Chaff upon the Wind (8 page)

‘Yes, miss,’ she said warily, ‘what’s that?’

‘At the Harvest Supper, which we all attend, you’ll introduce me to this Jack Thorndyke.’

Kitty laughed with relief. Was that all? Well, she couldn’t see the harm in that. None at all.

‘Of course I will, Miss Miriam.’

Kitty closed the back door behind her and stood for a moment listening. It was a warm, late summer night, a million stars dotting the dark velvet sky. She tiptoed up the three
steps and, lifting her skirts, ran down the grass path to the wall at the bottom of the garden. Again she paused to glance back at the windows of the house. A light burned only in Edward’s
sickroom, for the rest of the family, Mr and Mrs Franklin and Miriam, had left to dine at Nunsthorpe Hall.

‘You mark my words,’ Mrs Grundy had tapped the side of her nose and nodded knowingly. ‘They’re trying to wed Miss Miriam off to Sir Ralph’s son and heir, Guy. Mind
you, she could do a lot worse for herself. He’s a nice lad. He used to come here a lot when he was a youngster with his father to visit. Course, Sir Ralph is the master’s landlord. He
owns all the land we farm, and,’ she pointed to the floor, ‘even this house.’

Kitty looked up in surprise and Mrs Grundy nodded sagely. ‘No, ya didn’t know that, did ya?’

‘I knew the mester dun’t own all the land he farms, but I didn’t realize he didn’t own this house.’

‘Well, he don’t. Fall out with the Hardings and we’ll all be out on our ears.’

Kitty had carried on ironing the flounces of Miriam’s petticoat, listening with half an ear to the cook’s ramblings, but, all the while, glancing at the mantelshelf above the range
and wishing that the hands of the clock would turn faster towards nightfall when she could creep out to meet Jack.

‘Mind you, Sir Ralph’s such a nice feller, I can’t see him ever turning anyone out of their home, no matter what. His wife died, y’know, when Master Guy was born and the
old master and mistress – they were both still alive then of course – were so good to Sir Ralph. He always used to be here. Then of course when that bit of trouble happened . .
.’

Kitty’s head lifted. ‘Trouble? What trouble?’

‘Oh nowt that concerns you,’ the cook flapped her hand and turned swiftly back to her original line of thought. ‘Guy’s a bit older than Miss Miriam, but that’s no
matter.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘He’ll ’ave his work cut out with that little madam, if he does take her on, and no mistake. Too like ’er father, that one.
She’ll be the lucky one ’cos he’s a lovely feller, Master Guy. Just like his father.’ Mrs Grundy levered her bulk out of the chair at the side of the range. ‘So,
we’ve all got the night off and I’m going to walk into town to see me sister. As for you, young Kitty, just you mind what you’re up to when I’m not here to keep me beady eye
on you. And mind you listen out for Master Edward, won’t you?’

Now, in the darkness of the garden, Kitty was holding her breath as she pushed aside the lilac bush that half-hid the door in the wall. She lifted the latch and pushed at it, the old, rotten
timbers scraping protestingly on the ground. She doubted if this door had been opened in years. She winced at the noise which seemed to echo loudly through the stillness of the night. She glanced
back once more before she slipped like a wraith through the door and out of sight of the house, praying that her absence would not be discovered. Only Milly, her sister, knew she had gone out.

‘Where are you going, Kitty?’ the young girl had asked, her eyes large and worried in her pasty round face. ‘What if Master Edward rings down again? What’ll I
do?’

‘Go and see what he wants, of course.’

‘But he’ll ask for you. He – he always does. Where are you going?’ she asked again.

‘Just out.’

‘But . . .?’

‘If you don’t know, you can’t tell, can you?’ Kitty said. ‘I won’t be long.’

Now as her eyes became accustomed to the blackness, Kitty moved among the dark shapes of the threshing drum and the traction engine.

‘Jack?’ she called softly. ‘Jack, are you there?’

She listened again and then she heard his low whistle and his tall, broad shape loomed up through the darkness. She felt his hands span her waist and he was lifting her off her feet and swinging
her round. She gave a little cry of surprise and delight and then the sound was stilled by the touch of his lips seeking hers. Her heartbeat quickened as she wound her arms about his neck and he
was carrying her out of the stackyard. Straddling the fence, he stepped into the neighbouring meadow where the new haystacks stood. Burrowing a hollow for them and gently laying her down on the
warm, sweet-smelling hay, he lay beside her, crooking his arm for her to rest her head.

‘I thought you hadn’t waited,’ she said.

‘Said I would, didn’t I?’

‘I couldn’t get away. Master Edward kept ringing down for me.’

‘Master Edward? Who’s he?’

‘Edward Franklin. The son.’

‘Oh aye. I’d forgotten about him. I thought there was only a daughter. But now you mention it, I do remember a lad from last year.’

‘Yes,’ Kitty murmured. ‘Poor Edward. Everyone seems to forget about him.’

His fingers touched her cheek in the darkness, then traced their way down her neck, down and down, lingering on the swell of her bosom. His mouth close to her ear, his lips brushing her hair, he
murmured huskily. ‘Should I be jealous of this Master Edward, who can ring down for you any time he pleases?’

Kitty giggled. ‘He’s a
boy
. He’s only fourteen and he’s sick, poor thing. He hardly ever leaves his room.’

‘Boy or not, I bet he likes you though, doesn’t he, pretty Kitty?’

‘Not in the way you mean, Jack Thorndyke,’ she teased him playfully, pushing away his hands that were becoming far too bold in their searching. ‘I’m only the maid. But
he’s lonely . . .’

‘Oh Kitty, Kitty, you’re lovely,’ Jack whispered. ‘You stay away from him, Kitty, ’cos you’re mine. All mine.’ His mouth was moving against hers,
stilling her words and driving away all thoughts of the lonely young boy in his sickbed.

‘Milly?
Milly
? Are you asleep?’

The girl’s face, heavy-eyed, appeared from beneath the covers. ‘Not now, I’m not,’ she muttered crossly. ‘Whatever time is it, our Kitty? Where’ve you
been?’

‘Never you mind,’ Kitty said sharply, her fingers touching her lips still tender from Jack’s passionate kisses, her whole body tingling with excitement from his caresses. As
she undressed in the darkness, a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold night air ran through her. She could hardly wait to see him again. Only a few hours and he would be striding into the
kitchen, along with the other workers, for the breakfast that Mrs Grundy cooked for the harvesters every morning.

She would watch him as he flirted with the cook, winked at Milly and then his eyes would come to rest upon her . . .

‘I know where you’ve been anyway,’ Milly muttered morosely. ‘You want to watch yarsen with that Jack Thorndyke, our Kitty. He’s no good. Even Mrs Grundy ses so.
He’s Jack by name and Jack-the-Lad by nature, she ses. So you—’ Her words ended in a muffled squeal as Kitty pounced on her, pulling the bedclothes over her young sister’s
head to stifle her scolding.

‘What do you know about it, young Milly? You mind your own business and leave me to mind mine.’

Milly struggled to free herself, giving little yelps of fright. Kitty loosened her hold and the girl pushed off the covers, struggling for breath.

‘Don’t blame me, then,’ Milly gasped, ‘if ya get yarsen into trouble.’

‘I won’t,’ Kitty muttered shortly. ‘I didn’t wake you up to be given a lecture. I just wanted to know if you’d had any trouble.’

‘No, I didn’t. But it was no thanks to you that I didn’t. You were gone hours. The master and mistress came back and I was dreading them ringing down for you.’

Kitty pulled in a startled breath. ‘Oh heck. I thought they’d be a lot later than this.’

‘Later than this?’ Through the darkness, Kitty could hear the surprise in Milly’s voice. ‘It is gone midnight, you know.’

‘Oh Lor’. Is it?’ In Jack’s arms, she had lost track of the time.

‘What about Miss Miriam? Did – did she ring for me?’

‘No, you’re lucky. She didn’t. The master shut hissen in his study and the mistress and her went straight to their rooms.’

Milly yawned and turned on her side away from her sister as Kitty climbed into bed and snuggled down beside her.

Tomorrow. She would see Jack again tomorrow and then, in just two days’ time, she would be his Harvest Nell.

Saturday dawned with a morning mist that heralded a hot day.

‘Perfect. Just perfect,’ Kitty said, clapping her hands with glee as she stood at the bedroom window and stretched her arms. Then she leaned forward, seeing over the wall the figure
of Jack Thorndyke moving around his engine.

‘He’s here already.’

‘Mm.’ Milly, still buried beneath the bedclothes, was not interested.

‘Jack. He’s in the yard already. Oh, I wish . . .’ She was tempted to throw up the sash window and call to him, but on this day of all days, she dare not. She could not risk
spoiling the excitement by inviting trouble from the moment of rising.

‘Come on, our Milly, stir yasen. You’ll have Mrs Grundy puffing up them stairs to see where you are if you’re not careful.’

The girl gave a groan, pushed back the bedclothes and swung her feet to the floor. Seeing that Milly had at least made an effort, Kitty hurried down the stairs. First job of the day was to fetch
rainwater from the butt outside the back door and heat it for Mrs Franklin and Miss Miriam to wash in.

‘So today’s the day, is it, Kitty?’

‘Yes, madam.’ Kitty could hardly contain her excitement and her fingers were trembling as she laced Mrs Franklin’s corset. Her mistress gave a little laugh. ‘Well, as
long as you’ve completed all your tasks, you may be free after luncheon for the rest of the day. I’m sure the other staff won’t mind. They’ll all have time off this evening
to come to the Harvest Supper in the big barn.’

‘Oh thank you, madam. Thank you very much.’

Jack wanted her in the yard for three o’clock, he’d said, and that would give her ample time to dress in the lovely shepherdess’s costume still hanging in Miss Miriam’s
room. For several days, each time she had opened the heavy door of the mahogany wardrobe, Kitty had fingered the blue and white striped cotton of the underdress and the plain blue of the overdress
which bunched up on either side. At the neckline, pretty lace would ruffle around her slender throat and Milly had promised to help dress her curling hair, sweeping it up at the sides to fall in
ringlets and curls at the back.

Miriam was still in bed and when Kitty set the jug of hot water on the washstand and drew back the curtains, she was greeted with a groan from the bed so like Milly’s that she almost
laughed aloud.

‘Whatever time is it?’

‘Eight o’clock, miss. Same as usual and you don’t want to be late for prayers, do you?’

Every morning, promptly at eight thirty, the family and all the household servants gathered in the dining room for morning prayers after which breakfast was served to the family. ‘You know
how the master doesn’t like anyone to be late.’

The girl gave another grunt, turned over and burrowed her head beneath the covers. Kitty waited, though this morning she was hard-pressed to be as patient as usual. It had become a ritual, acted
out every morning, and Kitty had learned quickly that if she stood quietly and said no more, after a minute or two, Miriam would think better of arousing her father’s anger and throw back the
bedclothes. Rather like Milly when threatened with the cook’s wrath, Kitty thought.

As they finished and were both ready to descend the stairs with only a minute to spare, Kitty said, ‘Miss, may I come back after breakfast and take the dress to my room?’ Her hand
gestured towards the wardrobe.

Miriam looked back over her shoulder. ‘Dress? And what dress would that be?’

She’s teasing me, Kitty thought. She knows very well what dress I mean. But, putting a smile on her mouth, Kitty said, ‘The shepherdess’s dress you said I could wear today to
be Harvest Queen.’

Miriam’s left eyebrow rose. ‘Oh no, Clegg. I don’t think so.’

‘But . . .’

Miriam held up her hand and said, ‘I shall be wearing the dress today, Kitty, for I shall be Queen of the Harvest.’

Kitty’s mouth fell open in a gasp and she knew that anger and disappointment flooded her face. ‘Jack Thorndyke asked
me
.’

‘ “Jack Thorndyke asked me”,’ Miriam mimicked her and then leaned towards her. ‘But just remember, Clegg, that Jack Thorndyke is employed by my father who would, I
am sure, rather see his
daughter
feted as Harvest Queen than one of his servants.’

Despite her feisty spirit and her boldness in standing up to Miriam’s tantrums, Kitty knew herself to be defeated this time. Miriam whirled around and left the room as the gong sounded to
herald morning prayers, leaving Kitty to follow miserably in her wake.

Kneeling with the rest of the servants, Kitty put her hands together and closed her eyes with an expression of piety. But inside her head she was repeating, not the words of the Lord’s
Prayer as Mr Franklin had bidden them, but . . .
Oh please, God, let it rain this afternoon. Let the skies open and everyone get soaked to the skin. I know I’m being wicked, Lord, and very
mean, but please, oh please, just let it rain . . .

The sky remained a clear blue with only tiny puffs of white cloud floating lazily across its wide expanse. The sun shone down, mocking mercilessly, as Kitty watched Jack hold
out his hand to help Miriam climb up on to the decorated cart. Her heart twisted with jealousy as she watched her young mistress laughing down into his upturned face.

She had been gratified – but only briefly – at the surprise on his face when they had appeared in the stackyard. His glance had gone from her, still dressed in her maid’s black
dress, white apron and frilled cap, to Miriam standing by her side dressed in the shepherdess’s costume, a garland of flowers entwined in her chestnut waves. Miriam’s green eyes were
shining and her lips were parted in a smile of triumph and excitement.