Easterleigh Hall (20 page)

‘You could also call me Grace, please, I‘d prefer it. Miss Manton makes me feel too old. I've asked Evie and if you did, she would. You should all call me that because I am your friend and you have done me the most immense favour.'

In the distance Jack could see the farmhouse. ‘He'll be in the lambing shed. You were her employer first, so she won't feel easy calling you anything but Miss Manton.'

Miss Manton laughed. ‘But I'm not now, so let's get over this. Try it. Grace. Grace. Edward, Edward. Go on, it's easy.'

It wasn't, that was the thing, Jack thought, irritated. ‘Grace,' he said in the end as they approached the first of the six gates, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the way they were going, not on her as she sat back and crossed her legs, her boot grazing his leg as she did so. If equality was what she wanted, then she was going to get it.

‘Grace, would you jump down and open the gate?' he said as he turned to her. She looked at the gate, surprised, and then saw his grin and burst into peals of laughter. She hopped down and waited until he was through, then closed it. But then she called to him. ‘There's rope under your seat. Pass it to me, please.'

Jack leaned down and felt beneath the seat. There were several coils. He brought one out and tossed it to her, puzzled. She tied the gate shut, creating knot after knot. ‘That should hold him for a bit.'

She ran to catch up, climbing into the trap. He held out his hand to pull her in. ‘Mine is the next gate,' he said.

‘You're absolutely right, it most certainly is.' They were laughing and had almost forgotten the rush they were in. Almost. Jack shook the reins and Sally broke into a trot. Grace checked her watch. ‘If Auberon is at the mine he might leave early. Will he bring his father, because if so they could come in the Rolls-Royce, and be here in next to no time?'

Jack shook his head. ‘He wouldn't risk the car on these tracks. They'll come in a carriage or trap but whether Bastard . . .' He stopped. ‘Brampton, I mean. Whether Brampton will come at all I'm not sure. He might just send his son. I gather he's trying to toughen him up, or that's the talk around the mine. Just send the little beggar down the pit, that'd toughen him up soon enough.' He shook the reins again to chivvy Sally along. She flicked her tail.

Grace said, ‘She's not used to this terrain, or a man handling her.'

Jack grinned to himself. He had thought she would think him a boy. He sat straighter. Then he said, ‘Perhaps he's ahead of us. We've no way of knowing.'

Silence fell, and all they could do was to take it in turns to open and close the gates until they finally drew into Froggett's yard. There was no horse there that could have belonged to Auberon, and relief caused them to look at one another and grin. He saw that she wasn't really old, not at all. He'd just never looked at her before, not really looked. Her eyes were almost green and she had freckles, and that hair of hers was so rich and thick that a man's hands could get caught up in it and not be in a hurry to be released. He shook his head. Was he mad?

Grace jumped down and stood uncertainly. Jack came round the trap and beckoned her towards the barn from which came the sound of sheep calling, and the higher pitch of lambs. He knocked hard on the barn door but there was no reply. He smiled at Grace. ‘Could you hear above that racket? We'll go in.'

The lambs were penned in rows behind slatted wood and on straw. Froggett had said in the Working Men's Club on Saturday that he liked to keep some of the ewes undercover in case there was late snow, because he was sick of losing the lambs in drifts. Jack had slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘It's April.' The older men had shouted him down, waving their beer at him. ‘You never know until May, man.'

Grace stepped carefully over the scattered straw as they headed for Froggett, who was in the far pen. His dog, Star, lay in the passage between the parallel rows. Jack breathed in the scent of the straw, and the warmth of the animals. Star turned at the sound of their footsteps and bounded towards them, his tongue hanging out. Froggett saw the movement and turned, yelling, ‘Get ya back.'

Star obeyed instantly, slinking along and lying as before. Froggett shoved back his cap and stared from Grace to Jack. He stepped over the barrier and walked towards them, removing his cap. ‘Well, young Jack, surprised to see you out here, and how's parson, missus?'

Jack explained about the houses and their wish to buy all three as Froggett ushered them out, and across the yard and into his kitchen. Mrs Froggett was preparing vegetables and a simmering kettle hissed on the range. She was more than plump, she was built like a bloody dreadnought, and the government should stop the naval race with Germany and just send the missus, or so Froggett would say with monotonous regularity after a few beers at the club; and every inch of her pure gold.

She showed no surprise at their arrival, or at Froggett's explanation, but insisted they sit and eat. ‘Can't talk business on an empty stomach, pet,' she said, pointing Grace firmly to the chair at the head of the table. Grace removed her coat and hung it on the back of the carver, and placed her gloves on the table. Jack wondered if Mrs Froggett had ever had an empty stomach in her life. Froggett took the chair at the other end, and Jack turned his cap over and over in his hand, wondering where he should sit. Froggett turned to him. ‘Stop cluttering up the place, lad. Take a pew, and the parson's getting on all right then, missus?'

Grace nodded and smiled, but then grew serious. ‘He's recovering well, thank you Mr Froggett, but we needed to come and talk to you, quickly.' Jack felt Mrs Froggett's hands on his shoulders, pushing him towards the chair on Froggett's right. On the dresser to his left was a photograph of Danny, their son. He had chosen to go in the pit when he was thirteen because his elder brother wanted to stay on the farm, and it wouldn't support them all. Danny had been killed in a tub accident last year when he was trapping the doors. His body had been slung into a sack, then a cart and just dumped here on the kitchen floor by Davies' special few. It was not unusual.

Jack made himself listen to Grace because he mustn't think of Timmie trapping. Scones were placed before them, and rich yellow butter. The scones were still warm and the butter melted into the white soft dough and then did the same in his mouth. He wiped the crumbs from his lips and slurped his tea. Mrs Froggett laughed and pushed the plate towards him again. ‘I'll put some together for the family. How's young Timmie doing?' Her eyes shadowed.

‘Belting,' Jack said, trying not to see the quivering of her lips and the filling of her eyes, but how could you not? Mrs Froggett turned from him, and swept the vegetables that were scattered on the range side of the table into a large pan before seating herself. Grace had finished by asking for a price for the houses, her voice high-pitched with tension. Jack checked the clock on the wall near the range. Was Auberon on his way? Would the rope knots hold him up? By, she was a canny lass, this Grace Manton.

Froggett studied his hands and looked at Mrs Froggett. It was then that Jack said, ‘We need to tell you that the Bramptons want the houses too. It's only fair. We think they're on their way here any day now, and I bet they'll top any price you ask from us.'

There was a silence. He knew that Grace was studying him, and saw Mrs Froggett was looking at her husband. Jack's heart was beating in his throat because he might just have taken the future away, not only from his family, but the other miners. But he had had to say what he just did, for when the Bramptons came, and he knew they would, the Froggetts didn't deserve to be cheated. Losing a son was more than cheat enough.

Grace nodded at Froggett and said, ‘Jack is quite right.'

Mrs Froggett pushed the scones towards Grace. ‘Aye, them Bramptons speak to us often about it. Eat up, pet, we need to think about this and the lambs need checking.' The Froggetts rose and went out, leaving Grace and Jack looking at the scones, and then one another. She reached across and laid her hand on his arm. ‘You did well. I should have said something and didn't. I'm ashamed.'

He looked at her hand: it was so pale and so soft. That would be because it did no work, but he couldn't feel angry. She snatched back her hand and attacked a scone. He said, ‘No need to be ashamed. It's just fair, that's all.'

She was concentrating on the scone, heaping it with jam. Perhaps he'd try another too. He was spreading the jam when the kitchen door opened again and the Froggetts trooped back in, with Star. It must be a special occasion for the dog to be allowed in the house. He curled up in front of the range, on the proggy mat.

Froggett took a pencil and two slips of paper from the dresser, and wrote some figures. He showed one slip to Grace, and the other to Jack. On each was the Froggetts' price. Jack could hardly stay still. The amount was very little more than they already had, so they would only require a very small loan.

Clearly Grace was as delighted, but said, her voice firm and serious, ‘This is more than reasonable and I must tell you that we would pay more, and don't forget the Bramptons. They most certainly would. You have a son to consider.'

The Froggetts were standing at the end of the table. Mrs Froggett nodded. ‘Aye, you're quite right lass, we do have a son to consider. We should have two. I want the Forbes in that end cottage and I want them to fight for better conditions in Auld Maud so fewer folk have to unwrap a sack from their son's ruined body, in front of the range, staining their proggy mat, with not even an apology.'

At that moment Star stirred and barked, rushing out of the door and into the yard. A horse neighed. Froggett glanced out of the window. ‘Well, speak of the devil.'

Jack peered out. It was the whelp, dismounting from his horse. He carried a whip which he tucked under his arm as he stood looking at Grace's trap. The day was darkening and the stunted tree was flattening in the wind. Auberon smoothed his fair hair and straightened his hacking jacket. He must have driven his trap home from the colliery, and had his groom saddle up straight away. There was a fair lather on the bay, who was tossing his head as Auberon tied him to a hitching post. The lad looked as though he'd walked into a door, or a fist or two. It would be the Bastard, of that Jack was sure.

He looked at the figures on the paper again. Perhaps Froggett would change his mind when actually faced with such power, such wealth. The farmer was at his side now, and spat in his hand. ‘All done, lad?'

Jack looked over his shoulder at Grace, who was by the table, peering out of the window on tiptoe. ‘Are you sure?'

Mrs Froggett nodded. ‘We're more than happy, lad.'

Jack looked at Grace. ‘Are you happy, Grace? I'm buying mine, are you buying yours or should you ask the parson?' Grace shook her head. ‘No, I answer for us both. We're buying them. I'll see the solicitor and you will have your money within the next two weeks, Mr and Mrs Froggett.' Jack spat in his hand and he and Froggett shook. ‘That's done then. It's right canny,' Froggett said.

He turned to Grace who looked uncertain for a moment, lifted her hand and seemed about to spit in it. Mrs Froggett laughed and shook her head. ‘Not you, Miss Manton.' Mr Froggett held out his hand to Grace and they shook. ‘That's you done too.'

Mrs Froggett was wrapping scones in greaseproof paper and tying the parcel with string.

The knock on the door came. ‘You can go out the back way, lass,' said Froggett. Grace shook her head. ‘The trap is out in the yard and I'm not creeping around for anyone, are you Jack?' Her eyes were challenging, which just went to show that she didn't know him very well.

‘I never run away,' he muttered. Froggett laughed. ‘Come on then, both of you. I'll see you off and entertain myself with young Mr Auberon.'

He led the way out of the kitchen, into the stone-flagged corridor. Mrs Froggett kissed Jack. ‘Tell your mam I'm right happy she's to have a home of her own, right happy I am. We'll almost be neighbours.' He hugged her, unable to stop himself. She was soft and smelled of baking, and he wondered what Evie was doing. Was she baking, or cooking for the whelp? What did it matter, she was learning, she was near Simon, she was happy and would be happier when she knew the news.

He stood back to allow Grace to leave before him, but she shook her head. ‘I think I'd rather you led, if you don't mind. I confess to feeling a little nervous. I fear there might be a tantrum. What is the matter with his face, do you think?'

Froggett was opening the door and there was Mr Auberon, his hand raised to knock again. He removed his kid gloves and stretched out his hand. Froggett hesitated and then took it, but didn't ask him in. He stood back against the wall as Jack and Grace reached the door. ‘I'll see my solicitor tomorrow. We'll get the sale of the houses signed up nice and tidy.' Jack and Grace nodded to him, and to Auberon, who was standing as though struck by a heavy weight. He had paled and his expression was one of despair. For a moment Jack paused. The bruises on the lad's face were old but still stark against his pallor, and his lip was split. Poor bugger.

Grace pushed him from behind and Jack still hesitated, but what could he say? He stepped past Auberon, pulling his cap down and nodding. Star pushed out with him and ran ahead, barking and jumping, looking as though he was smiling, with his tongue lolling out. Jack laughed. ‘He's such a daft beggar.'

They hurried to the trap, for they must get back before darkness fell and his shift began. As he handed Grace into the trap Jack heard Auberon say, ‘But we can offer more, we'll top anything.'

Froggett said something Jack didn't hear as he helped Grace up into the trap, but what he did hear was Auberon saying, ‘Forbes, Jack Forbes, you mean?'

Auberon was waiting outside the library for his father's summons. He had to tell him that he had failed and he knew the price he would pay, but all he could hear was Jack Forbes' laugh and the words, ‘He's such a daft beggar.' How dare he? How dare that rabble-rouser call him a daft beggar.