by Valerie Wood
Sarah protested that she was quite able to stand and walk alone, but she was overruled by Lucy who demanded that John must carry her. With great solicitude he picked her up, insisting that he should at least help her as far as the slipway where her father would be waiting.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr John,’ she said softly. ‘I could have managed.’ She smiled at him, her brown eyes level with his blue ones. ‘I’m quite heavy, I think?’
He wrinkled his nose. The wind was blowing her hair into his face, and he laughed. It was a pleasurable sensation, like being stroked and caressed by gossamer, and her body was soft and warm within his arms.
She lifted her hand to move her hair away from his face, and as he turned towards her she inadvertently touched his cheek. He drew in his breath involuntarily and looked at her, wondering if it was a deliberate gesture, but she smiled back at him, her lips parted and her eyes innocent. ‘I’ve lost the pin.’
‘What?’ His mind was confused and he felt his heart begin to race.
‘The pin! From my hair.’
He put her down as they reached the slipway and waited for the others to come.
She held out her open hand, stained with sand and clay. ‘I was using it to prise this out of the cliff.’
He hardly heard what she was saying, heard only the sound of her voice as he watched her lips move. He saw the line of pale golden freckles which ran across the bridge of her small straight nose and the way her cheeks dimpled as she smiled.
‘It was a lesson, you see!’ Her face wore a puzzled expression as she realized that his attention was focused elsewhere.
‘A lesson?’ He shook his head as if to waken himself. A lesson! Great Heavens, what was he thinking of? She was just a child, not yet grown into womanhood, even though she was in his cousin’s employ; and here he was, with thoughts that he should feel ashamed of.
He took hold of her hand, deliberately and firmly so as not to be misconstrued, to look at the object she held there, but felt instead a force running through her fingers into his, an electric charge which tingled and sparked, kindling and melting her flesh with his.
‘What’s that in thy hand, Sarah?’
John started and dropped her hand as Will came up behind them.
‘It’s part of a tooth, I think, Fayther.’ Sarah answered her father, but her eyes held John’s, a look of bewilderment on her young face.
‘Aye, it’s a tooth all right. It’s a whale tooth. Where did tha find it?’
‘It was buried in the clay, about halfway up the cliff.’ She indicated vaguely back down the sands.
Will looked out to sea thoughtfully. ‘It’s been there a long time, I reckon, but everything gets washed to shore sooner or later.’
‘But not always in the same form.’ Mrs Love joined the conversation as she and Lucy came up the steep slope towards them. ‘I was just explaining to Miss Lucy and Sarah about the remains of animal and plant life deposited here, when Sarah became unwell.’
Sarah held out the tooth to John. ‘Would you like to keep it? It will perhaps bring you luck next time you sail.’
He took it from her. ‘I don’t often get the opportunity to sail these days, but yes, thank you, Sarah, I shall keep it always.’ His voice was unsteady as he gazed down at her. ‘Now, perhaps we had better return home,’ he said, glancing at the others, ‘so that Sarah can rest. I was just about to return from my walk, as I expect visitors this afternoon, when I saw Will – er, Foster. So it will be my pleasure to escort you.’
‘I can’t think what got into thee, child.’ Will walked at his daughter’s side, chiding her gently, whilst the others came behind. ‘A strong lass like thee, fainting like that.’
She smiled and took his arm. ‘It was nowt, Fayther, but this child is also a woman, and it’s the time of my monthly flux.’
He gazed down at her, young and fresh-faced, with a look of awakening beauty, and shook his head in wonder. It seemed but yesterday when she was born and now here she was with a woman’s mind and body.
He sighed. ‘Time is measured by ’seasons out here, Sarah. As summer follows spring and reaping follows sowing, so ’years have slipped by without us even noticing.’
‘That’s what is so wonderful, Fayther.’ She turned an animated face towards him, her eyes glowing. ‘It’s like the flowers and herbs pushing their way up through the earth every spring, nothing can stop them; not the frost or the snow, and we know that when they die in the winter, it’s not for ever, that next year it will start all over again.’
Her face had a radiance which began deep in her eyes and spread to her lips so that her whole face was glowing. ‘And that is what is happening to us, we are constantly growing and renewing and creating, one following another. Do you know what I mean?’
He put an arm around her and laughed at his ardent daughter who had discovered the meaning of life and was attempting to explain it to her father, who knew nothing.
John watched them from behind and tried to shut out the sound of Lucy’s chatter as she hung on to his arm. He wanted to concentrate on the fullness of feeling, the profound stirring which he felt within him as he watched the two figures in front. The tall frame of Will, his red hair fading to the colour of dark sand, bending down to listen to Sarah, whose hair reminded him of the spiralling autumn leaves which were falling from the trees, leaving a splash of red and gold.
He felt a sense of envy as he watched her take her father’s arm, and tried to put his thoughts into perspective. He had watched her grow, as he had watched Lucy, but Sarah had always been special because he had been there at her beginning. He had heard her first cry, and seen her first stumbling steps. ‘Genesis,’ he murmured, and Mrs Love glanced at him curiously.
It wasn’t a purely physical sensation which held him in its grasp, for he was now a man of some experience and he acknowledged her for the child that she still was. This was something more. He recognized an awareness growing within himself, that his other brief love affairs had been but the first sip of wine, a mere apprenticeship to prepare him for what was to come.
‘Tell me about your visitors, John.’ Lucy’s eyes lit up at the prospect of company.
‘Stephen Pardoe, you have met him already, and his sister Matilda.’ John answered his cousin vaguely as they awaited tea in the drawing room and he gazed out of the window at the dusk gathering over the garden.
Mr Pardoe and his sister had arrived at the house shortly before their return, and were now in their rooms changing from their travelling clothes after the long journey from their home in London.
‘Is she very pretty?’ Lucy gazed at herself in the gilt mirror.
‘Who?’
‘Why, Miss Pardoe, of course. Who else, silly?’ Lucy laughed, arranging her curls as she preened at her reflection.
‘Oh, yes – yes, she is. Very pretty.’
‘And are you going to marry her? Is that why she’s here?’
‘What are you talking about, Lucy?’ He turned irritably away from the window. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘Nonsense? I don’t call it nonsense. Why should anyone come all the way from London if it wasn’t for some purpose?’
He sat down on a sofa and spread himself, tapping his fingers on the upholstered arm. There had been a purpose, he had to admit. Miss Pardoe was attractive, and talented, and intelligent, which was why he had invited her along with her brother to meet his relatives.
‘Stephen Pardoe is one of my best friends,’ he answered sharply, ‘and as his sister is not familiar with this part of the country, I felt it would be hospitable to invite her.’ He got up again and paced the room. ‘They will be travelling on again in a few days to visit friends in Harrogate.’
‘Well!’ said Lucy with a gleam in her eyes. ‘If you’re not in love with her and going to propose marriage, I can’t imagine why you are being such a cross patch!’
Her face suddenly creased in alarm as a thought struck her. ‘Oh, don’t tell me she’s refused you alre
ady?’ She flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, my poor John! How can you bear it?’
He disentangled himself from her sympathetic embrace. ‘Lucy, do behave. There is nothing to tell. I assure you, you would be the first to know. Now be a good girl and please ring again for tea.’
Isobel too thought that there was a purpose to the visit, for although John had brought parties of house guests before, this was the first time that he had specifically invited an eligible young lady, even though ostensibly she was merely accompanying her brother.
And eligible she certainly was, as Isobel had ascertained during her discreet enquiries. That Stephen Pardoe’s father was a banker she already knew, and subsequently discovered that his only daughter Matilda was the apple of his eye. No expense had been spared on her education in the arts and in music. She had a delightful singing voice, it appeared, and was an accomplished painter and needlewoman. Moreover, everyone who had met her testified to her charm and beauty.
She surveyed her from across the dining table. Delicate garlands of fragrant dried lavender and thyme decorated the table, the candle light flickered and the flames in the hearth glowed, reflecting the lustre of the silver and glassware on the table and giving a deep burnished gleam to Miss Pardoe’s dark hair.
Isobel felt complacent. The dinner had been excellent. She had to admit that there was no-one they knew who had a cook as fine as Mrs Scryven. She had excelled herself today, and they had dined on watercress soup, sole stuffed with thyme, lambs’ kidneys sautéed with juniper, and wild duck with piquant crabapple jelly. Miss Pardoe must surely be impressed, and they had yet to sample the dessert, lemon balm soufflé and mulled pears with cream. She gave a small belch; she was getting fat, she knew, and she looked with some envy at Miss Pardoe’s tiny waist; at the silk-embroidered bodice above her looped skirt, which showed a glimpse of matching petticoat.
‘Miss Pardoe says I may visit her in London.’ Lucy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Oh, Papa, may I, please? Do say I can.’
Isaac looked anxiously across at Isobel. ‘Well, I’m not sure, you are a trifle young.’
‘But of course I intended to include Mrs Masterson in the invitation.’ Miss Pardoe inclined her head towards Isobel and graciously smiled her request.
‘That is most generous of you, Miss Pardoe, but as Mr Masterson says, Lucy is a little young to savour the delights of the city just yet.’
Lucy’s face puckered and she looked as if she was going to cry, but her mother’s eyebrows rose appeasingly as she spoke again. ‘But if the offer could be kindly extended to next autumn when Lucy will be almost sixteen, then we should be delighted to accept.’
Mrs Masterson and Miss Pardoe both smiled. They understood each other perfectly. Lucy nearing sixteen could attend balls and parties and be seen as an eligible contender for the marriage stakes, and her mother had a year in which to prepare her.
‘Sarah, what fun it will be! Dances to go to, and grand parties, and lots of young men who will all fall in love with me!’ Lucy picked up her skirts and whirled around the schoolroom the next morning. ‘Oh, how I wish that I could go now.’ She sat down on the floor and put her arms around her knees, closing her eyes dreamily. ‘Don’t you think that Matilda Pardoe is absolutely beautiful, and that her brother is the most handsome man you have ever seen?’
‘Yes,’ said Sarah, ‘and no.’
‘What do you mean, yes and no?’ Lucy frowned.
‘I mean, yes, Miss Pardoe is very beautiful, and no, Mr Pardoe is not the most handsome man I have ever seen.’ Sarah concentrated hard on threading sweet-scented myrtle and sprigs of rosemary together to make a posy.
Lucy got up and stood over her watching as she entwined small pink late rosebuds and pale green ivy with a length of vine, interweaving it with leaves of lady’s mantle. ‘You are clever, Sarah. Will you show me how to do that?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, you are going to be far too busy learning how to be a lady, and besides you haven’t the patience for it.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘No, I expect you’re right. I would get bored.’ Idly she picked up some sprigs of dried lavender and pressed them to her nose. ‘I’m bored now. There’s nothing to do out here. I wish I could have gone out visiting with Cousin John and the Pardoes. I consider that it was very unkind of them not to have asked me.’
She sat down at the table opposite Sarah. ‘Who do you think is the most handsome man you have ever seen, if it isn’t Stephen Pardoe?’
Sarah looked down at her flowers. ‘Well, my brother Tom is very fine looking, don’t you think?’
Lucy pouted her lips. ‘Oh, yes, I agree, he is, in a robust sort of way. But I favour Grecian features myself. You know, a noble brow, a classical nose.’ She gazed pensively into space. ‘Like Mr Pardoe in fact. But anyway,’ she added emphatically, ‘you can’t include brothers. You have to choose someone else. For instance, who was that village boy who was staring at you the other day when we were out walking?’
‘Joe Reedbarrow? Is that who you mean?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember seeing him before.’
Sarah smiled. It was hardly likely that Lucy would notice the local village boys who hung around when they had no work to do, for she never looked at them but kept her eyes averted. But Joe Reedbarrow had doffed his cap as they went by that day and had moved aside to let them pass.
‘He’s just come back to Monkston to live with his father. His mother died giving birth to him and he’s lived in Tillington with the woman who nursed him. But now his father needs him back to help on the farm.’ She frowned. ‘His brother Paul is a ne’er do well and does nothing to help his father, and his grandfather, old Dick Reedbarrow, is failing badly.’
Lucy shuddered. ‘How dreadful. How perfectly horrid to die like that. Mama almost died, you know, giving birth to me. But your mother helped her.’ Her face was a picture of frightened innocence. ‘Oh, Sarah, I hope it doesn’t happen to me. I declare I shan’t have any babies if I can help it.’
Sarah stared into the distance, her thoughts vague and undefined, and her eyes clouded. ‘I’d help you if I could,’ she whispered vacantly. ‘Only, I’ll be too far away.’
‘What do you mean, Sarah? Where will you be?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said remotely, ‘I don’t know.’
Lucy jumped up, ‘Oh, come on, do. Don’t let us get melancholy and think on sad things. Choose who is the most handsome man in your opinion and let’s pretend.’
‘I can’t think of anyone just at the moment.’ Sarah’s face was inscrutable though her lips trembled, ‘and in any case, I’m too busy making a love posy for someone else to think about myself.’
Lucy’s attention was caught instantly. ‘Oh, who is it for? Sarah, do say.’
‘Only if you promise not to say a word to a soul.’ Sarah looked up at Lucy. ‘I mean it. It’s to be a secret.’
Lucy promised, hand on heart, but was none the less disappointed when she was told that it was for Lizzie, who she considered was very plain and shy, although she thought her kind and accommodating. ‘I never thought of Lizzie being in love. I didn’t think of servants in that way.’
‘There is no reason why not, Miss Lucy,’ said Sarah reprovingly. ‘We do have feelings just the same as everyone else.’
Lucy was contrite. ‘I didn’t mean you, Sarah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think what I was saying. Please say you forgive me.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘What a beast I am; of course lizzie should be in love, she’s a dear, sweet creature and deserves the best.’ She patted Sarah’s arm earnestly. ‘Tell me who it is, do.’
Sarah sighed. She couldn’t be cross with Lucy for long. She always made the most outrageous remarks without thinking of the effect they might have on other people’s feelings, and then was devastated when she realized they were hurt.
‘Why, Tom, of course. Couldn’t you guess? And he doesn’t even notice.’ She sat back to admire the effect of her arrangement. ‘But he will when
I have finished with him.’ She threw back her head and laughed, her humour restored and the unaccountable thoughts which flitted through her mind melting away. ‘I shall give him a magic drink, Lucy, spiced with love potions, and hide fragrant herbs beneath his mattress to enchant him.’
Lucy stared wide-eyed at Sarah. For once she was tongue-tied. After a pause she gulped and whispered, ‘Can you really do that?’
Sarah drew close to her and grasped her by the shoulders, staring deep into her blue eyes. ‘Of course,’ she whispered. ‘Shall I make one for Mr Pardoe, so that he falls madly in love with you?’ Her eyes gleamed mischievously, ‘And shall I turn you into a mouse, and set the cat on you?’
‘Oh – oh, Sarah, what a clown you are! I really believed you for a moment. You are too bad, teasing like that.’ Lucy gave a deep sigh of relief. ‘I really did believe you.’
She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘But just in case the love posies do work, could you make one for Miss Pardoe, so that she will think of John, and one for him so that he will think of her?’
Sarah flushed and started to clear the debris of flower stalks from the table. ‘Not now, Lucy, I haven’t got the right herbs or flowers. Perhaps later.’
‘Oh, but we must, Sarah. I insist, and I will help you.’
Whether the posies which they placed at the bedsides worked their spell, they could only guess. Lucy declared it to be an old wives’ tale, for Miss Pardoe announced that she had never slept so well, a sound dreamless sleep as soon as she had drawn her bedcurtains, though John came down to breakfast looking tired and drawn and said he hadn’t had a wink of sleep all night, and was touchy and irritable and barely ate a morsel of food. He apologized to the Pardoes for his ill-humour and Matilda had looked at him rather coldly.
They departed on the fourth day, renewing their promise of a meeting soon, and as soon as their carriage had left John announced that he would go back to town the next day, instead of staying on as planned.
‘Miss Pardoe is very charming, John!’ Isobel threw in the remark in as casual a manner as her directness would allow.
