The Housekeeper's Daughter

  The Housekeeper’s Daughter

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  1914

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Dialect Words Used in This Book

  Acknowledgements

  Next in Series

  Copyright

  The Housekeeper’s Daughter

  Rosie Meddon

  1914

  Chapter One

  Guests

  Kate Bratton groaned. She despaired of him, she really did. But it was her own fault; she knew well enough that, given the chance, he’d be all over her. And here she was, pressed up against the wall, something sharp stabbing between her shoulder blades and his hot mouth on her neck. No matter how often she fought him off, he still tried his luck every chance he got. He also seemed to possess a sixth sense for the fact that, just lately, she struggled to resist him. Indeed, if he kept this up much longer, she might just give in and let him have his way.

  ‘Go on, you know you want to.’

  ‘No, Luke,’ she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. ‘For the umpteenth time, stop it. I’m not one of those Estacott girls.’

  The trouble was, he’d grown immune to her protests. She’d used every excuse she could think of but none of them deterred him. To him, they were all just part of the game.

  ‘I want to. You want to. Where’s the harm? We’re as good as wed anyway.’

  Wrenching a hand free from his grasp, she pushed at his shoulder, exhaling with relief when he stumbled backwards. Largely for show, she twitched the front of her apron back into place and patted her cap. ‘Luke Channer, we are not as good as wed.’

  His grin, wide and lopsided, made her think of a four-year-old caught making mischief.

  ‘Then name the day, Kate Bratton. Go on. If you want things all decent an’ proper betwixt us, pick a day off the calendar and we’ll go up an’ see the vicar. Choose any day you like. Summer. Autumn. I ain’t fussed. But let’s have done with it.’

  Reaching to rub at her shoulder, Kate shook her head. ‘I’ve told you, I won’t be rushed.’

  ‘Rushed? Damnation, woman—’

  ‘Luke!’

  ‘Sorry. No call for swearing. But what’s a man supposed to do? You were quick enough to say yes that day I got down on one knee and proposed. More’n a year back now, that must be. So why can’t we just get it done? Can’t nobody accuse you of indecent haste, if that’s what you’re frettin’ about. After all your delaying, won’t nobody be able to claim you must be in the family way.’

  With a shake of her head, she gave an exasperated laugh. ‘I should hope not. Although, if I let you have your way each and every time you put your hands all over me, I could easily be just that.’

  He moved back towards her. Still leaning against the wall, she realized she had left it too late to side-step him. To her surprise, though, he didn’t reach to touch her, instead pushing his hands into the gaping pocket on the front of his overalls. ‘Happen that’d be no bad thing.’

  Brushing aside a handful of hair that had fallen from under her cap, she squinted back at him. ‘And how the devil do you fathom that?’

  ‘Because then you’d have to get on and name the day.’

  Oh, he was the worst! ‘Luke Channer, only a man could think in such top-over-tail fashion. And trust me, nonsense like that does nothing to further your cause.’

  ‘Faith, Kate Bratton, you’re a stubborn one. What would you have me do? Tell me, I beg you, where the devil am I going wrong?’

  When he ran his hand through his hair, and when, from among his sandy curls, the sunlight picked out glints of copper, russet and gold, she had to concede that to do anything truly wrong, he would have to try very hard indeed. It was just a good job he didn’t know it – or know that sometimes the sight of him still made her catch her breath.

  ‘Well, you could stop your constant pressing me to name the day.’

  ‘And why would I do that? I want us to be wed. I thought you wanted us to be wed.’

  ‘I do. It’s just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  But therein lay the problem: she didn’t really know what was holding her back. If she knew that, then she might be able to work out what to do about it.

  With a long sigh of frustration, she stared beyond him across the yard. A clump of thistledown was being borne across it on the breeze. Entranced, she watched its progress. She knew how it felt to be propelled along like that, with no say as to speed or direction, for the more she thought about getting married, the more she felt as though she was hurtling towards something she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted. It wasn’t that she had reservations about Luke himself, but rather what he was offering her. Marriage. Motherhood. Being stuck in Woodicombe. It all felt so unimaginative and predictable – so dull.

  Realizing it would be difficult to explain any of that to him, she drew her eyes back to his face. He was an earthy, honest man, a charmer: good-looking in an unkempt, unfussy sort of a way. Bright and sparky, he had it in him to make more of himself; she knew he did. And she suspected that deep down, he knew it, too.

  ‘You ever think about doing summat different?’ she asked as the thought struck her.

  ‘My every waking moment. Though mostly what I think about starts with me finding you alone somewhere and ends with you not fighting me off. That’d be real different.’

  In despair, she shook her head. ‘That is not what I meant by different, and well you know it.’

  With a grin, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Thought you’d want me to be truthful.’

  Conceding that perhaps her question had been a mite vague, she turned her eyes back across the yard. The thistledown was long gone – could almost be anywhere by now. ‘What I meant, was do you ever think about doing something different with your life – with our lives.’

  She watched him press his lips together in thought, noticing how the lightest of creases wrinkled his forehead.

  ‘Now and again, I suppose. November-time, maybe, when I’m manuring the rhubarb and the rain’s coming in sideways off the ‘lantic. You know, when I were a lad, I had a fancy for a life at sea. I used to stand up there at the beacon and watch the boats a-coming and a-going from Westward Quay. I fancied it’d be thrilling to sail away and leave the land behind – you know, go on an adventure. But more lately, I’ve started to think how I’d like—’

  An adventure. Out of the blue, he’d just given her something she could use.

  ‘Luke… lets us go on an adventure.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Run away with me.’

  ‘What?’

  Under his puzzled stare, she shifted her weight; perhaps she could have gone about that in a more considered fashion.

  ‘Think about it,’ she started again. ‘We could go anywhere. We could go to London and make our fortunes. Or… or to Plymouth or Bristol and join a ship bound for America to start new lives. People do that, you know. Just think: you’d get to see what it’s really like to sail away from the land—’

  ‘You been out in the sun? Either that or you’ve had a blow to the head.’

  ‘Sun? Huh. When do I get the chance to be out in the sun? And no, nor have I had a blow to the head. I mean it, let’s run away together and do something new. I’m told there’s a big wide world out there.’ In emphasis of her point, she swept her arm in a wide arc.

  ‘Kate—’

  ‘I’d marry you as soon as tomorrow if it meant the chance of starting
out somewhere different. Think about that.’

  ‘All right, say we did run away, as you put it, what would you have us do when we got there? Only, so far as I can see, no matter how far we journeyed, or where we pitched up, we’d still be the same two folk we are here, toiling for them that’s more fortunate than us. I’d still be a gardener… and you’d still be a maid.’

  She shook her head impatiently, more of her mousy-brown hair falling from under her cap. ‘No. Don’t you see? That’s the whole point. We needn’t be the same! We could do something for our own gain.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Unfortunately, there he had her. ‘Well, I don’t know yet. I haven’t thought that far.’

  ‘As would be clear to a blind man.’

  ‘But other people do it, don’t they?’ she ploughed on. ‘So why not us? Why shouldn’t we have something… different… something more?’

  Bringing his hands to his hips, Luke sighed. ‘Kate, woman, I love you. You know that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t worry me with your constant fidgeting and fretting. I tell you, it’s wearing – you never being content with what’s in front of you. Or even with what’s ahead.’

  Also bringing her hands to her hips, Kate shook her head in frustration. ‘That’s neither true nor fair!’

  At this assertion, he widened his eyes. ‘Ain’t it? I’ll tell you what’s neither true nor fair, some long time back, I asked you to marry me. Weren’t a surprise, we both knew the day would come. You said yes, no surprise there, either. Then, being the sort of feller I am, I tell you to let me know when you feel good an’ ready. Then I wait. And, patient as you like, I’ve been waiting ever since. Now, today, you tell me you want summat different. But different is right under your nose, woman. Different is us getting wed and setting up home together and… and having babes and raising them up—’

  Dismayed by his response, she folded her arms and stood shaking her head. ‘But all of that – all of them things you just said – would still be here, in Woodicombe.’

  ‘Maybe. Or maybe one day not. I’ve no power to see beyond the here and now. Happen we won’t always be right here. Either way, you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere finer. Each and every sunrise, you an’ me wake up in a place that brings people flocking from all over to see it. When folk from the cities want to go a-holidaying – when they want to breathe God’s clean air – they come here to do it. Here, Kate, they journey right here. And, when the time comes for them to leave and go home, they don’t want to. They don’t want to go back to their grimy cities and their cheek-by-jowl homes in their filthy streets. And yet you’d have me throw all this over to take a chance in the very grime and muck all them folk come here to escape. Sometimes, I think we’re too close to see what’s under our own noses. To say it bluntly, what you talk of strikes me as nothing short of mazy. I can’t see you’ve thought it through proper at all. And, if you’re truly minded to hear what I think of it, I say this to you, the best thing we can do is stop right here, doing what we know and raising our children away from disease and… filth… and… vice.’

  Disease and vice, indeed. What a narrow-minded way of carrying on! London wasn’t like that at all. It was busy and shiny and prosperous. You only had to look at the Latimers, the family who owned Woodicombe House, to know that. They didn’t look riddled with disease. Nor did they look like criminals – and they now chose to live in London year-round.

  Stuck for how to persuade him differently, she stared down at her shoes, annoyed to see them covered in dust. Now she would have to clean them before she could get back to work. Work. She flicked her eyes to the clock above the stables: almost a half after three. She should go. It wasn’t as though the only thing standing in the way of winning him over to her suggestion was a few more minutes of pleading. Although…

  ‘Happen I don’t want to stay here, raising children,’ she offered into the quiet. ‘Happen I want more than that.’

  ‘Kate, what the devil is this more you keep on about? You can’t keep talking of wanting more without being able to say what it is.’

  ‘I can’t say what it is. Some days I just feel as though there ought to be… more.’

  ‘And maybe I don’t disagree with you, perhaps there did ought to be something more. I mean, I’d rather not have to be a gardener and handyman. I’d much rather drive a motorcar. But, if my lot in life is to fadge and find for the Latimers, then all I can do is make the best of it. Any road, as I’ve tried on so many an occasion to ram into that skull of yours, what I’m offering you is something more. For certain it’s more than some folk have. We might be stuck in Woodicombe, but we can still have a good life – a good and an honest one. Love. Marriage. A family. I don’t know what else to say. This is who I am, Kate. But if that’s not enough for you, or not what you want, then I’m blowed if I know what to do about it. I do know that running off to London – or to America of all places – ain’t something more. It’s madness. So, if that’s the dream you have, then you’ll have to chase after it without me. You’ll have to find some other soul to go with because I’m not minded to throw all this over just to satisfy your itchy feet. Nor to risk getting all the way there only to find even that’s not enough for you.’

  ‘Luke—’

  ‘No. I’m begging you, Kate, for once, stop and listen to yourself. Try an’ hear how ungrateful you sound. And then let there be no more of this foolishness.’

  ‘Luke!’

  ‘No. I’m done talking about it. I’ve work to get back to. And so have you. If your ma isn’t out looking for you already, she soon will be, any minute now and them guests will be here.’ In frustration, Kate closed her eyes. He was right. She’d become so het up she’d forgotten they were expecting guests. ‘But for heaven’s sake, think about what I’ve said. And if, next time I see you, you can’t tell me you’ve at least looked at that blasted calendar and picked a date for us to be wed, then it’ll be a sorry day for both of us.’ Shaking his head, he took a couple of steps backwards. Then, with an uncharacteristic glower, he pulled his cap from his pocket and pressed it onto his head.

  Speechless, she stared back at him. His eyes looked colder than she had ever seen them: dark and displeased, as though daring her to say anything further.

  When he turned about and started to walk away, his arms held rigidly by his sides and his gait wooden, she kicked at the gravel. Damn Luke Channer! For someone so flush with vigour and youth, he was as obstinate as an ox: a dumb ox. And he was mulish. Yes, he was as mulish as old Granfer Channer. And at least he had the excuse of being near-on ninety years old.

  Left by herself, she spun about, swiping with her arm in frustration. She had tried her hardest to explain what was on her mind but he’d had no care to hear. By his reckoning, their lives were all neatly sewn up and pity her for not wanting the same thing. Well, she didn’t want the same thing. Somewhere out there was a whole world of life and luck, of chances and reward. And, one day, she was going to go out there and grab some of it for herself.

  Fresh air and a family, indeed! It was going to take more than fresh air and a family to satisfy her longing. Much more. Although, right this very minute, she’d settle for being able to creep back indoors without being seen. Yes, the last thing she needed after that little quarrel was a dressing-down from her mother for neglecting her duties.

  * * *

  Tock-tock, tock-tock. Tock-tock, tock-tock. With its holier-than-thou face and wearisome ticking, the long-case clock in the hallway drove Kate to distraction. Its laboured marking of the seconds and wheezy chiming of the hours ruled her every waking moment, and she loathed it more than any other piece of furniture in the entire house. Days were begun and ended by it, meals were served by it. And when, as now, the ground floor fell briefly quiet, its solemn ticking always made her feel as though someone was on their death-bed. Thankfully, on this particular afternoon at least, all that was actually struggling to draw its final breath was her will to live, as she stood waiting to be int
roduced to the Russell family; the people to whom the Latimers had loaned the house for the summer. The whole summer.

  Discreetly, she cast her eyes over the three individuals now stood looking about the hallway. It was all very well for them – ahead of them lay weeks of lounging around enjoying themselves, whereas all she had to look forward to was leaping about to their beck and call and clearing up their mess.

  Although expressly forbidden to do so in the presence of guests, she sighed. But then, realizing that by allowing her shoulders to slump she was falling foul of another of her mother’s rules, she drew herself smartly upright.

  The woman at that moment occupying Ma’s attention had to be Mrs Russell – the mother. A tall individual anyway, she towered over Ma by more than just the height of her hat – an elaborate and domed confection of burgundy silk. Setting eyes upon it for the first time had reminded Kate of a quilted tea-cosy, an association which, if she was to avoid being caught smirking, was unfortunate. In an attempt to distract herself, she turned her eyes upon the woman more generally. By continually gesturing with her hands, she struck Kate as someone who liked to be the centre of attention. From her outfit, she also judged her as someone who liked to think herself still the youthful side of forty, whereas she was probably already several birthdays beyond it – and by more than she would care to have pointed out to her. Elegant, Kate conceded, taking in the softly-draped lines of her stylish frock and matching summer coat. Slender, too. But possessed of rather a shrill voice, which didn’t bode at all well. In her experience, a woman with a voice like that was fond of using it. Remove this. Fetch that. Why are you still here? Yes, definitely the sort of woman who could make the whole summer feel like a very long time indeed.

  Beyond the burgundy apparition stood her two grown-up children. In profile, their upturned noses and dimpled chins were such precise replicas that it was hard to tell which of them was the elder. On the basis of height alone, it might be the girl. Although that could simply be on account of her hat. Brimless, and woven from straw, it had the shape of the upturned hull of a fishing-smack. Perhaps, Kate thought, struggling not to giggle, in London, oddly-shaped headwear was fashionable.