The Arrival of Missives (9 page)

…do not remonstrate or resist. It would not be a sin to give him comfort, Shirley. It would save us all. For it is the Redmore line that condemns us all to a bleak future, and Daniel is the cause. If we can change his behaviour on May Day we will change everything for the better.

I told you this was a task only you could undertake, and now you know why. You must make him love you, and you must bind him to you, before he becomes the instigator of destruction on a scale you cannot possibly imagine.

I ask so much of you. Perhaps this task is why you were born, have you thought of that? I have seen the patterns of time spread–

'What're you reading?'

I look up into Daniel Redmore's eyes, and then I fold up the letter and slide it into my apron pocket. 'None of your business,' I tell him. 'Help me up.' I hold out my hand and he takes it and pulls me into his arms, pretending to be cheeky and charming while all the time I know this is only a pretence to get to my letter.

'I think you are my business, miss.' His arms are around me, and I like it. It is as if we are playing house, as we did when we were little. I could imagine us married, and this is how we are with each other every day, because that is what couples do. It is a game, but a good one. If only he wasn't so jealous. I know he suspects it is a letter from Mr Tiller.

'I agreed to be your business on May Day, and that is still over a week away. Now let me go; it's nearly time for the bell to ring.'

'Not yet…' he says. 'Tell me who's writing to you. You're my girl.' He sounds breathless, a little scared, as if he can't quite believe what he is doing. How could he be responsible for anything terrible, let alone the end of humanity?

I could kiss him, and he would soon forget the letter. But I do not want to kiss him in order to protect Mr Tiller, or at his bidding. The nerve of a schoolmaster to ask a pupil to – take up with another pupil, to even go so far as to defy the laws of the church… He is mad, and I should show his letters to Reverend Mountcastle.

But even as I think it, I know I won't do that. I will do things my own way.

'Shirley?' says Daniel. I hear his breathing, so fast, and his strong arms are around me still. We are frozen in the moment. He is my ally, and we both must live by rules set by our fathers, teachers, vicars. Well, no more.

'Listen,' I say. 'I have a meeting arranged for the training college in Taunton, to become a teacher. My father has forbidden me from going.'

'So the letter is from Taunton?'

I nod. Let him think so.

'You should go,' he says. 'I'll take my father's cart. We'll miss school. I'll take you there myself.'

'You are a gentleman,' I tell him, and his smile is so broad and becoming that I stand up on my tiptoes and kiss him anyway, just for myself. His mouth is harder than I expected and his lips dry; he is rigid with surprise. Then the bell rings, and he lets go of me. I run around the corner of the shed to see Mr Tiller standing there, holding the bell.

He looks upon me, and I can tell the exact moment that he sees Daniel emerging behind me. Mr Tiller's expression is a curious one. Does he approve, or disapprove? I don't think he knows himself.

That's how I know, as I make my way past him, that he is no rock. Not all the way through. Not yet.

*

My parents, knowing that we have reached the date of the meeting in Taunton, watch me over breakfast with intensity, but we do not speak of it. I am so meek and mild with my newfound ability to dissemble that I give them no reason to be mistrustful. If I place a foot wrong my father would lock me in my bedroom today, but he cannot play that role unless I give him cause.

I see now that this is a lesson all women must learn, and my mother is an adept. I had never noticed her performance before. She handles my father with her downcast eyes and serene expression. She skips over the obstacles he lays for her with deceptive ease, so when he complains about the stale bread she takes it away and presents a fresh loaf without a word. When he asks why she is silent, she says cheerfully of how she was just thinking of a funny thing Mrs Barbery said to her in the village, and relates a piece of tattle with such charm that my father forgets that he was looking for a fight at all.

Then she looks away and I see the pretence fall, and I know she is hiding all her thoughts and feelings in order to pander to him. He is an enormous tyrant baby to whom she will be forever bound.

But the story goes that she wanted him above all others, that she defied her own parents to have him. I can't help but despise her for this; she should have known better, even if she was in love. It seems love does not always guarantee happiness. In point of fact, my love for Mr Tiller has yet to bring me any happiness at all, and we are only in the early stages of our relationship, which hardly bodes well. If only love could be controlled; I would switch it off and pack it away for a more sensible use on a different occasion.

*

'Here,' says Daniel. He is as good as his word, and has taken his father's horse and cart. We meet at the place where the field adjoins the road, and I clamber over the stile, and climb up beside him. He looks so very nervous; does he see the same fears in my face?

'Let's go,' I say, breathless, and he clicks his tongue and shakes the reins, and the journey to Taunton has begun.

The great temptation upon me, immediately, is to blurt out that Mr Tiller has gone mad, but I remember that I have decided against it. It would certainly help to have a confidant in such matters, though. Instead I say, 'Thank you for this.'

'You should have your chance,' he says.

'So should we all. Have a chance at our dreams.'

He does not reply. All the lightness has gone out of him. Could we really have kissed? It seems like a moment that happened between two different people.

I think about what I observed between my mother and father this morning, and I say, 'You will not believe what I overheard in the village yesterday.' I make up some tale about the Braddicks falling out, I keep my voice sweet and clear, and slowly charm him into laughter even though it gives me no time to myself to think about what I will say in my meeting.

The miles pass. The road widens and smoothes to a well-worn path.

When we reach Taunton I see the main street, the market building, the houses, and the lines of the train tracks. It would be possible to live in Taunton and never be recognised once, I think. Or to board a train and travel to some place where nothing would be familiar – where every building blazes with electric light, and cars are as numerous as people.

I would be lost in a moment, but Daniel knows where we are, and where we must go. He clicks his tongue, and the horse travels onwards as I stare about in wonder, and imagine a future where I belong here.

*

'Miss Fearn, please,' says the man. He wears a suit and a blue bow tie, and has a greying beard, trimmed to the loose contours of his face and neck. He is exactly how I have always pictured venerable academics.

I stand and smooth my skirt. I wish I could have dressed more smartly; I look dowdy compared to the other girls, with their fine hats and bags, and shoes in the latest style. They must all come from good families. I pray these outward signs of wealth do not matter. Surely these men would not make judgements on such grounds. The only thing that matters about the presence of these other girls is that it reminds me how big the world is, and how much competition there is for the best opportunities.

I am shaking in my muddy boots when I follow the venerable academic into the room appointed for the meeting. There are dark wooden panels on the wall, and the floor is polished parquet, making my footsteps so loud that I wince with each step. And there are many steps to take; this is a hall, long and empty, apart from the table at the far end where the academic takes his seat, the last in a row of three. His two colleagues look much like him in attitude. They sit in their equidistant chairs, all facing me, all showing no sign of welcome or interest. I am just one of many girls to them.

I reach their table, and hesitate. What should happen next? Do I introduce myself?

The man sitting in the central position holds out a hand. I move to shake it, and he grimaces, and points instead. 'There, please.' I turn my head and see the chair to which he points. I walked right past it.

I have already established myself, without saying a word, as an idiot.

I move to the chair, and sit on the very edge, poised to flee. Daniel is outside this new building, with the horse and cart, and I could run for it, run to his arms, so he could hold me, and comfort me. Now I am aware of how many girls there are just like me, what do I have that makes me special? Perhaps it is better to be important in Westerbridge than to be an idiot in Taunton.

'Miss… Fearn, is that correct?' says the man on my left. He is bald, and his head is shaped rather like an egg, with a point to it as if his brain is a mountain. What lofty mental peaks he must climb every single day.

I nod, and try not to get distracted by such thoughts.

'We will ask you a number of questions in order to ascertain your suitability for the training course, and for work in the teaching field, which is, as you know, a great responsibility and an important role for the rebuilding of the country's youth. So let me start by asking you – what would you like to pass on to the next generation? What is there that you, in particular, can teach them?'

I can't think of anything to say.

But my mouth opens and I begin to talk, and I talk and I talk, amazed at myself, and at everything I have to say. There is so much more to tell them, and the words seem fresh and unplanned, unthought. I could talk for hours upon this subject: the future.

When I stop talking, the men stare at me, and I stare back. I cannot remember a single thing I have just said.

*

'It can't have gone that badly,' says Daniel.

I cannot reply. My throat is sore from so much talking. There were so many questions. At one point the man on the right had to interrupt me in order to ask his question, and yet I still cannot remember what I said.

'I'm thinking it went well and you can't see it,' Daniel says. 'You're the best in class at questions, and the like. You're the brightest girl I know, Shirley.'

It's a long journey back to Westerbridge. By the end he has given up trying to console me. We are returned by early afternoon, to the place where we set off, and nothing there is different. The grass grows, the flowers bloom. He brings the horse to a stop next to the stile, and I hop down.

'Hey,' he calls. 'Is that it, then? Is that all I deserve, for the trouble I'll get into?'

'What would you have, then? Another kiss?' My voice is back. It's loud, with a shrill edge.

'Not in your mood. You'd bite me, I reckon.'

'So what, then?'

He looks at the reins in his hands, then ahead at the road. 'Nothing.'

'Right, then.' I hop onto the stile.

'Wait!' he calls. Can he not see I need to be alone? I want to hide in the fields until the time school ends, and then I can retreat to my bedroom to think through what will become of my life now. For if I cannot go to Taunton, what will I do? How will I become the woman I need to be?

'I'll get in trouble,' Daniel says. 'Over the horse and cart.'

'I know.'

'It doesn't matter, though. I had this idea. That you would get in. Don't laugh at me, but I wanted you to get in and me to find a job Taunton way, and for us to... live there. In a different way. Not the way everyone has laid out for us. If you go, can I come? Can we do that?'

'Do you mean – go together?' I ask. 'In what form?' I am trying to grasp what is in his head.

He frowns. I see him reaching for the words. 'I don't know. Couldn't we just be people together, and forget everything else, forget your father and my father and the farm and the smithy, and who will own what one day? And forget Mr Tiller.' He swallows. 'What would it even matter, if we could be happy?'

'Happy together?' Why am I suddenly stuck on this one word? Just hours before I could have talked for hours, and now I am like a parrot stuck to its perch, squawking, awkward. I can't envisage this life of which he dreams. Perhaps I need him to speak of love, or marriage. I need it to have a shape.

'No, I mean, yes, but—' His mouth opens and closes. I stand on the stile, and wait.

He gives up. He shakes the reins, and the horse clatters off at speed, the cart bouncing behind it. I feel strong. I feel separate from him, and his plans. Why does he need me to lead his way to Taunton? He should be the one to lead. He is the man. If he wanted us to marry, and go to Taunton, I would think on that carefully. I might even say yes.

This seething sense of victory sings in my veins, and stings my eyes. I am crying because I have turned quickly on the stile and caught my skirt in the hedge, and now it is torn.

*

I wake late, and lie still. It is the first Monday of May, and I will be crowned Queen.

It is beyond me to be calm, even though this is a ridiculous piece of whimsy that I did not care for just a mere week ago. But no. No, I cannot call it whimsy now I am at the heart of it. There are deep roots to May Day, stretching back through the centuries. I find I have a taste for power in all its forms, on the rare occasions when it is allowed to me, and what is more powerful than a Queen? Particularly one who is the living embodiment of the spring, the soil, the seeds. I feel newborn as a lamb, as old as the rocks themselves.