She gave a snort of laughter. ‘Aye, only ’cos I’m the first to fend ya off, me lad.’
‘No, no, it ain’t that, truly it ain’t.’
She felt his breath upon her face and then his lips were on her mouth, but gently, pleadingly. ‘Esther,’ he murmured. ‘I love you, Esther.’
She twisted her head away. ‘Matthew – I won’t. I’ve told you I won’t – not till I’m married.’
‘Then I’ll marry you, Esther Everatt, if that’s what it takes.’
A
LL
the people whom Matthew had listed attended the funeral, plus a few more besides. Esther recognized most of them. There were the two neighbouring farmers – also tenants of Squire Marshall – Tom Willoughby and Mr Souter. All the men from the Point were there and the squire, together with his farm bailiff, and, of course, Will Benson.
All funerals were sad, Esther thought but she felt the pathos of this one. Poor Sam. There were no close relatives, no one to shed a tear into a delicate kerchief for him. Esther and Matthew kept to their places at the rear of the funeral procession, sitting towards the back of the church in the pew Sam had occupied on the few occasions he had attended a service. The flowers from the previous Sunday were withered and dying. No one had cared enough to put fresh ones in their place. The church was cold and musty with the damp.
The vicar said a few words about Sam, about him being a man of the soil, a man close to Nature, whose life had been ordered by the Seasons of God. Much of what he said was way above Esther’s head, but he seemed to be speaking about Sam in a kindly and respectful manner, skilfully avoiding any mention of the fact that he had attended church only about three times a year or that he lived the life of a grumpy recluse.
They stood in a little cluster around the grave as the coffin was lowered into the earth, the damp drizzle seeping through their clothes so that as soon as they could without unseemly haste, the mourners moved away from the cold graveyard and back to their conveyances. Esther saw the squire and his bailiff in conversation. They both glanced across at her, then swiftly away again as they saw her watching them. Then Mr Marshall climbed into his carriage.
Esther unhitched the pony and trap Matthew had borrowed for her from Tom Willoughby and climbed up, slapping the reins so that the pony turned homeward. The rest of the mourners followed Esther back through the town and along the coast road towards the farm.
The spread she had prepared did Sam Brumby proud, though she was a little doubtful as to whether he would really have approved of all the fuss. The atmosphere amongst those present was a little strained. There was no common ground between them for easy conversation, though Esther was painfully aware that the squire and his other two tenants gravitated towards each other and sat together talking quietly as they ate. Esther saw Mr Marshall wave his hand at one point as if to encompass the land all around the farm, and she was sure he was discussing the future occupancy of his holdings. Perhaps even the two farmers whose land adjoined Brumbys’ Farm were laying claim to it right now.
Only Will, the carrier, seemed at ease. ‘He were a good friend to me,’ Will said to no one in particular, and he waved his fork towards Esther. ‘An’ he gave this young ’un a good start. That right, ain’t it, lass?’
Esther nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve learned a lot from Mr Brumby.’ she said and purposely she glanced towards the squire. But Mr Marshall was deep in conversation with the two farmers and appeared not to have heard.
Replete at last on ham and pork pie, the mourners began to settle themselves to hear the reading of Sam’s will. Mr Thompson, the lawyer, began delivering the legal jargon in a respectful monotone. ‘“This is the last Will and Testament of me Samuel Brumby of Fleethaven Point in the County of Lincoln, Farmer. I give devise and bequeath all my real (if any) and personal estates and effects whatsoever and wheresoever of which I have power to dispose by Will unto Esther Everatt . . .” ’
At the mention of her name Esther gasped audibly and felt the blood drain from her face. For a moment all eyes in the room swivelled to look at her. But the lawyer did not look up or pause in his reading.
‘“. . . absolutely and appoint her sole Executrix hereof. I revoke all former Wills by me at any time heretofore made and declare this only to be and contain my last Will and Testament. In witness whereof I have hereunto set my hand this fourth day of October one thousand nine hundred and eleven.”’ Here Mr Thompson looked up. ‘The will was signed by Mr Brumby and witnessed by myself and –’ his glance rested briefly on the carrier – ‘Mr William Benson, whom you all know.’
Now Esther felt the lawyer’s gaze come to rest upon her, sitting straight-backed in a chair in one corner.
‘You, I presume, are Miss Everatt?’
What old Sam Brumby had actually said to Mr Thompson, as the lawyer was to tell her later, had been, ‘I want the wench to have it all.’ and it had been left to the lawyer to couch his wishes in legal terms.
Esther licked her dry lips and her reply came out in a hesitant whisper. ‘Yes – yes, sir.’
‘Well, Miss Everatt, I shall be obliged if you will present yourself at my office tomorrow at ten in the morning for the signing of some documents. Of course there are legal procedures to be gone through, but I see no reason why you may not take it that everything that belonged to Sam Brumby –’ he paused for effect – ‘is now yours.’
Esther could not stop the words from tumbling from her lips. ‘Even the tenancy of the farm – I can stay on at the farm?’
The lawyer held up his hand as if to fend off her eagerness. ‘That’s quite another matter, Miss Everatt. Presumably –’ the lawyer glanced towards Mr Marshall for confirmation – ‘. . . the tenancy would cease with his death.’
Esther too looked towards the squire and saw him nod in agreement. ‘That is correct, Mr Thompson. It is written into all my tenancy agreements.’
‘Quite so, Mr Marshall.’
There was a general shuffling in the room as the others present began to lose interest in the finer points of what Sam Brumby’s will meant. Not one of them had the right to have expected anything from Sam Brumby, and yet there was an air of displeasure that the girl who had arrived out of the mist one morning from God alone knew where, had got it all.
Only on Will Benson’s face was there a smile of satisfaction on Esther’s behalf.
Esther noticed Matthew staring at her, as if not knowing quite how to accept the news. She was no longer the waif who had arrived from nowhere and with nothing. Now she was in possession of some valuable belongings and, possibly, even the future tenant of Brumbys’ Farm. She saw a slight frown of thoughtfulness appear on Matthew Hilton’s young face, but then, as if with silent agreement the gathering made to leave. Esther forgot about Matthew.
She followed Mr Marshall out to his carriage and held the reins for him as he climbed up.
‘Mr Marshall – sir – about the tenancy of the farm . . .’
Mr Marshall looked down upon the anxious girl, but his expression was hard and cold. ‘This is hardly the time or the place to discuss matters of business. If you wish to see me, come to the Grange.’ Without a further word he took the reins from Esther’s hand and clicked to the horse to move on.
Esther stared after his retreating back, cursing herself for her mistake. Had she ruined her chances through, in Mr Marshall’s eyes, a lack of proper respect for Sam Brumby’s funeral day?
The following afternoon – after her morning visit to the lawyer’s office – found Esther trudging the muddy lane towards the Grange. There was a fine drizzle and by the time she had walked the distance between Brumbys’ Farm and the Grange, the cold dampness was seeping through her cape. Her face and hands were wet and her hair straggled in dripping strands down her face and neck.
‘Have you an appointment?’ the sour-faced butler asked her loftily. Obviously he had forgotten – or would not acknowledge – the discomfort of his last meeting with Esther Everatt.
‘No, but Mr Marshall told me to come and see him.’
‘I see.’ The man looked her up and down, sighed audibly and then said with pained resignation, ‘Then you had better come inside. But please, do wipe your – er – boots.’
She stood just inside the doorway whilst the man walked towards the heavy oak door to the study and knocked. He disappeared inside and closed it behind him.
It seemed an age before the man reappeared, time enough for the rain to seep from Esther’s boots on to the polished wooden floor and leave tell-tale puddles. Returning, the man sighed again and then said, ‘Would you follow me, please?’
Mr Marshall was sitting behind the huge desk. ‘Do sit down.’ With a vague wave of his hand the squire indicated a hard wooden chair which had been placed on the visitor’s side of the desk.
‘Now,’ he leant on his desk and his sharp eyes bored into Esther’s, ‘what was it you wanted to see me about?’ It was an oblique reference to Esther’s impropriety the previous day. Rather than embarrassing the young girl further, it now made the courage flow into her. ‘Mr Marshall, sir, I have come to ask you if you will please grant me the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm. After all, Mr Brumby put in his will that he wanted me to have everything of his and—’
‘Whoa there, steady, my dear girl!’ The squire put up his hands, palms outward, as if to slow down a galloping horse. ‘Not so fast.’ He sighed and then leant back in his leather chair. ‘The tenancy was not Sam Brumby’s to pass on. It reverted to me on his death, to be reassigned as I think fit.’
Eagerly, Esther leant forward. ‘But, sir, you know I’ve managed that farm since Mr Brumby was ill, all this last spring and summer, through haymaking and harvest. You’ve seen for yourself . . .’
The squire spread his hands in mock helplessness. ‘I don’t deny it, my dear, you’ve done a good job, a wonderful job, considering you’re a woman. But you see, that’s the problem, we don’t grant tenancies to women. I have checked with my lawyer and there is a specific clause in the agreement drawn up by my great-grandfather that the tenancy must be in the name of a man.’
‘Oh,’ she said flatly. Then again, ‘Oh.’ There was silence in the room between them. Then Esther lifted her head defiantly. ‘But why, Squire? Why won’t you let a woman have your farm? Can’t
you
change the – the clause?’
The squire blinked in the face of her boldness. He had never before met a young woman quite like Esther Everatt and for all his breeding and position, he did not know how to deal with her.
‘Well, we never have, in all these years, changed any thing. I really don’t think—’ He broke off, as what he thought could be a better idea came to his mind. ‘Now, my dear,’ he leant forward, ‘if you were married, then it would be a different matter entirely.’
‘Married? Why?’
‘Well, we could put the tenancy in your husband’s name.’
Her green eyes flashed, her mind working busily. She too leant forward eagerly, her voice becoming slightly breathless. ‘You mean – if I were married, you’d grant the tenancy to me – to my husband?’
The squire nodded. ‘Yes, I’d be prepared to do that.’
Again there was a silence between them as they stared at each other. The girl’s mind was working feverishly, the man’s wondering what was going on in hers.
‘There’s no one else asked you for the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm?’
‘Not exactly, though my other two tenants whose lands adjoin Brumbys’ have discussed the idea in principle of splitting it between them. There’s no outsider come forward – not yet anyway. Though word may not have got around yet that it’s become vacant.’
‘How long could you give me before you need to decide?’
The squire shrugged. ‘Three weeks or so.’
Esther nodded, her eyes glinting. She stood up and held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, the squire shook it.
‘Three weeks, Squire Marshall. Three weeks it is.’
*
She was hanging the washing on the line when she suddenly saw Beth standing uncertainly at the corner of the house leading round from the yard into what Esther called the front garden.
‘Is Matthew here?’
Esther stared at her for a moment then looked away. The girl’s face was white and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. She stood huddled into her shawl, her shoulders bent, her arms folded across her body as if protecting it.
‘Where is he?’ Her voice rose shrilly when Esther did not answer her first question. ‘I’ve got to see him.’
Esther shrugged. She avoided looking directly at Beth and concentrated on stretching out the clothes and pegging them to the line. ‘I dun’t know where he is.’
‘Yes, you do,’ Beth said with a flash of her usual vitality. ‘He’s been here all the time with you since old man Brumby took ill. I thought at least once he were dead . . .’ The spark that had flickered briefly died and she sank back into lethargy, almost pleading with Esther. ‘Please – tell me where he is. I – I’ve
got
to see him!’
Esther eyed Beth shrewdly now – she looked dreadful. But if what Esther had in mind was going to work, then she didn’t want Beth to meet up with Matthew. She jabbed a clothes peg firmly over a sheet on the line. ‘Well, I dun’t know where he is. He went off early this morning and I ain’t seen him since!’
The girl stared at her, the last vestige of any colour draining from her face. Esther looked away from her again and bent to pick up another sheet from the washing basket. When she looked back, Beth had disappeared.
Esther worked through the days chores, Beth’s visit forgotten, for her mind was busy with her own problems, her own plans.
‘Cat got yar tongue?’ Matthew appeared in the wash-house doorway as she folded and mangled the sheets from Sam’s bed.
‘Eh?’ She looked round at him. ‘What? Oh, no. I was thinking, that’s all.’
‘You think too much, Esther me girl.’ He came up behind her, put his arms about her and nuzzled her hair. For once she did not pull away from him and, encouraged by her lack of rebuff, he kissed her neck.
Esther’s eyes darkened. He wanted her, she knew. But did he want her enough to marry her? Had his rash statement in her bedroom the night after Sam had died been made only in the heat of his rough desire for her?