The Parson's Daughter Read online

  Her disappointment was somewhat modified when she had a talk with James who, on hearing of his mother’s illness, had paid a quick visit to see her. He had not been accompanied by his wife and, of course, this was natural as she was now carrying his second child. But what he said to her about teaching was, ‘I shouldn’t worry about missing such a career, for it isn’t all milk and roses, it is very nerve-racking at times. Likely, I shall get used to it. I’m new to it, I admit, but…’

  He had stopped there. She had been troubled about James. She didn’t think he was as happy as he should be, and this seemed to be borne out when, on the point of leaving, he looked around the hall and said, ‘I never realised how happy I was here, Nancy Ann. All my young days it seemed to be a cold house without much comfort; I didn’t take into account the love that was in it. We all helped each other, didn’t we? And we had fun.’ Then he had smiled and said, ‘Who would have thought, in those days, when you were a fighting, punching little termagant that you would blossom into…well, now look at you, a beautiful young lady.’

  ‘Oh, James.’ She had flapped her hand at him, saying, ‘Don’t tease. Beautiful young lady indeed!’

  ‘All right, you are not a beautiful young lady.’ He had put his arms around her, and they had hugged each other. And she had been on the point of tears when she said, ‘I love you. We all love you. Be happy, James.’

  Only this morning they had heard that James had another son, and here they were talking about the event. She was arranging some late roses in a vase on a side table to the head of her mother’s couch. Her grandmama sat at the foot plying her needle on a small embroidery frame. She had just said, ‘Well, they are coming thick and fast, they are wasting no time.’ And when her mother had replied, ‘I think it’s better to have them when you are young,’ she thought how strange it was that they could talk so in front of her. Her mother’s illness had seemed to change everyone in the house. Her grandmama had suddenly become quite agile, and she nearing seventy. She didn’t have her fire lit in her room until the evening now, and spent most of her time in this room, and even insisted on taking her turn at the nursing. And strangely, she seemed to have got her hearing permanently back for there had been times in the past when she would apparently endure periods of deafness. She smiled at herself at the thought. Then there was the changed relationship between the two women: the antagonism that had lain under the surface for years had vanished; they had become close, they talked or sat silent together. She had come into the room one day last week and was surprised to see her grandmama patting her mother’s hand. They had been talking, but the conversation stopped abruptly as she entered the room, and she guessed that their topic had been herself.

  Only yesterday her mother had asked her a question that had left her absolutely tongue-tied for a moment. She had said, ‘Nancy Ann, do you ever think of marriage?’

  When she had got over her surprise, she had said, ‘Marriage, Mama? Me? No, I don’t honestly think I do. Well,’ she confessed now, ‘once or twice I have. When I saw Elsie Ridley married last month, I suppose I wondered then if I would ever get married, but I doubt I ever will, in fact, I’m sure I never shall.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Well whom do I know, Mama? Who would want to marry me? There are Farmer Reynolds’ two sons, but one’s married to the sheep and the other to the cows; and they are old, well over twenty.’

  She was so pleased when she saw her mother laugh. She liked to make her laugh. And when she had added, ‘Of course, there’s always Mick McLoughlin. Now I know he has his eye on me,’ her mother had put her hand to her chest and had started to cough, spluttering, ‘Oh, Nancy Ann. Nancy Ann.’

  When her coughing bout was over and she had got her breath back enough to speak, she said, ‘’Tis very funny about that boy McLoughlin. He was the one you fought with, wasn’t he, on what was to be your last Sunday at home before you went to school, remember? And there he is, your papa says he has turned out quite smart. Of course, it is since Mr Mercer took him into his service. Your father says he looks very presentable in his livery. In a way it just shows you, there’s no-one so lowly that cannot be risen up if given the chance.’

  It was her grandmama’s voice that startled her now, saying, ‘Would you like to go to a ball, Nancy Ann?’

  ‘A ball?’ She put the last flower in the vase, then turned and looked at her grandmama, repeating, ‘A ball?’

  ‘That’s what I said, a ball; Peter is thinking of going to one in Newcastle. You can dance, can’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can dance. I have proof of that because our singing mistress once remarked to me that what music I had was in my feet…But would I like to go to a ball?’ She considered for a moment. ‘Yes and no. I’ve never been to a ball. Farmer Ridley’s barn dance, yes, and I got my shins kicked.’ Quickly now she went into a mime and, assuming the posture of a stout man, she pulled an imaginary waistcoat down, then the cuffs of her coat, squared her shoulders, and, walking over to face her grandmama and with her toes turned outwards, she bent towards her and said in a deep country burr, ‘How would you like to take the floor with me, missy, eh?’ And as her grandmama, laughing aloud, pushed her away, she went into an imaginary dance with the farmer: one, two, three, hop; one, two, three, hop, she danced into the conservatory. Her right hand held high on the imaginary shoulder, she hopped and stumbled until her grandmama’s voice came at her sharply, crying, ‘No more! No more!’ and she stopped abruptly and ran back to her mother who was gasping for breath, her hand pressed to her side.

  ‘Oh, Mama, I’m sorry.’

  After a moment, Rebecca relaxed into her pillow, saying, ‘Don’t be sorry…child…because—’ she now turned her face to look at her mother-in-law, adding as she pulled at the air, ‘I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in my life as I have done these past few months.’ Then patting her daughter’s hand, she said, ‘You have a gift, dear. You have a gift.’

  ‘My only one, sadly,’ Nancy Ann now said in a low voice.

  ‘Nonsense!’ It was her grandmama’s strident tones, and she turned to her and said, ‘Yes, yes, of course, Grandmama, it’s nonsense: I can sing like a corncrake, play the pianoforte like Beethoven, talk rapidly in French, and sparkle in company; in fact, I’m so sought after for parties and soirées that I now have to rush and see to my staff before my maid gets to work on me for my dinner tonight at the Manor.’

  ‘Well, you could sparkle in company, miss, if you so wished. Why, with a tongue like yours, you don’t let it rattle on such occasions I’ll never know.’

  ‘Nor shall I, Grandmama. Nor shall I. Oh.’ She turned and looked towards the conservatory window, crying now, ‘There’s the House carriage again. I wonder what he’s sending you this time? Can’t be strawberries, they’re over, and the girls have made enough conserve to last for years. Peaches are over too, and the apples are not quite ripe. I hope it’s something this time we can get our teeth into, say, half a sheep, or a sirloin of beef; I’d even accept a brace of pheasants.’

  ‘Oh! Nancy Ann, how can you? He has been so kind.’

  ‘Yes, he has.’ She pulled a face at her mother.

  And he had. He was likeable in a way and she could talk to him quite ordinarily, that is when he was on his own, but should he be accompanied by his friend, she found herself tongue-tied, as apparently did his friend: the older man hardly ever spoke, just stared at her. She knew she didn’t like him.

  When she reached the kitchen it was to see Peggy at the back door taking a hamper from a liveried coachman, saying, ‘Thank you, Mr Appleby. Thank you indeed.’ And she heard the coachman now ask, ‘How is Mrs Hazel? The master would like to know.’

  ‘Oh, about the same, no better, no worse. Between you and me she could linger on for a time, or go out like the snuff of a candle.’

  Nancy Ann closed her eyes and bit down on her lip. She knew that her mother was very ill and could linger on for a time, but she never thought of her going out like th
e snuff of a candle. Hilda, standing near the table, saw the effect Cook’s words were having on her, and so, going to the door, she said, in a loud voice, ‘Here’s Miss Nancy Ann, Cook.’

  At this, Peggy stepped back with the hamper and Nancy Ann, going to the door, looked at the coachman and said in a quiet, polite, formal tone, ‘Would you please convey to your master my thanks and those of my mother and father for his kindness?’

  ‘I shall, miss. I shall.’ The man touched his cap, then moved away, and she closed the door, then turned towards the table where Peggy was already lifting the food from the hamper, exclaiming as she did so, ‘My! My! Now this is better than your fruit. Two brace of pheasants. And look at that! A bottle of wine, and another. What kind will they be, miss?’ She handed the bottle to Nancy Ann, and Nancy Ann, looking at the label, said, ‘It is Burgundy.’

  ‘And what’s in this box, miss?’

  ‘Oh, that’s cheese.’

  ‘In a box?’ Hilda put in now, and Nancy Ann answered, ‘It’s a French cheese.’

  ‘My! My! I wonder what it’ll taste like.’

  ‘Well, you’ll never know because all you’ll get is a snip,’ said Hilda.

  ‘And here’s another box, two of them. I know what’s in that one, sweetmeats. Eeh! My! He’s not as black as he’s painted, is he?’

  ‘Shut your mouth, Jane Bradshaw.’ Hilda pushed her big ungainly companion.

  ‘Well, I’m only sayin’ what…’

  ‘Get over to that sink and finish those dishes.’ It was Peggy who was now going for her assistant. Then she turned to Nancy Ann, saying, ‘We’ll put them on a couple of trays and we’ll take them in to your mama to see, eh? To cheer her up. She always appreciates people’s kindness, does the mistress. And them bottles’ll put colour into her cheeks again, eh, miss?’

  ‘Yes, Peggy, I’m sure they will. I’ll leave you to see to it.’

  ‘Do that, miss. Do that.’

  When, a few minutes later she had finished giving her mother a list of things in the hamper, it was her grandmother who said, ‘He’s good at bottom. You’ve got to say it, he’s good at bottom.’

  He’s not as black as he’s painted, and he’s good at bottom. Why did everyone insinuate that he was a bad man? Well, if not bad, not quite nice. They never spoke like that about Mr Mercer. Of course they couldn’t, could they, because he was nice. And he wasn’t what you call a recluse any more; he was getting about, in fact he had visited her mother twice and sat talking to her about the boys. He was quite old in years, three or so older than James, but he still looked young; not handsome, yet not plain, and he was kindly in a stiff kind of way. Oh yes, he was very proper; yet he had joked with her grandmama over something Peter did when he went out in a boat one day. It was when they were very young and Peter was learning to row.

  He had also sent her mother flowers and fruit, but not in such lavish quantities as came from the House. Her papa liked him, he liked him very much, but what his opinion was of Mr Harpcore she didn’t know because it was his rule never to judge.

  And what happened the following Sunday bore out how right her papa was.

  Attendance at the Sunday services over the past months had been arranged in such a way that there was always someone left at home besides Jessica, in case of need. So on alternate Sundays Nancy Ann attended either morning service, or evening service, and this applied to Peggy, Jane, and Hilda too.

  On this particular Sunday morning it was Jane’s turn to attend the service, which began at half past ten. What time it ended depended on how long John decided to preach. When he was feeling strongly about anything it could be an hour. But his sermon must have been short this morning, for Jane came almost at a run up the drive and into the kitchen, which caused Nancy Ann, who was leaving by the far door, to stop as she heard her cry, ‘He was there! He was there!’

  ‘Who was there?’ Peggy was in the act of cutting a shoulder of lamb into thin slices, and she repeated, ‘Who was there?’

  ‘Himself, from up above…the House. He was there, sitting in the front row of the specials. And there was a lady with him, and she kept fidgeting.’

  ‘What kind of a lady?’

  ‘A lady. She was an old ’un. She had a bonnet on and a very fancy cape with big blue silk bows at the neck. She wasn’t used to church, you could see that. And there were more staff there. Oh aye. Must have been twelve or more. Couldn’t see them all from where I was sittin’, and I didn’t get a chance to count them ’cos when I came out they were all packed into the brakes, their noses in the air as usual. But he and the lady were in the coach. Eeh! There was quite a stir among the folks. Hat liftin’, cap touchin’, knee bendin’, an’ things. You would think it was a visitation from the Lord himself.’

  ‘Don’t be blasphemous, Jane Bradshaw…But how was he got up?’

  ‘Oh, smart like, plain, but smart like. He’s handsome in a way, you know. I wonder what brought him to church this mornin’? Turned over a new leaf likely.’

  ‘Shut up! Shut your mouth! There’s dishes waitin’ for you there in the sink. So get your things off.’

  Peggy now turned to where Nancy Ann was still standing, and she called, ‘D’you hear that, miss? Good news isn’t it, himself at the service?’

  ‘Yes, Peggy, yes.’ She went through the door, then closed it and walked slowly across the hall, thinking as she did so of how pleased her father would be. Oh, yes, and so would her mother. She now quickened her step into the breakfast room. Her mother was in bed this morning: she felt a little tired, she’d said, and wouldn’t rise until later in the day.

  ‘Mama.’

  ‘Yes, my dear?’

  ‘Guess what?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what I have to guess at.’

  ‘Mr Harpcore was at church this morning.’

  Her mother didn’t answer for a moment, and then she said, ‘He was?’

  ‘Yes. Jane came bursting with it. He must have caused a stir.’ She laughed now and, turning to her grandmama who had been sitting near the window reading but now had her full attention, she said, ‘Jane seemed more surprised at the sight of him than she would have been if she had seen the devil kneeling in his pew. Why does everyone think him a wicked man?’

  ‘He is not a wicked man.’ Jessica now slapped the open pages of her book. ‘He is merely a man of his time. He’s only doing what many of the other so-called pious individuals in the village get up to, but he does it in a bigger way, and…’

  ‘Mother-in-law!’ The voice came quiet, and Jessica now swivelled round in her seat and looked out into the conservatory as she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Rebecca. But you know yourself the poison that drips from tongues soon makes a pool.’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed I do, Mother-in-law.’ And now Rebecca put her hand out and drew her daughter towards her, saying, ‘My dear, Mr Harpcore is not a bad man in that sense. He…well, he has led a gay life. As…as your grandmama has just said, he’s a man of his time: he lives in a society that acts differently from ours. Yet’—the smile on her pale face widened—‘’tis amazing news that you have brought. If he has started to come to church, then it shows that he is settling down. They generally do about his age. How old would he be?’ She moved her head to the side and looked towards Jessica. And the old woman, turning now and facing her again, pursed her lips and said, ‘Oh, thirty-three to middle thirties I should say. And as you rightly comment, Rebecca, ’tis the age for settling down, among his kind anyway.’ Then looking towards Nancy Ann, she said, ‘I’ll just trot into the kitchen and inspect the contents of that hamper that came earlier and see there’s nothing halved or quartered before it reaches us.’

  As the door closed on her, Rebecca moved her head slowly on the pillow, saying, ‘Your grandmama would suspect the Archangel Gabriel himself.’

  ‘She’s right though, you know.’ Nancy Ann now pulled a face at her mother. ‘She knows people and all their funny little ways.’

  ‘Yes, yes, she does indee
d, my dear. And she was right about Mr Harpcore. There is good in everyone. Always remember that, my dear. And there’s a great deal of good in him. He has shown it with his kindness; even when he was absent from the house, his gifts still came. And they’ve been most welcome, haven’t they?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mama, most welcome. I…I’ve never eaten so well for age…’ She paused now and hung her head, and Rebecca, taking her hand, said lightly, ‘You know you are very like your grandmama, you think a lot of your stomach.’

  ‘Well, I have four years of workhouse diet to make up for, Mama; the food at school was really awful. I’m amazed that I didn’t grow fat. A number of the other girls did.’

  ‘You have grown just nice.’ Rebecca gazed at her daughter, from her hips up to the top of her shining hair, and her thoughts were a prayer as she said, Dear Lord, let me see her safely settled before I go into Your Kingdom. Guide me to know what is right. Show me that the thoughts I am harbouring, or by wishful thinking, have substance. Show me by some sign that I am not mistaken.

  Rebecca’s prayer was answered again and again during the following months. And during this time her condition remained stable; in fact, there seemed to be a slight improvement: she coughed less, there was no trace of blood in her sputum, and the condition of her heart remained stable.

  PART THREE

  THE LEOPARD’S SPOTS

  One