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Mr Goddard craned his tortoise neck around. ‘Unfortunately, Mr Henderson has yet to join us. Perhaps by the time the footmen have had their portraits taken he’ll be here…’
Mrs Gatley threw up her plump arms and muttered that she couldn’t be blamed if the venison was half-raw, and Jem went to take his place in the centre of the steps. Kate looked around with a twinge of unease.
Henderson was like one of those giant house spiders that crouched in dark corners, or hid in the folds of a linen pillowcase, setting her nerves jangling when it darted out. She could cope with it if she had some warning, though it made her shudder. She’d rather know one was there than be caught unawares by its sudden scuttle.
But she’d much rather it wasn’t there at all.
Joseph ran, skidding a little on the gravel as he turned the corner to the stable yard, his footsteps echoing as he passed under the brick archway.
The front door was open, and it would have been quicker to go that way. It was allowed today, with everyone coming and going for the photographs, but still, it didn’t feel right. On the day he arrived at Coldwell he’d been told that the front door was for family and guests only, and Joseph preferred to stick to the rules. He liked knowing what was expected of him: what was permitted and what was likely to get him a hiding. Not that he’d ever had a beating here, but the fear of it was stamped into him, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal. It came roaring back sometimes, catching him out, making his heart jump and his mind go black.
The back door was open too. He plunged into the dimness, barely slowing his pace, so he had to put out a hand to steady himself as he turned the corner into the kitchen passage. After the brightness of the day, the shadows swamped his vision. He didn’t see the figure emerge from the footmen’s wardrobe until it was too late.
A hand, heavy on his shoulder. The smell of hair oil.
‘And where are you going in such a hurry, young man?’
June 29th
France
The rain has stopped and the clouds have lifted. I think that means all this waiting will soon be over, whatever we’re waiting for.
Joseph is in a bad way. I asked the captain if he could be moved out of the line because of his nerves being gone, but apparently it would be considered a dereliction of duty. He’d be arrested. That might possibly be worse for him—being imprisoned on his own. He has nightmares about what happened back then, and when he was a kid. Lately they’ve been so bad that he has them when he isn’t even asleep.
He never spoke to me about his life before Coldwell. I suppose I never asked.
Perhaps things would have been different if I had.
Chapter 17
On the day that Sir Randolph Hyde was taking Miss Leonora Addison to become his lawful wedded wife in a small, private ceremony in London, Kate made her fortnightly visit to Hatherford, to settle the accounts and place orders in the shops.
Johnny Farrow was even more taciturn than usual, barely acknowledging her ‘good morning’ as she climbed up onto the wagon in the stable yard. They had just begun their swaying progress up the drive when a shout from behind made them both look round. Jem had emerged from the arch and was running easily after them.
‘Can I join you? Mr Goddard’s asked me to go to the brewery, to check the beer order for the dance.’
Kate’s heart soared.
It wasn’t fair to slow the horses on the hill, so he had to jump up onto the moving wagon. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Furniss,’ he said, with a convincing mixture of humility and regret. ‘There’s not much room.’
She was struck by what a good actor he was. But, as servants, weren’t they all? Used to keeping their feelings hidden behind expressionless faces.
Autumn had gilded the parkland and the circling hills, and clouds trailed languidly across a sky of blameless blue. (Mrs Gatley had pronounced it perfect weather for a wedding, though Susan had swiftly soured that sentiment by informing them that rain on a wedding day was a sign of good luck.) This was the gently glowing tail of summer’s searing comet, and it bathed everything in its golden light. Kate relaxed back on the wooden seat and felt a burst of quiet joy at the sensation of the sun on her cheeks and Jem’s hip hard against hers, his arm resting on the back of the seat behind her.
Hatherford seemed busier than usual. The change of season carried a crackle of energy as people began to make their preparations for the winter ahead. Johnny Farrow set Kate down, as he always did, outside the bank. The brewery was behind the Bull’s Head, where he hitched the horses, so there was no reason for Jem to get down with her. She caught his wistful smile as he handed her basket down.
‘Midday, same as usual,’ Johnny Farrow called, flicking the horses on, and Jem’s eyes held hers as the wagon moved away.
Inside the bank, she slid Mr Fortescue’s cheque beneath the glass partition at the counter, watching the teller’s bony fingers as he counted out the money for her to settle the household accounts. She could still feel the warmth of Jem’s hand on her shoulder. With the money folded in her bag, she crossed the road and went into the spice-and-soap-scented interior of Pearson’s the grocers.
Kate took her place in the queue and idly watched the other women waiting. They were mostly farmer’s wives or countrywomen, in clogs and hats that were functional rather than fashionable, but a woman at the counter wearing a coat of moss green velvet caught her eye. It was not new nor particularly smart, but somehow… stylish. The kind of thing Kate would have chosen for herself, had she been able to choose.
She found herself thinking a lot lately about the things she would choose, if she were able: the kind of house she would live in, the way she would furnish it, the life she would have. It was idle dreaming, she knew that, but there was a grain of something more behind it too, an element of self-discovery, perhaps. Her life so far had been dictated by her roles, as daughter, wife, housekeeper, but Jem had uncovered the person she had never had the chance to be. Someone who surprised her. Who laughed, and made love. Who wanted a cottage in the countryside, with fruit trees in the garden, and roses… where the skills she had acquired would be used for her own benefit instead of someone else’s. Who wished for a life of simple domesticity, in tune with the seasons.
With Jem, of course.
‘Mrs Furniss. What can I get for you today?’