A Country Marriage (22 page)

‘Me too,’ he agreed, his voice croaky. ‘An’ you?’ he suddenly thought to ask.

‘All right, I think, although I feel as though I could sleep for a week.’

He looked back at her and shook his head.

‘I wish I could say summat to tell you how this feels,’ he said as the enormity of the moment finally sank in. ‘I love you so much Mary.’ And although it was true, he knew perfectly well that at that precise moment it was the voice of his guilt talking. ‘And I love you too, son,’ he said to the impervious baby. But then, looking down at the tiny, peaceful face, he experienced a moment of total clarity. All of the previous significant moments of his life paled in comparison and yet, at the same time, everything fell completely into place. Everything made perfect sense. Nothing else mattered now. This, he realised, was what it was all about and all of those other feelings – of guilt and remorse – were going to be the burden he would have to bear for yet again surrendering to his fatal weakness.

Chapter 9

All Is Safely Gathered In

‘Not many more warm days to look forward to,’ Martha Troke remarked as she sat with Hannah at the kitchen table one afternoon, mulling over this and that.

‘Aye, summer seems shorter every year,’ Hannah agreed with a rueful smile. Looking back at her friend, deep in contemplation, she found her eyes drawn to her milky complexion, remembering how, as a child, she had helped her scrub at her cheeks and nose with horseradish vinegar in the hope of fading her loathsome freckles, until the day Granmer Tait had told them that God put a mark on people who were going to grow up to be especially beautiful and that she should leave them be, since being possessed of so many, she was easily going to be the prettiest girl in the land. For a while at least, Martha had been less desperate to be rid of them, repeating Granmer Tait’s story to anyone who dared to tease but whatever the truth of the matter, Hannah reflected now, something in the intervening years had clearly worked – and not to the detriment of Martha’s looks, either – since today not a single freckle remained. With her eye-catching red hair – admittedly these days more firebrick than flame – and her unusual soft-green eyes, she was still, for her age, the most striking woman in the village. And one of the most capable too; relied upon by the other women to dispense without judgement her no-nonsense advice and remedies; a physician rarely being considered necessary – and in any event, being beyond the means of most – even in the most dire or dangerous of circumstances.

‘Thomas happy with the corn this year?’ her voice broke into Hannah’s reminiscing.

‘Seems pleased enough, thank the Lord,’ she replied, stretching out her fingers and idly examining her ragged nails. ‘We’re goin’ to need some more help about the place soon, though and I been trying for days now to think of someone suitable but nobody comes to mind.’

‘A girl indoors, you mean?’

‘Aye, some help for Ellen whilst we’re all of us up to our knees in the grain.’

‘You wants to go over an’ see John Penney,’ Martha suggested, setting her teacup back on the table.

‘Simmonds Farm?’

‘Aye. I was out there to his daughter-in-law a couple of weeks back an’ he mentioned to me that one of his girls wants to leave home. They’re clean folk, so you never know; it might be worth the trip.’

Hannah reflected on the suggestion. John Penney ran a good many acres and Old Man Simmonds was, by all accounts, a hard master to please. So a few days later, on a dry and dusty afternoon, with the countryside glowing golden with the lustre of late summer, Hannah took the chance to ride over to Furzey Common and Simmonds Farm.

Arriving at the gate, she climbed down from the cart and looked about, impressed by the air of cleanliness and by the tidiness of the buildings.

‘Might I be of help there?’ a sandy-haired young man approached her to ask.

‘Aye, lad. I’m lookin’ for John Penney. He about?’

‘Might I enquire who wants him?’

‘Tell him ’tis Hannah Strong.’

With a nod he gestured towards the back door of the cottage, and ducking under the low beam, Hannah stepped cautiously into the kitchen, noticing the faint aroma of a recent meal mixed with the more subtle smell of fresh laundry. Standing alone in the orderly room, she took the chance to look it over. She inspected in the corners for cobwebs but found none. She wiped her hand lightly along the windowsill but found no trace of dust. She fingered a pile of crisp linens, approving of their whiteness. It certainly seemed like a well-run household.

‘Well, well,’ John Penney strode in and extended a hand in greeting. ‘You’re a long way from Verneybrook, Hannah Strong.’

‘A fair distance, aye,’ she replied warmly, ‘but I’m hopin’ it’ll be worth my while.’

With his thin lips pressed together in puzzlement and his pale eyes giving her a quizzical look, he motioned her to sit down.

‘Girls! One of you!’ he called towards the stairs and removing his cap, ran his hand over his circlet of snowy hair. ‘Tea needed in here.’ A rapid clattering down the wooden staircase preceded the appearance of a fair-haired, young girl who reached for a wooden pail and went out into the yard. ‘Heard much over your way about these disturbances?’ he asked, lowering himself with a grunt onto a chair.

‘Some,’ Hannah’s tone was one of weary resignation rather than surprise. ‘Seems to me this nonsense is sweepin’ the countryside like a fever.’

‘Aye. Couple of Squire Heathcote’s brand new ricks over near Linford Heath this time; set alight in the small hours, they were. Three-score loads or more, completely lost.’

‘What
I
don’t understand, is how anyone, no matter how hungry, can think that setting light to a corn stack is going to bring remedy.’

‘Aye, ’tis a twisted way of thinking, all right.’

‘They catch anyone?’

‘
No
; and nor will they. Folk over there swear it ain’t locals but then they would, wouldn’t they? To my way of looking at it, most people are either like-minded or too frightened to admit otherwise.’

‘I don’t know about like-minded; how
anyone
can agree with such wanton destruction beats me.’

‘Well, folk are certainly divided on the matter, that’s for sure but there’s a good number who think the landowners got it coming, you know. And with each fresh attack, the culprits grow more artful and more sure of themselves, too. Left a note pinned to the door, they did, promising the squire more of the same if he don’t meet their demands. Left a list of those, too; all written out.’

‘Well, it can’t go on, can it? I mean, I’m not saying their grievances ain’t just but someone’s got to put a stop to it afore it’s too late,’ Hannah pronounced as John Penney’s daughter returned with the pail of water, and with a furtive glance in their direction, proceeded to fill the kettle and hang it on the hook over the fire. ‘So which of your daughters is this ’un, then?’ she asked, watching as the girl opened a large tin and set about carefully slicing some fruitcake.

‘
This
is Maryann,’ John Penney answered as the girl came to place the plate in front of them. Extending an arm about her waist, he grinned and pulled her towards him. ‘Ten years old and the most troublesome daughter a fellow could be landed with!’

‘Pa!’ the girl reproved him. ‘’Tis not in the least true,’ she told Hannah, blushing nevertheless as she waited for the signal from her father to depart.

‘You got much corn this year?’ Hannah asked, changing the topic of conversation.

‘No, almost not enough to make it worthwhile but my wife likes to see a little in the field to keep us going, otherwise I wouldn’t bother. You?’

She gave him a wry smile.

‘When we’re sowing I always think we should do more but when it comes to the harvest, I always wish we had less.’

John Penney gave a chesty but sympathetic laugh.

‘Aye, I know the feeling. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride! Although I recall now why you’re here; Martha Troke sent word you might be looking for a girl.’ Biting into his thick slice of cake, he sent a flurry of golden-brown crumbs cascading towards his plate.

‘I am. We’ve rather more work than we can cope with over the autumn so I’m lookin’ for a girl to help cook an’ wash an’ clean,’ Hannah explained, noticing how moist and flavoursome the fruit cake was and thinking that it wouldn’t have disgraced her own table.

‘Well, my young Lottie tells me she wants to leave home. It ain’t my doing,’ he made plain, ‘but I can see her point. There ain’t much life out here and God blessed us with an abundance of girls, so no doubt we’ll manage. Not that we won’t miss her mind.’

‘And she’s good around the house?’

‘Well, my wife keeps a tight rein on things and I don’t believe
she
has any complaints. ’Tis a pity she ain’t here but her sister across at Marcombe is took bad and she’s gone over there to lend a hand,’ John Penney explained, licking his finger and dabbing eagerly at the crumbs on his plate.

‘And Lottie, is she here now?’ Hannah asked, hoping that he wasn’t about to say no.

‘Aye, I’ll give her a call,’ he replied and went to the door. ‘Charlotte, get yourself in here a moment, lovey.’

Quickly, a young girl who looked remarkably similar to Maryann appeared.

‘Yes, Pa,’ she answered, her eyes flicking to their guest.

Hannah studied her appearance; no more than medium height for a girl of her age and of slender, barely developed build with a striking plait of straw-coloured hair that reached almost to her waist. Her roundish face was memorable for the splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the way it made her appear a good deal younger than her years.

‘This is Mistress Strong from Summerleas Farm over at Verneybrook,’ her father said. ‘Hannah, this is my eldest daughter Charlotte, more often called Lottie.’

The girl extended her hand and Hannah reached to shake it.

‘Your pa was just telling me you’re anxious for a position someways,’ she said, adopting a gentle manner. ‘Why’s that then, love?’

‘Well, Mistress Strong, ’tis a mite lonely out here with just the family an’ I’ve an urge to see summat else, really,’ she answered, grasping for handfuls of her skirt.

‘Well, I’m in need of some help indoors but I have to say, housework is much the same wherever you do it, Lottie; back-breaking, thankless and dirty. You’d be cleaning, washing and cooking all day much the same as you no doubt do here, although you’d have Sunday afternoons to yourself and a nice room all of your own, next to the dairy.’

Apparently trying not to smile too broadly in front of her father, Lottie nodded eagerly.

‘Oh I shouldn’t mind the work, since like you say, ’tis much the same anywhere.’

‘And it’s a big step,’ Hannah pointed out. ‘You’ll be away from your brothers and sisters and your ma and pa and I can only promise you three or four months’ work to start with, so you may have to come home again after that.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, really I don’t. Anything’s better than being here all the time.’ She glanced sheepishly at her father. ‘Sorry, Pa but you know how I feel.’

John Penney put his arm around his daughter and pulled her into a hug.

‘I know, girl. But you’ll break your mother’s heart, all the same.’

Hannah smiled; there was no doubting that Lottie was nicely mannered and the house certainly seemed clean and tidy enough.

‘Well, as your wife ain’t here, how about I leave you to talk it over with her and let me know what you decide? If you can get word to me, you can bring Lottie over on Sunday afternoon, if that suits, of course.’

‘Much obliged I’m sure, though it looks to me as though this one has already made up her mind, so no doubt me and my wife won’t have much say in the matter!’

*

As the harvest approached and the weather continued fine, Thomas Strong took to standing in the fields, ostensibly making daily inspections of the grain as it finished ripening.

‘Come down an’ look at the wheat with me, son?’ he said to George as they walked back from church that Sunday.

‘Looks ready to my eye,’ George agreed as they stood at the field border surveying the crop. He pinched off an ear and rolled it between his palms to remove the papery husks and leave the pale, golden kernels in his palm. ‘Nice an’ firm,’ he said, splitting one with his fingernail to inspect the white, floury contents.

‘Aye, I’d say so too. I know there’s them that favour Golden Drop sayin’ it’s thin in the skin and light in the grain but I’ll stick with Red Lammas; much less bother with the mildew.’ Nodding his agreement, George accompanied his father back to the yard, where Thomas announced to his wife, ‘We’ll start on Thursday then and that bein’ the case, young Robert can take you to market since everyone else will be needed here. An’ I thought I might go up and see if Martha’s boy wants a few days’ work. And maybe that Brewer lad again.’

‘Aye, they were both good workers last year,’ Hannah agreed. ‘And I daresay Robert will be glad to know that you finally trust him to make the trip to market. So then, all we need to do now is pray that the Lord favours us with the skies.’

*

On the day before the harvest was due to begin – with prayers for fine weather apparently answered – Thomas made a final inspection of the fields. Finding the stalks crisp and pale and the ears golden, the sight of so much wheat standing tall and erect brought a smile to his lips.

‘Everything all right then?’ Hannah asked, joining him to look out across the rippling silk of palest gold.

‘Aye, hardly the best of years by far but it’s reasonable enough,’ he replied. ‘And with the wind in from the south-east, then mid be we’re set fair for a few days.’

‘So what’s troubling you then?’ Hannah asked, recognising reservation in his tone.

‘Nothin’, woman. Just glad to have made it to another harvest, I suppose. No mean feat at my age.’

‘Maudlin old fool! You better make sure you got a good few harvests in you yet, Thomas Strong,’ his wife replied.

*

By the time George arrived in the yard the following morning, there was already much activity, and above the muted chatter a sense of anticipation hung in the still and slightly misty morning air.