Had Mr Fielding touched her?
No, of course he hadn’t. But oh, yes, she knew just what Ma was trying so wretchedly to say. Becky’s mind was suddenly a whirlwind of flashing images. She saw hot, lusting eyes, felt possessive strong hands, heard Nat’s hoarse voice and knew instantly that this was what so often happened with needy men and vulnerable women. And then the grave beneath Bowerman’s Nose flashed behind her eyes and new knowledge surged, for this was what must have happened to that poor woman who became pregnant and then hanged herself, because life in those unforgiving days would have been unbearable if she hadn’t. Someone had touched her – loved her, then left her with the baby.
Men, thought Becky, with a surge of red hot hate. And then thought instead of Joseph, who had loved her sweetly and gently, had never scared her, never – what had Ma said? – taken advantage of her. Joseph would never force her. She could refuse him and he would just nod and smile and hope she might change her mind later. And, of course, it was just possible that she might, because she knew, deep down, that she loved him.
But Mr Fielding? No, he hadn’t touched her. Whatever feelings there were between them – and yes, she felt something for him, a sort of warmth, but not like that sensual excitement she felt for Joseph – everything was different. She liked him, felt sorry for him. That was all there was to it, and she guessed that, strangely, he liked her, too. Just – liked her. Not – wanted her in his bed.
She stared at Ma and broke the silence that tightened the small room. ‘Of course he hasn’t! It’s nothing like that between us. Why ever do you think he might be like that?’
Thirza sucked in her lips and looked down at her clasped hands. ‘I dunno….’
Becky felt stirrings of anger resolve all the shock that had filled her mind. Now thoughts came and went, and new ideas became certainty. Village gossip. Mrs Mudge knowing something. Mr Fielding thinking she was Grace…. she stared at her mother.
‘But you do know! It’s something to do with Grace, isn’t it? That name he said when he saw me at his bedside. And I suppose that’s who he was bad with. That’s what you were thinking about. Wondering if he treated me like he did Grace. Well, who was she? Just another village girl, I suppose. Like the one in the grave up the lane. So tell me, who was she? Come on, Ma, you have to tell me.’
Thirza shook her head. Will got up from his chair and went to the sink to wash his hands. Over his shoulder he said gruffly, ‘What’s all this about, then? If you got to tell her something, Ma, than for the Lord’s sake tell it. You’re makin’ out that Becky’s no more than a whore, and that’s never right. Up in the air she may be, but all right, she’s not a bad girl.’
‘Grace was a girl working at the Manor.’ Thirza’s words rushed out as if they had been waiting to be released for a long time. ‘The maister took her, made her pregnant and then she went away. That’s all I know.’ She looked across the room. ‘I just didn’t want him to do that with our Becky, Will. So don’t shout at me. I didn’t say she was bad – just that he was then an’ so he might still be, for all I know.’ She had a red patch on each cheek and her voice was higher than usual.
Will dried his hands, grunted and pulled out the chair at the top of the table. ‘So let’s forget it all,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m hungry, I want me tea. Got it ready, Dinah, have you?’
Becky let out her breath and nodded her head. He was right. This was a muddle about nothing that mattered. Now she knew about Grace she felt better. Just another girl treated badly, but nothing new in that. And she could assure Ma that nothing like that was happening between Mr Fielding and herself. She even managed a smile. What a thought! She said warmly, ‘Well, now that’s all done with I’d better be getting back. Ma, you can stop worrying about what’s going on, because nothing is. I’m just working for him, and he’s treating me well.’
She looked into Thirza’s eyes and smiled fondly, thinking her mother looked better, with more colour and an extra bit of flesh on her. ‘Stop worrying. You’re a proper old worry, you are. And no need. Just think of the money I’m earning now – I’ll give you something nice, Ma, to make you feel better. Have a think about what you’d like, and we’ll go into Moreton one day soon.’
Thirza smiled weakly and took her hand. ‘That’ll be nice, maid. Why don’t we get some dress stuff an’ I’ll make it up for you? You don’t want to wear that one all the time, it’ll get real spoiled if you do.’
‘That would be lovely, Ma. Thank you. One day next week. I’ll ask Mr Fielding if Tom can drive us.’
The room seemed lighter, happier. Becky looked at Dinah, spooning turnip stew onto the plates on the table, went towards her and said quietly, ‘You’ve looked after Ma so well, Dinah, thank you. So maybe there’ll be a present for you, too. Something pretty to wear at the fair next month?’
Dinah pouted as she sat down and pulled her plate towards her. ‘That ole fair, it’s nothing but men dressin’ up, makin’ a lot o’ noise and getting drunk.’ She slid a sly glance at Will, next to her and grinned. ‘But we’ll go, eh, Will? You did said yes….’
Becky caught the exchange of friendly teasing and saw her brother’s usually tight face relax into a simpler expression of good humour. ‘Get on with you,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘You maids don’t know nothing ’bout the proper business of the fair, selling stock and horses. Course we’ll go.’
Thirza sighed, Dinah smiled and Becky felt an uplift of her spirits. Things were better. No more troubles. Ma looking much better and healthier, and Dinah somehow charming Will into a different, nicer person. She got up, kissed her mother, put a hand on Dinah’s arm and smiled at Will as she passed. ‘We’ll all be there, can’t miss old Uncle Tom Cobley and all that fun, can we? Never missed Widecombe Fair before, so no reason to miss it this year.’
At the door she looked back at the three most important people in her life and felt a great warmth spreading through her. ‘I’ll be back again in a day or so.’ Closing the door behind her, she walked back to the Manor with her mind full of extraordinary thoughts.
The ghost of poor unknown Grace was there, Mr Fielding too, and then Joseph, who would be coming here very soon. She knew she would be glad to see him, so glad, indeed, that she would welcome him with kisses – if that was what he wanted.
He came very soon, knocking at the kitchen door as Becky sat down in the early evening, resting after the day’s work. Ruth opened it, looked back at Becky and grinned. ‘Joseph Freeman to see the maister. Tell un to come in, shall I?’
‘Yes – well, yes, of course, ask him in.’ Becky was surprised, yet she’d been waiting for him every day. She got up, slowly walking towards the door, making sure she didn’t show the excitement building inside her, and smiling coolly at Joseph who wiped his boots, removed his hat and stood just inside the kitchen doorway. ‘Mr Fielding’s in his study. I’ll take you up. This way.’
She knew Mrs Mudge and Ruth were watching, wondering, guessing, and was glad to walk into the hall and up the stairs, Joseph just behind her. Only when she reached the top of the staircase did she turn and allow her smile to show her feelings. She waited until he stood beside her. ‘You’ll be here. We’ll see each other often …’ she murmured. Now she was close to him she looked into his grey eyes and then saw something there that took away her smile. ‘What is it? Something’s wrong….’ Her voice was low because the study door was only a few steps away.
Joseph narrowed his eyes and kept his distance. ‘I’m not coming, Becky. I need different work, not here, but somewhere else, out on the moor.’
‘What? But why? I thought you’d be pleased… I told him you were a good worker. It’s such a chance.’ She couldn’t believe it. All her hopes and dreams were being thrown back at her. A black pit of self pity and anger filled her mind and her voice rose. ‘I don’t understand you! Sounds like you don’t want to be here, with me. So you don’t care, after all. Like Briggs said, you’re just one of those men who pick up a girl and then leave her.’ Tears swam and her voice wavered. ‘Got another one, have you? Somewhere else where it’ll be easier to kiss her and take what you want?’
He lunged forward, arms on her shoulders, shaking her, so that she felt the strength of his hard body and knew how she would miss his presence, his touch. His voice roughened. ‘Don’t say that! You know it’s not true! I’m going because I know it’ll be better than being here. It’s part of what I’ve got to do. It’s for us, Becky, for us. Can’t you understand that? It’s because I want you to be with me that I have to go.’
Behind them the study door opened and Rupert Fielding stared out, frowning, eyebrows raised. ‘What’s all this about?’ he rasped, looking at Joseph. ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing here? Becky, explain, please.’
She swallowed her threatening tears, took a deep breath and met his accusing eyes.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Fielding. This is Joseph Freeman. You wanted him to come and work, you said, but—’
Joseph’s deep voice cut in, polite but determined. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I was glad to hear that you were offering me employment, but I have other work so can’t do as you want.’
Becky looked at the floor but knew Rupert Fielding was inspecting Joseph from head to toe. He probably thought this was a wild man, one of the travelling labourers always up to tricks to earn a penny or two. He would most likely be glad that Joseph had refused the offer of work. ‘I see,’ he said coldly. ‘Very well then, go and do your other work. But why are you here in my house with Miss Yeo, making such a row?’
Becky stole a glance at Joseph who bowed his head for a moment, and then looked at Rupert Fielding and said quietly, ‘All my fault, sir. I just came up to apologize to you.’ He stopped for a second. ‘And then Miss Yeo didn’t like what I told her.’ His lips set tightly together. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go now.’ He made a rough bow, turned and went quickly down the stairs, disappearing through the door into the kitchen, while Becky stared, only half believing what was happening. Suddenly her rage evaporated and she knew she had treated him badly, impossibly. She must go, find him, explain, make it up, not let him go like this with everything wrong between them. She was on the first step down when Rupert Fielding’s strong voice stopped her.
‘I think we need to talk. Come in here.’
He held the door, frowning, and she entered. Her mind was in chaos, still reeling from Joseph’s excuses, feeling anger and the piercing pain of a love that was being rejected. She sat down when Rupert Fielding nodded to the chair opposite him and simply stared at him. What he wanted to talk about she had no idea and wasn’t interested, for all her raging thoughts were of her loss and her anguish.
He brought out an extra glass, poured whisky into it and refilled his own glass. She looked at the golden liquid he watered down and then placed on the table next to her, and, as in a dream, heard him say, ‘I think you could do with a sip of this, Becky.’
Slowly she put her lips to the glass, felt the fiery spirit burn her throat, warm her stomach and almost without knowing, felt her emotions fall back into place. It dawned on her that he was looking at her rather anxiously. She managed a weak smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Fielding.’
He nodded, put down his own glass and then, slowly, as if searching for words, said, ‘Becky, you’re still a child, despite your undoubted abilities. You told me about the trouble with Briggs. Now it appears this man, Freeman, is also upsetting you. Can I help in any way?’ Becky stared. Why should he care? And indeed, what could he do to help? No one could help. Joseph had gone and it was the end of all her dreams and hopes. She took another sip of whisky and felt self confidence return. But what could she, a servant, say? He wasn’t really interested in her life. She thought hard and then said slowly, ‘Thank you, sir. I mean Mr Fielding. No, I don’t think you can help. No one can. Joseph has gone and I must forget him.’
‘I see. So that’s how it is.’ His smile was easier, different from his customary forced expression. ‘You and Joseph Freeman, eh? But you’re very young, Becky – you’ll find someone else before long. Just forget him, that’s the best thing.’
She looked at him, a long stare, thinking how little he knew about love, and then words started to pour out, startling her and clearly surprising him. ‘I won’t forget. I love Joseph and he loves me, he told me so, I thought we would marry one day. But now he’s gone off and so I must think about other things.’ She paused. Images ran before her eyes. Hope had died, reality was hard and she felt lost.
Rupert Fielding narrowed his dark eyes, then said quietly, ‘I think you need someone to advise you. Why not ask …’ he paused for a second, ‘Mrs Yeo? She will help, I’m sure.’ He paused, smiled and added, ‘And remember, there are plenty of respectable young men about who might suit you. I know quite a few—’
‘I don’t want anyone else! Joseph may not be what you call respectable but I love him! He’s strong, and has a good mind, and he knows what he wants.’ Suddenly she felt tears on her cheeks and bowed her head, fumbling for a handkerchief.
And then one was pushed into her hand. It smelt of whisky and cigars and she mopped her face, staring across at the man who looked so anxiously at her. ‘Go home, Becky,’ said Rupert Fielding almost tenderly. ‘Go home and see Mrs Yeo. Have some time off – try and get over this lover’s tiff. And then you’ll feel better.’
Stiffly she got to her feet, looked down at him, saw how his face was warm and caring, and wondered why. But her own feelings swamped his. ‘Thank you, Mr Fielding,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘I’ll be all right. But yes, I’ll go home now.’ She nodded at him, went to the door and opened it. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to find Ma, tell her, cry on her shoulder, hear words that would comfort and advise.
Closing the door, her mind fixed on going home, she missed what he was saying, almost to himself, as she left the room. ‘Poor child. Poor little Becky. What must I do?’
Joseph left the Manor without meeting the curious eyes of the women in the kitchen, or answering the greeting Tom threw at him as he crossed the darkening yard. Inside him something pounded and surged as Becky’s furious words stayed in his mind and he knew wretchedly that he must get just get on with his life. She hadn’t understood but slowly he began to realize that he couldn’t really expect her to because he hadn’t explained everything properly. But then came the defiant thought, if she loved him, wouldn’t she have tried to do so? Understood that a different, more instructive job would help him along his life’s journey? Help him to arrive at the point where he could return and ask her to marry him? She must know that he loved her, desperately and passionately; but how could she understand, when he hadn’t told her in more detail just why he was leaving? Questions rampaged through his mind – but he knew that he still had to go. If she loved him she would wait. The thought overpowered all else as he walked on.
As he neared the inn familiar voices lured him in. Warmth, rough friendship, the persuasive forgetfulness of a few pints of ale – that was what he needed. Much later, as he and Jim and Davy lurched out into the darkness, Joseph knew where he was heading: Monday morning, out to Hexworthy. An overheard stray remark that old farmer Narracott needed men to repair his newtake walls was all that he needed.
Joseph slept deeply and without dreams and on Sunday, his muzzy head ordered him to remember the Reverend Mr Gosling’s disciplines and attend church. The service soothed him, he joined in the familiar hymns and enjoyed Nat Briggs’s glowering scowl from the end of the pew. When the Yeo family came in his heart lurched. He looked across at Becky, saw how, after the initial surprise of meeting his gaze, she turned her head away and looked into her prayer book. He heard her sweet voice soar above the others as they sang and had to force his thoughts into his future. He watched her leave the church without another glance. So that’s how it was.
Well, he didn’t blame her.
Early on Monday morning, gathering his bag of tools and bundle of clothes, he started on the long journey to Hexworthy, trudging determinedly over moorland, along green lanes heavy with climbing shadow from the overhanging trees, then on into rough farm tracks, all the while trying to forget Becky and telling himself he was doing the right thing. If farmer Narracott took him on he would be working on the damaged newtake walls; working with stones, and instinct told him this was the right thing to do, the next step along the journey his life was ordering him to take.
Reaching the farm he paused for a moment in the autumn sunlight, feeling it warm his body and even lighten his thoughts. Hope clamoured and brightened the day – he could be on the way to going back to Becky.