A Woman Undefeated (15 page)

“I must go now, Maggie,” he said gently.“My men will be thinkin’ I’ve lost me appetite and they’ll down my portion before it’s gone cool.”

He loped off without a backward glance, leaving Maggie bereft and feeling rather foolish. She had opened up her heart to someone, shown her feelings, hoping to be given sympathy from a fellow countryman. Though why should he, a voice inside her head gently scolded? “You’re nothing to him, just a raggedy waif that had his mother’s attention. You’ve foolishly woven a dashing hero inside your girlish dreams.”

She sank down on the wall again, thinking glumly of her choices and wondering if Johnny would notice if she hid aboard his ship? If he found her, he was unlikely to turn the vessel around again. For the sake of his mother he would probably help her if he could. Or should she go to the nearest big city and find herself a job? She could hide away in a city, lose herself amongst the many there. Though she’d have to find someone to show her the way, if that was what she planned to do.

“And what if you’re having a baby?” the voice inside her head said.

“You couldn’t manage with a tiny baby. Not in a city, all on your own.”

Nothing much was left of the day. The heavens had become a dull blanket of cloud, getting darker by the minute as if there was to be a storm. Seagulls came flying inward, settling in rows on the house tops, a sign that they knew what was coming from the hills. She dithered, then decided, she’d make her mind up on another day.

She began to quicken her step. Following the dirt track, at the side of the old custom house, she reasoned, must bring her back
to the farm. To the left of the track was a pit head. An eerie place with its inactive wheel, mounds of coal, empty carts and lack of noise from busy men. It was enclosed by a high wooden fence and a padlocked gate, so she strove to pass it as fast as she could, to the yonder open spaces and glorious coastal views.

Darkness was fast approaching as she came to a narrow lane. It was overhung by shady trees and her feet began to crunch on the carpet of their fallen leaves. A cottage lay in a hollow, but wasn’t her cottage on a bit of a hill? Was this her neighbour’s cottage, was hers along this way?

She needn’t have worried, as Jack came into view as she rounded the next corner. He was walking down the lane with a lantern in his hand. His face looked grim and worried, but brightened when Maggie came into view.

“Jack, Jack,” she shouted, relief making her run towards him as if the Devil himself was after her.

“Jack, I’m so glad to see yer. I’ve been walking around for hours, wouldn’t yer know it? I got lost when I decided to get some air. Then it started getting dark and I thought I’d never get to see yer again. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when yer came home. Yer must be tired, yer’ve had a long day.”

She thought her breathless words would please him, especially as she flung her arms round his neck as if she had missed him so. But he looked suspicious, as if he didn’t believe her. More so, when he felt the bulge of her shopping, which was carried under her shawl.

He took her arm, not unkindly, but she felt the pressure tighten as he pulled her through the cottage door.

“Walking around lost fer hours? Is that yer story then?” He glowered at her, as she began to take her purchases out from beneath her shawl and put them on the table.

“Then how come you asked the Tibbs boys the way to the village? They told me that they showed you which way. What’s this?”

His eyes widened as he saw the woollen stockings, lace
trimmed drawers, wooden hairbrush, block of soap, packet of flour and the twist of tea where she’d placed them. His tired looking face began to look grim.

“Have yer bin out pinchin’, Maggie? God, our first few days in this fine country and yer about to get yerself thrown into gaol! What have I married, a brazen slut who goes taking stuff that doesn’t belong to her? Maggie, I swear I’ll do you damage if you’ve been out pinchin’!”

Her first thoughts was to confess that she had indeed stolen them, as Jack was working himself up into a frenzy, at the thought of her being a lowly thief. He might throw her out and then the decision would have been made for her. She could hide in Johnny’s cattle boat. But her sense of pride and thoughts of the eighth commandment, spurred her on to tell the truth. Well, part of the truth anyway.

“Jack, how could yer think it?” she said, in a wheedling voice that sounded remorseful.

“I had a bit of fortune. I found a shilling down on the quay.”

She picked up two cups that were upended on saucers on the table and began to prepare a cup of tea. Her stomach was rumbling and she wished that she had bought herself some bread. Once she had added some boiling water to the tea leaves, she turned to face Jack, feeling wary.

“The truth is Jack, when I found the shilling, I couldn’t wait to spend it, knowing that tomorrow I would be stuck down at the farm. I was desperate for some warming under clothes. It seems colder here than back in Ireland and I need to be warm for the winter days and I need to have a hairbrush to keep me looking tidy, as I don’t want to become all tattered looking again.”

She felt relieved, as Jack’s face changed and a look of understanding crossed his features. Indeed he laughed and said he never thought he’d see Maggie Mayo in a pair of black stockings, never mind a pair of lacy drawers, and was sorry for jumping to the wrong idea of what she’d done. Worry for her safety had caused his anger, he had expected her to be waiting when he’d got home.
He took her in his arms and kissed her lovingly and this time she knew not to push him away. They spent the evening happily, firstly sharing a meal of the eggs, bacon and loaf of bread that Mrs Briggs had sent with the new worker, knowing there was nothing at the cottage to make a meal. Jack told of his new found knowledge of farming and the work mates he’d met along the way and she didn’t flinch when he took her in his arms that night. She had to learn how to live with her marriage and hoped to keep it that way.

“Come on Maggie, it’s cock crow! Get yerself up and we’ll be away. We’ll get a good breakfast at the farm if we shift ourselves. Come on, sleepy head, it’s the start of a new day.”

Maggie awakened to see Jack hovering at the side of the bed. His tousled hair glinting in the light of the lantern he was holding, his clothes all crumpled as he had slept in them again. He was sporting a grin from ear to ear as he watched her droopy eyed and trembling, woken up startled from a sleep that was deep and satisfying. She stumbled into the lean to and splashed her face with icy, tooth chattering water, then ran her new brush through her long, tangled hair.

Jack had topped up the fire with slow burning elder, so the room was still cosy from the night before. She listened to the wind that was howling around the chimney and wished she could stay in the cottage instead.

Maybe she could plead a chill or a headache, perhaps Jack would take pity on her if she said she was getting a cold? She turned to see him watching, as she stood at her ablutions in her lacy drawers.

“Oh, Maggie,” he suddenly said with longing in his voice, looking at her bare young breasts, which she was wiping over with a damp rag, “I wish I could take yer back to bed. It’s better now, yer getting used to me. Come here to me, me darlin’ and let me feel yer body against me once more. Yer do me heart good, just the sight of yer.....” And he pulled her close, his manhood
hardening as he stroked her bare bosoms and kissed her neck and hair.

“Get off me, Jack,” she cried in annoyance, pulling herself from his arms hastily, to run to the bedroom and put on her dress, stockings and shoes. He’d had his way twice, as they’d lain together that night, now the farm was seeming a safer place!

Childishly, she peeped under the bed to see if there were any more coins. Jack had swallowed her story of finding the shilling down on the quay. She resolved not to tell him that it probably fell out of his pocket, nor would she tell him of her encounter with Johnny, or the news that Molly had gone. This was knowledge she would keep to herself, not share the truth with anyone.

Maggie was glad of Jack’s body though, when they set out into the gusting wind and relentless rain. The trees bowed beneath the strength of it all and he sheltered her as they walked in the early gloom, with his arm tucked around her protectively, as they hurried up the lane. The lantern was dispensed with after the flame flickered and danced, then went out. Jack kept cursing, but they kept on going, keeping to the stony track rather than the short cut through the boggy fields.

So much for the cock crow. The other hands were already there, sitting at the table eating their substantial meal. All eyes turned to look at the pair as they fell into the kitchen, which felt so warm after the bitter chill, and was filled with tantalizing smells.

Maggie with her wet shawl pulled tightly round her head and Jack, with his fair hair plastered down, his coat dampened and evil smelling, and his feet squelching in his boots, as they had let in the driving rain, stood there on the threshold feeling uncertain. It was natural for the farmhands’ eyes to be all resting on Maggie, a woman they had never seen around the place before. Jack introduced her.

“This is my wife,” he told them proudly, “and Maggie, this is Billy, Solly and Sam.”

And with nods to Briggs and Ethel, Jack ushered her confidently to the table, where Ethel served up eggs and fried
potatoes, with warm, refreshing milk straight from the cows.

“So, have you settled in now, Maggie?” Briggs asked kindly.

“Got the cottage how you want it? All nice and cosy for the pair of you?”

The farmer made a fuss when he saw her. Her appearance would stop his wife from nagging him now.

Ethel Briggs looked up from where she was cracking eggs into a large black frying pan.

“Yes, and she can make a start on washing the crockery. She can take them through to the scullery now.”

Maggie stopped chewing and stared at her new mistress, incredulous. Did she mean before she’d even finished eating, when there was still a couple of tasty sliced potatoes to go? But the others were standing now, waiting for their orders from the farmer. Including Jack, who was frowning as he looked at her. She swallowed another morsel quickly, then began to collect the greasy plates. She was back in harness, shoulder to the wheel, her holiday was over, she was a servant again.

The morning passed by quickly, as Maggie humped overflowing pails of water from the pump in the yard to the kitchen, boiled numerous kettles, scrubbed the place from floor to ceiling, then helped Ethel Briggs to prepare the food for dinner time. Not one daughter made an offer to assist them. Indeed earlier they had sat being happily waited upon, by the new servant at their breakfast time. Peggy’s excuse was her appointment with the dressmaker, the other girls were on their way to school, but Maggie had the feeling that they had been instructed not to lift a finger. They had a servant now and she must earn her daily pay.

All the time she was watched and assessed by the mistress. Occasionally it was pointed out if she had skipped a bit of scrubbing, or peeled a potato too thickly, or the cabbage could have been chopped up more. To be fair, the woman did her share and they worked in relative harmony, until they stopped for a cup of tea at ten o’ clock and Maggie nearly left by the door.

“That gown could do with a bit of a wash, Maggie,” the Mistress remarked, as they tucked into a plate of homemade biscuits and a cup of elder-flower tea.

“I’d swear that Peggy gave it you in a clean condition and it looks as if you have slept in it. Have you not a nightgown or a petticoat you could wear at bedtime? I insist you have certain standards whilst you’re working here.”

“I’m sorry Mrs Briggs at me appearance,” she said, feeling like a lick spittle.

“Truth is, we lost our change of clothing when our box was swept overboard. Until Jack gets his wages from the farmer, we have no money to replace them and this week I’ll have to stock up on food.”

Maggie felt resentment at having to square herself with this woman, who, if she could have given her eye teeth just to be in her shoes, she would. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have a cupboard of clothes to choose from. She wouldn’t be working there if she had.

“Here, you can borrow Peggy’s apron so that you can cover yourself for the moment,” the farmer’s wife said briskly.

“I can’t have you handling food in the state you’re in, with me about to show you how to make a cheese. I like my servants to be clean and tidy. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, you know!”

Yes, she did know and she brightened when she heard that her new mistress was a believer. Maybe a Catholic woman, just like herself?

“Could yer tell me, Mistress Briggs, if yer attend the church on the road out of the village?,” she ventured. “Only I saw it when I went for a walk yesterday.”

“You mean St. Mary’s or St. Winefred’s?” the woman replied, helping herself to another biscuit as she spoke. “Both are on the road out of Neston. St. Mary’s is the one we go to and all our workers are expected to as well. You can take the track up from the farm gates to the village and it’s up the dip from the Wheatsheaf Inn. It’s eight o’clock for the Sunday morning service and six
o’clock at night. It’s the rector there who will conduct our Peggy’s ceremony, for which we’ve only another four weeks to go, I might add.”