town, see? Now you go there right after we’ve had our tea and when you come back I’ll have a surprise for you, perhaps.’
Matthew rarely talked at such length, which might mean that the surprise was a nice one. But surprises, in Hester’s experience, were a two-edged sword. Her life before Matthew had not been exactly crammed with pleasant surprises and the unpleasant ones, well, she had no wish to repeat a single one of them.
‘What sort of surprise?’ she said, therefore, immediately suspicious.
He shrugged, putting a dried plate carefully on the table. ‘Wait an’ see, eh?’
Tea was rather a quiet meal. Homebaked bread, cheese, the pickled onions which Hester had bought from the village shop. Then a piece of apple pie each with thin custard poured over it. And tea in the big brown pot, of course. And all the while they ate Hester wondered about the castle; she had quite made up her mind that she would never get to go up there, and this had disappointed her in a way, because of a perfectly natural curiosity, but somehow she had never seen herself working there. Scrubbing floors, peeling spuds – she had quite enough of that at home, thank you, she could well manage without any more.
But Matthew said she would be paid, which would help. And there was this woman, Mrs Cledwen … she had wished often enough that there was another woman near, someone with whom she could discuss the difficulties which arose from time to time. Why had Matthew never mentioned her? Was she an unpleasant sort of woman? With a name like that she might speak nothing but Welsh, and she would be old, that went without saying, and probably cross, and if she was Mrs Cledwen where wasMr Cledwen? Matthew had never mentioned him either. But there was no point in cross-questioning Matthew; she would find out for herself soon enough.
‘I’ll have to feed Helen before I go,’ Hester said, when the food was finished. ‘I’ll take her through.’
Helen could smile now, and frequently did. Lying in her pram, she smiled at the dance of the bright new leaves on the branches above her head; lying in her mother’s arms, she smiled at the familiar face so near her own. Hester, walking across the kitchen, felt her own smile start; she did love her pretty little daughter. Happiness was holding Helen, kissing the baby’s petal-soft cheek, playing with her until that big, innocent, take-it-all smile broke out on the small trusting face.
She and Helen still slept in the small room and she fed Helen there when Matthew was home. She opened the back door and bent over the big old-fashioned perambulator. Helen was just waking, two fists waving idly as she stared sleepily up at the blue sky above her. Hester picked the baby up and turned back indoors. Matthew was at the sink, clattering dishes. He was good, she acknowledged that; he usually cleared away the tea things while she fed the baby. She went to go past him but he shot out a large, capable hand and caught her arm.
‘Hes? Why not feed the little’un in here? Then we can talk.’
Hester wavered, then hardened her heart. Look what had happened over her working up at the castle; the moment she gave Matthew an inch he would undoubtedly take a mile, and for some reason which she had never tried to analyse she dreaded the resumption of ‘all that mauling’, which had stopped with the baby’s birth.
‘All the baby things are in the little room,’ she said now. She shook his hand off and continued across the kitchen. ‘It’s easier to do her in there. I shan’t be long.’
In the small room, comfortable and familiar to themboth, mother and child went through the nightly ritual together. Hester fed Helen, washed her, changed her into her nightgown and then laid her on the mat to kick and coo whilst she considered what she should wear to visit this Mrs Cledwen. She was going cleaning, so her oldest clothes seemed called for, but since she was also going to meet a strange woman, and she was
Matthew rarely talked at such length, which might mean that the surprise was a nice one. But surprises, in Hester’s experience, were a two-edged sword. Her life before Matthew had not been exactly crammed with pleasant surprises and the unpleasant ones, well, she had no wish to repeat a single one of them.
‘What sort of surprise?’ she said, therefore, immediately suspicious.
He shrugged, putting a dried plate carefully on the table. ‘Wait an’ see, eh?’
Tea was rather a quiet meal. Homebaked bread, cheese, the pickled onions which Hester had bought from the village shop. Then a piece of apple pie each with thin custard poured over it. And tea in the big brown pot, of course. And all the while they ate Hester wondered about the castle; she had quite made up her mind that she would never get to go up there, and this had disappointed her in a way, because of a perfectly natural curiosity, but somehow she had never seen herself working there. Scrubbing floors, peeling spuds – she had quite enough of that at home, thank you, she could well manage without any more.
But Matthew said she would be paid, which would help. And there was this woman, Mrs Cledwen … she had wished often enough that there was another woman near, someone with whom she could discuss the difficulties which arose from time to time. Why had Matthew never mentioned her? Was she an unpleasant sort of woman? With a name like that she might speak nothing but Welsh, and she would be old, that went without saying, and probably cross, and if she was Mrs Cledwen where wasMr Cledwen? Matthew had never mentioned him either. But there was no point in cross-questioning Matthew; she would find out for herself soon enough.
‘I’ll have to feed Helen before I go,’ Hester said, when the food was finished. ‘I’ll take her through.’
Helen could smile now, and frequently did. Lying in her pram, she smiled at the dance of the bright new leaves on the branches above her head; lying in her mother’s arms, she smiled at the familiar face so near her own. Hester, walking across the kitchen, felt her own smile start; she did love her pretty little daughter. Happiness was holding Helen, kissing the baby’s petal-soft cheek, playing with her until that big, innocent, take-it-all smile broke out on the small trusting face.
She and Helen still slept in the small room and she fed Helen there when Matthew was home. She opened the back door and bent over the big old-fashioned perambulator. Helen was just waking, two fists waving idly as she stared sleepily up at the blue sky above her. Hester picked the baby up and turned back indoors. Matthew was at the sink, clattering dishes. He was good, she acknowledged that; he usually cleared away the tea things while she fed the baby. She went to go past him but he shot out a large, capable hand and caught her arm.
‘Hes? Why not feed the little’un in here? Then we can talk.’
Hester wavered, then hardened her heart. Look what had happened over her working up at the castle; the moment she gave Matthew an inch he would undoubtedly take a mile, and for some reason which she had never tried to analyse she dreaded the resumption of ‘all that mauling’, which had stopped with the baby’s birth.
‘All the baby things are in the little room,’ she said now. She shook his hand off and continued across the kitchen. ‘It’s easier to do her in there. I shan’t be long.’
In the small room, comfortable and familiar to themboth, mother and child went through the nightly ritual together. Hester fed Helen, washed her, changed her into her nightgown and then laid her on the mat to kick and coo whilst she considered what she should wear to visit this Mrs Cledwen. She was going cleaning, so her oldest clothes seemed called for, but since she was also going to meet a strange woman, and she was
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