Authors: Valerie Wood
Isaac intended to use local labour, though he knew that the larger land holdings would be easier to work with fewer men employed, and should in theory be far more efficient. Only time would tell whether this was correct but, being a considerate man, he was uncomfortable as he passed through the small village and felt the animosity of some of the men who lounged outside the doors of their cottages and who turned morosely to watch his carriage drive down the muddy road.
‘When you are feeling well, my dear, do you think that it might be a good idea if you paid a visit to the villagers? Get to know them, and let them get to know you? Let them see that you are interested in their welfare?’
She stared at him stupefied.
‘I think it would show that we mean well,’ he said, pacing the floor and trying to engender some enthusiasm. ‘That we do wish to belong.’
She gave a deep sigh. ‘I don’t think you realize, Isaac, that I am still in a weakened state and am quite likely to catch some dreadful disease that might be harboured in those houses.’
He raised his hands in protest. ‘Heaven forbid that I should suggest that you take tea with them! But to take them some comforts and pass the time of day would be charitable.’
She smiled sweetly at him. Yes, of course she would like to be considered charitable, to do good deeds. Just as long as it wasn’t too taxing on her energies. And, she mused thoughtfully, her circle of contemporaries would be more than impressed when they discovered that her new life as a gracious benefactor was filled with compassionate and bountiful acts of goodwill.
‘When I am up and about again, Isaac, I will do what I can.’
He sat silently as Susan brought in the tea and carefully poured it from the silver teapot. ‘Mrs Scryven’s just made them honey cakes, ma-am. She says she hopes that you’ll try them.’
Isobel nodded. ‘Will you ask Mrs Foster to come up. I need to speak to her about the arrangements for the weekend when Mr John will be here.’
Susan bobbed, a smile hovering about her lips, and left the room.
‘Pretty girl, that one. What eyes she has!’ Isaac sipped his tea. ‘I can’t see you keeping her for very long. Some young fellow will snap her up, mark my words.’
‘Isaac, really,’ she tutted. ‘Pray don’t mention it. I should hate to lose her, she’s such a comfort.’
Isaac bit into the soft, sticky texture of a honey cake and spoke with his mouth half full. ‘We’d find another maid soon enough, but we’d never find another cook like Mrs Scryven. What an angel, what delights she produces! She’s the one we must look after!’
‘Has Mr John arrived yet?’ Isobel stretched and yawned and inspected the breakfast tray which Susan had brought in response to the bell. Fresh bread, kidneys and newly laid eggs were there to tempt her jaded appetite, and a small vase of spring flowers, snowdrops and the slender stems and starlike yellow flowers of winter jasmine, were set upon the crisp white cloth.
‘Yes, ma-am. He got here about ten-o-clock.’ The girl drew back the curtains, letting in the sunlight. ‘It’s a grand morning, ma-am.’
‘Mm, so it is. I have decided to come downstairs today, so would you prepare my yellow morning dress, and we’ll use the front drawing-room so be quite sure that it is warm.’
‘Yes, ma-am. ’Fire is lit already. Mr Masterson said to tell you that they’d be back about eleven and will take breakfast then.’
Isobel ate sparingly, and then rose from her bed. She had slept well and felt refreshed. Some of her old sparkle seemed to be returning and she was looking forward to greeting John and hearing the news and gossip of Hull, for Isaac gave her none.
She stood in her night robe and surveyed the view. Snowdrops were appearing in scattered drifts across the lawn, and here and there in sheltered corners were splashes of gold from winter aconites. She leaned forward to look towards the round tower at the east end of the Hall as her gaze was caught by another shower of gold, which tumbled and cascaded over the grey stone. Winter jasmine delighted her eyes. It must be nearly spring, she thought, unaware that its beauty had been there to enchant all the winter had she only cared to look.
As she gazed she saw figures approaching from across the fields towards the pasture land, three people, one of which she knew to be Isaac, his stocky figure in his greatcoat and tall beaver hat instantly recognizable. The two others walking on either side of him she was unsure of. John, it must be John. Her face softened into a smile. He looked taller, broader, since she had last seen him.
She watched as Isaac and John turned to the other man, who swung his stick jauntily on to his shoulder, and John threw back his head and laughed as if at a joke. As they came nearer she narrowed her eyes in order to see if it was anyone she knew, but the face was unfamiliar, and she would surely have remembered the thick beard and mass of curly red hair, like a beacon atop his broad shoulders, made wider by the thick padded jacket he was wearing. A new friend of John’s perhaps, although somewhat older. How annoying of Isaac not to tell her; she did prefer to be prepared to receive extra guests.
She turned towards the door as Susan knocked and waited with hot water. ‘Has Mr John brought a guest, Susan? I have this moment seen him with someone.’
The girl joined her at the window, but the men had disappeared from sight behind the high hedge which sheltered the lawns from the open paddock.
‘Nobody told me, ma-am, but then they wouldn’t.’
Isobel raised her eyebrows at the veiled hint of sarcasm in her voice, though if Susan was expecting a response from her mistress, then she didn’t yet know her well enough.
‘I won’t wear my yellow after all,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I think I am still too pale. Get out my rose figured silk, it will give me a little colour. And then you can dress my hair. Do hurry up, girl, don’t just stand there, the morning is practically over.’
She came down the staircase slowly, her legs trembling a little at the unaccustomed exercise. Isaac heard her through the open door of the drawing-room and came hurrying out to her.
‘How delightful to see you downstairs at last, my dear. John, come here and greet your aunt.’
John, smiling, bent to kiss her hand, then gave her a warm embrace. He held her out at arms’ length in order to see her better. ‘How well you look, Aunt Isobel. Motherhood suits you very well. A turn or two around the garden once the weather is warmer, and you will soon have roses in your cheeks.’
She laughed merrily. ‘Come, John, you surely know me better than that. It is not yet the height of fashion to acquire the country girl look.’ She turned to Susan who was hovering behind her. ‘Tell Mrs Foster to bring us fresh tea and chocolate.’
‘Yes, ma-am.’ Susan slipped away, but not before looking into John’s eyes which had caught hers, and giving him a demure smile, the tip of her pink tongue showing between her white teeth.
‘So, John,’ said Isobel as she sat graciously in the chair which they had placed for her by the fire. ‘Where is your mysterious friend? Where are you hiding him?’ She moved the firescreen nearer. She had taken the trouble to wear a touch of powder to hide the dark shadows beneath her eyes, and brushed a little colour on her cheeks, and didn’t want the heat of the fire to redden and scorch her delicate skin.
‘Mysterious friend? I don’t understand.’ John gazed at her quizzically.
‘Come now,’ she laughed teasingly. ‘I saw you. Both of you. You didn’t think to tell me of an extra guest, Isaac?’ she added reprovingly, but with a smile in her voice.
The two men looked at each other and Isaac shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know who you mean, Isobel. There is no-one here but us.’
‘Well, I must have been dreaming,’ she said gaily. ‘I dreamed that I saw you and John with a giant of a man.’ She smiled girlishly. ‘With a mop of flaming red hair.’
Maria, who had knocked and quietly entered with a tray, hesitated, her breath held.
‘With red hair!’ John exclaimed impetuously. ‘The only red hair around here is that old sea dog Will Foster.’
Isaac threw him a warning glance, but it was too late. John had forgotten the circumstances in which Will’s presence was deemed to be undesirable.
Maria put down the tray and whispered, ‘Shall I pour, ma-am?’
Isobel, pale beneath her false colour, closed her eyes momentarily and gestured negatively with her hand to dismiss her.
John glanced at Maria as she withdrew, her face as impassive with a slight flush to her cheeks as his aunt’s was pallid and confused.
‘You must have seen us with Foster, that was it, I expect?’ said Isaac dubiously. ‘We were just inspecting the land.’ He nodded several times as if replying to his own question. ‘That would be it. Just showing John what we’ve been doing,’ he finished feebly.
Isobel made no reply but deliberately attended to pouring the tea and chocolate as if that was the most important matter in hand and which required her full attention. That she was embarrassed and ashamed was known only to her, for to any observer the discussion was concluded and the mistress of the house was already turning the conversation with considerable dexterity on to other, safer subjects.
Her reason for being embarrassed was not so important to her, although she felt an angry stab of hurt pride that she hadn’t seen that Foster was only a common labouring man, that by his bearing she had mistaken him for a gentleman, although of course, she excused herself, as she smiled and attended agreeably to the conversation between Isaac and John, I did only see him from a distance.
Her shame, which she could admit to no-one and which she didn’t wish to acknowledge even to herself, stemmed from the morning as she had risen from her bed and looked out of the window and seen the freshness of the day. She had suddenly been aware that she was alive and recovered from childbirth, that her body though frail was whole, and the sight of a handsome man, virile and strong, reminded her in a way that no lady of her station would ever confess that she was, after all, a woman.
‘Mistress has gone to rest before supper, Maria.’ Susan had come into the nursery where she found Maria nursing Sarah, whilst a contented Lucy, fed and free of her bindings, kicked and cooed as Alice tickled her toes.
‘Take an hour’s rest, while tha can, Susan,’ said Maria. ‘We’ll happen be up late tonight as Mr John is here.’
‘I’ll tek a short walk first,’ the girl replied, looking out of the window. ‘I could do with some air.’
Maria smiled, telling her to be back before dark, and changed Sarah to her other breast. She felt a little tired and closed her eyes. She wondered what had been the talk this morning when she had heard Will’s name mentioned. It couldn’t have been much, as she’d heard John laughing later, though the mistress looked drawn. Sleep stole softly over her, and Sarah too, satiated with milk, let slip the nipple from her tongue and slept, her small satisfied mouth nestled against her mother’s warm breast.
The sky was gathering dark across the horizon and grey clouds chased swiftly before the wind as John strode briskly along the cliff top. Below him the restless ocean crashed and beat against the shore, reminding him that soon he would be leaving the safety of dry land and riding the backs of the great white waves towards the wastes of the polar regions.
He cut back across the cliff, keeping leeward of the dense hawthorn hedge, and made towards a thick shelter belt, where elm, hazel and ash grew in profusion, with the tangled stems of blackthorn, bramble and ivy at their feet. A pile of logs from autumn felling lay neatly stacked, a flush of pale and fleshy fungi clinging to them.
He whistled softly between his teeth and narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of a sudden movement and a glimpse of something white. Someone was in the wood and it wasn’t Will or Reedbarrow or one of the labourers, for they would have shown themselves. Poachers perhaps, after a rabbit or hare, though it would have been more usual to wait until after dark.
‘Hey. You in there. Come on out. Show yourself.’
A figure emerged from behind the woodpile, a girl wearing a grey shawl over a woollen dress and starched white apron.
‘Susan? What are you doing out here, all alone?’
‘I came out for a walk, Mr John. It’s my time off.’ She pulled her shawl around her. ‘But it was too cold on ’cliff, so I came in here for shelter.’
He smiled down at her. More likely a tryst with a local farmer’s boy, he thought, yet he hoped not for he had a strange sense of envy at the notion.
‘Shall I escort you back? It’s getting dark and it’s most unwise for you to be wandering about alone so near to the cliffs.’
She thanked him and walked in silence beside him, her small feet taking two steps to his one.
John cleared his throat. He was very conscious of her presence so close to him. ‘Are you settling in at Garston Hall?’
‘Aye, I thank thee, sir.’ Her voice, though broad with the dialect of the district, was soft and caressing as if she was stroking him with her words. ‘I’m very grateful to thee for getting me ’position.’ She looked up at him, her violet eyes dark in the evening shadows.
He felt a shiver run down his spine and it wasn’t the effect of the cold east wind, for he was warm within, the blood flowing fast in his veins, though his hands trembled. How gentle she was, how sweet and delightful. So different from the exotic creature she had seemed when she had taunted him at her father’s inn. He strode out faster, his mind agitated.
She picked up her skirts and in her haste to keep up with him, she stumbled in the rough grass and fell heavily to the ground.
‘I do beg your pardon, I was rushing you. Please, let me help you.’ He bent over her as she made no attempt to rise.
‘I’ve twisted my foot, Mr John. I don’t think I can stand.’
He helped her up and felt the softness of her dimpled elbows and the sweet warmth of her breath against his face as he lifted her.
‘If tha could help me across to ’old barn yonder, sir, happen I could sit down for a minute.’
He hesitated. Was it possible to compromise a servant girl by being alone with her in an empty barn? He dismissed the thought: she would never have suggested it had it been so. The rules were quite different with females of her class, he felt sure, and yet, he wavered again. He knew instinctively that someone like Maria would never jeopardize her character by being alone with a strange man. He recalled the night of Sarah’s birth and how anxious she was to be rid of him.