The Death of Lucy Kyte (19 page)

3 April

Took some bakin' to Samuel after dinner. The cottage has gone down a bit since his wife died. He works too hard to have time for housework and is likely too proud to let his sister help him much other than lookin' after Molly. I offer'd to do a bit of tidyin' for him but he said it was too lovely a day to waste on scrubbin' and anyway he w'd rather talk to me, so we sat by the pond while Molly chas'd the moorhens who are so tame they go nearly up to the cottage door. It is a lovely peaceful spot, out of the village, with only nature nearby and nothin' to keep you from your thoughts. I can see why he loves it as he does.

Josephine had been sure that Hester would build her own home into the story somehow, and she looked forward to seeing what role Red Barn Cottage would play in the narrator's life as the diary moved on. ‘Nothing to keep you from your thoughts.' The phrase was a simple one, but it so perfectly described the trick that the house played on its inhabitants; even in her own short tenure, Josephine had come to regard it as a mixed blessing, and she wondered what the manuscript might go on to reveal about Hester's relationship with the cottage as she transferred her personal experience to the character she had created.

She put a stone on the pages to stop them blowing away and got up to stretch her legs. While here, she had paid very little attention to the pond at the bottom of her garden, noticing it only when she crossed the wooden footbridge to head into the village. She walked over to it now and smiled when she saw the moorhen's vermilion beak. Disturbed by her approach, the bird scuttled over the water, half-flying and half-running, leaving a troubled trail behind as its toes splashed the surface; its loud, metallic call echoed through the trees as it had from the pages, and Josephine realised that her pleasure in the manuscript was twofold: a fascination with the narrative itself, and a delight in the continuity between Maria Marten's time and her own. She left the bird in peace and made some more coffee, then returned to the story, which – with the benefit of hindsight – began to take a darker turn.

Saw William and Maria goin' across the field to the barn later on. Samuel said they were often there, and my face must have given me away because he said I sh'd not fret about it – one would surely tire of the other soon enough, and he is probably right. If anythin' is certain, it is that people will always give one thing up if somethin' better comes along. I watch'd the barn on and off, but they did not come out again all the while I was there. It was dusk when I left, and Samuel walk'd me back to the house, Molly asleep in his arms.

12 April

Went over to Mr Payne's to pay the Missis's bill and fetch some supplies for the week. Caught him gossipin' with Mrs Stowe about Maria. They stopp'd when they saw me but not before I heard her tellin' him about the moonlit walks to the barn she has seen from her cottage. C'd not resist tellin' her she was wrong, which was stupid because it made her think more of it and I was angry with myself for makin' things worse.

Things hadn't changed much, Josephine thought dryly. She wondered if Elsie Gladding was by any chance a descendant of Mr Payne, or if the trait belonged to a profession rather than a family.

Tuesday 18 April

The Missis went to Stoke this afternoon, so slipp'd out to see Maria and found her in the garden, which she has made one of the finest in the village. She was pleas'd to see me and show off what she had been doin'. The potatoes were showin' already, and the roses will be a picture. In all the years I have known Maria, I never like her better than when she is here, doin' somethin' she loves and has a gift for. It is the only time she is content.

I told her what Mrs Stowe had bin sayin' but she only shrugg'd and said Mrs Stowe was sour and jealous and she had never lik'd her anyway. I said she wasn't the only one and it w'd not be long before Maria's father found out what was goin' on. She laugh'd then and told me they know already, that William is welcome at the cottage and how else did I ever think they were goin' to get her and her bastard child out from under their feet? It upset me to hear her talk so because I know how much she loves Thomas Henry. She made me feel stupid for not thinkin' about her situation, so I told her that if she thought a Corder w'd ever marry someone like her she was a fool. She said I knew nothin' about it and anyway she w'd rather be a fool than a drudge and scorn'd me for havin' no ambition 'cept to be a married skivvy rather than a maiden one. We said terrible things before I left, which I do not want to repeat here or think about. She made me so angry that I wanted to pick her up and shake her, and I do not see how things are to be mended between us.

19 April

Slept little, and even my dreams were angry. I cannot stop thinkin' about what Maria said, and my work was badly done all day. We have grown up together, she and I, and neither of us has a better friend, but we are so different, and we hope for different things. It w'd be nice to be warm, I suppose, and always comfortable, and for people to be agreeable and to see more places and do more things, but there w'd be no pleasure for me in the life Maria craves. Or rather, the life she is forc'd to look to because of what has gone before. I c'd not marry above me – not for money nor even for love – and be a lady with everyone lookin' at what I did and what I said and how I dress'd, and all of them havin' somethin' to say about it. There is no freedom in that, whether you are born to it or no, and altho' I am tied to this house and my time belongs to someone else, I am me.

It was remarkable how little a certain type of friendship changed through different times and different circumstances. There was a special bond between women who had grown up together, a bond that might fade with the years but that was never entirely replaced by anything else. The sentiments expressed in the diary were not so different from the letters that had passed between Hester and Josephine's mother, and she wondered if Hester had based the entries – consciously or otherwise – on their squabbles and reconciliations. The rift continued for some time, and the next few months concentrated almost entirely on the narrator's work and growing closeness to Samuel; other than a brief sighting with Corder at a summer fair, Maria was not mentioned in the diary again until the autumn. By then, she needed a friend more than ever:

8 September

Maria is with child again. She came to the back door in tears and I knew right away what she had come to tell me, but the Missis was about and I had to get Maria out of the house quickly before anyone saw her in such a state. Fetch'd my basket and gather'd blackberries for a pie, which gave me an excuse to talk to her outside. Not that there was much I c'd do, 'cept hug her and promise her that it w'd be all right when God knows it will not. How can it be? Maria has not told William yet but he will never marry her. He has not got the courage to go against his mother, and she w'd cut him off sooner than see him marry so low. Maria will not admit it, but I know she is afraid that William will abandon her, and another bastard in the house will go against her with her parents.

To bed at 11, but every creak on the landin' disturbs me. The Missis must never find my diary. This is the first time I have ever had somethin' to hide. I wonder if that means I have led a blameless life, or a dull one?

11 September

Walk'd to the fields wi' some breakfast for the hay men. We have had fine warm days, even for the time of year, and if the weather holds they are sure to get the harvest in early, which will be a blessin'. Goin' out like this of a mornin' has meant I can see more of Maria. She has had to tell her parents – her stepmother has had too many children herself not to guess Maria's trouble – and she says they are pressin' William to marry her every time he goes to the cottage. It is as much as he can do to be civil to them, but he fears what they will say about him in the village. He comes back to the house in a sore temper, but at least he has not denied that the child is his. He has kept it from the Missis, and I am happy to oblige him by doin' the same, for her sake and Maria's if not for his. There is talk in the streets, but the Missis has grown frail of late and is barely seen about 'cept in church. Samuel is workin' all hours on the harvest and I have seen very little of him.

24 September

All to church this mornin' to give thanks for the harvest. William went with his mother and never left her side for fear she w'd speak too long to someone. It hurt me to see how touch'd she was by his attentions when I knew they were for his own ends. They visited the master's grave, and it is wicked of me to say if it is not true, but I c'd not help thinkin' that she wishes she was in the ground with him, and w'd be there for certain if she knew what ½ the village knows.

Went to the Cock later with Samuel and the other harvestmen, and if the amount of ale down'd is any measure, God will surely know how thankful we are. Samuel took my hand and we walk'd back to his cottage in the moonlight. He told me that the Missis had given him more work, and said he w'd be Bailiff before long. Then he laugh'd and kiss'd me and we sat there for a long time.

8 October

Summer has gone, but the sun pays no regard to the calendar and shines as she will. The Missis poorly wi' the flu, so pick'd some dahlias from the garden and put them in her room to cheer her, and she said how nicely I had done them. Plump'd her pillows and got her comfortable, and notic'd how pale her skin is against mine. She has seen no summer. She watch'd me, as tho' there is somethin' she wants to say to me, but perhaps I imagin'd it. Tried not to linger all the same, in case she finds the courage to ask me somethin' I do not want to answer.

19 October

Wet and windy night, and the rain has broken down all the plants in the garden so it is a sorry sight. Missis is much better but her illness has left her carin' little about her food, so slipp'd out to fetch somethin' to tempt her. Saw Maria with William up by Bell Hill. He has begun to go about the village with her now, as if he means to stand by her, and I know she is darin' to hope for marriage. People still talk behind her back but they are less certain of themselves and I have notic'd they speak with envy now, not scorn. If he loves her and does right by her, no one will be more glad than I to be proved wrong, and it is the child what has made the difference. She has often talk'd of wantin' a little brother or sister for Thomas Henry. She is such a good mother and no child of hers w'd want for anythin' if only she were supported as she sh'd be. I have never seen her so happy as she is now, with a man on her arm and the little one inside her, and I wonder if we do not want the same things after all.

21 October

Maria brought me some roses from her garden to give to Samuel. It is the anniversary of his wife's death, and it was kind of her to think of it. They are blood-red with the sweetest scent and every flower is perfect. I took them over to him this afternoon and stay'd wi' Molly while he went to the grave because he says it is no place for children. That is not how he wants her to know her mother. He was gone a long time and I thought I sh'd not be there and felt awkward, but he seem'd happier when he got back and ask'd me to stop and have tea wi' them. He kept some o' the roses in the cottage and when I left he put one on my coat and told me that flowers sh'd be for the livin'. I can smell it now. It makes me think o' the people I love.

31 October

All Hallows' Eve. A windy day, with the air full o' dust and scurryin' leaves. Missis back to normal, so the bell rang at ten for the orders. Walk'd over to see Samuel this evenin'. We sat by the fire and Molly pester'd me for a story. I remember'd how I loved ghost stories at her age, and how nice it is to be frighten'd when you are warm and safe and with people you love, so I told the ones I knew and she ask'd for more. Then I was sorry, because Samuel's dead are real and not the stuff of stories, especially at this time of the year, but he did not take it wrong and told some himself which were better than mine.

10 November

Sh'd have gone into Layham this afternoon to collect somethin' for the Missis, but Master John was taken sick and I stay'd at home to look after him. He has been troubled with a cold these last few weeks and the Missis has been frettin' about him but it takes a lot to bring him to his bed. He grows thin and weak, and his coughin' shakes the house late into the night.

13 November

Went to fetch the doctor first thing as Master John was much worse. He is short of breath and has pains in his chest, and is pale one minute and flush'd the next. The doctor ordered quiet and rest and cod liver oil, and I did not like the look on his face. How much work there is with illness in the house!

23 November

James is takin' like his brother now, and the doctor has order'd him to bed so the Missis now has her oldest and youngest boys to fret about. It is not for a servant to have favourites, but I am fonder of James than of the others. He is a sweet-natured boy, gentle and kind, and it w'd grieve me if anythin' happened to him. He acts brave and does not take sympathy for his illness, but he likes me to read to him when I have time. Have not seen Samuel, nor Maria. The house turns in on itself with so much work and worry and there is no time for the world outside.

28 November

The Missis has hir'd another girl from the village to take some work off me while I look after James and John. Her name is Sally, and she is pleasant enough, I suppose, altho' it takes more of my time to show her how things are done than it w'd to do them myself. Still, the Missis meant well and I dare say we shall rub along. Thomas and William are out all day doin' the work o' 4, and we are all prayin' that the Missis will not fall ill. She is not strong enough to bear it at her age.