Chaff upon the Wind (16 page)

‘Of course I am. Don’t fuss, Clegg,’ Miriam hissed.

‘Sorry, I’m sure. I only thought . . .’

‘Well, don’t think. Maids aren’t paid to think.’

‘What? What’s going on?’ Mr Franklin’s newspaper rattled furiously and his glowering eyes appeared over the top of it. ‘Can’t we have a bit of peace in a
morning? Maids, like children, should be seen, not heard.’ His irate glance swivelled from his daughter and her maid to his wife sitting at the opposite end of the table. ‘And what is
she
doing serving breakfast, may I ask? Where’s the other girl?’

‘Sarah has a cold . . .’

‘Another one? If the girl keeps being ill like this, send her packing.’

He shook the paper to straighten it out and lowered his eyes again to read. ‘Just look at this. These wretched suffragettes. Will they never learn?’

Kitty held her breath, waiting for Miss Miriam to make some retort. Over the past few months, the more Mr Franklin had ranted on about the Votes for Women movement, the more his daughter had
goaded him.

But this morning, Miriam’s eyes were downcast as she pushed scrambled egg about the plate with her fork, clearly uninterested in eating.

It seemed she had not even heard what her father had said.

Mrs Franklin reached across the corner of the table and touched her daughter’s hand. ‘Are you all right, dear? You look pale this morning . . .’

‘I’m all
right
,’ Miriam snapped, standing up and pushing her chair back with such a sudden, violent movement that it fell backwards on to the floor with a crash.

‘What on earth . . .?’ The newspaper was lowered again but before he could utter another word, the girl cried, ‘Oh, why can’t everyone just leave me alone . . .’
And she whirled about and rushed from the room, leaving Mr and Mrs Franklin staring at each other down the length of the table.

Later, Mrs Franklin quizzed Kitty.

‘All I know, madam, is that she must have eaten something that disagreed with her because I found her being sick first thing this morning.’

Mrs Franklin was staring at her. ‘Sick? F-first thing this morning?’

‘Yes, madam. I ’spect it was something she ate yesterday, but I darsunt tell Cook. You know how upset she gets if anyone ses summat – something’s – upset
them.’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Franklin said vaguely, seeming to be only half-listening.

Kitty paused and then said, ‘Anything wrong, madam?’

‘Mm?’ Her gaze met Kitty’s but the eyes seemed hardly focused, as if her thoughts were miles away. ‘Oh – er – no, at least . . . No, no,’ she added more
strongly. ‘No, of course not.’

But when Kitty left the room, her mistress was still sitting in front of her dressing table staring into the mirror, deep in thought.

It was a week later when, thinking her young mistress was out riding before breakfast as she had so often seemed to do of late, Kitty opened Miriam’s bedroom door and
walked in without knocking. She stood a moment, shocked by the sight that met her eyes.

The girl was sitting up in bed, her face as white as the nightdress she was still wearing. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and her hair was flying loose about her shoulders. She was
holding her stomach and moaning, her eyes closed.

‘Oh miss . . .’ Kitty began and hurried towards the bed. Then suddenly she stopped. The way Miss Miriam looked at this moment reminded Kitty of someone and as she realized when she
had last seen a woman looking so white and ill first thing every morning, she gave a little gasp and her hand flew to cover her mouth.

Kitty was remembering when she had still lived at home, a few months before her youngest brother was born. She had taken her mother a cup of weak tea and a slice of dry toast up to her bedroom
every morning for several weeks. Then, she had not understood what had been wrong and there had been the nagging fear that her mother was seriously ill and would not tell her. It was only months
later that the anxiety had given way to relief when her mother’s stomach swelled and she explained to her daughter that she would soon have another baby brother or sister.

Now, looking at Miss Miriam, she remembered how her mother had looked in those early days of her pregnancy.

‘Oh no. No!’

She did not realize she had spoken aloud until Miriam’s eyes opened and she stared at Kitty. ‘What?’

‘Oh – er – nothing, miss. I’m sorry. Can I get you anything?’

The very thought was outrageous. Miss Miriam wouldn’t . . . Mr Guy wouldn’t . . . Oh no, no, it couldn’t be true. It mustn’t be true. But the longer she watched the girl,
the more she remembered her mother and the more the terrible fear grew.

Now, she could almost wish it was an illness. Anything but what she was thinking. Anything.

Unwittingly confirming Kitty’s worst fears, Miriam said, ‘Just a piece of dry toast. Bring it up here. I can’t face breakfast.’ At the mere thought of the cooked
breakfast of bacon, egg, sausage and fried bread that was served each morning in the dining room, Miriam retched.

Kitty did not move from the side of the bed. She swallowed. ‘Miss – you ought to see the doctor.’

‘No.’

‘Why not, miss?’ Kitty asked quietly.

‘Because . . . That’s why not,’ the girl snapped. ‘It’ll pass. It always does. It must be something I’m eating that doesn’t agree with me.’

‘Do you want to know what I think, miss?’ Kitty said resolutely.

‘Not particularly,’ Miriam said morosely, ‘but I expect I’m going to anyway.’

‘I think – and I’m sorry for thinking it if I’m wrong, miss – but I think you’re going to have a baby.’

‘How dare you!’ The girl lashed out swiping her arm in a wide arc, but Kitty stepped back quickly and Miriam’s lunge almost precipitated her off the edge of the bed. Kitty
stepped forward again and steadied her.

‘How dare you suggest such a thing? I’ll have you . . .’ But Miriam said no more. Instead, she burst into a loud storm of weeping and threw herself against a startled Kitty,
wrapping her arms about her and clinging to her. ‘Oh Kitty, Kitty. What am I going to do? Please help me. I know I can be difficult, but please, don’t desert me.’

‘It’s all right, miss. Of course I won’t desert you.’ She held the girl until the wild crying subsided to a miserable hiccuping.

‘I’m ruined. Disgraced. Oh Kitty, I’ve been such a fool.’ Miriam paused and seemed, now, to be speaking to herself more than to her maid. ‘I thought he loved me. I
thought I was different. No matter what everyone says about him I thought that with me, he would be different . . .’ The voice trailed away in a whisper of hopelessness.

Kitty swallowed. ‘Mr Guy, you mean, miss? But he does love you, I’m sure of it.’

The girl was shaking her head wildly against the pillow. ‘No, not Guy. Of course, he loves me. I know that!’ Her voice was almost scathing. ‘He’s like a devoted
puppy.’

Then tears welled again and she rolled from side to side as a paroxysm of anguish gripped her afresh. ‘Oh why, why was I so stupid? I’ve ruined everything . . .
everything.’

A small frown creased Kitty’s forehead. She couldn’t understand Miss Miriam. If Mr Guy loved her, then he would marry her and the sooner the better to Kitty’s way of thinking.
So why . . .? The ridiculous thought forced its way into her mind that Mr Guy might not be the father, but she immediately dismissed it as foolish and, anyway, quite impossible. It had to be him.
There was no one else, no other man in Miriam’s life, who could possibly . . .

The girl’s weeping was becoming hysterical and Kitty pushed her own thoughts aside and sat down on the bed. Instinctively, she gathered the girl into her arms again and held her close,
rocking her. ‘Hush, hush now.’ At that moment, she felt much older than the girl she was trying to comfort. ‘You must see the doctor.’

The girl shook her head. ‘How can I? He’d be sure to tell Mother.’

Kitty hesitated, unsure of the confidentiality that doctors were supposed to give their patients. Yet in this case it would be difficult. The local doctor was a close friend of Mr Franklin and
Miriam was under twenty-one. ‘Maybe if you asked him not to, at least not yet. I mean, they’ll have to know.’ She gulped, sympathizing with Miriam to such an extent now that she
almost felt the guilt to be hers. ‘Sooner or later.’

‘My father will kill me,’ Miriam wailed. ‘You know what his temper’s like.’

Yes, thought Kitty shrewdly, like your own, Miss Miriam. But she said nothing. Mr Franklin idolized his daughter and there was no knowing what the shock of such a disgrace would do to him
– or cause him to do to her.

‘Your mother, then. Maybe your mother can help.’

‘No, no, I don’t want anyone to know.’ She gripped Kitty’s arm. ‘I’ll go away. You can come with me and I’ll have the baby and give it away and no one
will ever know.’ She was wild in her thinking, desperately seeking any solution. But Kitty, though badly shaken, was still able to think rationally.

‘We could go away, and yes, I’d go with you . . .’ Fleetingly she thought of being parted from Jack for several weeks, months even, but she buried the desires of her own heart.
Despite her volatile temper and her selfish ways, Kitty was very fond of Miss Miriam and ingrained into the young maid’s soul was the code of loyalty to her mistress. She would, she knew
without having to make a conscious decision, set aside her own feelings to help Miss Miriam in her desperate need.

‘But,’ Kitty went on now, ‘I do think your mother will have to know. I’m sure she’ll stand by you. I’m sure she’ll help us.’ Already Kitty, almost
without realizing it, was shouldering the burden alongside her young mistress. ‘You must tell her.’

‘Oh Kitty, Kitty. I can’t.’

‘You must. I’ll – I’ll come with you, if you like.’

Miriam raised her tear-streaked face. ‘Would you, Kitty?’

Now the realization of what she was promising, of the responsibility she was taking upon herself, filtered into Kitty’s conscious mind. Yet without a moment’s hesitation, she nodded
and said quietly but firmly, ‘Yes, miss. I’ll be with you.’

They stood, side by side, mistress and maid, facing Mrs Franklin. Smiling, the older woman laid aside her embroidery. ‘Well, this is a nice surprise,’ she began and
then seeing Miriam’s troubled face, still blotchy and swollen from weeping, Mrs Franklin’s smile faded and a flicker of something akin to fear was in her gentle eyes. She reached out
towards her daughter. ‘Why, my dear child, whatever is the matter? Come and sit down. You too, Kitty.’

Miriam gave a little cry and covered the space between herself and her mother, flinging herself dramatically to her knees and burying her face in Mrs Franklin’s lap. Tenderly, Mrs Franklin
stroked her daughter’s hair but her gaze came slowly up to meet Kitty’s troubled eyes. ‘Do you know what this is all about, Kitty?’

The girl swallowed painfully and nodded. ‘Yes, madam,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

‘Well?’

Kitty’s glance went to the girl’s trembling shoulders and she waited for Miriam to speak. ‘Tell her, Kitty,’ came Miriam’s muffled voice. ‘You tell her. I
– I can’t.’

‘Madam, I . . .’ The words were so hard, so very hard, to say. ‘Madam, Miss Miriam is in trouble.’

For a moment Mrs Franklin closed her eyes and swayed a little. ‘Oh no, no,’ she whispered. It was a plea, a prayer from the heart, but it was a prayer which could not now be
answered. When she opened her eyes, Kitty saw a deep sadness in their gentle depths. She felt so sorry for her. This kind, sweet-natured woman would be subjected to the most appalling wrath from
her husband should he ever find out. Now, as much as for Mrs Franklin as for Miriam, Kitty vowed to help keep this dreadful secret from the master.

Mrs Franklin’s hand, still resting on her daughter’s hair, trembled, but then she was lifting Miriam up and into her embrace and wrapping her arms around her and, just like Kitty had
done earlier, she rocked her. ‘Oh my darling girl,’ she murmured and then she, too, asked the same questions. ‘Are you sure? Have you seen Doctor Miles?’

Miriam clung to her mother, hiccuping miserably, unable to speak.

Kitty said, ‘No, madam, she hasn’t. She was too afraid in case he told you or – or the master.’

A tiny groan escaped Mrs Franklin’s lips. ‘Oh yes, the master,’ she murmured. She sighed and then seeming to gather her strength she said, ‘Doctor Miles would not break a
confidence, Miriam. We must be sure. I’ll send word.’

Wildly, Miriam pulled herself free of her mother’s embrace. ‘No, no. Everyone will know – will guess – if he comes here.’

Mrs Franklin took hold of her daughter by the shoulders and gently shook her. ‘Now listen, my dear, just calm yourself. Kitty can take the message and ask Doctor Miles to visit me, not
you. But we must be sure, first, before we can begin to think what to do.’ She paused and then said, ‘Miriam, is Guy Harding the father?’

Miriam was still kneeling in front of her mother, so that Kitty could not see her face, but she saw the girl shake her head.

‘Then who, Miriam? Who is the father?’ Mrs Franklin persisted in a way that Kitty had not been able to do.

The shake of the head was vehement now. ‘I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell anyone.’

‘Can he not marry you?’

The girl’s voice was a tragic whisper. ‘No. He won’t marry me. He – he’s not the marrying kind.’

Kitty’s whole being stiffened. Those were words she had heard before; words she knew so well.

Oh no, she cried silently inside her head, oh no. Please not that, please not
him
.

Kitty was alone in Miss Miriam’s bedroom, folding her freshly washed and ironed underwear and placing it carefully in the huge mahogany chest of drawers. Mechanically,
she opened drawers, placed the garments in the depths and closed them again, but her mind was hardly on the task. Along the landing, on the opposite side of the house, she knew that at this very
moment the doctor was in Mrs Franklin’s bedroom, examining Miss Miriam. Kitty was tense and anxious. Somehow, she had to get the girl to tell her the truth about the father of her child, if
there was, indeed, a child. And even if there wasn’t, then Miss Miriam must have lain with him, must have . . .