Mrs Tuke told Harriet that there was a shepherd’s crook in the corner of the shed where the farm tools were kept. ‘Mr Tuke bought it,’ she said. ‘Fancied himself as a shepherd, but we’ve never kept many sheep and we’re hardly climbing up hillsides for him to need it. Tek it. And if you’re not sure how deep ’snow is, test it wi’ crook first.’
Harriet said she would. The snow had fallen all night and the brothers had been out first thing clearing the yard. The sheep had been in a field shelter, but the cows were kept in their stalls. Mrs Tuke had done the first milking, and as soon as Harriet had finished her breakfast she set off for the manor wearing an old mackintosh she’d found in the porch, her shawl over her head and the borrowed boots over thick stockings.
I feel like an intrepid explorer, she laughed to herself, and was almost ready to admit that she was enjoying being outside.
Walking up the track was easier with the crook, but once she came to the main road the snow was thick and she pressed on gingerly. There was not another soul about; deep snow balanced precariously on low tree branches and the glistening white road was patterned with animal and bird prints. It’s beautiful, she thought, looking up into a clear blue sky as a flock of wild duck flew over; just wonderful. I’ve never in my life seen anything like it.
Her legs were aching by the time she reached the manor gates. The walk had taken her longer than on the previous day and she was relieved to see that a path had been cleared up the middle of the drive, which made walking easier. Somebody was up early to clear this lot, she thought.
She went straight to the washhouse, but on trying the door found it locked. She about-turned and went back towards the kitchen; the courtyard, like the drive, had been cleared and ash put down for easier access.
Harriet sighed. How very agreeable, she thought, to have someone do this for you, without having to stir yourself from your fireside. A young lad came out of the kitchen door and picked up a spade that was leaning against the wall, putting it over his shoulder. He nodded to her as he passed, and began whistling. She reckoned that he’d be pleased to be employed.
Cook told her that the laundry had been taken up to the ironing room. ‘Mrs Clubley was right pleased with your ironing,’ she said. ‘She said it was much better than Mary’s. She’ll be glad for you to come regular.’
‘Thank you,’ Harriet said. ‘So shall I come once a fortnight?’
‘Aye, that’ll do, or mebbe weekly in ’summer when we have visitors. And I expect Miss Amy will be home by then; she’s ’master’s daughter.’
Harriet nodded, and wondered if she would be pregnant by then. But even if I am, she thought, I could still come. She left her boots by the back door, and in her stockinged feet followed Lizzie up the back stairs and down a long corridor to a room which, like the washhouse, had dryers hanging from the ceiling, a wall completely covered in cupboards from floor to ceiling, two ironing boards and a table covered in a thick cloth, and a coal fire burning in a barred grate.
She took off the mackintosh and shawl, rolled up her sleeves, and put the flat irons on the fire bars.
‘Sheets are in ’baskets,’ Lizzie told her, ‘and you can mek starch wi’ water from ’jug.’ She pointed to a small side table with a jug and bowl on it. ‘And Mrs Clubley said to tell you that ’mistress doesn’t like ’sheets starched too stiff.’
Harriet had never used starch before. That was a luxury she and her mother hadn’t needed with their fustian bedlinen, but these sheets were of the finest linen. She decided to err on the side of caution and mixed it up to a thin consistency and simply sprinkled it along the top and bottom of the sheets. I’m sure somebody’ll tell me if it’s wrong. And oh, dear, I hope I don’t scorch them.
The first hour and a half passed pleasantly. She felt relaxed and her thoughts drifted from being at home with her mother to meeting Noah when she was feeling so very low, her marriage, and coming out to this marshy land. It feels like a foreign country might, she reflected, it’s so different from Hull. Her thoughts naturally turned to her new family, and she found that she was constantly thinking of Fletcher rather than her husband.
At half past nine Lizzie brought her a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, and she sat on a wooden chair and indulged herself for five minutes. I wouldn’t mind working here, she thought. There are worse jobs that I could think of than being near a warm fire and having somebody bring you a tray of tea and biscuits.
She’d just got started on the last pair of sheets and was wondering how long she could stretch out the time when the door opened and a small plump woman in a dark dress and cotton cap came in carrying something draped over her arm.
‘I’m Mrs Clubley,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Mrs Hart sends her compliments on your ironing and asked if you’d freshen up this afternoon gown?’
Harriet just remembered in time about bobbing her knee to her, and said she would take a look at it.
‘It’s a fine wool,’ Mrs Clubley told her. ‘So you must be careful not to have ’iron too hot.’
Harriet drew in a breath. It was a lovely blue and so soft that she knew it would drape beautifully on the body. ‘I’ll use a damp cloth on it, just to be sure,’ she said. ‘But I must tell you, Mrs Clubley, that I’ve never done owt like this before. But I’ll tek great care.’
She finished the sheets, carefully folding them and putting them away on the shelves of a cupboard as she’d been told to do, and began the gown. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing rather than daydreaming, but no matter how she applied herself, the image of Fletcher, how he looked and the various things he had said, kept coming back to her.
Stop it, she thought. He’s nowt to you, and don’t compare him with Noah, they’re different people. I know they are, she answered herself. He’s more thoughtful than Noah, not only of me but of his mother too, and he’s not aggressive. Then she began wondering if he would meet her again on the Marsh Farm track, and knew, no matter how she denied it, that she wanted him to.
She was finished before twelve o’clock and very satisfied with the gown. She hung it on a hanger and hooked it over a cupboard doorknob, thinking how it would suit Mrs Hart with her fair hair and pretty features. I hope she’s happy, she thought, and I hope Master Hart tells her how lovely she looks in it. She sighed. How nice that must be, to receive a compliment from someone who loves you and not just be a woman there for ’purpose of begetting sons.
Cook expressed surprise that she had finished so quickly and asked her if she’d like to stay and have something to eat. After only a slight hesitation, Harriet said that she would. Cook told her that they would eat before upstairs did, as guests were expected for lunch at one o’clock prompt.
‘We’re having roast pork,’ she said. ‘With apple sauce, o’ course, duchesse potatoes and winter greens. Just a simple meal, and it’s ready to eat now, cos when we’ve finished my time will be tekken up wi’ upstairs. They’re having game soup, fresh cod cooked in butter and herbs, and then wild duck wi’ juniper berries and thyme for mains. I’ve made an apple and orange tart flavoured wi’ cinnamon for dessert. It’s my own recipe,’ she said. ‘I know what Master likes. He likes his food plain, nowt too fancy.’
‘Are you cooking all of that, Mrs Lister?’ Harriet exclaimed. ‘As well as pork for ’staff?’
‘Oh, aye,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to eat, haven’t we? And there are plenty of us: maids, and Mr Cookson, he’s ’butler, you’ve not met him yet, and Mrs Clubley, and Boulder, he’s ’footman, and Johnny is ’boot boy. There’ll be nowt left on ’joint o’ pork, I can tell you.’
‘You forgot me, Cook,’ Lizzie piped up.
‘Ah, yes,’ Cook said and winked at Harriet. ‘So I did. Well, there might be a crumb or two left over that you can have, so just hurry up scrubbing them parsnips for upstairs.’
When Harriet left she was not only bursting with food, but also amazed at the speed at which everyone ate, enjoying without appearing to bolt their food, and how Mrs Lister then galvanized the maids to clear away and help her dish up the soup into a tureen, which she sprinkled with chopped parsley. Then she scattered toasted breadcrumbs over the fish and popped it back in the oven to crisp, leaving the duck to rest for five minutes, she explained, whilst she quickly ordered the carrots and Brussels sprouts to be brought to the boil and personally supervised the sauce to glaze the duck.
How does she manage to do all that, Harriet thought as she strode down the drive. She looked back towards the house and saw two carriages at the front door. No doubt the occupants would be sitting down at table enjoying their luncheon. Oh, she breathed, it’s another life.
As soon as she reached the top of the track, she noticed something different. The brightness of the morning had disappeared and clouds had developed, yet the track seemed lighter and more open. Then she saw the pile of branches and heard the rasp of a saw.
Noah heeded what I said after all, she thought gleefully. Good, there’ll be plenty of kindling and logs for ’fire. But then she remembered that Fletcher had said he’d make a start on them, and halfway down the track was a ladder leaning against a tree and Fletcher at the top of it with a saw in his hand.
He looked down at her. ‘There you are, Mrs Tuke. How does this suit you?’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled. ‘It meks such a difference, it’s so much lighter. Have you – erm, did you have any help?’
He came down the ladder and scrunched up his shoulders. ‘Yeh,’ he mocked. ‘My father came out to give his advice on how to tackle it, and then Noah came out to look and told me I was wasting my time.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she began. ‘I didn’t intend to cause trouble.’
He gave a grim laugh. ‘Trouble was here before you arrived, Harriet, but …’ He paused. ‘Your being here might just bring things to a head.’
‘What do you mean?’
He gazed at her for a long minute before saying, ‘I’m not sure what I mean; I onny know that something’s got to change, that we can’t go on in ’same manner as we’ve allus done.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘There are things I don’t understand either, but now I’m seeing our life here wi’ somebody else’s eyes and awareness: yours. And there’s summat wrong and I don’t know what it is.’