the people, the working man, and not, they both agreed, in the right direction.
They were very enlightening and enlivening evenings when the parson came to supper. When they had supper alone her husband never talked to her except upon household matters, or visits that had to be made. And if such a visit were to be special and to occur some little time in the future, he would advise her to plan for it and would give her the money to buy the material for a new gown.
For this purpose she loved the trips into Hexham, and twice over the years she had been as far as Newcastle. The shops in Newcastle had beautiful material, such an assortment; foreign silks straight from the boats, beautiful velvets of the gentlest hues. Her husband was generous when he wanted her to appear well dressed, and of late he had been more generous. When she was safely past her three months’ pregnancy he had given her twenty pounds and ordered Davie to drive her into Hexham, there to choose a material for a gown that she could wear during her last month. This she looked upon as a tender extravagance as it would have to be taken to pieces later and re-modelled.
She had never known such contentment as that which had filled her these past three months, all fear had dropped from her. She knew she would carry this child, and it was all due, she knew, to Mother Reckett. Why hadn’t she gone to the old woman years ago? She knew why; it was foolish to ask herself this question. When, after her second miscarriage, she had said to Angus, ‘There is an old woman called Mrs Reckett whom I understand makes up potions . . . ’ he had silenced her before she had got any further. Mother Reckett was a heathen, a woman with the evil eye. He wasn’t a superstitious man, he told her, but he knew that Mother Reckett possessed powers of evil; some people gave her credit for the power to cure animals, but she also had been given credit for bringing blight and disease to the land of many a man who had crossed her.
So for years she had resisted the temptation of consulting Mother Reckett, until desperation and a word from Mrs Swinterton, when taking tea with her at her house outside Haltwhistle, had supplied the courage. Mrs Swinterton was an old lady herself and had been a friend of the McBain family for years. She had expressed sorrow for her many miscarriages and suggested that, unknown to her husband, she sought help from Mother Reckett; and Mother Reckett had worked the miracle.
It was now eighteen months since she had taken her first bottle of medicine. It had been as clear as water and as bitter as gall, and she had drunk it as if it were nectar. Three doses a week she had taken for twelve months, and then the miracle had happened. For four years prior to this she hadn’t even conceived. At times she had longed to conceive even though it would mean carrying the child for only three months, for following a miscarriage Angus always let her body rest for some weeks.
Once she had conceived again Mother Reckett had changed the medicine to a thick substance that had a sweet acrid taste and which had to be taken by the teaspoonful three times a day. And so periodically she went for a walk over the moor. Angus was used to her taking long solitary walks, when she might be absent for three hours at a time, and so he had not questioned her journeyings. From her last visit to Mother Reckett’s cottage on the outskirts of Harper Town she had brought back enough medicine to last her until her time was up because her body was already heavy, and she was tiring very easily . . .
But here now was Molly, and she, too, was carrying a child, even if it was the product of sin, and this morning she had been whipped. She had the desire to go to her and comfort her. But Molly was apparently still suffering from the injustice of her treatment for she turned her head from her.
When she asked ‘Have you seen Miss Jane, Molly?’ Molly, still with her head down, muttered, ‘No,
They were very enlightening and enlivening evenings when the parson came to supper. When they had supper alone her husband never talked to her except upon household matters, or visits that had to be made. And if such a visit were to be special and to occur some little time in the future, he would advise her to plan for it and would give her the money to buy the material for a new gown.
For this purpose she loved the trips into Hexham, and twice over the years she had been as far as Newcastle. The shops in Newcastle had beautiful material, such an assortment; foreign silks straight from the boats, beautiful velvets of the gentlest hues. Her husband was generous when he wanted her to appear well dressed, and of late he had been more generous. When she was safely past her three months’ pregnancy he had given her twenty pounds and ordered Davie to drive her into Hexham, there to choose a material for a gown that she could wear during her last month. This she looked upon as a tender extravagance as it would have to be taken to pieces later and re-modelled.
She had never known such contentment as that which had filled her these past three months, all fear had dropped from her. She knew she would carry this child, and it was all due, she knew, to Mother Reckett. Why hadn’t she gone to the old woman years ago? She knew why; it was foolish to ask herself this question. When, after her second miscarriage, she had said to Angus, ‘There is an old woman called Mrs Reckett whom I understand makes up potions . . . ’ he had silenced her before she had got any further. Mother Reckett was a heathen, a woman with the evil eye. He wasn’t a superstitious man, he told her, but he knew that Mother Reckett possessed powers of evil; some people gave her credit for the power to cure animals, but she also had been given credit for bringing blight and disease to the land of many a man who had crossed her.
So for years she had resisted the temptation of consulting Mother Reckett, until desperation and a word from Mrs Swinterton, when taking tea with her at her house outside Haltwhistle, had supplied the courage. Mrs Swinterton was an old lady herself and had been a friend of the McBain family for years. She had expressed sorrow for her many miscarriages and suggested that, unknown to her husband, she sought help from Mother Reckett; and Mother Reckett had worked the miracle.
It was now eighteen months since she had taken her first bottle of medicine. It had been as clear as water and as bitter as gall, and she had drunk it as if it were nectar. Three doses a week she had taken for twelve months, and then the miracle had happened. For four years prior to this she hadn’t even conceived. At times she had longed to conceive even though it would mean carrying the child for only three months, for following a miscarriage Angus always let her body rest for some weeks.
Once she had conceived again Mother Reckett had changed the medicine to a thick substance that had a sweet acrid taste and which had to be taken by the teaspoonful three times a day. And so periodically she went for a walk over the moor. Angus was used to her taking long solitary walks, when she might be absent for three hours at a time, and so he had not questioned her journeyings. From her last visit to Mother Reckett’s cottage on the outskirts of Harper Town she had brought back enough medicine to last her until her time was up because her body was already heavy, and she was tiring very easily . . .
But here now was Molly, and she, too, was carrying a child, even if it was the product of sin, and this morning she had been whipped. She had the desire to go to her and comfort her. But Molly was apparently still suffering from the injustice of her treatment for she turned her head from her.
When she asked ‘Have you seen Miss Jane, Molly?’ Molly, still with her head down, muttered, ‘No,
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