Without a Mother's Love (3 page)

Many of the pupils went to be nursery-maids as soon as they were old enough. Harriet had been fortunate, she was told, for she read and wrote well: she could stay on as a pupil teacher. She had thought sometimes that the others were the lucky ones. They were paid for their work. As a charity girl she was taught to feel honoured that she could serve the school as a teacher and thereby repay her benefactors.The only money she had known was the few coppers they gave her each week to put in the church collection. She longed for escape, and when this opportunity to leave had come she had grasped it with both hands. And to the Mextons at Hill Top House!

Fate had dealt her a good card. Here, there was hope, hope of finding answers to her questions about Olivia Copley and why she lived with the Mextons. Here, there were books and papers, and the freedom to read them. Now that she had left Blackstone she would make sure she never had to go back.

‘I’m surprised they let you go, you being a teacher there, like,’ Mrs Cookson commented. ‘Especially to here, where the master is well known for his . . .’ she glanced at the child ‘. . . his ways.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘This is not a churchgoing household.’

‘Oh. I did not know that. But I wanted to come here and none of the other teachers did. The principal encouraged me. He told me the school would have free coal for the winter if I accepted.’

‘Did he? I hope the master will pay you as well.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Harriet was excited about her salary. ‘It goes to Blackstone until I come of age. But after I am one-and-twenty it will be mine. And the principal said that the master would provide me with boots and cloth for a gown at Michaelmas.’

‘Is that all you’ve got, then? What you stand up in?’

‘I have undergarments, a nightgown and an apron.’ Harriet thought of the work she would be doing.‘I should like another apron. Do you have a spare one, Mrs Cookson?’

‘I’ll see if I can find some old linen you can make up. And while you’re about it, the little ’un could do wi’ some more. You can show her how to sew ’em for herself.’

‘What about her gowns?’

‘There’s a draper’s shop in town.’

‘Is it far into town from here?’ she asked.

‘Aye, it is. Too far to walk there and back on a half-day.’

‘Oh.’ Harriet was disappointed. Still, she had no money to spend yet so perhaps it was just as well.

‘We don’t use fancy plates and silver forks ’ere, but we’re well provided for. What the farm can’t gi’ us we ’ave sent up on a cart.’

‘There must be a church that is nearer than town?’

‘I told you. We’re not church folk.’

‘What about the little one on the moor?’ Olivia squeaked.

‘Aye, there’s that. Not many goes, though. Most of the men have left to work in the pits and ironworks, and the cottages are falling down.’

‘Does it have a clergyman?’

‘Oh, aye. A curate comes from t’other side of the moor on a Sunday.’

‘Would you like to come to church with me, Olivia?’

‘Ooh, yes!’ Then her face fell. ‘Will Uncle Hesley let me?’

Harriet raised her eyebrows questioningly at Mrs Cookson.

‘He’s not that bothered what she does, as long as she stays out o’ trouble.’

The younger woman smiled at her charge. ‘I’m sure your uncle will not object if he sees how well you can behave.’

‘It might do her some good,’ Mrs Cookson shrugged. ‘But it’s not what she’s used to. Me and you should have a little talk, Miss Trent. Not now. Wait until the child is in bed, then come down for a nightcap.’

After tea, Harriet helped to clear away and wash up while Olivia whooped around the yard outside the kitchen window. Harriet watched her scatter a handful of crumbs, then retreat to the barn while the doves came down to peck at them.Then she ran out and tried to catch one, chasing after the birds and jumping in the air as they flapped away. She stood with her head tilted back to watch them settle on the tiled roofs of the buildings surrounding the yard.

Mrs Cookson was preparing a cooked meal of pig’s fry and onions for Matt and his lad who lived above the stables. They looked after the horses and livestock for the master, as well as working what was left of his land.They took bread and cheese out with them for their dinner.

‘Keep your eye on her,’ she warned Harriet. ‘If she runs off there’s no finding her. Look at her, like a wild animal, she is.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Harriet observed.‘She’s probably just lonely. And bored. I can see why she’s so grubby.’

‘I do me best with ’er.’

‘Of course you do, but you have enough with looking after this large house by yourself. Is the water hot again yet?’

Half an hour later, she was carrying another ewer of hot water upstairs with some clean towels, nudging a reluctant child in front of her. ‘But it’s not dark yet and I washed before tea,’ Olivia whined.

‘I can see the bits you missed. And your hair needs a proper brushing. Besides, I want to read to you before the light goes. Has anyone read to you before?’

‘Mama used to when I was little. And we said prayers.’ She stopped abruptly on the landing. ‘I don’t want
you
to read to me.You’re not my mama.’

Harriet did not argue and wondered how her pupil had occupied herself all day on her own. She blew out her cheeks as she thought of her outside with her drawers in her hand. The master was right to be worried. ‘Tell me what you do with your mornings,’ she said.

The child shrugged.

‘Do’ you play on the moor?’ she persisted gently, untying the pinafore bow.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Take off your boots now. Do you have friends out there?’

‘No.’

‘No one at all? What about the gypsy?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘But he was your friend?’

‘No, he wasn’t,’ she replied indignantly.‘He said he was hungry so I took him a pie from the larder. And Uncle Hesley beat me. He said it was stealing, but it wasn’t! It was as much my pie as it was his. Mrs Cookson said so.’

‘Did you talk to the gypsy?’

Olivia nodded as she struggled out of her boots and stockings.

‘When did you last wash your feet?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘I see. Now, take off your gown. Did you play games with the gypsy?’

‘No. He was old and dirty.
Really
dirty.’

Harriet hid a smile and resolved to find a looking-glass. ‘Did he touch you?’

‘Ugh, no. I wouldn’t let him near me! I left the pie on a boulder.’

She helped Olivia take off the grubby gown. Her chemise was clean but the drawers were decidedly muddy and torn.

‘Why did you take off your drawers out there, Miss Olivia?’

‘I didn’t!’

‘I know when you’re lying. Did someone take them off for you?’

‘No.’

‘Is that the truth?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you did take them off, didn’t you? Why?’

‘I’m not telling you. It’s a secret.’

Harriet did not respond to this and continued getting Olivia ready for bed, insisting that she washed her ears, the back of her neck and her arms.

‘Now down there.’

Olivia screwed up her nose. ‘It smells.’

‘I know.That’s why you must wash.You’ll feel more comfortable afterwards.’

When the child made no further move, she squeezed out a cloth in the warm water and handed it over, adding firmly, ‘With soap.’

The child obeyed reluctantly.

‘Has anyone touched you there?’ she asked.

Olivia concentrated on her task silently.

‘You must tell me,’ she added. ‘Even if it is a secret.’

‘You’re horrible.’ She threw the cloth into the water.

Harriet persisted: ‘When you took off your drawers, was anyone with you?’

‘No! Nobody knows about my—’ She stopped. ‘Go away. I hate you.’

‘Very well. No more questions.’ She wondered how she could persuade Olivia to talk to her. Beating the child would not get at the truth and would ensure that Olivia lost confidence in Harriet for ever. She said, ‘Tip that dirty water into the slop bucket next door and I’ll pour some more for your feet.’

A few minutes later Harriet watched as the child wriggled her toes in the warm water and rubbed between them with a soapy cloth. ‘Would you like me to read the words in the book about your castle?’ she asked.

The child looked at her sullenly.

Harriet handed her a towel. ‘Put on your nightdress and cap. Tomorrow I shall start to teach you to read them for yourself.’

Chapter 2

As soon as Olivia was asleep, Harriet went down to the kitchen. She sat at the table. ‘What did you want to say to me?’

Mrs Cookson yawned, reached for a stone bottle and poured some dark liquid into a metal tankard. ‘That life in this house is a bit different from Blackstone. Will you have a drop o’ this?’

‘What is it?’

‘Rum. From the West Indies. You should try it.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Well, don’t expect no clean-living church ways from the master. Black sheep, he is. The Mextons used to be a respected family round ’ere. Samuel, Miss Olivia’s grandfather, was a real gentleman and his daughter, God rest her soul, was a proper lady.’

‘That would be Olivia’s mother?’

‘Aye. The master is Samuel’s younger brother and, if you ask me, he’s a bad lot.’

‘He is caring for his great-niece, and he has engaged me to look after her,’ Harriet reminded her.

‘Aye, well, now she’s growing up and, what with her wild ways, he has to protect her from herself.’

‘She not really feral.’

‘You saw her, didn’t you? She goes out on the moor to heaven knows where, taking up with passing vagrants and the like. It’s not right.’

‘She is still a child, Mrs Cookson. There is no worldliness about her. As far as I can tell.’

‘And what would you know of the world?’

‘We had all sorts of girls come to us at Blackstone, including some who were far more knowing than they should have been for their years. I do not see the same signs in Miss Olivia.’

Mrs Cookson snorted. ‘You’d better tell that to the master. He thinks all men are like him where women are concerned.’

Harriet tried not to show her anxiety at the way Mrs Cookson was speaking about her employer. ‘Olivia is not a woman yet.’

‘No, but she’s growing fast.’

Harriet pursed her lips. ‘Perhaps. Is there a Mrs Mexton?’

‘There used to be. Two of ’em. But the master’s wife passed on more’n thirty year ago.’

‘And he married again?’

‘No. T’other one was his son’s wife. Long gone, she is. He lost his son early on, you see. Thrown from his horse. I think that affected the master more than anything. Made him worse with his drinking and his women.’

‘The master has women?’ Harriet’s shock was evident in her voice.

‘Notorious around here. Hadn’t you ’eard?’ Mrs Cookson gulped from her tankard.

‘But what sort of example is that for Miss Olivia?’

‘Oh, he doesn’t bring ’em here. I suppose he thinks I don’t know why he goes off into town of a night and doesn’t come home until morning.’

‘Well, how do you know, Mrs Cookson?’

‘Because Matt from the farm goes into town now and then. And he tells me anything I want ter know for a drop o’ rum.’ Mrs Cookson jangled her keys ‘The master trusts me wi’ these, you see.’

Was this why none of the other teachers had wanted to come here? Harriet asked herself. No wonder they had been surprised when she was so eager. But she was determined to stay, whatever it took. She would guide and protect Olivia for as long as she could. Whether or not Mrs Cookson was right and this was an ungodly house, Harriet most certainly was not. And, if the master did not interfere, she would make sure that Olivia was not either.As a charity girl, Harriet knew the importance of her virtue. The school had made it clear to her that her good name was all she had.

She said, ‘I shall make a point of teaching Miss Olivia to value her virtue. Blackstone may have had its faults but it taught its girls the worth of moral conduct and duty.’

‘Aye. Pious lot, they are. All folk aren’t like that, though. You’ll find that out now you’ve left.’

‘I am aware of sin, Mrs Cookson, and of its consequences.’

‘Aye.’ Mrs Cookson half laughed as she said it and her speech was becoming slurred. ‘We’ll all be damned in hell.’

‘I hope you do not speak like that in front of the child!’

‘Miss Olivia? Bless ’er, she’s the only decent thing living here. You keep her decent. That’s all I ask.’

Well, of course I will, Harriet thought irritably. That was her task. ‘Do you think you should be taking quite so much rum at this hour? It will interfere with your sleep, surely.’

‘When you’ve been living up here for a year or so, you’ll understand the need of a drink or two of a night-time.’ Mrs Cookson was becoming maudlin.‘Both the same, the Mextons. Their bellies and their cocks, that’s all they’re interested in.They get their bellies filled here and their cocks serviced in town . . .’

Harriet was shocked but knew it was the rum talking. ‘Shall I help you to bed, Mrs Cookson? Where do you sleep?’

The older woman did not reply. She picked up the stone bottle and went out of the kitchen door, locking it behind her. ‘Don’t bolt it,’ she called, as she crossed the yard.

In the fading light, Harriet watched her go into the stables, no doubt in search of a drinking companion. She went upstairs to her tiny bedchamber, planning Olivia’s salvation from the self-indulgent ways that seemed to be the custom at Hill Top House.

That night the breeze rose to a full-blown wind. It crept in around the windows and door frames. Unfastened gates and trees creaked outside and heavy rain beat on the roof. Harriet lay awake listening, imagining the wildness of the exposed moor and wondering if Mrs Cookson’s disposition was the result of living in this inhospitable place.