Oh great. Her face must have showed her consternation because Clara smiled, her voice hearty when she said, ‘But you’ll be fine, lass. Don’t worry about that. You can cook, hinny?’
‘Yes. Well, a bit. I can make bread and pastry and stews, things like that.’ But she had never cooked on such basic devices before.The range in the flat had been a prestige, up-to-date one.
‘Then you’re halfway there. Fill a man’s stomach and they’re as happy as pigs in muck. That’s what I say.’
Hannah smiled weakly. She was beginning to realise Clara was something of a character.
When they had finished their tea, Clara took her on a tour of the farm. It was pleasant in the hot sunshine with a breeze blowing, but Hannah was too nervous about the coming meeting with the farmer to appreciate the fine weather. Her inward agitation increased tenfold when it dawned on her how extensive the farm was.The byres and barns, stables and store sheds, big harness room, rows of pigsties - it seemed to stretch forever, and surrounding all of it were rolling fields of corn and beet and turnips and the like. And the cattle. Acres and acres of fat cattle.
‘Grand, isn’t it?’ Clara beamed at her, as proud as if the credit was all hers. They finished their walk close to where Frank and another labourer were working in the fields. Clara raised her hand to her husband who waved back before resuming his task. ‘He’s cutting the green meat,’ said Clara by way of explanation.
Hannah looked at Frank from under her straw bonnet. His scythe didn’t look to be cutting any meat, green or otherwise.
Clara noticed her puzzlement. ‘Ee, sorry, lass. I’m not doing very well at telling you what’s what, am I?’ She laughed, her rosy cheeks like little apples. ‘The green meat is what we call the tares an’ clover and triflomen, that’s the red kind of clover, you know?’
Hannah didn’t but she nodded anyway.
‘Some of it they’ll save and mix with the hay chaff and the wheat chaff - there’s little goes to waste on a farm. Waste not, want not, eh, lass?’
Hannah nodded again. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask but she thought a good deal of them might sound silly to Clara. As they began to walk back to the cottage, she voiced one which she considered perfectly reasonable. ‘How many people are there at the farm?’
‘How many? Let me see. I’ll start with the ones who live here, shall I? Well, there’s me an’ Frank, as you know, and my Herbert and his wife Florence live with Florence’s parents next but one, along with Florence’s two younger brothers. Rascals, Caleb and Peter can be, but their mam an’ da, Sybil and Neville, are salt of the earth. Herbert and Florence had a bairn at the start of the summer and he’s the bonniest baby you’ve ever seen.’
She chuckled and Hannah smiled. Clara’s pleasure in life was infectious.
‘Then next door to us there’s the Osbornes, Jack and Enid and their brood. Daniel, he’s twenty-five and as bright as a button; John, he’s twenty or thereabouts, and then there’s the three lassies, Grace, Anne and Dora. Isaac Mallard’s in the end cottage, he’s a miserable old devil, is Isaac. His wife died years ago and they had no bairns. Jake lived with them for a time when he first come to the farm but then the master had him up at the farmhouse. Merciful release, I should think that was.’
Hannah’s head was reeling but Clara wasn’t finished yet. They had left the fields and were now approaching the farm from a back road which was so narrow it was little more than a single-file track for the cattle to walk down. Trying to avoid the cow pats in their path was taking all Hannah’s concentration.
‘Then my other three lads, they live in the next village, they come of a morning. They’ve all got their eye on Isaac’s cottage when he goes, but I’ve said to ’em, they’ll have to fight it out among themselves and the master might have other plans for it anyway. And then there’s the casual labour the master employs at harvest and so on, tinkers mostly, but they work well and keep themselves to themselves. That’s it, lass.’
Hannah was wishing she hadn’t asked, she felt more confused than ever. ‘Do any of the women work on the farm?’
Clara glanced at her, her face expressing that this was a strange question. ‘Aye, of course, we all do, an’ the bairns when they’re back from school. And the master’s fair, not like on some farms I could name. Even the bairns get their wage, same as the rest of us. On some farms it’s just the men who get paid and their families are expected to muck in for nothing. Course the farmers say the man’s wage reflects what their families do, but don’t you believe it. No, lass, it’s not just the miners who are abused and played on, not by a long chalk, but what can the poor folk do with jobs being so scarce? It’s that or the workhouse for most of ’em.’
Clara shook her head, the thick bun at the back of her neck wobbling. ‘But like I say, we’re in clover here.’ Her laugh rang out again. ‘Clover, I said, an’ this being Clover Farm.The master encourages book-learning and all that, an’ again there’s many who don’t. Daniel Osborne, he took to reading and arithmetic like a duck to water and he’s not been penalised for it, just the opposite. Not like at Dobson’s farm over the quarry. He’s a nasty bit of work, Farmer Dobson.’
Clara continued to chatter as they made their way to the cottage, filling her in on how this was done and that. They met Enid Osborne and two of her daughters going into the house next door and Clara introduced them. The three were pleasant enough but without Clara’s warmth, and Enid’s eyes were penetrating as they looked her up and down.
In Clara’s kitchen they sat at the table and began shelling peas. Hannah said softly,‘Thank you for making me so welcome, Mrs Lyndon.’
‘Go on with you, lass, why wouldn’t I? And the bees had told me to expect you so it was no surprise.’
‘The bees?’
‘Aye. I had a big dumble-dore pay a visit yesterday for most of the afternoon so I knew a stranger would call before midnight. I made him welcome until such time as he took his leave so I knew the newcomer would bear no ill will.’
Clara had spoken so matter-of-factly it was clear the omen was a well-known one among farm folk, although Hannah had not heard it spoken of in the town. ‘A dumble-dore is a bumblebee?’ she guessed out loud.
‘Aye, that’s right, hinny.’
It wasn’t only practical things she was going to have to learn but a whole new language, including folklore. ‘I didn’t know that about the bees,’ she admitted.
‘No?’ Clara was amazed. ‘But you know to make a cricket welcome with a drink of moist tea leaves if it should venture in, to ward off hearing bad news?’
Hannah shook her head.
‘Ee, hinny.’ Clara stared at her. ‘What do they teach the bairns in the towns? Well, if you hear an owl hoot in the day you get yourself to the church mighty quick an’ light a few candles or else there’ll be a death in the family for sure. And if you come across the little folk in the woods, don’t stare at them unless you want a face full of warts.’
Hannah wanted to laugh but she could see from Clara’s face that she was in deadly earnest. ‘All right,’ Hannah said solemnly.
They continued to talk as Clara got Frank’s lunch ready, a huge slab of baked bread pudding full of fruit and brown sugar and a chunk of cheese, to be washed down with a bottle of cold tea. As Frank was eating out in the fields, Hannah offered to take it to him and she set off at midday, Clara’s big wicker basket over her arm.
Once past the pigsties the air became heavy with the sweetness of warm grass, the breeze carrying the scents from the surrounding fields and hedgerows. Hannah walked quickly, she didn’t want anyone to think she was taking her time, but all the while she breathed in great gulps of the fragrant air. She glanced up into the high blue sky where a few white clouds drifted lazily, then moved her gaze to the panorama of the surrounding fields. If only everything was all right with Adam, if he still cared for her and wanted her to be his lass, she felt she could be happy here. But she’d die if he didn’t want anything more to do with h
er, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She loved him so much. What had he thought when his mam had told him about her uncle? And her coming to the farm with Jake Fletcher? He wouldn’t like it, she knew that, but would he understand she’d had no option? That she’d had to get away? Please, please, let him still love me, she prayed as she walked. Please, God, let him come with Naomi at the weekend.
‘Hello there.’ She had reached the gate leading into the field where Frank was working, and as she went to open it a young man coming along the path called to her. ‘You must be Hannah. I’m Daniel Osborne.’
She waited until he was standing in front of her before she said politely, ‘How do you do?’
Smiling, he said, ‘Nice to meet you,’ and held out his hand.
Shyly she took it. His grip was firm but he did not prolong the contact, shading his eyes with his hand as he said, ‘Jake told me this morning he’s hoping you’ll work in the farmhouse.’
Remembering the woman who presently worked there was this man’s mother, Hannah nodded uncomfortably, even as she thought how nice it was of Jake to present things that way, as though it was her doing them a favour rather than the other way round. Hannah stared into Daniel’s ruddy, fresh-looking face. He had light brown eyes and even lighter brown hair and he did not resemble the sharp-eyed woman she had seen going into the cottage next door to Clara’s. Remembering how Enid had looked at her, she said, ‘Do you think your mother would mind if I took the job?’
His brief hesitation confirmed what she’d suspected, even when in the next moment he said, ‘Mind? Of course not. She used to help out when the mistress got middling so it was the natural thing for the master to ask her to do a bit more when the mistress died, but he never said it was for ever. Besides, what with helping out in the dairy and looking after the lot of us she’s got enough on her plate.’
‘Couldn’t one of your sisters have taken on the job?’
‘In the farmhouse?’Again he hesitated before shaking his head. ‘My mother’s always maintained the master wouldn’t like it but I don’t suppose she’s ever asked.’
Hannah nodded, feeling awkward. It was possible that Farmer Shawe wouldn’t want her as his housekeeper but if he did, she wouldn’t want to cause any ill feeling by taking Enid’s job.
As though he was aware he’d said too much, Daniel’s voice was overhearty when he said, ‘I’d better get on, we’re due to start bringing the harvest in the morrer and I’ve people to see.’
She watched him for a moment as he strode away and then she turned and opened the gate into the field. His words had caused the brightness of the day to fade a little.
Hannah was weeding between the runner bean stakes in Clara’s garden, one of the little woman’s sunbonnets on her head because her straw hat kept falling off when she bent over, when Jake came to the cottage. She heard his voice first as he talked with Clara in the kitchen. As she straightened her aching back, he came out of the back door. Smiling at her, he said, ‘Making yourself useful, I see.’
The usual nerves constrained her voice and for the life of her she couldn’t smile back. She felt terribly embarrassed after everything that had transpired the previous night. All day she had found herself wondering what he’d really thought when her mother had said what she had. She knew her voice was stilted when she said, ‘Yes, Mr Fletcher.’
‘Good, good.’The smile had left his face. ‘Well, Farmer Shawe is ready to see you but perhaps you’d better wash your hands first.’
‘Oh yes, yes.’Visibly flustered she followed him into the cottage, and washed her hands in the deep sink with a little warm water from the kettle while Jake talked with Clara in the sitting room. She took off Clara’s sunbonnet, smoothed her hair and put on her own hat, checking her skirt and blouse to make sure they weren’t mucky. Her boots were dusty from the dry earth and she hastily wiped them with a damp rag before walking through to the sitting room. She stood inside the door, waiting for Jake to finish his conversation with Clara.
‘Ready?’ There was a flat note in his voice now.
Hannah nodded, glancing at Clara who smiled encouragingly.
As she followed Jake out of the house she realised one of the things she found intimidating about him was that he wasn’t dressed like the rest of the men. Frank and the others she had seen thus far were wearing corduroy trousers which were subdued by long use to the colour of the earth and tied with string under the knees. Their bleached shirts, faded waistcoats and hard, heavy boots denoted their station in life. Naomi’s brother, on the other hand, was clothed well, even smartly. In spite of the hot weather, he wore a jacket that sat full and square on his big frame, his shirt and tie were of fine material and a gold pocket watch and chain showed on his waistcoat. Even his cap, which matched the charcoal grey of his coat, was of good quality. Suddenly she could understand and sympathise with Adam’s antipathy towards his half-brother. There was Adam and his father and brother unable to go to church on a Sunday because their suits were in pawn, and suits bought second-hand from the tallyman at that, and yet Jake Fletcher could afford to walk about dressed like one of the gentry, and on a weekday. Unbidden came the recollection of being held close to his body, the faint aroma of tobacco and another smell - a pleasant almost scented fragrance which was a composite of fresh linen and clean skin - very real in her nostrils.
Lost in her thoughts, she started and almost fell over her own feet when he said, ‘We’re going to begin harvesting tomorrow so I’m afraid you’ve been thrown in the deep end somewhat. All the old hands are needed at the plough.’
He meant Enid. To confirm this, she said, ‘Even the women?’
‘Just so. Of course Farmer Shawe’s wife didn’t work in the fields,’ he spoke as if she would know this, ‘but she would see to the lunch for the workers.’
Hannah stared at him in alarm. ‘What did she bring them?’
‘Ham-and-egg pie, bread and cheese, fruit loaves, nothing fancy. And Farmer Shawe always makes sure there’s plenty of beer and cider for them that want it, along with milk for the bairns.’
Feeling as though this was some sort of test, Hannah was determined not to let her agitation show. ‘Right.’ She nodded as though she was perfectly used to cooking for umpteen hungry adults and bairns. ‘I can do that.’
Jake glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had more than her fair share of gumption, he’d give her that. He’d noticed it the night before and it was more apparent today. She’d need every ounce of it the mood Seamus was in. Mind, if it hadn’t been Hannah coming in, it would have been someone else, because he for one couldn’t stand Enid’s slipshod ways a day more. Seamus hadn’t liked it last night when he’d said Bess would turn in her grave if she could see the state of the house, but it was true right enough. And no one was aiming to take Bess’s place, this little lass least of all.
As they approached the farmhouse by way of the kitchen, Jake stopped on the threshold, his voice low as he said, ‘Farmer Shawe knows you’ve had a falling out with your uncle and mother but that’s all, all right? It’s up to you if you want to tell him what occurred last night but he won’t hear it from me, it’s your business.’
Her cheeks flaming, Hannah nodded.
‘And . . . and he’s got out of bed the wrong side this morning so don’t be taken aback if he’s a bit sharp. It means nothing.’
Hannah stared at him. She had been right.The farmer didn’t want her here. The sunlight was falling on the damaged side of his face, highlighting the puckered skin so it looked worse than usual. Swallowing hard, she said softly, ‘I haven’t made things difficult for you with Farmer Shawe, have I?’
He did not answer for a moment but stared at her. Then he said equally softly, ‘Don’t worry your head about that, lass. Seamus and I get on well and he trusts my judgement.’ He opened the door into the kitchen and allowed her to precede him into the house, almost treading on her heels as she stopped abruptly.
Turning, her manner completely natural fo
r once, she said,‘This is lovely, lovely. I expected . . .Well, something like the cottages I suppose, but not this.’ Her gaze moved over the room, which in her eyes was enormous. The huge range with two ovens and hobs, the long wooden mantelpiece holding brass ornaments and candlesticks, the massive oak table with eight hard-backed, flock-cushioned chairs, a high dresser containing china of every description - she could barely take it all in. In front of the range were two well-padded armchairs, a rocking chair with matching padding standing in a corner of the kitchen next to a cooking table. One wall had shelves holding fancy plates with country and hunting scenes painted on them, and next to the range in an alcove was a fitted unit stacked with pots and pans and all manner of cooking utensils. The floor was flagged but the biggest clippy mat Hannah had ever seen was in front of the range, and two cats were lying on it. They raised curious eyes before sauntering over and twining themselves round Jake’s legs, purring loudly.
Above the Harvest Moon Page 12
