A Woman Undefeated (11 page)

Maggie became anxious as the farmhouse came into view. What
if the wife didn’t like her? What if she was like Mistress Filbey, harsh and demanding, and her life became a misery? She looked back longingly at the view of the Welsh hills. Maybe Jack could be persuaded to move on if they didn’t settle, now that she knew he had a tenderness for her. Surely he would want his new wife to be happy, both at the farm and wherever they were given as a home? Looking down at her appearance, from her travel stained clothes to her dirty bare feet, and the knowledge that her unwashed hair looked wild and wind blown, didn’t help matters. The woman would have to be desperate to take her in this condition, or she’d have to be a saint. She hoped it was the latter and bravely carried on.

The farmyard was a hive of activity and Maggie looked with amazement around her, especially at the house. It was built of local sandstone, three storied with tall red brick chimneys. Two attic windows peeped out from under ivy clad eaves, above two bedroom windows that shone pristinely in the weak autumn sun. The front door was open and she could see that there was a kitchen on one side and a best room on the other, both having pretty curtains at the mullioned windows. To the right of the house was a dutch barn, to the left a cow byre. All built in the same sandstone, mellowed from the salt laden winds that gusted up from the sea.

On both sides of the cobbled yard, there was stabling for the great plough horses, pig sties and hen houses and little pens where long necked geese gobbled anxiously. The hens were allowed to roam freely, and they squawked and scratched at the soil in between the worn cobbled stones. The tall doors of the barn were open, revealing neatly stacked layers of golden hay, the product of many hours of backbreaking work for the farmer and his hired hands. A dog tied to a rope outside the farmhouse door, barked out a warning that there were strangers in his yard.

Farmer Briggs came hurrying to the door to see about the commotion. His face wore a welcoming smile when he saw who his visitors were. He looked relieved to see them, with it being so hard to find a local man who was willing to work for the wages of
that time. Young people seemed to be drifting off to the cotton mills in Lancashire, where better money could be earned in return for a shorter working day.

Briggs was an easygoing, but hard working farmer. He had worked these twenty acres of good agricultural soil and ten more of pasture for twenty four years. The farm had been in his family for generations, at least back to the Cromwellian times. He had never looked into how his ancestors had obtained it, some deeds of his forebears were best, in his opinion, left alone.

Briggs had no ambitions, other than to be a successful farmer. He had the loving support of his wife and five pretty daughters. He was a happy man.

He ushered them ahead into the kitchen, the place that was the control room of life for the workers and family. Here they ate their meals and took their orders. This was the domain of Mrs Briggs, where the cooking, preserving and bottling was done. Muddy boots and head wear were removed before entering, grace said at every meal time. The routine varied only by the dictates of each of the seasons.

Maggie quickly took in her surroundings. The place was similar to the Filbey kitchen, although the black leaded range was within a red sandstone fireplace and heavy woollen rugs lay on the stone flagged floor. At one side there was a solid pine dresser, with pretty glazed plates and ornaments upon it, together with a small wooden clock and a pewter jug that held a candle supply. On the other side of the fireplace, copper pans dangled from a wooden rack suspended from the oak beamed ceiling, besides flitches of bacon wrapped in muslin cloth. A pile of logs and tinder, lay in a willow weave basket beside the range and heavy red curtains were drawn against the gathering gloom. The room breathed warmth, as Briggs asked them to sit at the large well scrubbed table, where his curious children, who were already seated, had been told to carry on with their meal.

Ethel Briggs, who had been standing watching by the cooking range, looked flushed and weary after a day of meal time preparations.
Her smile was welcoming enough, no doubt thinking that the couple would be nervous, faced with so many of the family in the room.

Maggie learnt later that she was younger than the eldest daughter, Peggy, who was getting married in four weeks’ time to Dennis Phipps, a man who farmed sixty acres over Willaston way. Maggie was closer in age to Florrie, who had just left school and wasn’t even courting. Still, as Ethel said to her husband later, it wasn’t any of her business. The couple purported to be decently married, although she had noticed there wasn’t a betrothal ring, but if Briggs assured her that they were decently married, then that was good enough for her.

Ethel’s figure was ample and her life at the farm told well. She had a round, red-cheeked face and from under her white cotton bonnet, peeped small yellow curls. Her dress was of brown work-a-day calico, the cut of it doing justice to her broad hips and bosom, over which she wore a white all enveloping apron, for protection from her chores.

Her husband had a similar appearance. Still a youngish looking man, around his early forties, but his figure had gone as his wife’s had. Her excuse being from the years of child bearing, his being from the love of food. He wore a coarse, linen collar-less shirt and brown breeches, with tightly buttoned gaiters around the calves of his legs. His waistcoat was of mole skin and usually he wore a black, wide brimmed hat, but not at the moment. His wife didn’t allow men to wear headgear in her kitchen. It was one of the little rules she adhered to. Part of her attempt to keep respect and dignity within her family and amongst their workers too. Briggs didn’t mind. Ethel had been a loyal and caring wife to him and what were a few little rules to him?

When the wife had mouthed her greetings, the daughters took their turn. They seemed surprised to see them there, as their mother would normally show any strangers into the parlour room. They had ear-wigged before though, when their parents were discussing taking on this pair, lately come from Ireland where the potato crop had failed.

It appeared that the Irish were dependent on the vegetable for their sustenance, though why they couldn’t have chosen to sow a variety of crops as their father did, they were not very sure. But whatever had brought them to this shore hungry and ragged, as this couple certainly were, it was their duty as a Christian family to help them all they could.

“This is Peggy, my elder girl and Florrie, Olive, Emily and Ettie,” Briggs said in way of introduction. “All good country girls who are helpful to their mother. Peggy is soon to be wed and will leave our happy home and that is why I thought you would be of help, Maggie. All this prancing around, getting ready for the wedding is taking the girls away from their daily chores. Now then, Ethel, what about a bite to eat for Jack and Maggie?You’ve made enough to feed a small army, I see. They can have a feed and then I’ll take them down to Lilac Cottage. It’ll be a bit musty down there at the moment, I’m afraid, as it’s not been lived in since Joe Parry moved out a few months ago. But I’m sure once you’ve got a good fire going, you’ll take away the smell.”

He smiled at them amiably and suggested they help themselves from the vegetable tureens. One of the girls passed down a platter of carved up chicken and stomachs began to gurgle as the couple took their fill.

There seemed to be some whisperings amongst Florrie, Olive and Ettie. Their elder sister lifted her head to reprove them, but was invited then to join in. Maggie felt embarrassed. She could hear that the girls were talking about her, probably about the state she was in with her dirty appearance and rather objectionable smell. But wasn’t it nice for them that they were sitting in pretty dresses, never having felt the pangs of hunger, with two solid parents to cater for their every whim?

When Peggy asked her mother permission later to leave the room, then reappeared with a blue woollen garment which she offered to Maggie, she began to feel a great deal of resentment. So she was a charity case as well? What else were they going to do for her, find a tin bath and put her in?

Then she felt Jack’s hand searching for hers beneath the table, as he knew what she could do if there was a threat to her stubborn pride. His face wore a smile of acceptance and he thanked Peggy on his wife’s behalf most profusely, saying that they would be grateful for anything that they were given, as they had lost their change of clothing to the sea. Their box had been swept overboard on the journey and he was most obliged for all that the family were trying to do. He said that his wife had also lost her nice black shoes and that’s why she was barefoot.

Peggy went back to her bed chamber and brought in a pair of old leather shoes. She was apologetic for their worn appearance, but was sure they would fit Maggie, as they looked to be a similar size. Jack again thanked Peggy and asked her if she knew of anyone who had cast off clothes to fit him? It was said with the hint of a joke in his voice and everyone laughed along. It served to calm Maggie’s resentment and put her more at ease.

Jack squeezed her hand at various intervals while they continued with their welcome and delicious dinner. He couldn’t afford to let Maggie spoil things, not now that they seemed to have been accepted there. If she started showing her fiery side to this family, who seemed to be putting themselves out to be most helpful, then she would ruin everything. She would have to learn to pocket her pride. A job and a cottage, wasn’t going to be offered to just anybody. He could see that he had been in the right place at the right time.

Maggie controlled herself and began to look with interest at each member of the family. Peggy had her father’s colouring, but not his plumpness. She was a little shorter than Maggie, with straight, shoulder length sandy hair, pale blue eyes and a figure that was nipped in by a corset bodice above a plain brown skirt. She looked a friendly girl, occasionally looking over at the newcomer and smiling. Maggie began to feel so envious. She’d be having a proper wedding, not a mean affair like hers, and Peggy would have the loving support of her parents. Maggie had no one, no parents, no sisters, no one except Jack to care for her. And she
wasn’t even sure of Jack yet. She still felt wary. And prepared to stand her corner, if things weren’t to her liking in the days to come.

Meanwhile, Jack was listening intently to the farmer, who was telling him of the work expected from his new employee. It seemed to involve a lot more than Jack had experienced in Ireland, having only ever helped his father care for the vegetables in their garden. Maggie listened with half an ear, smiling to herself as Jack nodded in agreement, when the discussion turned to crop rotation, breeding practices and the price of beef. Jack was only going to be a labourer, not take over the running of the farm!

Florrie was a little younger, perhaps around fourteen. Her long yellow hair was tied back in a dark blue ribbon. Olive, aged about twelve, was darker haired than the rest, with a long face and sticking out teeth. Emily, with copper coloured hair, a heart shaped face and lots of freckles was about two years younger, and the baby of the group. Ettie, had the face of an angel and shiny, golden curls. All the children, with the exception of Peggy, wore cornflower blue dresses, white pinafores and shiny black shoes. They had ignored Maggie during their excited chattering, though not unkindly, but it was family business this wedding of Peggy’s. An outsider could only listen, and was not expected to join in.

It seemed that the meal was over, as the plates were being stacked and Ethel Briggs began to clear away. Maggie offered her help, but was told to save her energy. There would be plenty for her to do when she returned to the farm next day. Ethel looked annoyed when the farmer over ruled her, saying Maggie would need a day to see to her own affairs. The cottage would want a bit of cleaning and need to be set to rights to make it comfortable for the pair. Besides, the girl was looking weary and would need a bit of extra time in bed.

Ethel shooed her daughters off to make a start on washing the dishes in the scullery, as there was always plenty to do in a house of that size. There was the kitchen, the scullery, pantry and parlour and four good sized bedrooms above. Not to mention the dairy, housed in an outbuilding, which had to be scrubbed from top to
bottom daily, after the butter and cheese making had been done. Some of the work she planned to offload onto Maggie. There was plenty for the girl to do. What with the making of the dresses for the wedding and the cake still to ice, bouquets to be made up and fruit for the damson wine still to gather, she could have done with her servant’s help straight away.

Maggie, Jack and the farmer wended their way across the fields towards the coastline later. Patch, the dog, had been allowed off his rope and he snuffled and wriggled through the undergrowth ahead. Maggie felt as if every bone in her body was aching, through weariness or maybe the cold that was biting through her thin clothes. Whatever it was, she was looking forward to reaching their destination and hoped that she could sleep the night away.

Jack and the farmer strode out ahead, with Briggs pointing out his boundaries, marked by dry stone walls. They walked across a marshy meadow, where tall bulrushes sat in murky ponds; over stepping stones placed in a shallow stream; through a small copse of rowan, birch and elder trees, to a wooden slatted gate that opened onto a narrow rutted lane.

Maggie trailed behind, not seeing the purple hue of the clumps of wild iris, the last of the blackberries on the overgrown hedges, towering plants of thistle and marsh mallow, and bracken turned to autumnal brown.

Lilac Cottage was a ten minute walk from the farmhouse; a two roomed dwelling built in a hollow and sheltered from the winds by gnarled old oak trees. A slate roof came low over the eaves of the whitewashed walls and a climbing rose clung above the lintel. Small mullioned windows sat on either side of the stout looking door, where a previous superstitious occupant had nailed a lucky horseshoe. If the two men had been waiting for Maggie’s gasp of admiration, as she joined them, they didn’t get it. Had it been a hayloft, a pig pen or the floor of a draughty barn, it would not have mattered. All she wanted was to rest her weary body, close her eyes and sleep this nightmarish dream away.