Tangled Threads (8 page)

At last they got her calmed down, but it took Bill, Dorothy and Eveleen to coax Mary to sit down by the range.

‘Here, Mary dear,’ Dorothy said, ‘drink this. ’Tis hot sweet tea. Now,’ she went on gently, ‘Bill and Ted will move poor Walter into your parlour and then
I’ll see to him. Ted came back with us,’ she explained to Eveleen. ‘He’s waiting in the yard in case we needed him.’

Dorothy was the person the community ran to in times of trouble. A motherly, buxom woman with a round, placid face, she was the unofficial midwife and nurse. She was always there to lay out the
dead when a family could not bring themselves to carry out the sad duty.

‘Has anyone called Doctor Roper?’ Dorothy asked Eveleen. ‘I can’t do anything until the doctor’s seen him.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I knew the minute I found him face down in the beck that he – that he . . .’ Her voice trailed away and Dorothy put her arm
around Eveleen’s shoulders.

‘It’s all right, love. You couldn’t be expected to know what needed doing. You leave it to us now. We’ll sort everything out for you.’ She turned towards her
husband. ‘Send Ted for Doctor Roper.’

‘Jimmy could go,’ Eveleen put in.

The two kindly people looked at her. ‘He’s run off, love. He came to fetch us and then he went off somewhere.’

Anger sparked in Eveleen’s dark eyes. ‘That’s just like him.’

‘Don’t be too hard on him, dear. He’s very young to have to cope with something like this. I know you’re only a year older than he is, but you’re so much more
sensible.’ She gave a little gesture with her head towards where Mary still sat huddled in front of the fire. ‘You’re going to have to be the strong one in this family from now
on, love.’

Eveleen felt the burden of responsibility settle like a heavy weight on her young shoulders. Automatically, she straightened up and lifted her head as she met the woman’s sympathetic
eyes.

‘Yes,’ the young girl said solemnly. ‘I am, aren’t I?’

All the legal requirements surrounding a sudden death had been satisfied and the funeral arranged, but still Mary Hardcastle had scarcely moved from her chair in front of the
fire. Eveleen had been trying to coax her to undress and go to her bed when Mary hit her and shouted, ‘Leave me be. Let me rot. I don’t want to live any more.’ Then she began to
wail. ‘What am I going to do without him? Who’s going to look after me now?’

Rubbing her arm where Mary had lashed out at her, Eveleen said quietly, ‘We’ll look after you, Mam. Jimmy and me.’

‘You? You, look after me?’ Mary’s voice was shrill with bitterness. ‘You haven’t a thought in your head except skipping off to meet that young feller.’ She
shook her fist at Eveleen, anger rousing her from her apathy for the first time. ‘You’ll come to a bad end, my girl, you mark my words. Where’s Jimmy? I want my Jimmy. He’ll
look after me. Jimmy’ll look after his mam.’

Jimmy would do nothing of the sort, Eveleen thought. There was only one person that Jimmy Hardcastle was ever going to look after. Himself. But aloud she said, ‘He’s had to go to
work, Mam,’ as she sat down on the opposite side of the range in the chair that had been her father’s.

A wild shriek from her mother made Eveleen jump up again as if she had been burnt.

‘Get out of that chair. That’s his chair. Don’t you dare to sit in it. You aren’t fit to sit in his chair.’

Mary struggled to her feet. She swayed a moment and then, regaining her balance, she came, fists flailing, striking Eveleen on the chin and about the head before the girl could even move to
defend herself.

Eveleen caught hold of Mary’s wrists and held them tightly. From her work about the farm, Eveleen was strong and, once she had a firm grip, she had no trouble in restraining the distraught
woman.

‘Mam, don’t. Look, sit down and I’ll make you a nice drink and some dinner.’

Mary thrust her face close to Eveleen’s. ‘Oh aye. And what’ll you put in it, eh? Poison?’

Appalled, Eveleen stared at her. For the past few days Eveleen had had not only to contend with her own grief over her father’s death but to be the mainstay in her mother’s life. And
she had had little or no help from her brother. Early each morning Jimmy left the house and did not return until late at night, leaving Eveleen to cope alone with all the arrangements and with
Mary’s paralysing distress. She understood the shattering blow her mother had suffered and had been infinitely patient with her. But now, for the first time, Eveleen began to fear for her
mother’s reason.

She felt Mary’s whole body begin to tremble. She loosened her grasp on her mother’s wrists so that Mary was able to twist herself free. Eveleen stepped backwards, expecting more
blows, but now her mother sank back into her chair. Eveleen too, began to sit down, but realizing she was once more about to sit in her father’s chair, drew a chair from the table closer to
the hearth and sat down on that.

‘Mam,’ she began gently. ‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t possibly think I’d ever harm you.’

‘Oh no? I’m in the way now, aren’t I? A burden.’

‘Of course you’re not. You’ll soon be your old self again and—’

‘I’ll never be my old self again,’ Mary moaned and sank once more into self-pity. ‘Not now he’s gone. Without Walter, I’m no good.’

Tentatively, fearing to provoke another onslaught, Eveleen reached out and patted her mother’s hand where it rested on the chair arm. If her mother was acting like this now, how on earth
was she going to behave at the funeral the following day? Eveleen had visions of the hysterical woman throwing herself across the coffin.

Uncannily, Mary seemed to be following Eveleen’s train of thought. ‘I wish I could die with him.’

‘Mam, please,’ Eveleen said, feeling utterly helpless. Then making up her mind, she stood up. ‘I’m going for Doctor Roper right now.’ Perhaps there was some way he
could help.

‘We can’t afford a doctor. We’ll be homeless soon enough.’

Eveleen had begun to turn away but now she swung round and stared down at her mother. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said,’ Mary repeated, ‘we’ll be homeless soon enough.’

Eveleen’s legs gave way beneath her and she sank back on to the chair. Her mother’s outburst had subsided and now she sounded rational and very serious.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Eveleen whispered.

‘I mean,’ Mary said, ‘that now your father’s gone, we shall be turned out of our home. It’s only a tied house, Eveleen. Tied to his job.’

‘But we still work for Mr Dunsmore. Jimmy and me. And you often help out in the dairy.’

‘Huh. Even if he keeps you two, he’ll want the house. You and Jimmy’ll have to go into lodgings. They’ll want this house –’ she jabbed her forefinger towards
the floor – ‘for the man who takes Walter’s job.’ She sighed heavily, as she added, ‘Stands to reason.’

‘But it’s our home.’

Mary shrugged. ‘It has been our home, Eveleen, but the property belongs to Mr Dunsmore and he’ll want it vacated. Once the funeral’s over, you mark my words, we’ll get a
visit from Mr Jackson.’

Conjured up at once in Eveleen’s mind was a picture of Josiah Jackson, the farm bailiff, a scrawny, ferret-like man with beady eyes and thin, mean lips. She shuddered. Thinking of him, she
could begin to believe her mother’s words.

She stood up. ‘I’ll see Stephen. He’ll not let us be turned out of our home.’

Mary rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake and Eveleen bent down.

‘Mam, don’t get upset. Stephen’s taking on more responsibility around the estate. He told me. He’ll help us.’ Then with a shock she saw that her mother was not
crying, but laughing. But there was no humour in the sound, only bitterness.

Mary opened her eyes and looked up at her. ‘Oh Eveleen, if you believe that, then you’re more of a naïve fool than even I thought you were.’

As Eveleen hurried along the lane towards Bernby village, she muttered to herself. ‘She’s wrong. I know she’s wrong. Stephen wouldn’t do that.
He’ll help us, I know he will.’

She was desperate to find him now, this minute, but knew she must go for the doctor first. Her mother needed help. These irrational outbursts were so unlike her. Eveleen’s footsteps slowed
of their own volition as the truth slipped into her reasoning. No, she was wrong. Mary Hardcastle had always been unpredictable.

Eveleen felt her face crumple and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as the realization came to her. Only her father, her lovely, patient, understanding father, had been able to calm
Mary and keep her volatile temperament on an even keel.

And now he was gone.

The girl stood a moment in the lane, missing her father and feeling desperately lonely.

Then she lifted her head. It was up to her now. Up to her to look after her mother and her brother and to hold the family together. She would have to be sensible. She would not be afraid or too
proud to ask for help.

She began to walk again. She would do what she had planned. She would see Doctor Roper and ask his advice. And then she would go in search of Stephen.

Her spirits lifted at the mere thought of seeing him again. It seemed an age since he had held her and kissed her and now she needed the comfort of his arms as never before. Her steps quickened
and her heart felt lighter than it had done since that dreadful moment when she had found her father face down in the beck.

Stephen, Stephen, her heart sang. He would help her. She must find him.

‘I’m afraid master Stephen is not available,’ the manservant answering the front door at Fairfield House informed her in pompous tones. Then he leant forward
and hissed at her. ‘And you should have gone round to the back door.’

Eveleen stood her ground. ‘Where is he?’

The man, whose name Eveleen knew to be Tomkins, straightened up and adopted his formal manner again. ‘I am afraid I am not aware of Master Stephen’s whereabouts.’ Once more, he
dropped the pose. ‘And I wouldn’t tell the likes of you, if I was.’

‘Thanks,’ Eveleen said tartly and turned away. She skirted the big house and crossed the yard at the back. Passing through the kitchen gardens she entered the field at the back of
the house. Shading her eyes, she scanned the scene before her. Below her to the left, was the beck and beyond it the field leading to Pear Tree Farm. To the right the land rose to Bernby
Covert.

Maybe he was there, waiting for her.

Eveleen picked up her skirts and began to run.

She had waited over an hour. The sun had gone and a chill wind rustled through the trees. Eveleen rubbed her arms and emerged from the wood. She would have to go home. She had
stayed here too long already.

I should have tried the barn, she thought. Maybe he’s there.

She turned and went back through the trees to the road, crossed it into Long Meadow and began to run, stumbling on the uneven ground.

Panting, she arrived at the door, but the only sound that greeted her was the loose board rattling in the breeze. She waited a few minutes and then went back to the road. She crossed the tiny
bridge over the beck and turned towards her own home.

‘I’ll go there this afternoon. Maybe he’ll be waiting for me then,’ she promised herself.

But Stephen was not at the barn that afternoon either.

After evening milking, Eveleen put on her Sunday best dress and bonnet. She stood in front of her mother, expecting a tirade. Mary, staring into the fire, did not seem to
notice and when Eveleen said, ‘I won’t be long, Mam,’ her mother did not even raise her head or speak.

Eveleen sighed inwardly and closed the door quietly. It was starting to rain and by the time she reached Fairfield House, her shawl was soaking and her bonnet ruined. Standing in the warm
kitchen, she felt the eyes of the servants on her.

Proudly, she raised her head. ‘I wish to speak to Master Stephen, if you please.’

‘Not looking like that, you won’t.’ The manservant she had seen earlier was carrying huge silver salvers into the kitchen, presumably, Eveleen thought, from the dining room
after the family’s evening meal.

Two maids, scurrying about at the man’s bidding, giggled, hiding their smirks behind their hands.

Eveleen shot them a withering glance and said stiffly, ‘I can hardly help the weather. My boots, though wet, are clean.’ She took a bold step further into the kitchen. ‘If you
do not show me up, I will ring the bell at the front door again.’

Her glare caught and held the man’s eyes.

‘Oh very well then. But stay here until I see if he’ll see you. Who shall I say it is?’

‘You know very well who it is, Mr Tomkins,’ Eveleen snapped. ‘You’ve lived here long enough to know everyone on the estate.’

‘I,’ Tomkins lifted his nose in the air deliberately, ‘do not mix with the outdoor servants.’

Adopting a lofty tone herself, Eveleen said, ‘Please inform your young master that Miss Eveleen Hardcastle wishes to speak to him.’

As the man gave a sniff of disapproval and left the room, the cook said, ‘Sit by the fire, love, and get warm.’

Eveleen smiled at her gratefully.

‘I think there’s a cuppa left in the pot.’ The woman poured out a cup of tea and handed it to Eveleen. ‘There, you drink that while you’re waiting, ’cos if I
know Mr High and Mighty Tomkins, he’ll be a while coming back.’

There was a pause before she added. ‘I was that sorry to hear about your dad, love. Nice man, he was.’

Eveleen nodded and whispered her thanks. She drank the tea and sat by the crackling fire. By the time Tomkins returned, Eveleen had been waiting so long that her clothes had nearly dried out and
she was almost asleep, made drowsy by the heat of the fire on her face.

‘Master Stephen has gone out,’ he told her shortly.

Slowly, Eveleen rose to her feet. The man was either lying or he had deliberately waited until his young master had left the house.

Eveleen said, ‘Thank you,’ and then before she could hold her wayward tongue in check, added ‘for nothing.’

The man looked her up and down with a sneer on his face, but said no more. As he turned and left the room, Eveleen thanked the cook for the tea and left the house by the back door.