Cherry Tree Lane (20 page)

‘Oh, yes, Stan. I’ll come straight round.’

‘And don’t mention this to anyone else, or I’ll come for my money back.’

‘I’d never do that, Stan.’

After she’d gone, he began to pace up and down the room, anger burning hotly through him. How could Mattie have met and courted this Jacob fellow without anyone knowing? In these streets folk knew if you coughed twice.

How was it possible?

And who were these people she was with?

He’d find out. No one played tricks like that on him. She’d promised to marry him, damn her, and he wanted to know why she’d broken that promise.

He sighed. He’d never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Mattie, couldn’t understand why. He had to know why she’d run out on him.

Mattie felt shy as she went downstairs. But the kitchen hadn’t changed overnight and by the time she’d served the porridge as usual she was feeling more at ease.

‘I’ve already fed the hens.’ Jacob ate quickly, with an eye on the clock, then stood up. ‘Will you be all right? There are a few things that need doing, what with me missing yesterday. I need to water some of the younger plants because it’s not rained for a day or two.’

‘Of course I’ll be all right.’

He went out of the back door, leaving it open to the beautiful spring morning. She could see him lacing up his boots and as he got up, he turned to call, ‘Don’t overdo it today, Mattie! Luke, hurry up! You’ve still got your chores to do before school.’

Sarah finished her porridge, then cleared the table without being asked and got out the bread. ‘We need to make sandwiches for dinner. It’s too far to come home, so some of us stay at school.’

Mattie smiled. ‘I know. But I’ll make them for you from now on. What do you like best?’

‘Cheese. But Luke likes ham best. And we take an apple or a carrot, pea pods sometimes, whatever Dad has plenty of. When Mum was alive, she used to make cakes. Do you know how to make cakes?’

‘I do indeed. Give me a few days to finish getting better and I’ll make plenty of cakes and scones for you.’

They stared at one another across the table.

‘I’m glad Luke found you,’ Sarah said suddenly. ‘Dad’s a lot happier since you came. He keeps smiling. He didn’t smile much after Mum died.’

Tears filled her eyes as she said that and Mattie went quickly across to give her a hug. ‘My mother died when I was fourteen and I still remember how unhappy I was.’

Sarah snuggled against her for a minute, then pulled away and got herself ready for school, soon smiling again.

When Luke came in from doing his chores, Mattie had to remind him to wash his hands properly before he set off for school. He scowled at her but did as he was told.

Once the house was empty she allowed herself a few minutes to sit and take stock of her situation, which felt to have changed. This was her home now, she had a husband, stepchildren … A thought suddenly occurred to her, such a wonderful thought that she could hardly breathe for a moment. She might even have children of her own as well, if she was lucky. She was only thirty, not too late. She so longed to have children.

There was only one sadness left, and one worry. She worried about what her stepfather would do when he heard about her marriage, as he was bound to do one day, and she felt desperately sad about her sisters. She thought about them several times a day, wondering how they were, what they were doing, where they were living and if Cliff had found a job.

In two years, they’d agreed, he’d write to his family and then she could find out from them where he and the girls were. That seemed a long time to wait for news about people you loved, people you’d seen every day, shared a bed with, laughed and cried with.

Whatever the risks to herself of her stepfather seeing her, she’d visit the Greenhills at the end of those two years to ask about her sisters. If they had an address and it was safe, she’d write to her sisters. If not, at least she’d know they were all right.

She didn’t know how she’d bear it if there was no news.

Emily got up feeling exhausted. This had happened to her a few times lately and she’d dismissed it as old age. Mostly she managed not to think about being seventy, but when she looked at the age spots on her hands and arms, or stared into the mirror at her grey hair and wrinkled face, it was hard to avoid the knowledge that her days were numbered.

She wondered how the newly-weds had got on last night, wondered what it was like to sleep with a man, have him put his arms round you. That made her sigh for the girlish dreams that had faded to nothing so many years ago … no, not nothing, because you still dreamt of a better life, however old you were. She’d longed to marry, longed for children too, but men simply hadn’t been attracted to her. She was too tall and thin, with a rather beaky nose, and she didn’t have any money to sweeten that pill. And anyway, her parents hadn’t encouraged men to call on her, had made it plain they expected her to stay at home and look after them.

She’d had no choice about it, unlike these modern young women who learnt to use typewriters and went out to work, even those from good families. She’d been totally dependent on her parents, and it was only after her father’s death that she’d had some choice about what she did with her life – the choice of which employer to work for because most of his income had died with him.

She’d been astounded when her uncle left Newington House to her, wasn’t sure even now that it had been worth the trouble of leaving the few friends she did have and coming down to Wiltshire to keep this old place going. She’d been very lonely here.

But that didn’t mean she was prepared to hand the place over to her cousin Arthur for so much less than it was worth. He was a horrible man, just as he’d been a nasty little boy, and he didn’t deserve such a gift. The trouble was, she still hadn’t come up with an alternative so that she could make a final will instead of the temporary one. She smiled at the thought of her temporary legatee inheriting. That would throw the cat among the pigeons.

She stabbed the last hairpin into her bun and stood up from the dressing table, clutching it hastily as the room spun round her, then sitting down again with a bump.

When she could move without feeling dizzy, she went downstairs for her breakfast. It wasn’t her custom to complain about her personal health so she said nothing to the servants. In her opinion, you just got on with things and kept your aches and pains to yourself.

Her young maid was as cheerful as ever, bringing in the crisp toast with butter and jam, which was all Emily ever wanted in the mornings.

‘Lovely day, ent it, miss?’

She murmured an answer, let Lyddie run on and scraped butter across a piece of toast, then some of cook’s delicious strawberry conserve. When the maid had gone, she forced herself to eat the whole slice, because you had to keep up your strength, but she didn’t feel at all hungry today. When she got up from the table she had another dizzy turn and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor and someone was screeching, ‘Cook! Cook! Come quick.’

She wanted to tell them to be quiet, but couldn’t form the words or open her eyes because her lids felt so heavy.

‘Ooh, miss, are you all right? Miss! Speak to me. Cook! Where are you?’

Emily tried hard to speak, but couldn’t manage it. As someone carried her to the sofa in her sitting room, she made a huge effort and managed to open her eyes briefly, seeing it was Lyddie and Cook. One of her legs felt numb. She must have been lying on it awkwardly when she fell.

Lyddie rushed off, shouting, ‘I’ll fetch some pillows and a blanket.’

She was back almost immediately and with a sigh of relief Emily laid her head on the softness and closed her eyes.

There were still voices nearby, but she couldn’t summon up the strength to work out what they were saying. She’d just have a little rest first.

As Jacob straightened up from his weeding, he saw the maid from the big house come running down the lane, skirts flying, cap missing. Before he could walk across to her, she clambered nimbly over the wall and ran to where he was standing.

‘Mr Kemble! Oh, I’m so glad I found you!’ She gulped in air, clutching his arm.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Miss Newington’s fainted and she won’t wake up. She’s just a-lying there and we don’t know what to do.’

He stabbed his hoe into the soft earth and struck his hands together to get the worst of the dirt off, then tipped the watering can over them and dried them on the back of his trousers. ‘Fetch Mattie. I’ll go straight up to the big house.’

‘Please hurry, sir. Me an’ Cook are that worried.’

He followed her example, not going round by the gate but clambering over the wall and hurrying up the lane.

Inside the house he found Cook sitting with Miss Newington, who was lying with her eyes closed.

‘She’s not come to properly yet, Mr Kemble.’

He knelt beside the couch. ‘Miss Newington. Can you hear me?’

Her eyelids flickered and she opened her eyes but didn’t seem able to see him properly. She was squinting – no, not squinting. He’d seen it before, that drooping in one eye.

‘Send Horace for the doctor. I think your mistress has had a seizure.’

When Cook had gone, he bent over Miss Newington again. It didn’t seem right to pick her up without a word, so he said gently, ‘I’m going to carry you up to your bed. You’ll be much more comfortable there.’

‘Mmm.’

Was she trying to respond? He hoped so, because that would be a good sign. He scooped her into his arms, surprised at how light she was, and carried her up the stairs. At the top he paused, not sure which room was hers, so fumbled with the nearest door handle.

The room seemed musty and unused, so did all the ones on this floor, so he went up another flight of stairs. The big room at the front of the house there had a hairbrush and comb on the dressing table, so he laid her in the bed, unbuttoning her blouse at the neck because the upright collar seemed so tight.

Then he waited, unable to think of anything else to do except hold her hand, reasoning that the gentry needed comforting just like anyone else.

But he was relieved when he heard footsteps and women’s voices.

Mattie went into the room, looked at the still figure on the bed, then at Jacob.

‘I think it’s a seizure,’ he whispered.

She studied Miss Newington again, seeing the slight droop to one lip as well as to one eye. ‘Yes. But I don’t think it’s a bad one.’ There was a slight frown on the older woman’s face and she wondered if the poor lady was aware of what was going on, so tried to offer comfort. ‘One of our neighbours had a mild seizure and she looked like this. It took her a few weeks, but she got better again.’

Jacob put down the hand he’d been holding, stood up and gestured to the bed. ‘I reckon you should sit with her till the doctor comes, Mattie.’ He looked down at himself. ‘I’m all dirty.’

She glanced across at the young maid who was still looking terrified, and said, ‘Why don’t you go down now, Lyddie?’ Then she took the chair, picking up the hand Jacob had laid down and patting it. ‘It’s Mattie here, Miss Newington. I’m going to sit beside you till the doctor arrives. You’re going to be all right, I’m sure. Just lie still.’

The fingers squeezed hers slightly. She was sure she wasn’t imagining it. That was a good sign … wasn’t it?

It seemed terrible that the poor lady had no family to be with her at a time like this.

When Jacob went outside he found Horace trying to harness the horse to the trap. The old man looked very upset and was all fingers and thumbs as he tried to buckle a strap. ‘Here, let me do that.’

‘Young Ben has gone home or he could do this. We should keep two of them here day and night, Jacob lad. Mr Arthur won’t give up, you know. He’s a terrible stubborn fellow, always was, even as a young ’un.’

When the horse was ready, the old man looked at Jacob pleadingly. ‘Can you go for the doctor? I’m all of a dither. If she dies, we’re all out of a home and job, you see. No one else will take me on, not at my age, and I’ve no close family. It’ll be the workhouse for me.’

Jacob knew how hard life could be for people who were getting too old to work, in spite of the old-age pension of five shillings a week, so patted Horace’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘Tell me who to fetch.’

‘That new doctor in Wootton Bassett, Crawford he’s called. She don’t like the old one. He wouldn’t come out to see Cook when she had a bad turn, thought it was beneath him to visit a servant. The younger doctor came, though. Nice young fellow he is.’

Jacob sent Horace to tell Mattie what he was doing, then drove the trap into Wootton Bassett.

The ‘young doctor’ must have been at least fifty years old, which made Jacob smile wryly. He explained what had happened and Dr Crawford agreed to come out straight away.

As Jacob drove back, he couldn’t help worrying about his own future if Miss Newington died and her cousin Arthur inherited the estate. He had a wife as well as children now, very little money saved after the winter and although he could make a decent living for them, he couldn’t see Arthur letting him do that in peace. Indeed, he was pretty sure the man would try to drive him away.

When Jacob got back to the big house, he went in via the kitchen. Cook and Lyddie both looked upset. ‘Is she still … all right?’ he asked, afraid she might have died while he’d been away. People often died during the few hours after a seizure.

Lyddie, who’d clearly been crying, used her apron to wipe away more tears. ‘The mistress hasn’t got any worse. Your wife’s sitting with her, said we were to get ourselves a cup of tea. She seems to know what to do.’

‘I’m making some barley broth because it’s strengthening,’ Cook said. ‘Chicken broth would be better, but we’ve not got any hens now.’

He saw how her hand was trembling and agreed that this was a good idea. Whether Miss Newington was able to eat the soup or not, it’d be better to keep the old servant occupied.