The Lost And Found Girl (2 page)

Finally, Mrs Collins climbed into the carriage and settled her full black skirts across the plush. In the gloomy daylight Beth noticed that the silk was old and discoloured in patches. The lace too was worn and fragile. ‘Hurry up, girl,’ she ordered and Beth scrambled after her as the older woman rapped on the coach roof.

The carriage jolted forward and she waited for Mrs Collins to open their conversation. After several minutes of silence she asked, ‘How shall I address you, ma’am?’

Mrs Collins’s thin lips barely moved. ‘Did Blackstone not teach you to be silent until your betters speak to you?’

‘I beg your pardon, ma’am.’

They rode on without further exchange. Through the carriage window Beth realised they were climbing. The Yorkshire Dales
were considered beautiful by visitors. But that was in the sun of summer. In failing daylight they were brutish and threatening, the fells exposed to wild weather. The sight of deserted cottages with missing roofs and tumble-down walls was testament to the harshness of daily life. She guessed the former occupants had been driven out by poverty and the fierce winters of the hills to seek better wages in the towns. She supposed that’s why the church no longer had a congregation or, it seemed, a vicar of its own.

Beth gripped her seat as the horses pulled the carriage up a rutted track. Mrs Collins sipped occasionally from a dull metal flask but did not offer any of the contents to Beth. A tot of spirit would have been welcome to relieve the cold. Finally, the older woman spoke.

‘Your silence does you credit. Barden assured me you are well disciplined and I expect obedience without question. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am, I have promised to obey my husband and I shall.’

Mrs Collins’s nostrils flared and her mouth pinched. ‘You will obey
me
, girl. I am the mistress of High Fell Farm.’

Beth’s eyes widened and the turmoil in her stomach increased. Before today she had fretted only about becoming the wife of a farmer she had never met and feared he would be as hard a taskmaster as Mr Barden. Now she worried that she had to deal with this severe woman too. She said, ‘I believe my first duty is to my husband, ma’am.’

Mrs Collins glared at her. ‘And my son’s duty is to me. I warn you, girl, do not presume to argue with me. My son does my bidding and so will you.’

Beth clamped her mouth shut. From her brief interaction with Edgar he had not seemed subservient to his mother.
But she supposed Mrs Collins indulged him his failures as mothers tend to do their sons. She wondered how much time to learn her new responsibilities Mrs Collins would give her. Not much, she concluded with a heavy heart.

Beth still had everything to learn about being a farmer’s wife and the house at High Fell would surely be bigger and grander than any she had known. She supposed Mrs Collins would not trust her to take over the household affairs just yet. Perhaps Edgar would be her champion in times ahead and meanwhile she might need Mrs Collins’s help and so she replied, ‘Very well, ma’am.’

Her feet and hands were frozen by the time she reached her new home. Dusk was falling and the grey stone walls of the farmhouse looked austere and forbidding in the failing light. It was bigger than Mr Barden’s house, though not as large as she’d imagined. Mrs Collins supervised the unloading of her strongbox. ‘Take that straight up to my bedchamber, Roberts, and tell your wife to see to the girl. I shall rest for an hour and then take dinner.’ She swept past her driver and through the iron-studded front door.

Beth picked up her bundle and followed her into a large entrance hall with a high vaulted ceiling and a wide wooden staircase leading to a galleried landing. Mrs Collins had already climbed the stairs and she didn’t look back as she disappeared along the dark landing. At one end of the hall, an ornate marble mantle surrounded a paltry fire burning in the grate. A table was set for dinner before it. Beth was so enthralled by her new home that she did not notice where the driver had gone and found herself alone. Hungry and thirsty, she walked across the stone-flagged floor and took an apple from a pile on a metal plate and bit into it with relish.

‘
Don’t let the mistress see you do that.
’

Surprised, Beth swung round to see an older woman carrying a lighted lamp and wearing an apron over her gown. ‘Whyever not?’

The woman frowned, lifted her chin, looked down her nose and answered, ‘Dessert is eaten from a plate with a fruit knife.’

‘Oh.’ This must be Mrs Roberts. Beth recognised the woman’s disdainful tone as one used by Edgar’s mother and, she presumed, learned from her. ‘Are you my housekeeper?’ she asked.

The woman’s neck stiffened. ‘I am Mrs Collins’s housekeeper.’

‘I am Mrs Collins,’ she explained patiently.

‘You are not my mistress.’

Beth decided to ignore her disrespectful attitude and speak to her husband about her later. Until yesterday she had been a housekeeper herself and would have been soundly chastised for such a response. However, she considered that charm was the better part of valour and managed a smile. ‘This must have been a busy day for you.’ She stretched out the hand that held her bundle. ‘Will you show me to my chamber?’

Mrs Roberts did not take the bundle; nor did she return Beth’s smile. ‘It’s at the east end of the landing, overlooking the backyard. You’ll find hot water in the kitchen. As soon as you’ve washed I need you to help with dinner.’

This was too much and Beth hoped she did not show her mounting anger. Perhaps she should speak to her husband now? It was not that she minded the work, even on her wedding day. Mr Collins was a farmer and she expected to be involved in domestic tasks. But this woman’s insolence needed checking. He had left church on horseback so he ought to be home. ‘Where is my husband?’ she demanded. ‘I should like to see him now.’

‘Don’t ask me. Dinner is on the hour. I’ll need help before then, or we’ll keep the mistress waiting.’ Mrs Roberts turned her back and walked away. Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous hall.

Astounded afresh by the housekeeper’s rudeness, Beth watched her disappear through a door. After a few seconds, she gave an exasperated sigh and followed her. The kitchen was low-ceilinged and three times the size of the one she had worked in before. It was warm. A cooking range of blackened hotplates, bake ovens and water boiler took up one wall and a dark wood dresser stood opposite. A large deal table took up the centre space. She was in time to see her housekeeper go outside and close the outer door behind her. Beth finished her apple slowly wondering why, apparently, no one had told Mrs Roberts about her. She drew a jug of hot water from the brass tap in the boiler next to the fire grate and struggled with it and her bundle up the stairs.

There was only one east chamber but it couldn’t possibly be hers as it was far too small for the mistress of the house and sparsely furnished. She dropped her bundle on the narrow bed and went back to the main landing but all other doors were locked. Puzzled, she returned to the small chamber, sat in a wide chair by the empty fireplace and determined to make the best of it. She had many questions for her husband when he arrived and undaunted she took off her cloak and prepared to wash.

Sitting in front of a small spotty looking-glass to tidy her hair, Beth reflected that Edgar had said she was pretty. Well, ‘pretty enough’ were his actual words. Pretty enough to marry she supposed, even though she was aware he would have wed her if she had not been pretty. She smoothed back her thick fair hair and thought she would buy combs and
ribbons so that she could be more adventurous in the way she pinned it up. She wondered what clothing allowance he would give her and where she might go to spend it.

The market town of Settle was not far away, though the road was rocky and steep and the carriage had had to negotiate a narrow stone bridge with great care. A carriage went from Settle to Skipton and the post from there could take her to Leeds. She dreamed for a moment of visiting drapers’ shops she had only heard of. Until she had a new Sunday gown, the one she was wearing would have to be kept in the cupboard for best and her old housekeeper’s gown used for everyday. However, she resolved to strive to always look as pretty as today for Edgar and pinched her cheeks to raise a little colour.

The sound of horses’ hooves on the farmyard cobbles sent Beth scurrying to the window. A rider appeared in the twilight and his dark cloak flapped as he reined in his horse. Steam streamed from the horse’s nostrils and there were flecks of white in its sweating flanks. Edgar, she guessed. Neither he nor his mother had made any effort to welcome her so far. A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. She was his wife now and nothing could change that so she had to make the best of it. Surely life at High Fell Farm could not be any worse than at Blackstone? Could it?

‘Roberts!’ her husband yelled as he slid from his horse and left the reins trailing. Roberts came hurrying into the yard to stable the horse. Edgar was home and this really was the beginning of her new life as a wife. She took one last glance at her appearance, turned down the lamp and went out onto the landing to wait for him at the top of the stairs. She stepped forward from the shadows as he reached the top step.

‘Good God, girl, you gave me the fright of my life!’ He raised the lamp he was carrying to light up her face. ‘What the blazes are you doing lurking up here? Shouldn’t you be helping Mrs Roberts?’

As he moved closer she could smell strong drink on his breath. Of course he needed spirits to keep warm when he rode out on the fell. She bent one knee and bowed her head deferentially, then gave him her widest smile ‘I – I was waiting to – to greet you, sir.’

‘You were?’

Clearly he was taken aback. He looked from her to one of the wide wooden doors on the landing and back to her with raised eyebrows and his mouth widened into a lascivious grin.

‘I had not expected a Blackstone girl to be so eager for the bedchamber.’

As she realised what he was thinking a blush rose in her face and neck and she protested, ‘Oh no, sir! I mean, sir, I mean I—’

‘That comes after dinner,’ he interrupted with a smirk. He moved the lamp closer until she could feel the heat on her flushed skin and then he trailed the flexible tip of his riding crop over the bodice of her gown, tracing the curves of her breasts and waist. She tried to maintain her smile but could not. ‘At least you’re something to return home for.’ His eyes glittered harshly in the same way as his mother’s and another shiver of apprehension trickled down her back. Then suddenly he gave her bottom a quick swipe with his crop. ‘Off you go to the kitchen, then,’ he ordered and, rattling a key, disappeared into his chamber.

He hadn’t hurt her, but he had shaken her already jittery nerves. She was aware of how little she knew about a gentleman’s needs and how unsure she was of her household responsibilities. It was several minutes before she was composed enough to go downstairs and into the kitchen. She welcomed the opportunity to learn her household’s routines and resolved not to upset Mrs Roberts further by introducing her own ways too soon. In any case, she had to be sure to meet Edgar’s expectations of how his home must be managed.

He did appear to be devoted to his mother and probably wanted her to run his household in the same way that she had. Also, this was a gentleman farmer’s household and different from Mrs Barden’s aspiring but frugal ways. Beth was uncertain what the future held for her, but optimistic that she would be able to adjust. She resolved to watch and learn to fit in as best she could. When she was more settled
in her role she might suggest changes, although even as she thought of this she realised that Mrs Collins was not likely to be a woman who considered change easily.

As she walked down the old wooden staircase to the cavernous hall she saw Mrs Collins sitting at the head of the dining table with a place set, presumably, for Edgar on her right and one for Beth on the left. She hurried past her, bobbing a curtsey as she did, and went into the kitchen, not quite knowing what to expect.

Mr Roberts was sitting at the table drinking from a metal tankard and his wife was slicing at the cooked and drained leg of mutton and piling the chunks of steaming meat onto a large oval platter.

‘Not before time,’ she muttered without looking up. ‘Take the meat in and come back for the potatoes and turnips. Offer them to the mistress first and then Master Edgar.’

She was to wait at table! She had done this at Blackstone when the Board of Governors had visited and knew how to present the food so that those at table may help themselves. Edgar had joined his mother at the table. Beth, grateful at least to be doing something that pleased surly Mrs Collins, stood patiently, holding hot dishes while her mouth watered. She placed the serving dishes on a sideboard to fill her own plate later. After her third journey with a sauce boat of thick onion gravy, Edgar emptied the stoneware ewer of ale into his metal tankard and brandished the heavy jug at her.

‘Re-fill this before you sit down,’ he ordered.

She made a final trip to the barrel in the scullery. There was no sign of a scullery maid and Roberts and his wife were already sitting at the kitchen table eating their dinner as she hurried past them carrying the full ewer. When she sat down at the third place set at the table Beth was so
hungry she would have eaten boiled rat if it had been set in front of her. She had taken liberal helpings of food not caring if they thought her greedy and filled her own metal tankard to the brim.

Neither her husband nor his mother noticed; or if they did, they did not comment. Edgar was too busy with his own food. He ate well as she would expect of a country gentleman who spent his time outdoors. His mother took less and finished before either of them. Beth thought Mrs Collins might take the opportunity to open a conversation but she merely watched her son without expression. Eventually he dropped his cutlery with a clatter and pushed his plate away.

‘When will you be ready to leave, Mama?’

‘The horses should rest. We shall set off the day after tomorrow.’