Dinah came calling after the evening meal, shyly sitting in the kitchen near the fire and looking first at Nellie and then at Becky. She sipped the small ale offered and Becky had to be the first to speak, wondering what this visit was about.
‘How’s things at the farm, then, Dinah? Mother and Will all right? Did he do any good at the market with that calf?’
Dinah looked over the rim of the cup and nodded. ‘Good price he got. He’s all right but Mrs Yeo’s took bad.’
Becky’s heart missed a beat. ‘How bad? Why didn’t you come and tell me before this?’ One question crowded into the next. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Coughing,’ said Dinah. ‘Made her go to bed, though she didn’t want to. Will ses she’s no good unless she’s fit for work, so off to bed he took her.’
‘I must go and see her. Mrs Mudge—’
She turned to the older woman who shook her head and smiled wryly. ‘You’re in charge now, maid. No need to ask if you can go.’
Becky nodded. ‘No. So I’ll walk back with Dinah. I’ll take Ma something hot. Mrs Mudge, is there any chicken broth left?’
‘In the pantry. I’ll put it in a bowl.’
They walked quickly towards the farm, Becky with a basket on her arm and Dinah for once inclined to chatter on about Will. ‘He do order me about, but I’m learnin’ fast. Ses as I’m a good worker, an’ he’s glad to have me.’ A smile lifted the small mouth and broadened the dumpling cheeks.
Becky said warmly, ‘That’s good, Dinah. And I’m glad you’re there, too.’
The lane brought them into the farmyard where Prince barked and the kitchcn door slowly opened. Will stood in the doorway. ‘What you come for then, Becks?’ He stood back, letting them enter.
Becky put her basket on the table. ‘To see Ma, of course. How is she? What are you giving her for her cough? That coltsfoot medicine is the best – did you find it?’
‘Stop fussing. My lord, how you women do fuss.’ But Will smiled as he went back to his fireside chair. ‘She’s just got a cough, nothin’ to worry about. But we needs her down here so I ses, off to bed, Ma, I ses. Course, she didn’t want to go.’
‘I’ll go up and see her. Dinah, warm this up, will you?’ She stayed long enough to see the broth poured into the pan on top of the range and then went quickly up the narrow, steep stairs into the bedroom where she heard Thirza coughing and wheezing.
‘Ma, I’m here. How are you? What can I get you? Shall I ask the doctor to come out?’
Thirza lay very still in the narrow bed, huge eyes in her pale face following Becky’s every movement as she tidied the old patchwork quilt slipping to one side, covering the thin arms resting on it and then pulling up the one chair in the room to sit down beside the bed. ‘Ma, I’m sorry I’m not here – I ought to be here.’ She felt a huge pang of guilt. Of course she should be here, nursing her mother, taking over all the kitchen duties. She shouldn’t be up there at the Manor, being paid a wage that exceeded all her dreams, and telling Ruth and Nellie Mudge how to go about their businesses. Mr Fielding should never have made so many demands on her. He knew she was just a farm girl, needed at home. She began to blame him for everything, until a final thought reminded her that, if necessary, her wage could pay the doctor to come out and see to Ma. And Dinah was obviously proving herself, so don’t worry so much. Don’t blame yourself. Just try and cheer her up and see what she needs.
It was clear what Thirza needed beside the coltsfoot medicine – warmth, rest and good food. Becky found an old blanket long ago consigned to the chest under the window and lovingly tucked it around her mother’s thin frame. ‘I’ve got some broth for you,’ she said cheerily. ‘That’ll give you some strength. And if you don’t feel better tomorrow I’ll get the groom from the Manor to ride into Moreton and ask Dr Gale to come and see you.’ As Thirza shook her head, Becky added, as lightly as she could manage, ‘Don’t worry, I can ask all sorts of favours from the maister, ’cos I’m his housekeeper now.’
Thirza’s eyes were saucers. ‘Housekeeper?’ she croaked. ‘But—’
‘Don’t try and talk, Ma. I’ll sit with you a bit and maybe then you’ll sleep.’ Footsteps outside and then Dinah came in, her smile warm. ‘Here’s the broth, Mrs Yeo. Sit up a bit, eh?’
Between them they raised Thirza into a sitting position, bolstered with pillows, and helped her sip the broth. Then, with a hint of colour in her cheeks, she sank down again, smiling at them as she said breathlessly, ‘Lucky, aren’t I? Two maids to look after me.’
Becky sat by the bed until her mother’s eyes closed and her breathing grew quiet. Then she went downstairs, to find Dinah sitting opposite Will and mending the collar of a shirt, a domestic scene which surprised and pleased her. Warmly, she said, ‘I’ll come again tomorrow. But if Ma’s worse, then, Dinah, come and tell me.’
Dinah nodded, suddenly got up and then hesitated, looking first at Becky and than at the door. ‘Going, are you?’
‘Yes. It’s late, I must get back.’
Dinah went to the door and opened it, looking at Becky over her shoulder, almost as if she wanted to say something, then followed her out into the darkness. Becky shut the door behind her and stopped. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ Not something else, she thought anxiously.
But she saw Dinah’s eyes shining as she fumbled in her apron pocket. ‘He came today, wants you to have this.’
‘He?’ A flash of hope spun through her. She took the offering and felt her pulse quicken.
Dinah’s voice was low. ‘That Freeman, he came when Will was out. Said as how he hasn’t got time to go to the Manor. Left this for you. Just an ole weed, I’d say, but there – he said it were important.’
Becky took the small, wizened twig and stared at it. A faint fragrance rose, something she knew well, and not just the fragrance, but the words naming it. A sprig of thyme.
Instantly, the world cleared of all its threatening shadows. A shaft of brilliant light suddenly shone down into her circling mind and she heaved in a huge breath of relief and joy. So he hadn’t forgotten her. So Joseph Freeman still held her in his thoughts, whereever he was, what ever he was doing.
She thanked Dinah, said goodbye, then walked home in the darkness feeling that nothing could ever again disturb her mind. The moon shone, the shadows were forgotten. Never mind the problems – Nat Briggs, Ma being ill, Joseph not being here. She knew that she could deal with whatever was asked of her, now and in the future.
Humming a snatch of her song, she quickly walked back to the Manor. She had never felt so happy as she did at that moment in her life.
The work at the Manor continued: dust arose, carpets and curtains were cleaned; the amount of washing and ironing increased. A labourer, Jimmy Browning from the village, came and made even worse messes mending broken window frames and replastering damp walls. Ruth laboured well and long, and Becky was thankful for the girl’s strength and stamina.
And slowly she found herself settling into the daily routine; the planning of duties over breakfast in the kitchen, with Nellie Mudge adding small snippets of useful information from the old days, and then the hours upstairs going over the accounts with the maister. And in the evenings slipping down to the farm to see how Ma was getting on.
The happiness she had felt when the sprig of thyme lay in her hand slowly faded away, but she knew it was stored at the back of her mind. One day it would come back. Just like Joseph. Her thoughts of him, all the time, were busier than ever, shining into her daily routine like tiny stitches of gold brightening a dark canvas.
Joseph loved her. And of course he would come back.
Even so, it was helpful to immerse herself in the work, trying to push aside small and painful fears that still persisted despite her hopes; when a cupboard in Rupert Fielding’s study revealed a broken latch, the half-open door falling out and throwing a pile of papers on to the floor, she was almost grateful – more work. Something to fill her mind and let Joseph go. She picked them up and then put them in a tidy pile on his desk. Mr Fielding could sort them out in his own time. Now she could get the latch repaired and the cupboard properly cleaned before the papers went back. She went downstairs for the midday meal with a quiet mind.
Nellie Mudge put spoons and bowls on the long scrubbed table. ‘Mr Briggs’s gone over Hameldon to see farmer Worth about his pigsties. Falling down, need repair, Briggs’ll have to see what the maister ses. Quite a journey.’ She looked at Becky and smiled broadly. ‘Have your dinner in peace, he won’t be here.’
He returned late in the afternoon, cursing the roads and the summer dust that covered them, complaining about having to ride up over the great shoulder of Hameldon: ‘Time we got a proper track without that hill making the horse blow. Where’s me meal, Mrs Mudge? I’m starvin’ hungry.’
Becky watched him gulp down the dried up plate of stew that Nellie produced, wash it down with ale, and then get up, heading for the door and the maister’s study. ‘I gotta tell him about the sties – need brickin’ up. That farmer Worth, he don’t know nothin’ about repairs. Get him to pay, I ses.’
Becky stood well away from him as he left the room, but, as he passed her, she said, ‘Mr Fielding’s not in his study. He’s resting in his bedroom. Wait, can’t you, till he’s up again?’
He glowered at her. ‘Don’t tell me what to do – I’m the bailiff and I’m runnin’ the estate for him while he takes it easy.’ She watched him climb the stairs and then disappear down the long passage. She hoped that Mr Fielding would soon be up again – Nat Briggs alone in his study somehow seemed to be a danger. But then Ruth came out of the morning room with a pile of old newspapers and magazines. ‘Burn ’em, shall I, then?’
Becky nodded. Nothing important there, she thought, and then her mind turned to the pleasure of slipping away to visit Ma. The afternoon work finished, she had a word with Nellie who nodded, and she was out in the warm fresh air, almost running along the rough track leading to the farm. Enjoyment grew. She spent too much time in the house, overseeing, working, counting up figures. This short hour or two of freedom saved her from any of the sad thoughts that still came. Thoughts of, Where is Joseph? And when shall I see him again?
She looked around her on the brief journey, suddenly newly aware of billowing white clouds travelling the brilliant blue sky, of the beauty of grey sunlit stone and drifting colours of moor grass, heather and gorse. Old Bowerman’s Nose stood tall, looking down at the surrounding moorland with what Becky liked to think was a sort of blessing. No shadows today. Passing the wayside grave she dropped a heather bell on it and wondered, had there been mourners for the poor woman who had taken her own life? And what had happened to make her do it? Was it true, or just an old story? Folklore, thought Becky, shaking her head and then allowing Joseph to ease her mind into serenity as she came into sight of the farm and quickened her pace.
Thirza was recovering slowly from the cough and was up, sitting by the hearth, watching Dinah cutting up a rabbit and preparing the evening meal. Their voices came to a stop as Becky entered the kitchen, and she at once looked anxiously at her mother. ‘You look better, Ma – a bit of colour in your cheeks. I hope you’re not working too hard.’ She turned to Dinah. ‘What a good thing you’re here to help out. Will treating you all right?’
Dinah chopped at the carcass in front of her. All she said was a quiet, ‘Yes’, but Becky saw the small mouth lift into the semblance of a smile and began to wonder what thoughts it was concealing. And then Will himself appeared, muddy boots at once kicked off into the hearth. Dinah smiled a greeting, her knife still in her hand. He stared at Becky. ‘You here again? Village knows ’bout you bein’ the maister’s housekeeper. Grand title – but what do you do all day?’
Becky heaved a deep sigh. Nothing new here, then – Will, as always, going on at her. And yet – she saw him glance at Dinah and grin, the sort of grin she remembered from his youth, and had not seen since. Was it possible that Dinah was working some sort of miracle on bad tempered Will? And that idea made it possible to merely smile at his provocative words, and say quietly, as she pulled a stool from under the table and sat down, ‘I work, Will. I work hard. Simple as that. And you wouldn’t be interested to know exactly what I do. So give me your news. What’s happening on the farm?’
Will sank down into his chair and looked at her. She saw thoughts slide over his tanned face and waited; never any good to try and hurry him. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘Farm’s all right. But village is full o’ that Freeman chap pinching the Poor Box from the church and then being put off by the vicar.’
Inside Becky a knot formed and she sat up straighter. ‘He didn’t take it, he’s not that sort. Not a thief.’
Will’s blue eyes glinted at her. ‘How do you know? You been seein’ him again?’
With infinite control she said quietly, ‘No, I haven’t. But he didn’t take that Box. I could never believe that he did.’
‘Well,’ a yawn, then the hint of a grin, ‘mebbe you’re right. Village ses it were Briggs took it – just his sort of nasty trick. Wanted to get back at Freeman, see, so showed it to vicar and vicar fell fer the story. Only now….’ Will rose, found his pipe on the mantel, sat down again, intent on filling it, but his eyes slid round to watch Becky’s reactions.
‘Now what?’ She tensed.
Will puffed hard and smoke drifted around him. ‘Now vicar wants to make it good for Freeman, so he’s workin’ over to Hound Tor fer another vicar who wants to find out about the ole stones all over the hillside behind the tor.’
Silence while the smoke circled and then wafted away. Becky felt her knot untying slowly while her thoughts rushed and circled around one fact: Joseph had been cleared of the theft and was now working again. Her heart leaped. After a pause she asked casually, ‘So what’s this vicar doing with the old stones?’
Will stared at her. ‘I dunno. He’s just one of the reverend maisters on the moor these days, lookin’ at all the ole stones, diggin’ them up and writin’ things about them. That’s all I know.’
A word arrived in Becky’s mind from – was it school days, or had she heard it somewhere? Antiquarians. These men who were trying to set up fallen stones and discover what they could about them. Stones that they believed were so old they couldn’t be dated. And Joseph was working with them. She knew somehow that he would be interested in doing this. Joseph was a craftsman so he would care for old things like stones with forgotten stories attached to them.
She felt lighter, excited, relieved and so wasn’t ready for Will’s next words. ‘You decided ’bout marryin’ Nat Briggs, then, have you? He’s waitin’ fer an answer. What’ll it be, Becks?’
A rush of disappointment and fast growing rage filled her. Her voice was loud, words erupting without thought. ‘I’ll never marry him! I hate the sight of him – his filthy clothes, that ragged hair, the way he looks at me, always trying to touch me – of course I won’t marry him! You must be mad to even think I would.’
Silence. Will sucked at his pipe. Behind her Becky sensed Ma fidgeting in her seat, heard Dinah dropping rabbit pieces into a cauldron then turning to swing it onto the fire. Becky’s thoughts ran around in circles. Here were familiar sounds, scents, memories, and people she loved. She must make amends for that outburst. Ma would be upset, Will angry, Dinah resenting the trouble she was bringing into the cottage.
She moved to Ma’s chair, taking her hands, smiling into her anxious face. Her voice quietened as she said, ‘Sorry, Ma. I know you want me to think well of him, but I can’t.’
Thirza nodded very slowly and sighed. ‘Would have been a good thing, but no, you ses. So what’ll happen to you, maid?’
Becky thought hard before answering. Mustn’t mention Joseph. Must keep Ma happy and without further worries. She said brightly, ‘I shall stay on at the Manor, helping Mr Fielding. And when he marries and doesn’t need me any more I’ll find another situation. He’ll give me a good reference, I know.’
Dinah stirred the pot vigorously. Will shifted in his chair, reaching out for the newspaper and Becky felt everything change. Her words had brought a kind of hopefulness and although she knew they were only fantasy words, she breathed deeply with relief. It was important to keep her loved ones happy and unaware of all her secret thoughts and longings. A great realization came then, listening to Ma telling another choice bit of village gossip, and Dinah laughing, a strong, almost hurtful knowledge that living at High Cross Manor had changed her completely.
The Manor provided comfort, warmth, work that she enjoyed; and above all, her hopes and longings for Joseph had made her a new person, unable any longer to feel at home in this small, shabby cottage. No matter how she loved them all, Ma, Will and even Dinah, she knew she was no longer part of them. Her words, just now, fantasy though they seemed, were merely emphasizing her new life.
So it was with a feeling of hidden guilt she refused the offer of a meal, kissed Ma and told her she was enjoying being at High Cross Manor, and that she would come again another evening; touched Will’s shoulder as she passed him and left the cottage, walking home slowly down the shadow-laden track, and wondering, with a new sense of expectancy, what sort of future awaited her.