The Fleethaven Trilogy (23 page)

She took the bottle from him and flung it across the yard with all her strength. It smashed against the hen house and the frightened birds set up such a squawking that it sounded as if a fox had got in amongst them.

She bent over him – as always when she was angry, hands on hips, feet spread apart. ‘Matthew Hilton, have you gone and volunteered?’

Suddenly he seemed painfully sober. ‘I – I think I must have done, Esther.’ Slowly from his pocket he pulled a piece of crumpled paper. Awkwardly, he dragged himself to his feet, but Esther made no move to help him. Instead she took hold of his arm roughly and pushed him towards the house. ‘Then you’d better go back and un-volunteer.’ Inside she steered him into the kitchen. ‘Just you sit down there, me lad, and let’s have it. Just what have you done in your drunken state?’

Matthew fell back into the wooden chair and passed a hand, which shook slightly, across his forehead. Beads of sweat glistened on his face. ‘Oh, Esther, I don’t know what I’ve done.’

‘
Have
you volunteered?’

Matthew raised apologetic eyes to look at her. Slowly he nodded.

‘Whatever made you do such a stupid thing? You can’t go. What about the farm? I can’t manage the farm on my own.’

Matthew’s smile was without humour. It was a smile of sadness. Soberly now, he said softly, ‘You don’t need me, Esther. You never did.’

‘Of course I need you, Matthew. Don’t be so stupid. If you can’t think about me and the farm, what about your daughter? What about Kate?’

‘Kate?’ He spoke her name almost as if he didn’t remember who she was. ‘Oh, Kate. Well, she dun’t need me either. You’re mother
and
father to her. We both know that.’

‘Matthew, will you stop being so – so deliberately stupid,’ she screamed at him.

As her tone grew shriller, his by contrast grew softer and more patient – more resigned to what he had done. ‘Stupid? Yes, I’m stupid. At least I was.’

He sat staring into the glowing embers of a dying fire. Esther, stunned by his manner, was quiet now.

‘I knew you only married me to get the tenancy of this farm, Esther,’ Matthew was saying quietly. ‘At least I didn’t give much thought to it afore we was wed The ironic smile twisted his mouth again. He had sobered swiftly, yet he was more talkative, more expansive and confiding than she had ever known him. She sank down on to the rug watching him as he talked, his face half in shadow illuminated only by the red glow from the fire.

‘I – ain’t been quite fair to you, Esther. I know that now. I blamed
you
for tricking me into marrying you, when really I – I should have married Beth.’

There, it was said now, Esther thought, but she remained silent, sitting on the rug, hugging her knees up to her chest and staring into the glowing coals.

‘I wasn’t being fair to you, Esther,’ he repeated. ‘You were right when you said it was me who asked you to marry me. I did – ’cos I was mad to have you. I wanted you as I never wanted anyone before – not even Beth – in that way.’ He leaned forward and touched her cheek with unexpectedly gentle fingers. ‘Oh, Esther, I still want you – that way.’

She bent her head and for a moment pressed his hand closer to her cheek, but she could not speak.

‘But I – I never stopped to really think things out/ he went on. ‘Beth was always there, had always been there for me, and –’ he sighed and moved restlessly – ‘and daft-like, I suppose I thought she always would be somehow. I never realized, y’see, that Beth was the only one who really loved me.’ His voice broke as he added hoarsely, I’m sorry, Esther. I’ve not done right by you –or Beth. Mebbe, just mebbe, I’ve chance now to prove I’m not all bad.’

She moved then, knelt in front of him and put her arms around him and leant her head against his chest. ‘Oh, Matthew, you’re not bad, not wicked at all.’ She hugged him tight. ‘Don’t go, Matthew.’

He buried his face in her hair and for once held her close in an embrace that was affectionate rather than lustful. Oh, Esther, I’ve no choice – now. It’s too late.’ His voice broke on a hoarse whisper. ‘Too late.’

They clung together in a timeless moment, closer, now that they were to part, than they had ever been.

The following morning when Esther opened the back door to go out to do the milking she saw that a swirling fog was rolling in from the sea, enveloping the farm, cutting it off from the outside world. How she wished that they could stay like that, cut off from everything outside the farm gate, a little island of their own, safe from the war and the cruel tongues of neighbours that had driven Matthew to prove himself not a coward.

As she finished milking and was carrying the pails across the yard, Matthew came out of the back door, dressed in his Sunday best suit. Sombrely he met her gaze. Slowly he drew the Hunter watch from his pocket and unhooked the gold chain from his waistcoat. He held it out to her. ‘Here, Esther – ’ he cleared his throat – you’d best keep it till – till I come back.’

Carefully, she set the pails down and took the watch from him. ‘Of course, Matthew, I’ll keep it safe for you – till you come home again.’

They stared at each other wordlessly.

She saw Matthew swallow, saw him pull in a deep, shuddering breath.

‘I’d best be off then.’ He tried to smile, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘I – I don’t want ’em to think I’ve changed me mind.’

‘Have you seen Kate?’

He nodded. ‘Aye.’ He glanced away and said gruffly, ‘Look after her – and ya’sen.’

‘Do you want me to come into town with you?’ she asked softly.

He shook his head. ‘No – no, thanks.’

‘You’ll write, won’t you?’

He shifted his feet. ‘I’m not much for writing, Esther. But I’ll try to let you know where I am and, well, if I’m all right — if ya want.’

‘Of course I want.’ She was about to add ‘don’t be stupid’, but for once she bit back the sharp retort in time.

There was an awkwardness between them as if neither knew what to say and yet didn’t want the final moment to come.

He bent and picked up the pails of milk. ‘I’ll carry these in for you.’

Surprised, she merely nodded. She followed him into the house but stood in the scullery whilst he took the milk through to the pantry. She leant against the wall at the side of the window, her hands still cradling the watch. He came back and stood before her.

‘I’ll be off, then.’

She nodded. ‘Take care of yourself, Matthew.’

He nodded and stepped out over the threshold. Esther stood by the window near the back door watching Matthew walk across the yard and out of the gate. She could just see his shape through the swirling mist as he pulled the gate to behind him and turned towards the town. Then she saw him hesitate and stop. Slowly he turned around and took a few steps in the opposite direction towards the Point.

Beth, she thought, he’s going to say goodbye to Beth – and to his son.

She saw him falter and stop again. He stood in the lane, a lonely figure, gazing towards the Point, straining to see the Elands’ boat home through the mist.

Esther closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the cool glass.

‘Oh, Matthew, Matthew,’ she whispered.

When she opened her eyes and looked again, he had disappeared from view.

L
ETTERS
had always been rare amongst the small community at the Point. The arrival of one used to cause anything from delighted surprise to worried consternation, and everyone knew about its coming within minutes, sometimes even before the real recipient.

Now, letters, cards – news of any sort – were eagerly awaited and pounced upon. The first card, delivered by Will Benson on his rounds, came from Ernie Harris telling his parents he was still in training and had not yet heard of being posted abroad.

A month after Matthew had left, a postcard arrived from him addressed to his wife. As Will handed it to her, Esther read the words Matthew had written so laboriously. ‘I am well. I hope you are too. Matthew.’ As an obvious afterthought, he added at the bottom, ‘And the child’.

Esther sighed and a wry smile twitched her lips. Which child was he really thinking about, she wondered. Kate? Or his son who lived in the boat on the river bank?

She pulled the back door wider. ‘Come on in, Will, ya dinner’s on the table.’

‘Eh, ya’re a grand lass and no mistake.’

‘You’ve always been good to me, Will. An’ I never forget those that’s done me good turns.’

Will grinned amiably, and said shrewdly, ‘Aye, an’ I reckon you dun’t forget those that’s done you a bad turn either, eh, lass?’

Esther laughed aloud, her bright eyes glinting. ‘How well you know me, Will Benson.’

‘Aye,’ Will murmured more to himself than to her. I reckon I do at that.’

Esther handed Matthew’s postcard back to Will for him to read. He smiled. ‘Not much of a letter writer, is he?’

‘No, but at least he’s actually written to me.’

They exchanged a glance of understanding. Will nodded but said nothing more, deliberately concentrating on the meat and potato pie she had placed before him. As always, after the first few mouthfuls, Will made a pretence of looking around the room as if he had just remembered. As usual, he said with careful casualness, ‘Where’s the little one, then?’

It had become a ritual between them. Esther replied, ‘Sleeping upstairs, but I’ll fetch her down before you go.’

Satisfied, Will nodded. ‘I’ve got a present for her.’

‘Oh, Will, really! You spoil the child. You really shouldn’t bring her something every week.’

Will grinned. ‘Well, if I can’t spoil me – ’ he cleared his throat and finished – ‘me favourite little girl, then I dun’t know who can.’

Gently, Esther said, ‘Didn’t you ever have any children, Will?’

There was a long silence whilst Will kept his eyes downcast, concentrating on his plate as he mopped up the last vestige of gravy with a piece of bread, savouring every morsel. Esther thought perhaps she had trespassed too far on his privacy, that he was going to ignore her question, but at last he raised his head slowly and looked directly into her eyes.

Choosing his words carefully, he said, It never happened with me and the wife, and then not very many years after we was wed she – well – she didn’t like that side of things. Y’know . . .’ Their eyes held together in a steady gaze. ‘But she were a good wife in every other way,
every
other way. And I – never wanted to see her hurt. I still don’t.’

Slowly Esther inclined her head. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I can understand that. You’re a good man, Will Benson.’

Colour suffused his cheeks and his voice was a little husky with emotion. ‘Mebbe I ain’t always been.’

Esther stood up, not wanting to embarrass him any further. She grinned. ‘Not many of us are perfect all the time, Will. I reckon we’re all allowed a little slip now and again.’

Will laughed, blowing away the moments of awkwardness between them.

‘I’ll go and fetch Kate down to see you.’

Minutes later as she sat her sleepy daughter on Will’s knee and watched as he pulled a toy from his pocket, his head bent towards the child, Esther knew for certain what had lain hidden in the recesses of her mind, and her heart, for years. If only Will would say the words she longed to hear. But from their conversation a few moments before, it looked as if she would have to wait a long time – maybe for ever.

There were a number of familiar faces missing at the Harvest Supper that year. All the young men had gone to war, and the last of the harvesting had been left to the old men, the women and children. Esther found herself meeting new people from more distant farms whom the squire had prevailed upon to help, and she in turn had to go some considerable way to help out in turn.

‘By, but we’re late getting it all in this year. How’s things with you?’ Tom Willoughby asked her.

‘Not too bad, Tom, thanks. We got it all in just before Matthew volunteered.’ Her mouth was grim at the memory of that night, nor could she forget the part Tom’s wife and sister-in-law had played. Esther was fair-minded enough, however, to know it was none of Tom’s doing.

‘Come up to my place in the morning, Esther, lass,’ Tom was saying, ‘and hitch a lift with my workers. We’re off to Browns’ Farm tomorrow and it’s five miles or more. You can’t be carrying your little girl that far.’

Esther smiled her thanks and the morning saw her and Kate perched on the front of the wagon beside Tom Willoughby under the malevolent glare of his wife as the cart trundled out of the yard of Rookery Farm. Tom Willoughby never seemed to worry what his wife and sister-in-law said or did. He was far too intelligent, Esther thought, to be ignorant of their mischief-making, but no doubt long ago he had decided that the best way to treat it was to ignore it. Well, thought Esther, if he can then so can I, though inwardly she had to admit that she still felt resentment towards the two women for having goaded Matthew into volunteering.

Esther found that her horses were much in demand too, and she received payment from some of the farmers for their use of Punch and Prince.

‘You’m lucky you’ve still got yar ’osses,’ Mr Souter told her. ‘They took the team I reckon to borrow from the squire in the first month of the war.’

‘What d’ya mean, Mr Souter? Who took them?’

‘This government official came – from the War Office, or whatever they call ’em. Commandeered them for service, he said.’

Esther gasped. ‘Can they do that?’

‘Huh, can they just!’ Mr Souter said grimly.

‘Well, ya’re welcome to borrow mine, Mester Souter.’

‘Thank ’ee, Mrs Hilton. I might at that – while ya’ve still got ’em!’

So it was not quite such a shock for Esther the day a thin-faced, hunch-backed little man with steel-rimmed spectacles and clutching a sheaf of papers under his arm knocked on the back door of Brumbys’ Farm.

‘I am sorry to inform you that you are required to give up your two farm horses, Mrs Hilton.’

‘I ain’t no ’osses,’ Esther said boldly, but at that moment, Punch decided to kick his stable door.

The man’s eyes narrowed and he smiled thinly. ‘Really, Mrs Hilton,’ he said. ‘Well, I am informed—’