Chaff upon the Wind (18 page)

‘Whatever’s the matter, Mam? It’s only Mr and Mrs Franklin. Surely . . .?’

‘I can’t tell you now. Some day, maybe some day, I – I’ll explain.’

Kitty saw her mother glance back just once down the platform towards the Franklins. For a moment her gaze was caught and held by something, and when Kitty, too, followed the line of her
mother’s look, to her surprise she saw that it was the master who was standing perfectly still and silent now, just staring back at them.

‘I – must go,’ Betsy Clegg said and though Kitty said again, ‘Mam . . .?’ her mother turned and hurried away.

As the train pulled in and the porter and Bemmy loaded the trunks into the guard’s van, the two girls climbed into a first class carriage.

John Clegg, still hovering nearby, stepped forward. ‘You don’t mean the two girls are travelling alone, Mr Franklin?’

The master turned. ‘Yes. They’ll be quite safe. They’re being met in London . . .’ He turned towards his wife. ‘At least, I suppose you have arranged all that,
Amelia?’

Mrs Franklin inclined her head. ‘Everything has been organized.’ She smiled at the stationmaster. ‘You need have no fear for your daughter’s safety, Mr Clegg.’

The little man sniffed his disapproval and Kitty, listening from the carriage window, cringed at her father’s pomposity and his daring. ‘Well, I should hope not.’

Kitty bit her lip. Her father thought they were merely going to London. If he should hear that it was a supposed Grand Tour, then . . .

The engine gave a great spurt of steam and John Clegg stepped back, checking up and down the platform, his mind now on his duties. There was a sudden flurry of last minute activity. Goodbyes
were called, a whistle sounded and the train began to move. As it gathered speed out of the station, Kitty sank back in relief.

‘What are we going to do about being on the wrong train?’ Miriam said suddenly.

‘Simple. We’ll get off at the very next station it stops at and catch the first one going north.’

‘Will there be a train going north?’

‘Oh yes, miss. This London train stops at Harthorpe at eleven twenty and the northbound one comes through there at eleven forty-three. Lucky I’ve spent me life near the railway,
ain’t it, miss?’

Miriam’s left eyebrow rose slightly. ‘Oh absolutely, Clegg. What would we do without your superior knowledge?’ Then her scathing tone changed completely as she said, ‘How
I wish we could stay on the London train.’ A look of wistfulness crossed her face and then suddenly her expression brightened. ‘Couldn’t we, Kitty? Couldn’t we stay on this
train and go to London?’

‘You know we can’t, miss.’

‘Just for a few weeks, Kitty. No one would know and I could at least have a bit of fun before – before I start to show.’

‘No, miss. Your mother has arranged it all. We’re going north.’

The girl slumped back against the seat. ‘You’re a spoilsport, Clegg. I’ve a good mind to go anyway. I’ve got my ticket. You can’t make me get off this
train.’

Kitty looked at the petulant pout of Miriam’s mouth. ‘If you do that, miss, you’ll go on yar own.’ She paused and then added firmly, ‘And I – will go straight
back to the Manor.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

Quietly, Kitty returned her stare. ‘Oh yes, I would, miss.’

Kitty watched as Miriam sat hunched in the corner seat, her pale face turned towards the window and yet her eyes glazed as if she was seeing nothing. She looked such a picture of abject misery
that for a moment Kitty felt a real pang of sympathy for the girl. Then a fresh thought suddenly struck her. It could be me running away to hide my shame. It could be me carrying Threshing
Jack’s child. Maybe it would have been better if it had been, she pondered, recognizing that she was, despite all the problems and the disgrace, the tiniest bit envious of Miriam. I
haven’t so much to lose as Miss Miriam and maybe, just maybe, Jack would have married one of his own kind. Maybe he
would
have married
me
.

The switch to the correct train, heading north to York, was made quickly and easily and there was no one at that station who would recognise them.

They were silent on the journey and Kitty had plenty of time for her own thoughts. It was very strange, she realised, that she felt no animosity towards Miriam because she was carrying the child
of the man she, Kitty, loved. I ought to be hating her, Kitty thought in surprise, but I don’t. If she hated anyone, it was Jack Thorndyke. Hated and loved him and still, despite everything,
wanted him. Part of her was thankful – oh, so very thankful – that she had not fallen pregnant and yet, deep in her heart, there was a niggling jealousy that it was Miriam who was
carrying Jack Thorndyke’s child. Kitty sighed inwardly. Her emotions were so mixed up that she didn’t quite know what she did feel. All she knew was that, sitting opposite Miriam
Franklin, she didn’t hate her. She was sorry for her and maybe cross that the girl could have been so stupid. But, Kitty acknowledged wryly, she, too, had been just as foolish.

Oh Jack Thorndyke, you’ve got summat to answer for an’ no mistake. An’ one day it’ll all catch up with you. You see if it don’t, because I’m going to be the
one to make sure it does.

‘Why do I have to be dressed from head to toe in black and wear this stupid little black veil?’ Miriam asked petulantly, standing in front of the long mirror in the
hotel bedroom.

They had broken their journey in York and, on dressing the following morning, Kitty had laid out the clothes that Mrs Franklin had insisted Miriam should wear from now on when they went out.

Patiently, she explained. ‘Your mother wants you to pretend that you are a young widow whose husband has just been drowned at sea. Oh, I almost forgot . . .’ She fished in a tiny
pocket inside the handbag Mrs Franklin had given her. ‘Here, you must wear these too.’

‘What?’

Kitty held out her hand with two rings resting in the palm.

‘I can’t wear those, Kitty. They’re my Grandmother Franklin’s engagement and wedding rings.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘I don’t know nothing about that, miss. All I know is that your mother said you were to have them and wear them.’

‘But they’re too good, I mean . . .’ The girl gulped and faltered. Glancing at her sharply, Kitty was amazed to see tears shimmering in Miriam’s eyes. ‘Whatever
would Grandmother have said if she knew I was wearing her rings and – and wasn’t married?’

Kitty was surprised to find the girl did, after all, have some conscience about the feelings of others. But then, she reminded herself, she had already seen another side of Miriam’s nature
from the selfish, spoilt girl of indulgent parents. She was truly concerned for her brother. There could never be any mistaking the genuineness of Miriam’s love for the invalid Edward.

‘I shouldn’t worry, miss. It’s what your mother wanted you to do.’

‘Just so long as my father doesn’t find out the reason I am wearing his mother’s rings,’ the girl murmured, as she slipped first the gold band and then the ring with a
cluster of diamonds set with a sapphire in the centre on to the third finger of her left hand.

Perhaps I was wrong, Kitty thought, disappointed. Maybe her fears are more for herself should her father find out the truth than any qualms about wearing her grandmother’s rings to hide
her shame.

‘Come along then, miss,’ Kitty said, forcing a bright cheerfulness she did not quite feel. ‘The motor taking us to Robin Hood’s Bay is waiting outside.’

Miriam stood still. ‘Where? Where did you say?’

‘Robin Hood’s Bay, miss.’

‘I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?’

‘On the coast, miss. It’s a little village.’

‘A village? You’re not serious? I’m not going to be buried away in a village.’

‘But your mother—’

‘My mother!’ Miriam flung her arms wide. ‘My
mother
. That’s all I seem to hear from you, Clegg.’

Kitty stepped closer and said slowly and deliberately, ‘Your mother has been wonderful over all this. And you ought to remember it.’

Miriam’s green eyes flashed. It was the first spark in them that Kitty had seen during the last few days. Her mouth pouted and she leaned towards Kitty and said slowly, ‘Don’t
preach at me, Clegg.’ There was a malicious glint in her eyes as she added, ‘I
aren’t
in the mood for it.’

Far from being intimidated, Kitty threw back her head and laughed aloud. ‘That’s better, Miss Miriam. I was beginning to think you’d lost all your spirit. I’m pleased to
see you ’aven’t. Come on, now. Time we was going.’

‘I’m not going to some god-forsaken village, so you can think again. Oh Kitty,’ she said, grasping the girl’s arm, ‘let’s stay here. In York. I know
it’s not London but . . .’

‘Your mother said Robin Hood’s Bay and that’s where we’re going. Everything’s arranged.’

‘But why? Why on earth can’t we stay here? Nobody knows us in York, for heaven’s sake.’

Kitty stood her ground. ‘Yes, they do. Didn’t your mother say the Hardings had some friends who live in York?’

‘How ridiculous! As if we’re likely to meet them in a city this size.’

The argument raged on for another ten minutes, but in the end Miriam followed her maid down the stairs and out to the waiting vehicle. But the look on her young mistress’s face would, as
Mrs Grundy would have said, turn a milk pudding sour.

At the thought of the motherly cook, even the stouthearted Kitty suddenly felt a moment’s homesickness.

And as for Jack Thorndyke, well, she dare not even think of him at all.

‘Well, if you think I’m staying here, you – and my mother – have got another think coming.’

‘But, miss, it’s lovely. Just look at the sea and the cliffs and all the birds and look – oh do look – at all the little houses. It’s as if they’re sitting on
top of each other.’

The tiny village of Robin Hood’s Bay nestled in a wide cove between two headlands. The houses, built on the steep incline leading down into the bay itself, did indeed look as if they were
tumbling over each other, huddled together on either side of the steep, winding road that led down to the beach.

Kitty gazed about her, her eyes wide with wonder as if she could scarcely believe her own eyes. She had never before travelled any distance from home and the rugged beauty of the Yorkshire coast
was so very different from her flat homeland of Lincolnshire. The girl was overwhelmed. She whirled around, clasping her hands together in an excitement she could barely contain. ‘And look at
the moors, miss.’

Moodily, Miriam said, ‘What’s there to look at? They just stretch for miles and miles and miles.’

‘They’re wonderful. So wild and romantic.’

‘Huh.’ Miriam drew her cloak around her and frowned. ‘You’ve been reading too many novels by the Brontë sisters, Clegg.’

‘Eh?’ Brought back to earth, Kitty blinked.

Miriam smirked. ‘I was almost forgetting. You are, after all, only a servant. Maybe you can’t even read.’

The remark was cutting and, intended to be hurtful, sharply reminded Kitty what her station in life was and that the only reason she was here at all was to care for her young mistress. She was
not meant to be enjoying herself.

But Kitty Clegg was untouched by such taunts, so she merely smiled and said, ‘Well, we’re here, miss, and this is where we’ve to stay, so you’d best get used to
it.’

And with that she climbed out of the motor car and stood holding the door open for such an age that, in the end, Miriam was obliged to duck her head and step out.

The cottage where they were to stay was high up overlooking the village. Kitty ran from room to room exclaiming at the magnificent views, while Miriam sat morosely on a chair with her back to
the window refusing to look at anything. Black beams ran crookedly across the low, whitewashed ceilings and tiny windows let in shafts of pale sunlight.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable here, Mrs Franklin.’ The woman who owned and rented out the cottage stood in front of Miriam and smiled kindly down at her, her eyes taking in the
black widow’s weeds and the sullen face of the young girl.

Kitty, turning round, bit her tongue just in time. It was very strange to hear her nineteen-year-old mistress addressed as ‘Mrs’, but she had better get used to it quickly if she
were to carry on the deception convincingly. ‘I’m sure we will, Mrs – er ?’

‘Bradshaw.’ Getting no response from Miriam, the woman turned, with obvious relief, to talk to Kitty.

‘I’ve arranged for a woman from the village to come up every day to help about the house and my husband keeps the bit of garden front and back tidy. The privy’s just outside
the back door.’

Miriam raised her head. ‘Outside? You mean we have to go outside every time we want to . . .’

The woman looked at her in astonishment. ‘I don’t know what you’re used to, Mrs Franklin, but here . . .’ Her voice died away as she saw Miriam’s lip curl with
disgust.

Hurriedly, Kitty put in, ‘We’ll be fine, Mrs Bradshaw.’

The woman wriggled her shoulders, obviously put out by what she saw as an insult. ‘I do my best to make my visitors comfortable, I’m sure, but if you . . .’

‘No, no, really. We’ll be fine here. Everything is most comfortable.’ Kitty tried to usher the woman towards the door. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Bradshaw. Mi— Mrs
Franklin is very tired from the long journey.’

Outside the low front door of the cottage, Kitty whispered confidentially, ‘She’s expecting a baby and what with the awful news of her husband’s death . . . well, she’s .
. .’ She shrugged her shoulders expressively and spread her hands, palms upward, in a plea for understanding.

‘Well,’ the woman said slowly, softening a little. ‘I’m right sorry for the poor lass, of course, but that doesn’t mean she can be rude.’

‘I know, I know,’ Kitty said soothingly, more than a little shocked at how the lies were slipping glibly off her tongue. ‘Everything is wonderful. The cottage is lovely.
She’ll be better when she’s rested.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ the woman bridled again. ‘I can’t say as I’ve ever had my little cottage criticized before. It was my mother’s. Left it to me when she
died and I’ve kept it just as it was. She wanted it to give me an income, you know, a bit of my own money. And it does.’ The woman nodded. ‘My husband is a fisherman and
it’s a hard life, Miss Clegg.’