Chaff upon the Wind (23 page)

It was dishonest, of course, but not entirely so. The child was indeed Jack’s, Miriam had admitted it, even before her mother now. The only dishonesty was that she, Kitty, was not his
natural mother. But oh how she loved him, this tiny little human being, the living replica of his father.

She heard Mrs Franklin’s voice as if from a great distance. ‘We’d make sure you were looked after, Kitty. That you had everything you needed. After all, we could truthfully say
that we wanted to look after a valued servant.’

‘Yes, madam. Thank you, madam,’ Kitty murmured, her mind still reeling with her own thoughts. Then at Mrs Franklin’s next words, Kitty was jolted into full attentiveness.

‘There is just one thing I must insist upon, Kitty, if you do decide to take this course, and it’s this. You must never, ever, divulge the name of the real mother. If you take the
boy now, he is your child and yours alone. No matter what happens in the future, you must carry that secret to your grave. You must never tell him, not even when he’s grown.’ A note of
firmness crept into the woman’s tone. ‘Do you understand me, Kitty?’

Kitty’s eyes were wide and through lips that were suddenly dry, she murmured, ‘Yes, madam.’

‘Very well, then. Now, in those circumstances, do you wish to take the child?’

For a long moment, Kitty stared into Mrs Franklin’s lovely face, then her glance went to Miriam standing beside her mother, for once silent and watchful.

The baby moved in Kitty’s arms and gave a little whimper. She felt the warmth of him against her breast, breathed in the sweet baby smell of him and looked down into the deep blue eyes
that seemed to be looking up at her so trustingly and Kitty Clegg was lost.

‘Yes, madam. Oh yes, I’ll take him and, whatever happens, even if . . .’ she glanced towards Miriam just once, ‘even if Jack still won’t marry me, I’ll love
him and care for him as if he were me own.’

Mrs Franklin nodded and said slowly and deliberately, ‘From this moment on, Kitty, he is yours.’

‘A child? You – you’ve got a child?’

Kitty stood in the kitchen of the stationmaster’s house, the baby in her arms, and faced her mother and father across the table.

‘I know it’s a shock for you, Mam, but . . .’

Her mother was standing rigidly still, her hand to her throat and her eyes wide, almost bulging. It was her father who moved towards her, thrusting his face close to her, his thin, wiry neck
jutting out of his stiffly starched white collar. ‘A shock? A
shock
? Is that all you think it? You bring shame to our door and you call it a shock? Have you listened to nothing
you’ve been taught in this house? Haven’t you always been told . . .?’

Suddenly her mother gasped and reached with trembling fingers for the edge of the table to support herself. ‘Oh no—’ Her face was white, her lips parted, and in her eyes was
such an expression of fear that it was almost terror. ‘Oh no, you can’t have. It’s not – not
his
child?’

Her father glanced back over his shoulder at his wife, just once, with a look so filled with hatred and malice that Kitty reeled. Now it was Kitty who was shocked. She had never seen her father
act this way. He had always been a stern man and strict in the upbringing of his children, but she had thought all fathers were like that. Certainly, he had never before displayed rages and tempers
like Mr Franklin. Until this moment, she had always thought herself lucky in her parents. She had always thought that whatever happened they would stand by her . . .

Now John Clegg was reaching out and grasping Kitty’s shoulder in such a vice-like grip that his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘Who is the father?’ he demanded through his
teeth.

‘Whose is it?’ came her mother’s frantic echoing whisper. ‘Who’s the father?’

Kitty’s puzzled glance went from one face to the other and back again. They were staring at her, hanging on her answer. It was the usual question that was asked in such circumstances,
Kitty knew, yet there seemed to be a desperation behind her parents’ asking, a fear that was out of all proportion.

‘Tell us, girl,’ her father’s voice came harshly and made her jump. There was a burning anger in his eyes that made even Kitty suddenly afraid.

Her throat constricted so that the words came out in a strangled whisper. ‘Jack. Jack Thorndyke. He’s the father.’

As soon as the name left her mouth, she saw her mother’s shoulders sag with relief and a low groan escaped her lips and even some of the anger went from her father’s eyes, though his
lips were tight with bitterness.

‘What is it?’ Her glance was darting between them again. ‘Who did you think it might be?’

‘I thought . . . maybe . . . he . . .’ Betsy began, but again her father glanced at his wife and Betsy Clegg, meeting his eyes, dropped her own gaze and fell silent.

‘Well, there’s one thing for sure,’ her father gave a snort of contempt, ‘Jack Thorndyke’ll never marry you, girl. If the tales are to be believed, he’s got
bastards scattered across half the county. You’re a fool, Kitty. I’d have thought better of you. Milly, now, when she’s grown a bit, I can well imagine she’ll be the sort to
get herself into trouble because she’s a simple, silly girl. But you? I had hopes for you.’

Betsy Clegg’s voice came tremulously. ‘What are you going to do, John?’

Not what are ‘we’ to do, Kitty noticed, but ‘you’.

‘Do?’ He turned on his wife so that she blinked and shrank back, seeming suddenly smaller. Defeated, yes, that was it, Kitty thought, her mother seemed defeated. ‘Do? I’m
going to throw her out of this house. Aye, her and her bastard, that’s what I’m going to do.’

Betsy gave a low moan and hung her head as if it were she, and not her daughter, who bore the shame.

But Kitty tossed her head with a show of defiance, although inside, her father’s words about Jack had shaken her badly. ‘I’ll be all right. Don’t you worry about me. The
mistress – Mrs Franklin – she’s been very kind. Ses she’ll see I have everything I need.’

Betsy raised her head slowly, a wary look now on her face. Again Kitty saw a glance between her mother and father. ‘The mistress? Why should she concern herself with a maid who gets
herself into trouble? Turned away without a reference, that’s what usually happens unless . . .’

Then her father leaned towards her, demanding harshly, ‘Are you telling us the truth, girl? Is it Thorndyke’s?’

Fortunately, the question was phrased so that Kitty could answer quickly and truthfully, ‘Yes, yes, he is Jack’s. I swear it.’ But her mind scrabbled around for a plausible
reason as to why Mrs Franklin should be taking an interest in a servant’s welfare. A servant who, to all outward appearances, had brought shame not only upon her own family but on the
household in which she was employed.

Kitty swallowed. ‘She – she’s a kind lady. She always has been and – and I’m the only one who can handle Miss Miriam’s tantrums,’ she added triumphantly
and congratulated herself on her quick thinking.

But the questioning was not over yet. ‘What? Do you mean she wants you to continue working there?’

Now Kitty hesitated. ‘Well, no. At least, I don’t expect so. I mean, I’ll be married to Jack, won’t I? It depends . . .’

‘Oh it depends, all right,’ her father said sarcastically. ‘But if you’re going to
depend
on Jack Thorndyke, me girl, you’re going to be sadly disappointed.
You mark my words.’

‘You’re wrong, Dad.’

The man’s fist was bunched before her face. ‘Don’t call me “Dad” again. I’m no father of yours. Not any more, I’m not. Get yourself away from this
house. I never want to set eyes on you again.’

For a long moment Kitty stared at him, then turned her eyes to her mother. ‘Mam . . .?’ she began, but Betsy dropped her eyes and remained silent.

Kitty stood there, reeling from the violence of their reaction. Anger, disappointment, bitterness and, finally, total rejection. They were going to cast her out. The thought that her mother and
father might do this had never once entered Kitty’s mind. She had to admit now that she had not thought things through carefully before agreeing to return home allowing everyone to believe
the child was hers.

In her arms the baby moved and began to cry. She felt his warmth, his sturdy little body, already so strong even though so tiny and her heart turned over with love for him. ‘He’s
getting hungry, Mam. Can’t I just feed him here? Then – then – I’ll go.’

Once again, Betsy cast an appealing look to her husband who uttered an oath and thumped one fist against the palm of his other hand. ‘Do what ya like,’ he spat, ‘but
she’s to be gone from this house by the time I get back. You hear me?’

‘Yes, John,’ her mother said in a meek tone the like of which Kitty had never heard from her before. Her father left the house, banging the door behind him with the sound of
finality.

Kitty sighed and heaved the bag she was carrying on to the kitchen table. ‘I’ve got everything in here except I’ll need some boiling water. Then I’ll be on me
way.’

‘Where will you go?’ Betsy faltered.

‘To Jack. Where else?’

Her mother’s attention was caught as Kitty opened the bag and laid the boat-shaped feeding bottle on the table. ‘What on earth’s all this?’ she began, and then,
scandalized, she said, ‘Do you mean you’re not feeding him yourself?’

Kitty kept her eyes averted from her mother’s questioning gaze. ‘No, Mam, I – er – couldn’t.’ Holding the baby in her left arm, she continued to prepare his
feed with her right hand. To her relief the baby’s crying increased to such a level of noise that any further conversation was quite impossible.

When the baby was sucking contentedly on the teat, her mother stood over her, watching with disapproval in every line of her face. ‘You should have tried harder, our Kitty,
’tain’t natural, ’tain’t good for the bairn. A mother’s milk is the best.’

Now her father was no longer present, her mother was acting more like Kitty had imagined she would.

Kitty felt hysterical laughter welling up inside her, the picture of herself trying to breast-feed the child comical and yet hurtful at the same time. Her tone was sharper than she intended as
she answered, ‘Well, I couldn’t do it, Mam, and that’s all there is to it.’ She bent her head and said, truthfully, ‘No one was more disappointed than me that I
couldn’t.’

She felt her mother’s hand rest lightly on her bowed head. ‘Aw well, dun’t fret, lass. He’ll do nicely, I’m sure.’ But her tone lacked conviction.

Kitty did not look up but silently breathed a sigh of thankfulness that her mother had let the matter drop.

After a few moments, while the only sound in the tiny kitchen was the sucking noise the baby made and the gentle hissing of the kettle on the hob, Kitty asked quietly, ‘Mam, do you know
where Jack Thorndyke is?’

When her mother did not answer at once, Kitty looked up.

‘At the Manor, lass,’ Betsy Clegg said slowly. ‘You’ve been away a long time, Kitty.’ She paused, believing that she now knew the real reason for her
daughter’s prolonged absence. ‘Harvest’s over, but he’s there to do a bit of threshing and waiting while Ben does his thatching work.’

Kitty stared at her mother, thankful that the other woman could not read her thoughts. For at that moment her mind was not on Jack, or his son, or even on her own uncertain future.

It had been last year’s harvest when all this had begun, when Miriam, playing the part of his Harvest Queen, had first met Jack.

How would Miriam feel, Kitty was wondering, if she looked out of the windows of the Manor House now and saw the handsome Jack Thorndyke in the stackyard beyond the wall?

Mrs Grundy wept with disappointment.

‘After everything I’ve telled you, girl. You should’ve known better. And him! Jack Thorndyke. Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I warn you time and again, but oh no, you
knew it all didn’t you? And now ya’ve brought shame on ya mam and dad and to this house too. I thought it funny when the mistress and Miss Miriam returned without you. Bin hiding yasen
away ’til it was over, ’ave ya? I ’spect you never even went abroad with Miss Miriam, did ya?’

Kitty shook her head. At least she didn’t need to lie about that now.

‘Huh. I thought as much. Well, that’s put paid to ya grand ideas of bein’ a lady’s maid good an’ proper, ain’t it? And after all I’ve done for you, this
is how you repay me.’ The woman lifted the corner of her apron and dabbed at her eyes though whether her tears were for Kitty or for her own disappointment, the girl could not be sure.

‘Oh please, Mrs G.,’ Kitty moved towards her and made to put her arm about her shoulders, but the woman shrugged her off.

‘Don’t you touch me, miss. And don’t you go seeking out Master Edward, neither. He’s too young to know about you and your bad ways. Too young to be tainted with the likes
of you.’

‘Tainted!’ Kitty was stung to retort. ‘Is that how you think of me now, Mrs Grundy? That I’ll defile those I touch?’

The cook did not answer at once but delved deep in the pocket of her apron, drew out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly into it. She moved towards the range and dropped heavily into the
wooden chair set to one side. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Kitty Clegg. I looked upon you like me own daughter and now look what you’ve done?’

Kitty came and squatted down in front of her, feeling the heat from the fire in the range on the side of her face. ‘But if you’d had a daughter, you’d have stuck by her,
wouldn’t you? You’d have been shocked and angry, yes, I can see that, but you wouldn’t have turned her off, would you?’

Mrs Grundy sniffed noisily. ‘Well, mebbe not. But I’ll have to get used to it. Have to come to terms with it.’ Her eyes, still full of bitterness, bored into Kitty’s.
‘What’s ya mam and dad to say, then?’

Kitty sighed and stood up. ‘I think me mam would have stood by me but – but me dad’s turned me out. And – and she’s going along with it.’

‘Aye well, I can’t say I can blame ’im. He’s been through it afore and through no fault of his own. It must bring it all back to him. You might have thought of ya poor
dad, Kitty, and what he’s had to bear.’