Clara placed the oil lamp on the chest of drawers and opened the lid of the trunk and took out linen and blankets.
‘I can make up the bed, Mrs Lyndon.’
‘Ee, call me Clara, lass. We don’t stand on ceremony, me an’ Frank.You make up the bed then and I’ll bring up your bag when I’ve had a word with Jake. I’ll leave you the lamp. The privy’s at the end of the garden if you want it, there’s a path at the side leading to it. Each cottage has its own so it’s nice and clean.’
‘Thank you, and thank you for letting me stay.’
‘Like I said, you’re more than welcome, lass. There’s another pillow or two if you want ’em in the trunk. In the old days when all my lads were at home they topped and tailed. High jinks we had then but they were happy days. Still, I’ve got me grandchildren now. Six at the last count and one on the way. Two little lassies and four lads an’ I see plenty of ’em so I count meself fortunate.’
Once she was alone, Hannah did not immediately begin to make up the bed. She stood for a moment in the middle of the room looking around her. It seemed incredible that she was here at the farm that she had heard Naomi speak of so often and that Jake Fletcher had brought her to this place because her Uncle Edward had tried to rape her. She shut her eyes tightly. The word had been at the back of her mind since her uncle had attacked her but she hadn’t been able to give heed to it before. If he had succeeded, if he’d overpowered her out there in the backyard . . .
But he hadn’t
. She opened her eyes. That was what she had to concentrate on. And whatever it was like here, however good or bad things were, it would be better than staying in the vicinity of her uncle and her mother. What would they tell her Aunt Aggie? She screwed up her face as though in pain.Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be the truth. But then how could she tell her aunt the truth anyway? She couldn’t. So perhaps it was best left alone. And Adam.What would he say when he discovered what had happened to her? Would he be sorry they had quarrelled or wouldn’t he care?
She crossed her arms, her hands gripping her waist, and swayed for a few moments, the lost feeling swamping her. From the room below she heard voices and then the front door opening and closing. Jake Fletcher had gone. She should have thanked him again.
Forcing herself into action she began to put the sheets and blankets on the bed. They smelt of lavender, fresh and wholesome. When Clara brought her bag up a minute or two later, Hannah was sitting on the made-up bed, her hands in her lap and her feet on the floor.
‘You all right, hinny? Would you like a hot drink to go to bed with?’
‘I’m all right, Mrs Lyndon.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say Clara. It didn’t seem right, not with her being young enough to be the woman’s granddaughter. ‘But if I’m going to stay in your home I think there’s something you ought to know. It’s only fair. And then if you don’t want me to have your spare room that’ll be fine.’
Clara didn’t interrupt while Hannah told her what had occurred that evening but at one point during the telling she came and sat on the bed and put her arm round the shoulders of the young girl Jake had brought to the house. Hannah was shaking by the time she had finished but she wasn’t crying. She didn’t do that until Clara said, ‘Lass, I perhaps shouldn’t say it but your mam wants a good kick up the backside in my opinion. As for that uncle of yours, it’s a pity men like him aren’t placed in line when the veterinary comes to geld the bullocks.’
‘You believe me then?’
‘I believe you, lass, and so would anyone else. Now I’m going to get you a nice warm glass of milk and a little tot of a sleeping draught I have now and again when my leg is playing me up. What you need is a good sleep and everything will be different in the morning. You jump into bed and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
Hannah did as the little woman suggested, taking off her skirt and blouse and stockings and climbing into bed in her petticoat. She would unpack her things in the morning.
The sleeping draught was bitter. She drank it down along with the milk to please Clara although she was sure she wouldn’t sleep. Her mind didn’t seem to be able to stop replaying the scene in the backyard.
When Clara left, taking the oil lamp with her, Hannah lay down, the soothing scent of lavender enveloping her and the faint hoot of an owl in the distance comforting in that it told her she was far away from her uncle. She was asleep within two minutes.
PART THREE
1926 - Piecrust Promises
Chapter 9
When Hannah awoke the next morning after a solid night’s sleep, it was to a room filled with sunlight. She lay for a moment or two with her eyes open but her mind hovering somewhere between sleep and consciousness, the sleeping draught blanketing her thoughts. And then she remembered. Sitting up in bed, she looked round the room, seeing it clearly for the first time without the shadows and flickers of the oil lamp distorting things.
It was nice. She glanced at a posy of lavender which had been dried and fixed to the wall above the chest of drawers, the pale, slightly mauvish blue standing out against the whitewashed wall. Her mam would turn her nose up at these spartan surroundings, no doubt, but she would far rather be here than in the flat above the shop.
Her mam
. Her mouth thinning, Hannah threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, padding across the sun-warmed floorboards to the window. Her uncle had been horrible, vile, but her mother was even worse. She didn’t care if she never saw the pair of them again in the whole of her life.
Refusing to acknowledge the surge of hurt in her chest, she pushed up the sash window and stuck her head outside. Her room faced the narrow strip of back garden, and beyond that were corn fields, bright and golden in the sunshine. The sky was high and blue and the sun was hot on her face and she smiled. Yesterday she had thought she would never smile again but this morning the joy of life was welling up again, so did that make her shallow? Frivolous? Her mother had often called her frivolous. Well, she didn’t care if she was. She was glad to be here. Glad to escape working with her uncle in the shop. Not that she was afraid of hard work, and she’d prove it to everyone here. In spite of not being one of them, she would work her socks off. She’d do anything and she would pay her way or her name wasn’t Hannah Casey.
She began to rummage through her bag so she could get dressed, promising herself she’d have a wash later when she found out how things were done here. She pulled out her other workday blouse; the one she had been wearing the day before would have to be mended before she could put it on. She’d like to throw it away, it felt contaminated, but of course she couldn’t afford to do that. The bruises on the tops of her arms from her uncle’s grip on her were already turning different colours and the scratches on her legs had an area of bruising round them too. She was glad she could cover all the marks with her clothes; at least the evidence of the attack would be hidden when she met the farmer.
When she was dressed she made her bed and then brushed the tangles out of her hair. With no mirror in the room she didn’t attempt to put her hair up in its normal coils on top of her head; she simply wove it into a single plait and then pinned it firmly to her scalp. She wanted to look neat and tidy when Jake came for her. It was important the farmer saw her as a respectable woman in view of the circumstances which had brought her here. She hadn’t led her uncle on, she
hadn’t
, despite what her mother had said but somehow she felt as though part of this was her fault. What had made him think he could treat her like that?
Taking a deep breath, she told herself not to think about it for now. She had to go downstairs and begin to fit into her life here as best she could.
Clara was in the kitchen and she turned as Hannah entered, smiling as she said, ‘There you are, lass. The sleeping draught did its job then. Never fails, that doesn’t. Breakfast is long since past and I’ve just taken Frank his mid-morning bite, but help yourself to a cup of tea, I’ve just made a brew. And there’s a shive of stottie cake and some cold bacon on the slab in the pantry.’
‘I’ve overslept.’ Belatedly Hannah realised how late in the morning it was. Hardly an auspicious start. ‘Has Mr Fletcher called?’
‘Jake? No, lass, don’t worry your head about him. I saw him crossing the yard on my way back from Frank and told him I’d given you something to help you sleep. He’ll be down at some point, never fear.’
Hannah nodded, sitting down at the kitchen table. This room was not what she had expected. There was no range as such, but a fire was burning in the deep hearth, above which hung a black kale pot suspended from a thick chain attached to a crossbar an inch or two below the chimney opening. Just above the fire a large square steel shelf formed of bars like a grating had a big black kettle standing on it, and to one side of the hearth and built into the wall was what looked like an oven.
There didn’t appear to be a scullery attached to the cottage. Clara was busy washing a number of pots and pans in a stone sink set beneath the kitchen window and either side of this were two tables obviously used for preparing food and storing crockery and dishes to be washed. The table Hannah was sitting at was of better quality with a leather-covered top. Further along one wall were several racks of open shelves holding everything the kitchen required, and at the far end of these, next to the back door, a tin bath stood propped on its side.
Again everything was spotlessly clean.You could have eaten your dinner off the stone-flagged floor.
After Hannah had poured herself and Clara a cup of tea and declined anything to eat, the small woman dried her hands and came to sit at the kitchen table. ‘I’m to show you round the farm when you’re ready,’ she said after taking several sips of the strong tannic brew. ‘Not the farmhouse of course, but the rest of it. You might find the farmhouse a bit of a mess when you first go in, lass,’ she added, lowering her voice although there was no one in the cottage but the two of them. ‘Enid, her who does for Jake and the master, she’s not too particular. You know what I mean? And to be fair she’s got her own family to cook and clean for and she helps out in the dairy when she can. To my mind they’ve needed a proper housekeeper long before this but as I understand it the master was a bit funny about another woman coming in and doing much. Fond of his missus, the master was.’
Oh great. Her face must have showed her consternation because Clara smiled, her voice hearty when she said, ‘But you’ll be fine, lass. Don’t worry about that. You can cook, hinny?’
‘Yes. Well, a bit. I can make bread and pastry and stews, things like that.’ But she had never cooked on such basic devices before.The range in the flat had been a prestige, up-to-date one.
‘Then you’re halfway there. Fill a man’s stomach and they’re as happy as pigs in muck. That’s what I say.’
Hannah smiled weakly. She was beginning to realise Clara was something of a character.
When they had finished their tea, Clara took her on a tour of the farm. It was pleasant in the hot sunshine with a breeze blowing, but Hannah was too nervous about the coming meeting with the farmer to appreciate the fine weather. Her inward agitation increased tenfold when it dawned on her how extensive the farm was.The byres and barns, stables and store sheds, big harness room, rows of pigsties - it seemed to stretch forever, and surrounding all of it were rolling fields of corn and beet and turnips and the like. And the cattle. Acres and acres of fat cattle.
‘Grand, isn’t it?’ Clara beamed at her, as proud as if the credit was all hers. They finished their walk close to where Frank and another labourer were working in the fields. Clara raised her hand to her husband who waved back before resuming his task. ‘He’s cutting the green meat,’ said Clara by way of explanation.
Hannah looked at Frank from under her straw bonnet. His scythe didn’t look to be cutting any meat, green or otherwise.
Clara noticed her puzzlement. ‘Ee, sorry, lass. I’m not doing very well at telling you what’s what, am I?’ She laughed, her rosy cheeks like little apples. ‘The green meat is what we call the tares an’ clover and triflomen, that’s the red kind of clover, you know?’
Hannah didn’t but she nodded anyway.
‘Some of it they’ll save and mix with the hay chaff and the wheat chaff - there’s little goes to waste on a farm. Waste not, want not, eh, lass?’
Hannah nodded again. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask but she thought a good deal of them might sound silly to Clara. As they began to walk back to the cottage, she voiced one which she considered perfectly reasonable. ‘How many people are there at the farm?’