The Parson's Daughter Read online

  James and Peter used to laugh about the McLoughlins. There were thirteen of them and they lived in a little three-roomed hovel cottage, and they were all hard and healthy, and their father drank and their mother smoked a clay pipe, and they never came to church. But then, of course, they wouldn’t, not this one, because they were Catholics. Catholics were queer, funny, and very common.

  … ‘In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.’ And now her father had stepped down from the pulpit, and they were standing up and singing the last hymn; Rock of Ages.

  There was Jancy McKeowan vying with Mr Taylor. But Jancy couldn’t beat her own father, nor could Mr Taylor, for the churchwarden’s voice rose above everyone else’s, and when the hymn should have finished his voice still trailed on, as her grandmama said, giving God the benefit of his very own amen.

  Her grandmama wasn’t at church this morning; she had a late summer cold. It had come on very suddenly because she had been all right last night. She often took quick colds, some in the spring, some in the summer, and a number in the winter.

  The church was emptying now, and her father was shaking hands with each member of the congregation. Some hands he always shook more warmly than others; some people he had a word with, others he couldn’t let pass him quickly enough, his handshake seeming to help them down the four steps to the gravel drive.

  She was walking down the drive between her brothers. The hard cap of her right shoe was pressing on her toes. Looking straight ahead she said, ‘You’re horrible, Peter Hazel. Yes, you are.’ And he, also looking straight ahead, answered, ‘And you’re a vicious little madam, Nancy Ann Hazel. Yes you are, and you’ll never grow up into a refined young lady.’

  ‘And whose fault will that be?’

  Peter now looked across her to James and said, ‘Don’t blame me, she was born like that.’

  ‘Oh, you!’ She now took her doubled fist and dug Peter in the thigh, and as Peter said with an exaggerated groan, ‘See what I mean?’ James put in, ‘Stop it, you two. Look who’s out there.’

  From beyond the lychgate a tall young woman smiled at them, saying first, ‘Good morning, Mr James,’ then ‘Good morning, Mr Peter.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss McKeowan.’ They both inclined their heads towards the thin fair girl.

  ‘I hear you are to return to university tomorrow.’ Her voice was soft, her words precise.

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Peter nodded at her. ‘We go up tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, I do envy you.’ The well-shaped lips pursed themselves; the fair eyelids blinked; the white cotton-gloved hands joined and gently lifted the tightly laced breasts upwards. ‘It must be like going into another world, a world where minds are allowed to expand, where ideas count.’ She was now looking directly at James, and he, his long thinnish face a replica of his father’s and red to the brim of his hat now, said stiffly, ‘The minds are much the same as they are in this village, Miss McKeowan, narrow and nasty in the main. Good day.’

  The light went from the young woman’s eyes. She looked from Peter to Nancy Ann and they both said, ‘Good morning, Miss McKeowan,’ and, turning, hurried to catch up with James.

  ‘That was a bit stiff.’ Peter’s voice was cold.

  ‘What did you expect me to say? A world where minds count?…Huh! You know something? She frightens me, she does. She was walking in the lane last night just on dark. I had gone to get my coat that I’d left on the garden seat and there she was strolling past the gate, up and down, up and down.’

  ‘Well,’ Peter said on a laugh now, ‘if you were so afraid of her why didn’t you go in and fetch Grandmama? She would have settled her hash for her.’

  ‘You could say you are engaged to be married. That would stop her chasing you.’

  Both young men paused and looked down on their thin ungainly sister; then glancing at one another, they burst out laughing and simultaneously put their arms about her; and she, giggling, hung on to them for a moment as James said, ‘You haven’t only got a big head, sister Nancy Ann, you’ve got something in it too. Yes, of course: I’m going to become engaged to a young lady in Oxford. Spread it around, will you?’

  ‘Yes, all right, I’ll spread it around…for a price.’

  They were again looking down on her, their faces stretched. Then, Peter, nodding towards his brother, said, ‘This is a new one.’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed. And what is the price, sister?’

  ‘That we have a game of cricket this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh…ah!’ ‘Oh…ah!’ They made their usual rejoinder together. ‘Now you know that’s impossible,’ James said. ‘’Tis Sunday, ’tis banned. ’Tis banned for you on other days too—you know what Mama said—but on a Sunday…oh, impossible.’

  ‘No cricket, no engagement in Oxford.’

  ‘You imp of Satan!’ Peter went to catch hold of her hand, but she ran from them, whirling around like a top. At this James called to her quietly but firmly, ‘Now stop acting like a child. If Mama were to see you, you know what would happen. You had all this out the other day. You’ve got to grow up. And you promised her…’

  ‘Oh, shut up, will you. And anyway, I didn’t promise Mama, I kept my mouth shut and never said a word.’

  ‘She’s right.’ The brothers were walking on either side of her again, and it was now Peter, who had in the past encouraged her into many of her tomboy ways, who said, ‘And James is right too; and Mama is right, too, Nancy Ann. We’ve all had fun together but now…well, we want to see you turn into a pretty young lady, and…and go to balls, and have all the young men fighting to dance with you, and then you’ll meet…’

  She stopped dead in the road and stared up at her best beloved brother, but she did not utter a word; and Peter, looking down on her, thought, What am I talking about? Pretty young lady. Stooping now, he said, ‘Let me have your shoe.’ And she lifted her foot for him to unlace her shoe, and pulling it off, he thrust his thumb inside and pushed the stiff cap upwards; then he put it back on her foot and laced it up again. And when he straightened his back, they smiled at each other.

  Turning now, they passed through a gateway and silently made their way across the field which led to the vicarage and to the cold midday meal that had been prepared last night by Peggy Knowles the cook and Jane Bradshaw her assistant, because no menial work must be done on a Sunday, only the washing of the dishes after the housemaid Hilda Fenwick had cleared the table. Such was a Sunday.

  So how would anyone dare to play cricket? It had been a silly idea of hers, and she knew it.

  Two

  The vicarage was a very cold house. It had fourteen rooms, and all were large, high-ceilinged and provided with ample windows that were so weathered and warped the pine needles blew in between the sashes in wild weather.

  Although there was a mine only two miles away, coal was still expensive; except for the miners who brought it from the earth. And because the vicarage garden only ran to an acre and a half, there weren’t many trees, not enough to cut down for firewood. But even if there had been an ample supply, the vicar would not have countenanced the felling of one tree even though it be half dead.

  Even in summer there were very chilly days so that for most of the time the house was like an icebox everywhere except the kitchen, and Madam Hazel’s bedroom, for, summer and winter alike, Jessica Hazel had a fire in her bedroom, and no matter how hot and uncomfortable the other members of the household might find it in attending her, she herself said, she never sweated.

  Jessica was a tall woman. Her only son took after her. She had a bony frame, and it was easy to imagine she must have looked like Nancy Ann when a girl, although paintings of her in middle life showed her to be a handsome woman. She had lived with her son for the past twelve years. She had a deep affection for him, even though at times she considered he was like the man in the story who tilted at windmills. And by what the boys had told her with regard to the essence of his sermon this morning he had certainly tilted at one today.<
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  Here he was forty-seven years old and still hadn’t grown used to the ways of the world. Of course, people threw stones—there were no Christs to stop them. What did he expect from his rantings? This child sitting here, this beloved child who was very like herself both inside and out, she had more sense in her little finger than her father had in his whole body, or ever would have. She would never tilt at windmills.

  And what would she herself do when, as was now being discussed downstairs, they took her away from the village school and planted her in that Dame school in Durham to be shaped? Into what? A young lady? She shook her head. She couldn’t see it happening; moreover, she didn’t want it to happen. Not that she didn’t want the child to become attractive and marry well, but what she didn’t want was to be bereft of her company for most of the year. What would she do during such a period? Sit in the sitting room at night punching her embroidery frame while her daughter-in-law cut up old clothes to make garments for the children at the orphanage, and which she never herself sewed. No, she passed over the sewing as a pastime pleasure to Peggy and Jane and Hilda in the kitchen, to be done when the evening meal was over and the evening prayers said, and the tables cleared and the dishes washed up. They could then enjoy making unwieldy trousers and coats for lesser brethren, little lesser brethren.

  Why had her son become a parson? There were no such in her own family, and it went back for many generations; nor in her husband’s—he and his ancestors were all fighting men. And why had he to marry a woman more pious than himself?

  ‘Grandmama.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘The boys have gone to the Manor to see Mr Mercer. Why don’t they ever take me with them?’

  ‘Well’—Jessica cleared her throat—‘they are young men. They…they grew up together so to speak, although Graham is a little older. I…I suppose they just want to talk men’s talk, and that would be no place for you.’

  ‘I…I don’t think that’s right, Grandmama.’

  ‘That they want to talk men’s talk?’

  ‘No. I…I think it’s because Mr Mercer doesn’t like women, females…girls.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘I heard Hilda and Jane talking.’

  ‘And what did Hilda and Jane say?’

  ‘Well, as far as I could gather’—she paused and nodded her head while looking into the fire that was burning her shins and making her sweat—‘it’s because he was crossed in love, right at the altar…well, nearly, and now he doesn’t go anywhere and doesn’t see anybody, only…I suppose men, like Peter and James. Hilda said…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear what Hilda said, and you shouldn’t go eavesdropping.’

  ‘I don’t go eavesdropping, Grandmama. They were in the kitchen and they were saying he was a good man wasted, and they laughed and said they would see what they could do.’

  ‘They want their ears boxed, and I’ll see to it.’

  ‘Oh, Grandmama.’ Nancy Ann leant forward and patted the rug that covered her grandmother’s knees, saying, ‘They were being funny. It sounded very funny. It made them all splutter. I like to see them laugh. I like to listen to them. They’re happy. That’s what Peggy once said to me, they were happy here; it was a good house to work in in spite of there not being plenty of everything, which I took her to mean that Mama watches the bills. And—’ She giggled now before she went on, ‘Peggy said that her stomach took over every morning and evening when she’s praying in the dining room. In the morning it says: How are you going to spin things out the day? And at evening prayer it says, I’ll make dumplings again. What doesn’t fatten will fill up.’

  She now watched her grandmother throw her head back and give vent to a hearty laugh that denied the croak that up till now would issue from her throat whenever anyone entered the room. And she joined in.

  ‘Grandmama.’ She had sat back in her seat and rubbed the laughter tears from her eyes with the side of her finger, and when Jessica Hazel once again said, ‘Yes, my dear?’ she said, ‘How long does it take for a baby to be born?’

  ‘What?’ Jessica’s face was stretched now. ‘What do you mean, how long does it take?’

  ‘Well, what I said, how long does it take? I…I…’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just because I’d like to know.’

  The old lady now gently shook her head before she said, ‘It all depends how long the labour is, you see, that is how long the baby takes in deciding…well, to…to come into the world.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that kind of long. I mean…’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’m puzzled, Grandmama, as to why they should send Nellie away when she’s going to have a baby and her husband at sea?’

  Oh God above. Jessica looked towards the far window and her head moved in small jerks before she looked back at her grandchild and asked, abruptly now, ‘Hasn’t your mother talked to you?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the question you’re asking, girl.’

  ‘No, and I wouldn’t ask Mama. I…I couldn’t. Mama doesn’t talk about things like that.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t.’ The head was jerking again. ‘But she should, and to you. Anyway, you’re only twelve years old, coming thirteen I know, and you shouldn’t be asking questions about that kind of thing for…well, years ahead.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t keep asking why, either.’

  ‘Nellie sinned, and all I want to know is how has she sinned if…’

  Jessica sighed twice before she leant forward and, taking her granddaughter’s hand, she shook it gently, saying, ‘A baby takes nine months to be born. Now, if its father is not at home for those nine months then the child doesn’t belong to the father…You understand me?’

  Nancy Ann stared into the misted blue eyes. Her mind was working fast but she remained silent for almost two minutes, and then she said, ‘Yes, Grandmama, I understand.’

  ‘Well—’ Jessica straightened up, sighed again deeply, then said, ‘Now that’s finished. We’ll talk about it no more, and you won’t discuss it again with anyone, will you?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ The words were said with deep emphasis. Talk about something like that? Never! Nellie had sinned. ’Twas surprising, and she a regular churchgoer, but she had sinned. She looked towards the fire, she felt she couldn’t bear the heat any more. She stood up, saying, ‘I don’t like Sundays, Grandmama.’

  ‘Neither do I, my dear. Neither do I. Never have.’

  ‘You can’t do anything on Sundays, not even fish.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. But you could take a walk, or you could go to Sunday school.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to Sunday school; I’ll have to go to evening service.’

  ‘Your mama would expect you to go to Sunday school.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but I’m not going today because I don’t want to get into trouble.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know I nearly always come back messed up on a Sunday and Mama gets angry, but it’s the McLoughlins, they wait for me, and I can fight them at school and on any other day, but not on a Sunday, and they always have the advantage.’

  Jessica quickly turned her gaze from her granddaughter and looked towards the fire to prevent herself from now being seen to laugh, and she said, ‘Go for a walk. Yes, go for a walk.’

  Once outside the bedroom door, Nancy Ann ran across the landing to the top of the stairs, and there, stretching her arms out wide, she gripped the substantial rails on either side of her and, head down, she skipped two stairs at a time. But on looking up as she neared the foot of the stairs she saw her mother standing in the middle of the hall and as usual she was shaking her head from side to side.

  Rebecca Hazel looked sadly at her daughter, who in no way resembled herself, either in appearance or character. She herself was of medium height, very fair and slim; her eyes were bright blue, her skin was cream coloured, and
her mouth, if not entirely rosebud shaped, was small and full lipped. Her voice had a pained sound as she said, ‘Nancy Ann, that was no way to prepare yourself for Sunday school.’

  ‘I have a headache, Mama, and…and I feel slight nausea.’

  ‘Headache? You didn’t appear to be in much pain as you came bounding down those stairs, child.’

  ‘I…I was wanting to get into the air, Mama. I…I have been with Grandmama, the room was very hot.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Now her mother nodded her head in agreement as she said, ‘Indeed, yes, enough to roast an ox. And on a day like this, too. Well, I would suggest that you go and rest for a while.’

  ‘I would rather have fresh air, Mama.’

  Rebecca stared at her daughter while asking if there was something behind this. She was well acquainted with her daughter’s ruses for getting out of Sunday school; and yet she never baulked at attending morning or evening service. She was a strange child. She troubled her. She pursed her lips, then said, ‘Well, go and ask Papa to give you a suitable reading, and then you may sit in the garden quietly.’

  ‘Thank you, Mama.’ Nancy Ann had no need to ask where her father was. She turned slowly about and crossed the hall, went down a narrow passage and knocked at a stout oak door, and when she was bidden to enter she did so slowly. Closing the door behind her, she looked at the tall figure seated at his desk. But he hadn’t been writing because there was no paper in front of him; nor apparently had he been reading because the space in front of him was clear. She felt a deep sense of guilt as she went slowly towards him. Somehow she didn’t mind deceiving her mother, but she never liked using deception of any kind on her father.

  He held out a hand towards her, saying, ‘What is it, my dear? You look peaky.’

  ‘Grandmama’s room was very hot.’

  He now poked his long face towards her, and there was a twisted smile on it as he said, ‘Is it ever anything else? You know, my dear, if my mother was not such a very good woman I would imagine at times that the devil himself was preparing her for the nether regions.’