The Fleethaven Trilogy (17 page)

‘Right, I’ll go an’ see Tom later on today.’

A little later he left the house without ever looking directly at Esther or meeting her eyes.

‘By heck,’ Ma Harris shook her head. ‘Ah dun’t want many of them type of birthings. Poor lass were fair worn out, and torn – eh dear!’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and cast her glance skyward in an expression of regret and shook her head again. ‘’Ee were a big lad an’ wrong road on. She had a bad time, did poor Beth.’

Quietly, Esther said, ‘She had a son, then?’

She felt Ma Harris’s perceptive gaze upon her, watching her. ‘Aye, a fine lad. She’s calling him Daniel after her father. The babby’s none the worse, just Beth. She’ll get over it. She’s young enough to have plenty more bairns.’ Ma Harris cackled. ‘She’ll have to go some to catch me up, though, won’t she? Me eldest, Ernie, he’s nigh on fifteen and the little ’un, Alice, she’s just turned three – seven in all livin’.’

Esther smiled and nodded as if in congratulation.

‘Ya’ll be next, if Ah’m not mistaken,’ Ma said. ‘How far on a’ ya?’

Esther stared at her. ‘How – how did you know?’

‘Lass – ’tis written in your face.’

‘But I scarcely know mesen – I mean – I can’t be sure yet . . .’

Ma nodded sagely towards Esther’s stomach. ‘Ya’ve one in there, me lass. Ah can tell.’

‘Don’t – don’t say anything, will ya?’

Ma’s knowing eyes narrowed. ‘Not telled him yet?’ she murmured.

Esther shrugged evasively. ‘Well, I didn’t want to until I was sure.’

‘Aye, all right, lass. I’ll say nowt.’ A look of concern crossed the older woman’s face. ‘But are you all right, lass? Ya took a nasty knock last night. Ya’ve no pains, a’ ya?’

Esther shook her head and managed a thin smile. ‘No, Ma, I’m fine. Really. I’m tough as owd boots!’

Ma Harris nodded, satisfied.

As swiftly as it had come the snow melted and a wintry sun and a sharp breeze seemed to do their best to dry out the land. Nevertheless the ploughing was still way behind until the day that Matthew came home triumphantly leading a pair of heavy horses.

‘They’re getting on a bit. Fourteen they are, but there’s four or five good years left in ’em yet. The chap said he’d got some young ’uns broken in, but he didn’t want to split this pair up. Been together years, they have.’

The horses stood patiently in the yard, submitting themselves to Esther’s scrutiny. Their chestnut coats shone and the flaxen socks gleamed. ‘They’re lovely,’ Esther said, smiling and patting their necks. ‘Have they got names?’

‘This one with the little white mark just below his forelock is Prince and t’other’s Punch,’ Matthew told her. ‘Ya know what, Esther? I can’t hardly believe it mesen. The chap as sold ’em to me said Tom ’ad told him all about us. About you and Sam Brumby, and us getting wed . . .’ His eyes flickered away a moment, but the excitement of the moment was too great to allow even his bitterness to spoil it. ‘An’ he said he liked to hear of youngsters working hard and having a go and he wished us well and said we could have a month or two to pay for the ’osses. I give him half as a payment now and . . .’

‘I don’t like owing anyone money, Matthew,’ Esther said firmly, adopting her determined pose; hands on hips, feet planted apart. She saw Matthew look at her, saw his glance falter and flicker away.

‘But—’

‘Ya’ll take the young pigs to market this week and tek the man his money as soon as you get it.’

Matthew’s face darkened. ‘Dun’t mek a fool out o’ me, woman.’

Esther’s own eyes sparked with anger. ‘No need for me to do that, Matthew Hilton, ya make a good job of that ya’sen.’ They glowered at each other.

‘I’ll not be in debt to anyone, Matthew. An’ it’ll not make a fool of you as long as
you
go and pay the man. But,’ she lowered her voice and there was a threat in her words, ‘if you don’t do it – I will!’ She turned on her heel and marched back into the wash-house. Within five seconds the clothes were taking a vicious pounding in the dolly tub.

She heard Matthew leading the horses into the stable. Esther tried to calculate in her head. Would they have enough feed to last through a long, hard winter with two great horses now as well as the cows and other livestock?

In their bed that night, for the first time since before the birth of Beth’s child, Matthew took Esther roughly and swiftly, with a bitter fury, as if he bore her a deep resentment and yet he still wanted her. He could not quell his desire for her, yet he despised himself for succumbing to his physical need and for being rendered defenceless by her nearness. His young, virile body could not deny itself the pleasure which she, whilst taking no pleasure herself, never denied him.

Esther was deliberately keeping her part of the marriage bargain.

During the weeks that followed, Matthew worked long hours at the ploughing. He stayed away from the Seagull and the Point – and Beth.

Some days Esther took her turn behind the plough. She came to love the great plodding horses with their gentle eyes and shaggy manes and tails. They were strong with broad, muscular backs and massive hindquarters that pulled the plough through the hard ground as easily as drawing a knife through butter. They were a team and they seemed to know without being told what they had to do. They would turn at the end of a furrow, never faltering, plodding steadily around the rig she had marked out, seeming to slow imperceptibly whilst Esther lifted the plough, ran it along the top edge and then let it down again. Up and down the long straight furrow they plodded, one horse walking in the hollow of the furrow, the other on the unturned turf. Up and down, up and down, whilst above their wise old heads, seagulls screeched greedily and swooped down behind the plough on to the newly turned earth to search for morsels.

One morning Esther caught sight of Will Benson’s cart coming down the lane and heard the blast on his whistle to herald his approach. She halted the horses near the edge of the field that bordered the lane. As the carrier’s cart slowed to a stop she could see Will’s grinning face. He was wearing a greatcoat over his suit, for it was bitterly cold riding on the front of his cart.

‘Eeh, Esther lass,’ he said climbing down from his seat high up above the rump of his horses. ‘It’s good to see ya again. My, it seems ages since I was out this way. What wi’ all that snow.’ He looked her up and down, and then searched her face more closely, holding her gaze with his own steady eyes. ‘How’ve ya been, lass? How’s married life?’

Esther smiled determinedly, ‘Fine, Will. Look . . .’ She took hold of his arm and turned him to look into the field. ‘Matthew bought a pair of horses. Aren’t they fine, Will?’

‘By, lass, they are an’ all.’ He looked at her again. ‘But should you be doing the ploughing, lass? Ya husband should—’

‘Oh, he does his share, Will, and I likes to tek me turn. I ain’t no slacker.’

Will’s laugh rang out. ‘No one could ever accuse you of that, lass. No one.’

‘If ya going to the Point first on yar calls, I’m nearly done in this field. I’ll come back to the farm and ya can have a bite of dinner with us, Will.’

‘Ah’d like that, lass.’

So it became a regular thing that Will had his dinner with Esther and Matthew on the days he came to the Point on his rounds. Soon he was taking their produce to the town markets and selling it for them, bringing the money he made for them on his next visit.

‘Why dun’t you come into the town on the cart, Esther?’ he would ask her. ‘Ah could always bring you back if it’s too far . . .’

‘It ain’t that – I ain’t keen on the town.’ She grinned. ‘Tell you the truth, Will, I’d be lost.’

Will smiled indulgently. ‘All right, lass. But you’d enjoy a trip now and then. Get that husband of yours to take you.’

‘Mebbe, Will,’ she hedged, ‘mebbe – some time.’

When the ploughing was done and the seed safely sown at last, Matthew suddenly said, ‘We should go to church again, Esther. We’ll go tomorrow.’

She nodded. ‘I’d been thinking the same, it’s what Sam would have done after such a bad winter. He’d have wanted to give thanks that we’d got the crops sown, even if we are a bit late.’

Matthew looked at her a little strangely then smiled and nodded. ‘That’s right, Esther, just what I’d thought.’

He went outside whistling. Esther watched him go, a thoughtful look on her face. She had readily agreed to his suggestion, though she was surprised that the idea had come from him.

The following morning Esther came downstairs in time to set off for church to find Matthew waiting for her in the living room. Her mouth fell open.

‘Matthew, what on earth . . . ? That’s a brand new suit. Where did ya get that?’

‘I went into town yesterday afternoon an’ bought it.’ His face clouded ominously. ‘Can’t a man buy himself a new suit without being answerable to—?’

‘Don’t fly off the handle,’ Esther snapped back. She glanced down at the old dress which had belonged to the long-dead Katharine Brumby. It was already getting very tight around her expanding waistline. Her head came a little higher and her chin jutted out. ‘If ya can afford a new suit, Matthew Hilton, then I reckon yar wife deserves a new frock, don’t you?’

‘Suit ya’sen.’ He turned back to the mirror, trying to smooth down his unruly curling black hair but without success. He had shaved, but his dark colouring still gave his jawline a blue tinge however sharp his cut-throat razor.

‘I’ve got to admit it, Matthew,’ Esther said, ‘ya look very smart.’

He turned to look at her again and suddenly he grinned and she glimpsed the old Matthew; the Matthew who had pursued her, who had tried to tumble her in the hay.

‘Ya dun’t look so bad ya’sen.’ His eyes roamed over her, taking in her long, glossy hair which she had piled high on her head and fastened with the pearl combs; then down her slender neck and lingered on the generous curves of her bosom. He moved towards her, his eyes glinting wickedly.

‘Matthew . . .’ Esther held out the thing she was carrying in her hands to steer him away from the direction his thoughts were obviously taking. ‘I thought you might like to – to have this. Remember? It was Sam’s. He always wore it to church.’ She held out Sam Brumby’s gold Hunter watch. ‘Would ya like it?’

‘Like it?’ Matthew’s eyes shone. ‘Aw, Esther, it’s a fine watch . . .’ He slipped it into the pocket of his new waistcoat and looped the chain across his chest and stood there proudly, puffed out like a pouter pigeon.

Esther smiled at him. ‘It looks grand, Matthew. Real grand. Well, shall we go?’

The smile faded a little from his mouth and for a moment she thought he looked uncertain.

‘Esther,’ he began, ‘let’s not go to church, lets . . .’

Remembering the look of desire which had flared in his eyes a few moments ago, Esther tapped his arm sharply, yet with an air of playfulness, and retorted, ‘Oh no you don’t, Mester Hilton. You wanted to go to church, so we’re going!’

‘Esther, mebbe . . .’

‘Matthew, do come on, or we’ll be late.’

She saw him hesitate, give a shrug of resignation and then he offered her his crooked arm and murmured, ‘Very well, but just remember – it was you insisted we go.’

They walked the two miles to the church, Esther’s arm through Matthew’s. She was wondering if now was the right time to tell him her news, but decided to leave it until they returned home. She was loath to spoil this moment, for she had no idea how he would take the fact that she, too, was to bear him a child.

In the church porch they met the Willoughbys and Miss Jenkins. Tom Willoughby greeted them jovially, asking how their horses had settled down and were they pleased with them? Had they got all their ploughing and sowing done? It was the general talk of the neighbouring farmers greeting each other. A determined smile stretched upon her mouth, Esther glanced at Martha Willoughby and her sister, Flo Jenkins. Their heads were bent close together, whispering.

She caught the odd snatch of their conversation. ‘Sam’s watch . . . new clothes . . .’ And then something she could not understand. ‘Fancy him daring to come today of all days.’

Esther’s fixed smile faded and her chin came up a little higher. Loudly she said, ‘Come, Matthew, we’d best take our place in Sam’s pew. I know he’d ’ave liked us to take his seat.’

With satisfaction, she heard the gasps from the two women and a ‘tut-tut’ as she stepped through the church door, walked up the aisle and took her place in the pew Sam had occupied. Matthew followed her in and sat beside her.

Just before the service began there was a slight commotion in the porch and the sound of a young baby crying. At her side, Esther felt Matthew stiffen. She turned her head to see the colour suffusing his neck and creeping slowly up his face. He stared fixedly straight ahead at the altar. Esther looked behind and saw Robert Eland and then Beth carrying her child wrapped in shawls into the church and taking a seat near the font. Tight-lipped, Esther too turned back and fixed her gaze upon the altar. Morning service began, but Esther was hardly aware of it. Mechanically, she rose and opened her lips to the hymns, mouthing the words. She knelt and whispered the prayers, yet all the time she was uncomfortably aware of the three other people at the rear of the church.

At the end of the service the beaming vicar announced that Robert and Beth Eland had brought their baby son to be christened and that all the congregation would be very welcome to stay if they so wished.

Esther made to stand up to leave, but Matthew gripped her arm and pulled her back down on to the seat. ‘We’re staying,’ he hissed. ‘’Tis the reason we came.’

Esther gasped. ‘Ya knew? Ya . . .’

Heads were turning towards the angry whispers between husband and wife.

‘Hush,’ someone demanded.

The vicar cleared his throat and raised his voice above the whispering and the shuffling and began the opening words of the service of baptism.

Seething with fury, Esther sat where she was. Not because she was afraid to walk out, far from it, but she was not going to be forced into causing a scene in front of the squire and his family, and the vicar, to say nothing of the Willoughbys. By so doing, she realized, it would be she, Esther, who would be made to look foolish.