lusty boy. Red-faced with exertion and crying hysterically, Miriam pushed the midwife away as she tried to put the child into her arms. ‘Take it away. I don’t want it. I don’t even want to see it . . .’

  Helplessly, the midwife turned to Kitty who held out her arms for the infant. The moment Kitty Clegg held Jack Thorndyke’s son in her arms, she loved him. Loved him with a love as fierce and protective as if she was indeed his natural mother. Her eyes devoured the tiny, puckered features, the tuft of black hair. ‘Jack’s boy,’ she murmured with wonder. ‘You’re Jack Thorndyke’s son. I just don’t understand,’ she whispered, nuzzling the infant’s head with her lips. ‘How can she turn her back on you?’