Mud and Gold (45 page)

He reached in his pocket and was dismayed to
find he had barely a shilling on him. ‘Um, I don’t think I can pay
for that just now,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Is it all right if—’

‘No trouble at all,’ Mr Hatfield assured
him. ‘I’ll send an account at the end of the month.’

‘Papa?’ Maudie looked wistfully up at Frank
and pressed his hand. ‘Can I have one too?’

‘Aw, heck, Maudie, I don’t think I can
afford to buy two bangles. And it’s a bit much for a little girl
like you, I don’t know what Mama would say. Do you really want
one?’

‘Yes,’ Maudie said, winding her arms around
his leg and squeezing. She gave her father a look that reminded him
of Lizzie, and he could almost hear her mind ticking over. ‘Or a
hair ribbon.’

‘A ribbon.’ Frank seized on the chance, sure
that a length of ribbon would cost no more than a few pence. ‘I’ll
buy you a nice new hair ribbon. We’ll go over to Mrs Nichol’s as
soon as we’ve finished here.’

‘There you are,’ Mr Hatfield said, handing
Frank a neatly wrapped parcel. ‘And a little something for Miss
Kelly.’ He placed a small piece of polished kauri gum on the
surprised Maudie’s palm.

‘Say thank you,’ Frank prompted.

‘Thank you,’ Maudie said, turning her most
winning smile on Mr Hatfield. ‘Would you like a kiss?’

Somewhat to Frank’s surprise, the elderly
jeweller bent down to Maudie’s level and offered his cheek for a
wet, rather sticky kiss. ‘What a delightful little girl,’ he said
to Frank when he had straightened up again.

‘Yes, she’s hard to say no to, eh?’ Frank
agreed. ‘She’s just like her ma.’

Maudie insisted that no colour but red would
do for her ribbon, although the effort Mrs Nichol put in to trying
to persuade the three-year-old into a soft pink or blue made Frank
wonder if Lizzie would quite approve of scarlet. But letting Maudie
choose the wrong coloured ribbon was not going to worry Lizzie
overmuch, he was sure.

It was not Maudie’s new ribbon that occupied
Frank’s thoughts as they walked to the Post and Telegraph then
headed for home. It was the frustrating awareness that he could not
give Lizzie all that he wanted to. He was not sure just what he did
want to give her, but it was something more than her daily grind of
hard work looking after him and the children. He could feed and
clothe her, and keep a roof over her head, but there should be more
to life than that. His Lizzie deserved more, whatever the ‘more’
might be.

But how could he make life better for her?
There never seemed to be much money left over after the bills had
been paid. He struggled to make the musings that trod the same
aimless circuit over and over come to some useful conclusion. Maybe
the problem was that he never had more than the vaguest of ideas
just how much money he was likely to make in a season, nor how much
he would need to spend.

He grasped hold of the thought. Perhaps if
he kept a careful note of everything he earned and spent, it would
be easier to plan for extra outgoings. The diary he bought every
year was scarcely used, with only such momentous events as the
births of his children being recorded. Frank resolved that he would
start writing every transaction in his diary, down to the
threepence he had just spent on Maudie’s ribbon. Then he would be
able to work out the totals and know how much he would have left
over, though he shuddered at the thought of the sums he would have
to struggle with. Perhaps if he did that he would be able to buy
some nicer things for Lizzie. What would she like? he wondered.
Apart from food, the only thing she ever seemed to ask for was the
plainest of material to make dresses, and even that not very often.
He would have to try and wheedle out of her what things she
secretly craved.

He pulled his thoughts up sharply as he
realised what a fruitless path he was wandering down. It was all
very well deciding to keep a record of what money came in and out;
it was a good idea, and he would go ahead with it. But he knew
without doing any sums that he did not earn enough to buy Lizzie
the things she deserved. Milking twenty cows and selling a potato
crop once a year was not going to make him a rich man. But it was
all he knew, and all he had to offer. Perhaps he could get more
cows? He rejected the idea as soon as it was formed. Twenty were as
many as he could milk by himself. It would be different when Joey
was older, he thought, brightening for a moment. Once he had a son
big enough to help, he would be able to increase the herd.

Of course by that time there would be more
children to feed; plenty more, judging by the rate he and Lizzie
were producing them. And he did not want to wait until a child not
yet two years old was big enough to help before he started making
life better for Lizzie.

Maudie, worn out by the excitement of her
outing, laid her head in his lap and went to sleep. Frank stroked
her fair hair softly and smiled at his daughter, quiet at last. He
was lucky. He had Lizzie and he had the children. Lizzie was happy,
he knew that. But there must be something more he could do for her.
Some way to give her the life she should have. But what? And
how?

May 1890

The day after Amy had her second
miscarriage, barely five months after the first one, Charlie made
one of his solitary visits to town.

‘You’re sure you don’t want to take Mal?’
Amy asked, not with any great hope of success.

‘Not today,’ Charlie answered curtly. ‘It
doesn’t suit.’

‘I see.’ It was no use even to think of
arguing.

Amy dreaded the thought of putting up with
one of Malcolm’s tantrums, especially today when she was still
suffering the after-effects of her contractions. The butter-making
she had done that morning had made the discomfort even worse. She
had to find some way of keeping Malcolm entertained while his
father was away; perhaps an outing would at least tire him out.

She hurried outside to catch Charlie before
he left, and found him patting Smokey, murmuring into the horse’s
ear as he adjusted the bridle. Amy was struck by Charlie’s almost
tender manner; she had certainly never seen anything so close to
affection on his face when he looked at her.

He cares a lot more about that horse than
he does me. I suppose that’s fair
, she thought wearily.
The
horse does his job—he even likes doing it.

‘Please may I go over to Pa’s?’ she asked.
‘I’d like to take the boys for a visit. I haven’t been there for a
couple of months.’

‘All right,’ Charlie said as he mounted. ‘Go
straight there and back, mind. And be sure you’re back in time to
get dinner on.’

I’ve never, ever been back late from
anywhere
. ‘I will.’

‘Are you going to tell any of them?’ he
asked, jerking his head towards Jack’s farm. ‘About losing another
bairn, I mean.’

‘No. It’s our business, no one else’s.’

Charlie nodded his agreement. ‘The women are
all breeding over there, aren’t they?’

‘Well, not Susannah. But Sophie and Jane
both are, yes.’

‘Mmm. Your brothers look pleased about it
all.’ His mouth worked oddly as he looked at her. Amy was unsure
whether he was irritated with her or upset by their loss. Perhaps
he was not sure himself.

‘Charlie, I… I’m sorry about the baby,’ Amy
said.

‘All right, there’s no need to go on with a
lot of nonsense,’ Charlie said brusquely. ‘Don’t you go weeping and
wailing. There’ll be another before long.’ He dug in his heels and
set off down the road at a trot.

I know there will. That doesn’t make it
any easier to lose this one
. She waved as he rode away, but
Charlie did not turn to look back at her.

Amy wrapped some biscuits in a cloth and set
off with the two boys. Malcolm ran ahead, darting around as things
caught his attention, and Amy was pleased to see him tiring himself
out.

‘Hurry up, Mama,’ he called from a few yards
ahead, giving up on the hare he had been chasing.

‘No, Mal, you’ll just have to wait for me.
Mama doesn’t feel like hurrying.’ If she plodded along at her own
pace, the walk was not too uncomfortable. ‘Go on, Davie, see if you
can catch up with Mal,’ she encouraged. David toddled off towards
his brother, and Amy noticed how much he had grown in the last few
months. David was going to be tall, she could see; perhaps even
taller than Malcolm.

Jane greeted her with pleasure, and Dolly
(as Doris was universally known) climbed onto Amy’s lap and gave
her a wet kiss before Jane coaxed all three children into one
corner of the kitchen with biscuits to share.

‘It’s nice to see a different face,’ Jane
said as she poured tea for them both. ‘I can’t really get up to the
big house now, not that it’s very exciting up there. I don’t see
much of
her
.’ A toss of her head and a disapproving scowl
indicated the invisible Susannah. Amy hid a smile at how much Jane
looked and sounded like Harry as she spoke. ‘Your pa’s sweet,
though, he’s always been nice to me.’

‘Yes, Pa’s lovely,’ Amy agreed.

‘I’ll be glad when this is over,’ Jane said,
pointing to her swollen belly. ‘Nearly two months to go.’ She
pulled a face. ‘I bet Sophie’s a size now, she’s a couple of weeks
ahead of me. I don’t think we’ll need to send the nurse home
between babies. Harry says we should ask for a sale price.’ She
giggled at the thought, and Amy laughed with her.

‘You’re having a bit of a rest from having
babies?’ Jane asked.

‘I seem to be,’ Amy said, careful to sound
nonchalant.

‘That’s good. I know things are a bit hard
for you at home. Harry’s often said… well, never mind. Harry talks
too much. He’s very fond of you, though—so am I.’ Jane rose
impulsively and kissed Amy on the cheek, then took her chair once
more and fussed over pouring a second cup of tea.

Amy squeezed her hand. ‘I’m fond of you too,
Jane. It’s nice to see how happy you and Harry are.’

‘Oh, he drives me up the wall half the
time!’ Jane raised her eyes heavenwards, but her smile belied her
words. ‘I suppose he’ll be just as silly over this baby as he was
with Dolly—honestly, you’d think no man had ever fathered a child
before. I remember seeing John grinning at him behind his back—I
bet John’s just as bad now.’

‘Probably,’ Amy agreed.

Malcolm became fidgety once all the biscuits
were eaten, and Amy knew it was time to leave.

‘I’d better pop up and see Sophie,’ she
said. ‘She must be getting a bit bored now she’s stuck at
home.’

‘I’m not sure Sophie gets bored.’

‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ Amy sighed.
‘Sophie’s nice, and she seems to make John happy. But she’s a bit…
well, she’s hard work talking to.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Jane agreed fervently. ‘She
smiles and nods, but you can tell she’s not taking in a word you
say. Still, she must be easy to get on with. I bet they never have
any fights.’

‘She wouldn’t suit Harry,’ Amy said
daringly.

‘Cheeky!’ Jane pulled a face at her. ‘You’re
right, my grumpy old husband wouldn’t like her at all. Poor old
Sophie, though, she has to put up with Madam breathing down her
neck all day long. Sophie never seems to mind. If it was me it’d be
a different story. Honestly, that Susannah! She used to go on about
Harry when I first came to live here—you know, making nasty little
remarks the way she does. She called my Harry bad tempered,’ Jane
said indignantly. ‘What a cheek! I gave her a piece of my mind, she
never tried that again. Ooh, Harry hates her.’

‘That’s my fault, I’m afraid.’

‘Rubbish! She’s just a… well, she’s what
Harry calls her.’

Malcolm was already standing by the door
waiting impatiently. ‘Hurry up, Mama. I’m sick of this,’ he
complained.

‘Shh, Mal! Say thank you to Aunt Jane for
having you.’

‘No.’ Malcolm yanked at the door and hauled
it open with difficulty, then disappeared through it.

‘The door sticks,’ Jane grimaced. ‘Harry’s
had dozens of goes at fixing it—he doesn’t really know what he’s
doing, but he won’t ask anyone else. At least the roof doesn’t leak
any more, it used to, did you know?’

‘I think I remember hearing that,’ Amy said,
smiling at the memory.

‘Yes, I finally managed to get Harry to fix
it when we found it dripping water on Dolly’s cradle.’

‘I’m sorry Mal was rude, Jane. He always
plays up for me.’

Jane dismissed Amy’s apologies with a wave
of her hand. ‘Don’t worry. Boys are more trouble than girls, just
look at Harry! Oh, don’t those two look sweet,’ she exclaimed. Amy
looked past Jane to see Dolly and David taking turns rocking a
miniature cradle that Harry had made for his daughter’s doll. ‘Why
don’t you leave Davie here while you go up to the house? It’s nice
for Dolly to have someone to play with. Oh, you can leave Mal too
if you want,’ she added without any great show of enthusiasm.

‘No, I won’t saddle you with him, he’d wear
you out. Thanks, Jane, I shouldn’t be long with Sophie.’

She hurried off to catch up with Malcolm,
who was swinging on Harry’s gate. ‘Come on, Mal, we’re going to see
Aunt Sophie now.’

‘I want to see Tommy and Georgie.’

‘They mightn’t be home from school yet. You
can see Grandpa, though. And I bet Aunt Sophie’s got some yummy
cakes to eat, she makes nice things.’

‘Don’t want to see Aunt Sophie. Where’s
Grandpa?’

‘I don’t know, Mal, I suppose he’s working
somewhere. We’ll find him after I’ve had a little talk with Aunt
Sophie. Look, there’s Uncle John,’ she said, glad of the
distraction.

John waved when he saw them, and waited for
them to catch him up. He greeted Amy with a kiss and grasped
Malcolm around the middle, turned him upside-down and held him
wrong way up until the four-year-old squealed in delight. ‘I was
just popping up to see how Sophie is,’ he said. ‘She was looking a
bit down at lunch-time. She’ll be pleased to see you, it’ll take
her mind off things.’