Sons and Daughters (14 page)

On the following Monday morning, Joe knocked on the door of Charlotte’s office and then poked his head round it. ‘Could I have a word, miss?’

She smiled a welcome and gestured towards the chair he always sat in.

‘It’s about Dan Bailey at Purslane Farm, Miss Charlotte. He’s not well again and he’ll be struggling to get his harvest in. I was wondering if you’d mind us helping him out. A bit more than usual, I mean.’

‘Of course not, Joe. Have you told Mr Thornton?’

Joe shrugged. ‘I don’t like to. It’d seem like telling tales. I’m not one to kick a man when he’s down. Dan Bailey’s a good man. He’s just hit a bad patch of illness and his farm’s suffering, that’s all.’

Charlotte smiled. ‘I’ll let Mr Thornton know we’ll all be helping out there now that we’ve finished here. He needn’t know it’s any different from normal.’

‘We’ll need the threshing tackle from Home Farm,’ Joe warned. ‘Dan’s let his gear get into bad repair, so his farmhand, Jim, was telling me in the pub last night.’

Home Farm had its own traction engine and threshing drum that the estate’s tenant farmers had the use of if they needed them. Buckthorn Farm, too, had always hired the gear but Dan Bailey, although a tenant of the estate, had his own. Until now, it seemed.

‘And can me and the lads lend a hand with his threshing through the winter? We’re used to the squire’s engine.’

‘Of course. We’ll all help whenever it’s needed. Just one thing, Joe,’ she added as he got up to leave. ‘Don’t forget to save me some of the last sheaf of wheat from our fields when it’s brought to the stack yard. I must make a corn dolly for the Harvest Supper as usual.’

Joe nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat. This poor lass, he was thinking. Ever since she’d learned how to make a corn dolly as a little girl, she’d made one to be carried to the Harvest Supper celebrations at the manor. The irony of it was that the girl had never been allowed to join in the festivities.

Her father had seen to that!

Harvest time in the rural area around Ravensfleet had always been a big celebration. Almost as big as Christmas. Until recently, when the largest landowner in the district, Mr Davenport of Ravensfleet Manor, had fallen ill and died, the festivities had always been held in one of his huge barns and people had travelled for miles to attend the Harvest Supper. Farmers and labourers mingled freely, forgetting, for one night, their ‘place’. Landowner served his tenants and, in turn, tenant farmers served their workers. All the workers on Buckthorn Farm attended, even though they were not part of the Ravensfleet Estate, for Osbert Crawford owned his farm. But Osbert himself never joined in the revelry.

Only Charlotte Crawford had never been allowed to attend a Harvest Supper.

‘It’ll be different this year.’ Mary nodded sagely to Peggy. ‘You’ll see, that owd beezum’ll go to the manor this year. You mark my words.’

‘Thing is,’ Peggy remarked thoughtfully, ‘does Mr Thornton know what’s expected of him? I mean, it’s obvious to us – me ’n Joe – that he’s new to this game. He’s always asking my Joe for advice.’

‘Is he?’

The two women exchanged a look of understanding, but it was Mary, greatly daring, who murmured softly so that only Peggy might hear. ‘And your Joe asks Miss Charlotte, I suppose?’

Peggy nodded, her mouth a tight line. ‘But Mr Thornton dun’t know that.’

‘Of course not,’ Mary said on a sigh. There was a pause before she added, ‘And is Joe going to tell him?’

Peggy sighed. ‘I expect he’ll have to be the one to say summat. About what’s expected of him as regards the harvest celebrations. We can’t expect Miss Charlotte to do it.’ Again there was a hard edge to her tone as she added, ‘Seein’ as the poor lass never even gets the chance to go.’

The only place where Charlotte did have some say in the celebrations for a harvest safely gathered in was in Sunday school. And Cuthbert Iveson also relied upon her to explain to him what was expected of him in the church services, this being his first year.

‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Miss Crawford. Your advice ever since I came here has been an enormous help to me. And your work with the children – well – I’ve never seen anyone so universally loved by the little ones.’

Charlotte blushed under the unexpected compliment. ‘Well, I love them all dearly,’ she said and added impishly, ‘even the naughty ones.’

Cuthbert smiled too. ‘And there are certainly one or two of those in your class. But you do seem to have a wonderful way of handling them. I hear you have an amazing affinity with animals, too. It must be a gift.’

She blinked behind her spectacles. ‘I – I’d never thought of it like that.’

‘Then I think you should,’ Cuthbert said solemnly. ‘It’s not something given to everyone.’

He paused and then added. ‘You’re well liked in the community. Have you – I mean – would you ever consider becoming – ’ he paused again and ran his tongue nervously round his lips – ‘more involved with parish work.’

Suddenly Charlotte felt uncomfortable. How could she be involved in church work more than she already was, unless . . . ? She forced a laugh and hoped he wouldn’t notice the blush creeping up her face. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Iveson, but I really couldn’t. My father would never allow it.’

There, she thought, that should put a stop to what ever he might have been about to say.

‘But what am I going to say to Mr Thornton, Peg?’ Joe asked his wife worriedly. ‘You’ve got to spend a lot of money throwing a party for a lot of people you don’t even know?’

Peggy laughed at Joe’s worried expression. ‘I’m sure – from what you’ve told me about the new squire – that he’d be more than willing to do it. It’ll be a way for him to meet all his tenants in a friendly atmosphere and to get to know a lot of the other landowners and farmers around here, too.’

Joe wasn’t so sure. ‘Don’t forget half the folk from the village come an’ all.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten. But they’re all part of this community. They may not actually work on the land themselves, but they’re involved. Where would the greengrocer be without his supply of fresh vegetables straight off the land? Where would all the little shops be without the custom of all the farm workers and their families? I don’t think you need worry about Mr Thornton, Joe. But,’ she added, putting her head on one side and smiling mischievously at him, ‘you could always get Miss Charlotte to speak to him herself.’

Joe shook his head vehemently. ‘Oh no. Any advice Mr Thornton asks for has to seem to come from me. She made that quite clear at the horse fair.’ He chuckled. ‘You should have seen us. Never knew I could be so – what’s the word? – furtive.’

‘Well, well, I shall have to watch you, Joe Warren.’

‘It’s only to protect Miss Charlotte, love. I’m an honest sort of bloke most of the time. But I wouldn’t want to bring more trouble on her head, poor lass.’

When he’d finished work that evening, Joe walked the mile or so to the manor. It was growing dusk when he reached the back door. He’d already raised his hand to knock, when he heard a scuffling in one of the outhouses nearby. He paused, listening. Then he heard girlish laughter. He stiffened.
That’s our Lily’s laugh
, he thought.
I’d know it anywhere.
He’d already turned, ready to stride towards the outhouse, when the girl herself appeared, straightening her apron and smoothing her hair. At the sight of her father, even through the gloom, her eyes widened and colour suffused her face.

‘Dad! What are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same question, girl.’ He nodded to the door behind her. ‘What are you up to in there? One of the farm lads, is it? If it’s young Eddie Norton, I’ll—’ He took a step forward.

‘No, Dad. No, it isn’t,’ Lily said quickly, linking her arm through his and urging him away from the outhouse and towards the back door leading into the kitchen.

‘But I heard you laughing. There’s someone in there.’

Lily laughed, still a little nervously, Joe thought. ‘It’s – it’s only the farm cat. She’s got some kittens. I – I was playing with them, that’s all.’

Joe’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like to think that his daughter would lie to him, but somehow he couldn’t quite believe her. When he said nothing, Lily asked again, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to see the master. Is he in?’

‘I’ll see. But it’s almost dinner time.’

‘Dinner?’

‘Oh aye, we’re posh here, Dad. Dinner’s in the evening, not midday.’

Joe grinned ruefully. ‘Aye, well, ’tis tea or supper in our house, now, ain’t it? And I’m ready for mine. But I need to see Mr Thornton and I can’t come in the day.’

He didn’t need to explain to his daughter what would happen if Osbert Crawford found out he’d been visiting the manor in working hours.

‘I’ll see if he’s free, Dad. Come on in . . .’ She skirted round him, opened the back door and held it for him to enter.

Just before the door closed behind him, Joe heard the squeak of the door across the yard. That’s no cat, he thought grimly. He said no more for the moment, but he’d tell Peg about what he’d heard. Lily was of age, but she was still his little girl. However, maybe such matters were best spoken of between mother and daughter.

A few minutes later he was standing in Mr Thornton’s study and the man was leading him to a chair by the fire and bidding him to sit down. It was a courtesy that was never extended to him on the rare occasions he saw Osbert, though Charlotte always treated him with this same respect.

‘A drink, Joe? You’ve no doubt finished for the day?’

‘Aye, well, I have an’ I haven’t, Mr Thornton.’ He chuckled. ‘I suppose I’m a bit like our local bobby. I’m never really off-duty.’

‘You’re a good man, Joe.’ Miles wrinkled his forehead. ‘D’you think I should employ a foreman here? Obviously, my predecessor didn’t find it necessary, as most of the land is worked by the tenant farmers, but – just sometimes – I feel a bit at a loss to know what to do, especially around Home Farm which I’m
supposed
to manage.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘As I think you know by the number of occasions on which I’ve sought your advice.’

Gently, Joe said, ‘Well, the old squire’s family had lived here a long time. So he was brought up to it.’

‘Mm,’ Miles said thoughtfully and Joe put in, ‘But I’m sure we – that is, Mr Crawford – would always be willing to help you out.’

Miles nodded. ‘He’s said as much, but . . .’ He stopped and held Joe’s gaze steadily. ‘Is it
really
Mr Crawford who runs Buckthorn Farm?’ Joe held his breath, fearing the end to the question. ‘Or you?’

Joe breathed again and smiled lopsidedly. ‘Well, without wanting to sound conceited, Mr Thornton, I suppose it’s me. Though I always ask for advice when I need it,’ he added, choosing his words carefully.

‘Mm.’ The other man was still thoughtful. ‘You took over the position from your late father, didn’t you?’

Now Joe was on more comfortable ground. ‘That’s right, sir. I was born in the cottage where we still live.’

‘So, he taught you everything you know, eh?’

Again, Joe was cautious. ‘Something like that, sir.’

Miles crossed the room to the sideboard, poured generous measures of whisky into two glasses and brought them back to the fire. Handing one to Joe, he sat down opposite him.

‘Now, what is it you’ve come to see me about?’

‘I’m not keeping you from your – dinner, sir, am I?’

‘No, no. Another half an hour or so yet. We dine a little earlier, perhaps, than most households. I like all the family to be present and Georgie is only young. You have a young son too, I believe. He and Georgie have become friends. Young Tommy often comes to play here.’

‘Does he?’ Joe couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘I hope he’s no trouble.’

‘Good heavens, no. My boys are free to make their own friends and anyone they choose is always welcome here.’

There was a moment’s pause before Joe began, haltingly, to explain the reason for his visit. ‘Except for the past two years, sir, when old Mr Davenport was too ill, it’s always been the tradition that the squire – and that’s really what you’re thought of, living at the manor – has held the harvest supper in the big barn at the back of the house.’

‘Really?’ Miles’s eyes lit up. ‘That sounds a splendid idea. What do I have to do?’

Joe breathed a silent sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy. The two men spent the next half-hour happily discussing plans for the festivities. As the gong sounded, Joe said, ‘I should be going and let you get to your dinner, sir.’ They both stood up as Miles said, ‘Won’t you stay and eat with us?’

‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’ Joe was touched by the man’s magnanimity. ‘But Peg – my wife – will have my supper all ready and waiting.’

‘Of course.’ Miles held out his hand. ‘Thank you so much for coming to see me. We must talk again. I’ll be very grateful for your guidance. Perhaps I could see Miss Charlotte, too—’

‘Oh no, sir,’ Joe said swiftly. ‘Miss Charlotte isn’t allowed to attend the harvest supper.’

‘Isn’t
allowed
?’

The two men stared at each other, both realizing that perhaps they had said – or implied – too much already.