Authors: Jenny Pattrick
Skylark (24 page)
And here I am, waiting at the same wooden gate, watching for my dear Jack Lacey. I dare to call him my Jack because I have news for him. I am with child! (That is you, Sarah.) Jack is sure to be in a good mood when he returns from Whanganui. He set off two days ago for the horse bazaar with five beautiful mounts. Surely they will all sell well and he will have enjoyed the admiration and company of other breeders. Oh, he is a talented man, is Jack! He examines each new foal; notes in his little book their gait and temperament; their rate of growth and their lineage. Then he decides their fate: this one for a lady’s mount, this one for the military, this one for light harness, that for larger coach. Sometimes he comes in very pleased because he has bred one suited for racing.
The business is doing well. Jack is respected in the valley. Many times he is invited to visit neighbouring farms, especially those with marriageable daughters, and my heart has beat painfully to see him dress smartly and ride off. But it seems none has pleased him so far. I wonder sometimes whether he still holds hope for the lost sweetheart, but he never mentions her to me. Secretly I hope that he finds me more entertaining. But of course I am a servant.
Jack is a man devoted, above all, to horseflesh and, like his most spirited mounts, he can be moody. Over these last months I have been the one to coax him out of his black days with good food, kindly words — and, now and then, by sharing his bed. This is no chore: those nights are full of joy. He is an energetic
lover; we share an interest in finding new ways to pleasure the other. We both rise after those nights refreshed, cheerful, ready to tackle whatever the new day brings. I like to think I am good for him in that respect. I would sleep with him every night of the year but he will only take me upstairs at certain times, when loneliness and a man’s need get the better of his sense of the proper order of things. He is a young, vigorous man and needs his oats, as they say. But we will see what he says about this unborn child. Perhaps he will forget my lowly status and take me as wife. I am bold enough to think it would be a good choice!
There he comes, riding up the valley, a dark shadow in the rising morning mist. Today he comes at a gallop, Alouette leaping the little stream at full stretch. Good. He is in high spirits and will surely hear my news with joy. What man does not wish for children to carry on his name? I run inside to prepare food and tea.
Jack gallops straight through the river paddock, allowing Alouette to jump the gate. His face is shining, his shout, as the horse jump, floating high in the still air. Suddenly I feel fear. This is no ordinary domestic happiness; a good sale would not bring out such a glow. When he enters the kitchen, the room seems to burst apart with a fiery heat that has nothing to do with the crackling stove.
‘Well now, Mattie,’ he says, smiling, ‘well now.’
And sits to his toast and eggs without another word. He gulps his hot sweet tea, eats all and asks for more. I fry up another two eggs, add rashers of bacon and a handful of field mushrooms from the back paddock, which I had been saving for our lunch, then bring the delicious, fragrant food on two plates, so I may sit with him. He smiles and smiles as he eats, but alas, his good humour is not directed at me.
I take a deep breath. ‘Jack,’ I say, and he looks up surprised. I usually call him Mr Lacey when we are downstairs or outside. ‘I have some news for you.’
He laughs at that — almost a shout.’ Well, that makes two of us,’ he says. ‘I hope that yours is as happy as mine.’
So I am filled with doubt. Am I simply a deluded fool to think he will be pleased? My news comes out more subdued than I had planned, more of a whisper than a bold statement. ‘I am with child, Jack. You will have a son or daughter at last.’
Jack catches his breath sharply. Now he looks at me; now he pays close attention.
‘Oh, Mattie,’ he says. ‘Oh dear.’
I cry out. My fork clatters to the floor. ‘It is not a matter of
oh
dear
! Surely you are pleased? Surely you must expect this, after so many … such good times we have enjoyed?’
He stands then and comes behind me. I feel his warm hands on my neck, rubbing the aches away as I always loved. ‘Dear Mattie,’ he says gently, ‘I have hurt you. I should have been more careful …’
Or words to that effect. He’s gentle and loving and says he will make sure the child is cared for and brought up properly. And so on and so on, as my spirits sink lower and lower.
Finally he comes out with his news. His beloved Lily, who he thought lost forever, is returning. ‘She has suffered dreadfully, Mattie. She needs a safe home and a loving husband. She has written via Doctor Ingram that she will be here within a day or two, travelling in secrecy out of fear that she will be pursued by a dreadful villain. Oh Mattie, we must make haste to prepare the house for a mistress!’
My situation entirely forgotten. At that moment I would happily have picked up the poker and struck the ‘beloved Lily’ dead. How dare she assume Jack would wait for her! How dare she return just at this moment! ‘Clean the house yourself, you selfish man!’ I shout and run howling out into the kitchen garden where I begin pulling out weeds as if they were handfuls of the ‘beloved’s’ hair.
Two days later, when Jack brings Lily back to the farm, I am calmer but determined. I will fight! I will not let my child, who is Jack’s, play second fiddle to a fancy woman who is surely wicked and a temptress. Even some kind of witch, to have entrapped my
Jack for so many years while she travelled with loose performing folk and sent no note or news.
Up the two of them ride, side by side, walking sedately through the gate, which Matiu holds open for them, grinning up to catch a glimpse of the ‘new mistress’. I would like to spit on her but must play my cards carefully.
I expected a wild, flamboyant woman who would despise me and play the pander to Jack. I wait in the kitchen, seeing to my roast of mutton with parsnips and potatoes. She would not find fault with my cooking! In she comes, smiling, runs straight to me, and enfolds me in a warm hug! I am so surprised I forget to glower and smile back.
‘Mattie!’ she cries, ‘Jack has told me all about you.’ (I wonder how much he has told.) ‘You have been such a comfort to him while I have disgracefully left him all alone these past years. Bless you!’
And she links arms with me and draws me to the table, where we sit side by side. ‘Jack,’ she says, ‘will you go out and see to the horses for a little while? Mattie and I need to talk.’
‘The meal …’ I say.
‘Never mind if it spoils a little. We must sort out a matter or two first.’
Jack goes. Lily finds the brandy, pours us each a tot and sits again. I am too astonished to do anything but follow suit. I cannot keep up my resolve. She is so full of life, so friendly! As if I was her long-lost sister instead of a servant.
She downs her brandy in one gulp and looks at me. She is so beautiful! Those dark, shining eyes! A small, neat woman, walnut-brown hair curling around her face and falling low and loose below her shoulders; her skin creamy, though the ride has brought a glow to her cheeks; her mouth like a little rosebud. You would not expect that she had been living a sinful life among questionable folk. The nuns had warned me that people of the theatre were fallen women and the men wickedly lecherous. I had been taught never to go near a theatre for fear of becoming a fallen woman myself. (And let none among you wag an accusing
finger. My feelings for Jack were pure and constant; my hope marriage.) But here was Lily, so full of life, seeming so dainty and sweet, turning all my prejudices upside down.
‘Now,’ she says, ‘Jack has been open with me about the situation. We must think what to do.’
Tears gather in my eyes. I am furious with them for making me seem weak but they will fall and fall. ‘I had hoped,’ I manage to blurt out, not at all the poised lady I had practised to be, ‘that Jack would marry me now that the child is on the way. But now you have come …’
‘So marriage is important to you?’
I look at her astonished. ‘Of course! Who would want a child raised in sin?’
Lily eyes me sternly. ‘Mattie, I have raised a child perfectly well out of wedlock. I did not consider her to be sinful. Or that I was. Who’s to know whether marriage comes in to it?’
‘The Good Lord knows,’ I say, feeling on firmer ground. ‘Without marriage, without baptism, the child will not enter heaven — should he die.’
Lily snorts. ‘That is rubbish and I believe not one word of it. My little one was a beautiful, blameless child. Neither she nor I have been blessed by a priest but I have no doubt she is beloved of God and at rest in heaven.’
This is the first I have heard that her child is dead. ‘Oh, Lily, how sad. I did not know! Was it the diphtheria?’
Now Lily’s tears gather. ‘Alas no. She drowned in a most horrid way. I cannot bear to think about it. Later you will hear the story.’ She steadies herself with another tot of brandy and takes a long breath. I have always been fascinated by the way Lily will take a deep, deep breath to steady her soul at difficult times. I suppose it is the theatre training.
‘Now,’ she says, more cheerfuly, ‘let us take stock. You are with child and the child is Jack’s?’
I nod.
‘And I am with child and the child is not Jack’s!’
Her look is both cheeky and rueful. The tilt of her head, the
wink, the spread of her hands too perfect. I have to laugh. ‘You are not speaking true! You are unkind to tell such a lie.’
She widens her eyes. This is the first time — certainly not the last — when I am not sure where truth lies and where invention takes over. ‘No, but Mattie, my dear, you must believe me if we are to get on. Now listen: Jack must stand by you and your child. But also he loves me and always has. You must accept the fact,’ she lays a rather grimy hand on mine, ‘that he wishes to marry me and settle me here.’
I sigh. It is the truth. My tears gather again. Lily raises a finger to still them. All her actions are dramatic. All perfectly executed and captivating. And somehow not quite real. She stands and walks about the kitchen, thinking. I take time to turn the roast and make gravy. Jack will be hungry after his long ride.
When the gravy is made, Lily takes my shoulders in her two hands and guides me to the table again. Her face is serious now and I think this time she is not play-acting.
‘I’m going to suggest a way around all this,’ she says, sitting down beside me, ‘which may shock you. But nevertheless it may be a good workable plan. So please keep an open mind and make no outcry until I have finished and you have thought carefully.’
I watch her face, both fascinated and frightened. I feel like a rabbit transfixed by strong lamplight.
‘I believe that Jack needs both you and me,’ she says. ‘I am his dream, you might say, and you his reality.’ She frowns and shakes her head. ‘No that is not quite right — we are both real in his eyes. I cannot find the right words. But Mattie, let us find a way to please our Jack and to satisfy ourselves too, eh?’ And here she winks. ‘Now. I propose that you and Jack marry secretly.’
I gasp, as you can imagine! Again she raises a finger to stay any words from me.
‘Your child will be baptised and named a Lacey, and God will be pleased with you. But …’ She taps an agile fingernail on the table, tap, tap, tap. ‘… In the eyes of the community,
I
will be Mrs Lacey.’
I am completely lost. What on earth is she suggesting? Two
Mrs Laceys? A pair of wives? Can she be mad, perhaps? Deranged by her dreadful experiences? But she continues as if what she is suggesting is perfectly sensible.
‘Jack likes to be admired. He enjoys the respect of his friends and neighbours. He will enjoy having me on his arm when he visits. I could be the public wife and you could be the private one. He also enjoys, I am sure, the things you have given him: a warm and well-ordered home, good food and comfort — of all kinds. I would not be so skilled at these things. There is also this … Mattie, at the moment I am desperate. I must hide from a man who thinks I am dead. The child inside me will be born in a few months.’
I look in astonishment at her waist and see only a slight thickening. She nods at my glance. ‘I have not eaten well in the past months and must regain my strength.’
I
am
shocked. Of course I am. How often had the nuns taught us that a man must take only one wife? That the custom of my native forebears was sinful and displeasing to God? But I am a little intrigued. How on earth could such an improper suggestion be made to work? Also, I am worried that my roast is spoiling.
So we call Jack in and have a surprisingly happy meal. Jack should be anxious; he should be worried about my child and Lily’s and what the neighbours will think. On the contrary; he compliments the meal. He talks about a new foal and the state of the road into the valley. He gazes too many times at Lily, but he shares a joke with me when Lily uses a knife instead of a spoon on her apple pie. She will need a lesson or two in manners if she is to be accepted in the houses of the neighbouring farms. Lily’s plan, I suddenly see, could work within our own little household, but in the wider world? Surely not.