September brought the rains and, thankfully, Grace was moved to the strawed-down barn to milk the cows every day. Since Nancy and Alice had left to be married, their younger sister, Jennet, had taken their place and a new milkmaid had started, a girl in her teens whose name was Margaret, who seemed indifferent to Jennet’s chatter and tended the cows quietly, her head down as milk splashed into the pail.
Grace huddled inside a sheepskin cloak her grandmother had acquired for her from a local woman who owed her a favour; she and Bett had spent evenings together sewing, letting out her skirt and bodice at the seams so that her clothes hung loosely. Grace’s belly had swollen a little, but so far no one had seemed to notice and neither Grace nor Bett had taken an opportunity to speak to Will Cotter about the baby that would arrive at the end of winter.
Grace paused momentarily from milking; she removed her woollen mittens and blew on her hands, rubbing them together, both for the comfort of the cow and for herself. Her toes were brittle with cold inside the thin boots; she stamped her feet every few minutes to thaw them. Outside, beyond the barn, the rain was incessant, pooling in the fields; it drummed on the ground with a repetitive drone and dripped constantly from the timber frame.
Grace wondered what her father was doing, whether there was any work inside the barns for him to do or whether he’d be outside, tilling the soil, surrounded by puddles. She thought of the quiet of the evening, sitting by the hearth, cooking his pottage, and felt sad; she would not be able to visit the garden, or pluck herbs, or share the thoughts of her heart with the chattering well. More than ever, she felt alone.
Jennet made a long sound of discontentment. ‘I do not know what is wrong with this cow, why she won’t let down her milk for me. Perchance she has a bad humour on her, like Nancy.’ She scowled. ‘Nancy is always out of temper nowadays; she would make the milk sour if she was here.’
Grace looked up from her work. ‘Why? What befalls Nancy?’
‘She is with child already. It will come next spring and her husband is a pudding-headed fellow who is always in his cups – he loves the taste of ale more than he loves my sister: she knows it is true herself. He spends each evening in The Royal Oak, playing Noddy and Penneech with the other men from the farm, and he comes home each evening with an empty purse. They have little money between them and they do nothing but exchange cross words.’
‘Poor Nancy,’ Grace said.
‘Oh, she must lie on the bed she has made for herself,’ Jennet replied carelessly, sounding much older than her fifteen years. ‘It does not come near me. I will never take a husband.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Even Alice does not seem in a good humour now she is wed.’
Grace did not reply. She was afraid to cross Nathaniel’s path: she had avoided him since the wedding and the thought of meeting him terrified her. Her heart knocked as she imagined speaking to him, what he would say if he knew about the child she was carrying. She had seen Alice occasionally, her head bent as she followed Harriet Harper, who always spoke loudly and incessantly, Alice constantly under her instruction. She thought it must be difficult, to be firstly a milkmaid and then the wife of a farmer. There was so much to learn about running the household and, despite her new position, Alice’s duty was to obey both Nathaniel and his parents. And it was said that Harriet was quick to judge and quick to disapprove.
Jennet was still talking quickly. ‘No, none of this will come near me, for I shall never marry. I have no intention of being a big-bellied fussock like my sister, Nancy, or a farmer’s mother’s maidservant, like Alice.’ She turned to Margaret, who was working hard, her head down, and laughed. ‘What do you think of it all? You are the same age as I, Margaret, maybe a little older. Do you not dream of being yoked to a tosspot like George Shears?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘It touches me not, Jennet. I work by day, and in the evening, I do my close work by the light of the tallow. That is enough. Mother and I need to sew and take in washing to put food on the table for my younger brother and sister. I have no time for jawing and idle gossip. I must work all hours.’
‘Oh, I do beg pardon,’ Jennet replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm. She thought for a moment and then turned her attention to Grace. ‘But what about you, Grace? You live with your father. It is not much of a life for a woman your age. And I recall seeing you at the May dance – Nathaniel Harper danced both with you and with Alice. Did you not think yourself his favourite then?’
‘I did not.’ Grace looked up. ‘And there is but little milk in your pail. I fear you will be scolded, Jennet. Here, let me help.’
Grace eased herself from the stool and moved to where Jennet was working. She wrapped her hands around Jennet’s, her chapped skin covering Jennet’s soft plump fingers, and she began to pull at the udders gently, a strong rhythm, a new pressure. Jennet watched, amazed, as milk squirted into the pail.
‘You must have enchanted hands, Grace,’ Jennet said. ‘I have heard you have all sorts of skills with plants and herbs. Can you teach me that too? Then perhaps I will learn to use some of your magic for myself.’
Grace returned to her work. ‘The plants and simples teach me, not the other way.’ She resumed milking. ‘But if you speak kindly to Mistress Cow, Jennet, then she will yield her milk willingly.’
Jennet barked a laugh. ‘And that is how it is with menfolk – they speak women fair only for them to yield willingly too. Then they become a wagtail, like Nancy, or ill-tempered, like Alice – one already big with child and the other married into a family of vipers. They will both be out of humours for the rest of their days.’
She stopped: light footsteps were approaching and the three women worked in silence as Alice Harper came into the barn. She was wearing a pale grey dress, the bodice laced tightly, and a cream-coloured cap over her hair. Her eyes searched the barn as Jennet called, ‘You look very becoming today, sister. Has your husband’s father paid for another new gown?’
Alice frowned, ignoring her, and turned to Grace. ‘I would speak with you, Grace.’
‘Of course.’ Grace rose from her work and Alice pointed to the fields where the rain still fell.
‘We will speak here, at the edge of the barn.’
Grace followed Alice until they were at a distance from the milkmaids, sheltered from the downpour, then Alice lowered her voice.
‘I have heard it said that you are skilled in the use of plants and herbs.’
Grace nodded. ‘I learned from my mother and my grandmother, Bett White, who has many skills.’
‘And it has been said that you can make a poultice that can stop a woman’s cramps?’
‘I can…’
Alice seized her arm, her grip tight. ‘And can you make a powder or a potion that will make a woman quickly get with child?’
Grace met Alice’s sad blue eyes. She noticed her rosy cheeks had become sallow.
‘You have been wed but three months. There is yet much time…’
‘I need to be with child soon. Please, Grace, can you help me? Nathaniel and my mother-in-law grow impatient with me.’
Grace’s expression was soft with sympathy. ‘I have some nettle infusion at home and the leaves of raspberry may help, too.’ Her voice was low. ‘Do not fret yourself. I will bring it here to you tomorrow.’
‘Thank you, Grace. I have thought to seek a physician, to find tinctures and purges. There is no limit to what I will do. I must give him a son, and soon.’
‘I will do my best to help you.’
Alice’s fingers still circled Grace’s wrist. ‘And I beg of you, say nothing to anyone of this.’
‘I never shall speak of it.’ Grace was about to return to her stool and pail, but Alice grasped her hand.
‘If I do not bear him a son, I am undone. Nathaniel and his mother expect it of me. Every day, she asks me when I will do my duty by the family. Promise me you will help.’
‘I can but promise to try,’ Grace said.
Alice sighed and swept away back to the farmhouse, slender as a branch. Grace moved a hand to her belly, closing her eyes, feeling the rounded shape beneath. For a moment, she was overcome with sadness for Alice and for herself.
‘Culmstock Beacon is incredible.’ Selena was relaxing in a soft seat in the bar of The Royal Oak cradling a glass of tomato juice, her booted legs stretched out in front of her. ‘What an exhilarating walk. Thank you so much, Nick.’
He smiled. ‘I enjoyed it – I’d like to have made a day of it, but I have to help my parents this afternoon: there’s some lifting to do, an old wardrobe in one of the bedrooms needs chopping up, and if I don’t help my dad out, he’ll do it by himself.’
‘I’m really grateful that you showed me around this part of Somerset,’ Selena said. ‘I have some wonderful photos. So, while you’re busy helping out at Hilltop Farm, I’m going to start a new painting, and I know exactly what I’m going to do first.’
‘The panoramic view from the Beacon?’ Nick asked. ‘Or the walk through the woods with all the tall trees?’
‘Neither,’ she smiled. ‘On the way here, when we looked at the view across the Blackdowns, I took a photo of a solitary cow in a field. The sky behind was really ominous, all greys and blues, rainclouds coming in. I’m going to paint that.’
‘Sounds perfect. I think you’re right about the weather, Selena.’ Nick finished his half-pint of cider. ‘It looks like we’re in for a downpour this afternoon. Maybe we ought to be getting back to Chitterwell.’
‘Okay.’ Selena reached for her coat.
‘How about doing this again next week, weather permitting?’ Nick asked. ‘We could walk along the canal paths or go further afield. Perhaps we could even stop somewhere nice for lunch?’
‘I’d like that.’ Selena was ready to go. ‘That will give me something to look forward to when I’m hard at work all week.’ She glanced at the wall clock. ‘Almost one o’clock already? That gives me plenty of time to start my painting this afternoon.’
‘I can’t wait to see it.’ Nick opened the door and they stepped out into the village street. The skies were overcast already, dark clouds hanging low. ‘We’d better hurry up – it’s definitely going to pour down soon.’
As they walked, Selena’s phone buzzed: it was Claire. She glanced at Nick. ‘Sorry, I ought to get this.’
‘Of course.’
‘Hi, Claire – how’s it going?’ Selena listened while Claire’s voice bubbled in her ear.
‘Good news – I think I’ve found the perfect person to help out in the gallery. Do you remember Gulliver Ocasio, who was in our year at uni? I haven’t seen him since we left, but he came in the other day to see if we could feature some of his work. He’s a graffiti artist and I’m tempted to take him on for a trial period. He could look after the gallery and sell some of his paintings with us at the same time. But I wanted to check that it was okay with you first.’
‘Of course – I trust your judgement completely,’ Selena said. ‘Tell me about him.’
Claire was excited. ‘I’ve seen some of his work. He’s amazing – he does oversized, garish faces, stunningly bright colours. And he’s a really nice guy. Don’t you remember him? Originally from the Caribbean, tall, lean, great sense of humour…’
‘Take him on, Claire. He sounds perfect.’ Selena had left the village behind her and was walking towards Chitterwell, Nick by her side. ‘So, he’ll get a trial period first?’
‘I think so. And he’s good-looking too.’
Selena smiled. ‘I thought that might be the case.’
Claire’s voice was loud in the earpiece. ‘I’ll ring him today and see if he can start first thing tomorrow. Once he’s got the hang of it all, I can leave him for a while. It will free me up to visit you. By the way, how’s the painting going?’
‘Really well.’ Selena glanced towards Nick who offered her a conspiratorial wink.
‘Oh, and one more thing.’ Claire’s tone changed: she was suddenly quieter, more confidential. ‘There’s something I ought to tell you. It’s not great news.’
‘Oh?’ Selena frowned.
‘David came in the gallery today. He was asking about you, about the… about the baby.’
‘What did you say to him?’ Selena’s voice rose and Nick glanced at her, checking her expression, raising anxious brows.
‘I told him to go away. I said you didn’t want to talk to him.’
‘Thanks, Claire.’ Selena breathed a sigh. ‘You’re right, I don’t want any contact with him.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep him at arm’s-length, I promise. Right, I’ll ring Gulliver now. Talk to you later.’
Claire hung up and Nick met Selena’s gaze. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘That was my flatmate, Claire – we own the gallery together. She was just giving me an update.’ Selena paused at the gate to Sloe Cottage, the fields rising to Hilltop Farm in the distance. She wondered if she should have mentioned David, but the moment had passed and she wasn’t ready to talk about the miscarriage, not yet. Another opportunity would present itself in time and she’d feel ready then to talk to Nick about her past. She opted for a simple reply. ‘Yes, things are going really well at the gallery.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Nick grinned. ‘Right – well, I’ll say goodbye here. Shall I call round next week?’
‘Come to breakfast,’ Selena said. ‘I’ll get the croissants this time, and we’ll have them with Earl Grey tea.’
‘Perfect,’ Nick agreed. He waved a hand and began to walk away. ‘I’ll look forward to it all week.’
‘Me too.’ Selena turned towards the cottage, smiling at the thought of seeing Nick again, rummaging for the keys as her phone rang again. She tugged it out of her pocket without thinking and answered the call. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello.’ It was David’s voice. ‘Selena. Where are you? I have to talk to you.’
Selena pulled the phone from her ear as if it had shocked her, pressing a button to end the call. It had started to rain, fat drops spattering on the ground. She found the keys and pushed the front door open, rushing inside. Her heart was thumping: the last thing she needed was David Marsh to create turbulence in her new-found calm.