‘Mrs Mudge, who is Grace?’
Becky asked the question quietly, looking at the grey haired woman bending over the hot range in the kitchen. The stirring hand stopped abruptly and Nellie turned, looking over her shoulder, narrowed eyes and wrinkled face tight with a grim expression that surprised Becky.
‘Why d’you want to know?’ Her voice was quick and harsh.
‘Because Mr Fielding said her name. He’d just woken up, then he looked at me and said, “Grace”.’
Nellie turned back to her stock pot and the steady stirring. ‘Just a girl who worked here once.’ It seemed a casual remark, but Becky heard her voice crack. ‘Oh, long ago. Now, we must think about something for the maister’s dinner – I wonder if he might like a bite or two of that old fowl if I makes it really tender. Fetch it out of the larder, maid.’
Knowing she was being put off, Becky went to the larder with determination hot inside her. Nellie wouldn’t tell her. Very well, she would ask Ma, who had also worked here, if she remembered Grace and what was so special about her. Well, special enough to make Mr Fielding remember her. And it would be easier to make Ma tell than keep questioning awkward old Nellie.
Returning with the fowl and putting it on the table, she smiled and asked politely, ‘If the maister doesn’t need me for an hour while he’s asleep, I’d like to run home, Mrs Mudge. I expect Ma and Will have heard the news and they’ll want to know how he is. Can I go?’
Nellie stared across the table, hands already busy about the bird. ‘Well – wait till he sleeps proper after his meal and then p’raps you can. Wonder if we can get Mr Briggs to sit with him – or p’raps Tom, though he do smell of the stable.’
Becky started cleaning potatoes in the scullery, her thoughts busy. Perhaps tomorrow the maister would like her to carry on sitting with him – at least until he could manage on his own. She breathed deeply, saw him in her mind’s eye, pale and tense with pain, and knew she would gladly give time to looking after him. Uncertain why, she felt at ease with him. And she sensed that he liked her enough to allow her to be beside him. She shook her head. Everything was very strange today.
Returning to the kitchen she put the potatoes on to cook, aware of Nellie watching her, and suddenly she turned to meet the thoughtful gaze, hoping for something about Grace, but then Nellie turned away and the moment was gone. By the time the meal was cooked, she had laid a tray to take to the invalid and was about to carry it up the stairs when Nat Briggs came down, forcing her to step back and wait. He looked at her very keenly, deep set eyes seeming to pierce her mind. ‘So he’s awake, is he? Tell him as I needs to see him. Things he must decide.’
Becky said firmly, ‘He’s not ready yet. He needs to rest more.’ And then she remembered what Mr Fielding had said. ‘But I know he wants you to take a letter to Mrs Richards in Moreton tomorrow.’
Nat frowned, stretched out his hands and took the tray from her. ‘Give it here. I’ll take it to him. Then he can tell me what I gotta do.’
‘But—’ She hated the idea of Nat forcing the maister to try and think straight when clearly he wasn’t ready for it.
‘Never mind but,’ he growled. ‘Go on back and tell Nellie I’ll be down for me dinner soon as I can. Tell her to keep it hot.’ His frown grew more ferocious; watching her, he waited and she could do nothing but obey. Seeing him go up the stairs and barge straight into the maister’s room without bothering to put down the tray and knock, she knew she hated Nat Briggs with a force that frightened her.
Downstairs, Nellie looked at her. ‘Some’at wrong? Not the maister?’
Becky told her about what Nat had said. Nellie snorted. ‘That’s him, all right. But the maister’ll tell him off, I don’t doubt. He’s a strong man, maister is, and that little hayseed’ll have to give in if he wants to keep his job. Now,’ She smiled at Becky. ‘Sit you down, maid. You deserve a good meal and then you can go home fer a bit. I’ll watch the maister meself if Nat don’t do so.’
It was in the middle of the shared meal around the kitchen table that they heard a knock at the door and a deep voice called out, ‘Joseph Freeman. I gotta message for Mr Briggs.’
Nat, deep in his chicken and gravy, growled, ‘What a time o’night to come.’ He nodded at Becky and gestured towards the door. She rose quickly, avoiding his knowing eyes, and opened the door. ‘Mr Briggs is here,’ she said curtly into the shadowy dusk, and turned back into the room, not letting herself look at the man standing in the doorway. But, even as she returned to the table, something warm and urgent flashed through her. Joseph here; would there be a chance to talk together after he’d given Nat the message?
Nellie looked at the remains of the carcass on the big dish on the table, and then across the room. ‘There’s a few scraps left if you’re hungry,’ she said, and allowed herself a slight smile as she met Joseph’s eyes. ‘Just get the talkin’ done first and then you can sit yourself down.’ She turned to Becky. ‘Leave ’em be. We’ll do the dishes – an then you can go, maid.’
Go? thought Becky, full of confusion. But I don’t want to go anywhere while Joseph’s here. And then, suddenly, she caught the full force of Nat’s eyes, staring at her, his mouth down slanted and his hand clumsily wiping gravy from his thin lips. He knew, she thought wildly. He knows that I want to see Joseph. And he’ll stop me doing it.
Words came without thought. ‘I’ll go and fetch the maister’s tray. He’ll be finished by now.’ She left the kitchen without looking at anyone and ran up the stairs, wondering at her wild feelings. She found Rupert Fielding slumped in his bed, asleep, his breathing calmer and some colour in his cheeks. His bedside table held a half emptied plate and a large, empty wine glass. Relieved to think that he was on the road to recovery, she folded the green coverlet closer over his chest and then took the tray downstairs.
In the kitchen voices rose and fell, but she hardly heard what they said, for her mind was filled with the longing to do the dishes and then find Joseph. Clattering at the sink in the scullery, she found Nellie at her side.
‘So he ate his meal, then? It was almost an empty plate.’
‘Yes. And now he’s sleeping – maybe he’ll sleep through the night.’ Becky glanced sideways at Nellie. ‘Can I go, when this is done?’
‘Said as how you can.’ Nellie’s sharp eyes narrowed. ‘But keep away from that Briggs. He’s in an awful temper, all about the message Joseph brought. Run home quick and you’ll be safe.’
Becky breathed in a great sigh of relief. Having Nellie on her side was a help, and yes, she knew the road home so well that even if Nat Briggs followed, she could easily disappear into the shadows before he saw her. And perhaps Joseph would follow….
And then she heard the voices in the kitchen grow louder. ‘So when did you see the vicar? What you doin’ in Manaton, anyway?’
‘Heard as there was work in the church, carving of new pews, so I went and asked the vicar, Mr Broadland, showed him some o’ my work an’ he recalled I was with Mr Gosling and said good enough. I start tomorrow.’
A chair scraped back and Becky winced as she heard Nat’s heavy footsteps on the flagstones. ‘An’ then he told you to tell me ’bout the service on Sunday? Important, he said? Have to find someone in maister’s place? So how did he know you was goin’ to see me?’
There was suspicion in every word and she waited tensely for Joseph’s reply. She knew he was a man of action when driven to it, but his voice, deep and quiet, held no replying anger.
‘Told the Reverend I’d be coming to High Cross Manor to ask about Mr Fielding. Said as I’ve done work for him – and hope as how he’ll employ me again, so I must enquire about him.’
Nat’s answering growl was to be expected, but suddenly Becky heard him stride across to the door, his last words for Nellie. ‘Tell maister I’ll be here tomorrer to get his orders.’
The door slammed to, the untethered cob clattered out of the yard and Becky, wiping her hands, returned to the kitchen and dared meet to Joseph’s eyes. Putting dishes on the dresser on the side wall, Nellie glanced over her shoulder. ‘Off you goes, then. And remember as I lock the door after ten.’ She nodded, and Becky thought she saw a glint of amusement in the old, faded eyes.
‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Mudge.’ She took up the shawl draped over her chair and, without looking at Joseph, let herself out into the yard. The evening was chilly and she walked very slowly down past the stables, the cow barn and the carpenter’s shop, uncertain whether to run or to wait. Suddenly she was full of burning, terrible doubt. What if Joseph didn’t want to find her? What if he really had come just to give Nat a message and convey his best wishes to the maister? What if he had already found a new girl in Manaton? What if—
No! She wouldn’t allow herself to think such things. Instinctively, she turned back towards the kitchen door and stood there, half hidden in the shadow of the old lilac tree growing around the privy, bravely facing her fears and counting every slowly passing second.
She waited a good ten minutes before the door opened and his voice reached out. ‘Thank you, Mrs Mudge – a good meal that was. I’ll be on my way now – and my best wishes to the maister, if you please. I hope he’ll be up and about again soon.’
He stood, big and strong, in the dark doorway, looking about him, not seeing her until she slipped out from the lilac and faced him. Her heart raced, and she smiled.
He said nothing, but smiled back, his eyes catching the pale moonlight as he put an arm around her, silently drawing her away out of the dusky patch of yard. They started walking towards the lane; he put a finger on her lips and Becky knew that she had been right to wait. She would wait for ever, if that was what he wanted.
In the lane the hedges threw heavy shadows onto the path ahead of them until the growing moon slipped out from its veil of drifting clouds, and Becky thought her life had never before been so full of joy and contentment as in these few happy moments, walking between the Manor and High Cross Farm. At first they didn’t speak, until a fox suddenly slid through the hedge ahead of them, turned to stare, and then disappeared into the darkness.
And then Joseph laughed, put his arm around her waist and drew her close. ‘We’re not alone, then, but as good as. So tell me, Becky Yeo, what you’re thinking.’
She said nothing, too busy enjoying the nearness of his body.
‘Something about the maister? About your new position? About being away from home – on your own?’ His voice lowered a tone, but she thought she heard concealed amusement. ‘About being here, with me, a man you don’t know much of except what that rogue Briggs told you?’
At once her voice was uncertain. ‘A girl at every farm, he said. How do I know if he’s right or wrong?’ She wasn’t going to let him see how she excited and joyous she felt. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. He must show her what sort of man he was first.
Joseph stopped walking, holding her more tightly as he did so. He turned to look down at her and Becky felt herself giving in, leaning against him. ‘You know he’s wrong, Becky Yeo. You know there’s only one girl and she’s here, now. You know that, don’t you?’ His voice was deep and quiet and she felt his breath on her face.
Of course she knew. Had known from the first time she heard him singing, walking down the road to Manaton when she was outside the farm, hiding from Nat Briggs. The voice, the song, the sense that there, walking away from her, was the man who would mean everything in her life. But she had been brought up by a mother who warned her all the time about men and their easy ways, their charms and promises, and then, never ending, their habit of going off and finding someone else.
So she drew away, tightened her lips and said coolly, ‘I don’t know anything, Joseph. I’ve only seen you a few times.’ But then, because the urgent emotion inside her rushed out, the words refused to be stopped. ‘I need to find out … what you’re like. What sort of a man. And … what you want.’
For a moment he said nothing, then his steps slowed, stopped and he turned to face her.
‘Becky, I want to tell you who I am. What I’m trying to do – and why. Let’s find somewhere where we can talk. Shall we?’
The unexpected seriousness of his words touched her, made her nod, whisper, ‘Yes. Yes, please, Joseph.’
He took her hands, smiled into her inquiring eyes and drew her along the lane until they reached a field gate. ‘In here. I’ll find you a comfy place to sit while we talk.’
She sat at the bottom of the hedge, cushioned by grass and weeds, sheltered by the dark windproof foliage, expectant and tense. What did he have to tell her? Did she really want to know this man’s secrets? But his quiet presence, the comfort of his deep, low voice banished the doubts. He sat beside her, held her hand in his, warm and reassuring, and began his story.
‘I come from the Union Workhouse,’ he said quietly. ‘My mother died having me and so I spent the first nine years of my life there. In Newton Abbot. I was called Jack Adams because Jack was one of the ten names used for boys, and the surnames had just come around to A again, and Adams was the first on the list.’
Something deep inside Becky stirred. She hadn’t expected anything like this. ‘But you said you were Joseph Freeman….
His hands tightened around hers. ‘I am. I changed my name because once out of that prison I wanted freedom. And I chose Joseph because that was the name of the man who rescued me: the Reverend Joseph Gosling who found me living wild, took me in and found this little half starved creature had a mind that was curious enough to want to learn. He apprenticed me as a garden lad. And also he taught me.’
Becky was silent, her mind too full to see clearly. Then, ‘And what did you learn?’
‘How to live. How to read and write, to enjoy music. I sang in his church choir. He taught me how to garden, to carve wood, build pigsties, care for animals and labour on the land. Before he died he taught me all I needed to live a good life. And so – here I am.’
Wondering, she said slowly, ‘So that’s why you’re always going somewhere new. Hay making, harvesting, mending Mr Fielding’s bed panel….’
‘And now I’m off to Manaton church to make new bench pews and decorate their ends.’ His voice had lightened, holding a note of gaiety which seemed at odds with her own thoughts.
‘But if you never stay in one place, you’ll never have a home.’ She frowned. ‘Is that what you want? Always to be alone? Never to—’ She didn’t finish, for the picture she conjured up was up was too dark, too hurtful to describe. Her mind saw him for ever alone, on the move, always doing the next thing, having no roots, with no possibility of settled happiness. It was a wicked picture and she bowed her head, trying to push it away.
‘I know what you’re thinking. That I’m no good for anything. For – anyone.’
What could she say? Desperately, she searched for words. They came slowly, broken and hardly audible. ‘I don’t want to think that. I want you to – be someone. To do something.’ She stifled a sob, ashamed to think he might understand how she felt and need to escape. The words faded. ‘Love someone perhaps.’
She thought his silence was the end of it all. Now he would say something like, ‘Well, I’m sorry but I’ve got to be free. That’s my name, and my life must be the same.’ But instead, after a long moment he said, very quietly, and with an arm slipping around her waist, ‘I do love someone, Becky. I love you. Probably always will. But first, I have to find where I’m going. Find the thing that will settle me, help me know that what I’m doing is right. Can you understand that?’
Slowly and weakly she knew that she could. Strength grew. It dawned on her that working at High Cross Manor was, for her, the right thing. So of course he must find his own place in life. And even if it meant she wouldn’t be with him, she understood quite clearly that this was what he had to do.
‘Yes,’ she whispered, pushing back her tears and drawing on all her strength. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. And I hope you find it. I hope – so much….’ She couldn’t go on. Betraying tears fell and she turned away her head, but he pulled her close, his heart beating against her breast, his mouth whispering small love words into her hair, warming her, reassuring her, making a quiet but fervent promise she knew she would hold onto until he came back to her.
If he ever did.