the dog, sensing a game, rushed between them barking excitedly. Nat watched with amusement as the two children wrestled and then Lorna tripped backwards over the log and fell sprawling on the earth floor.
‘That’s the way,’ said Nat. ‘Get yourself all muddy and your ma will want to know where you’ve been.’
They were immediately sobered. Piers helped his sister to her feet and made a half-hearted attempt to brush down her gown. Without another word they sat themselves down once more on the log. Lorna put her hands in her lap and her feet neatly together.
‘I only said it smells because it does,’ she muttered and Piers, groaning, put his hands over his ears. Seeing that Nat appeared quite unconcerned, he took them down again.
‘Everyone is dead,’ said Piers. ‘Harriet is dead and Beth’s sister is dead and old Ruth is nearly dead.’
‘Old Ruth?’
He nodded. ‘Old Ruth at Romney House. She’s had a fit and can’t walk. Mama is gone with Matt to visit her.’
‘Your poor mama,’ said Nat. ‘Always nursing sick folk. She’ll be worn to a frazzle. Isn’t there any good news? A little bird told me — ’
Lorna dropped her hands. ‘Oh yes, the baby! Beatrice’s baby! ’Tis a little girl born on the first day of November. Emily Mary Quarterman. And now I’m an aunt and Piers is an uncle.’ She giggled, putting her two hands to her face.
‘An aunt and an uncle,’ said Nat. ‘Well, I never did. I shall have to mind my manners with such important folks around.’
At that moment the goat, ambling around the room, decided to investigate the back of Lorna’s neck and gave her a little nudge. She leapt off the log with a scream.
‘Your goat!’ she cried. ‘He tried to bite me.’
‘’Tis a nanny,’ said Nat, ‘and she’s friendly enough. But shoo her outside … There now, I’ve finished the net. That’ll do me very well tonight when I go rabbiting — but ’tis time you were off home. Your folks will be looking for you before long.’
‘Can’t we watch you rabbiting?’ asked Piers. ‘You did promise.’
‘Ah, so I did. And so you shall, but not today. We’ll have to ask your folks, all right and proper. Next week, mayhap.’
Reluctantly the two children left the little hut. Nat walked back with them along the river until they came to the stepping stones that led into the garden at Heron. Nat watched them safely to the other side, waved a farewell and whistled for Brin who had followed them over. Then he set off for home, still chuckling. Nat Gully was very fond of the two youngest Kendals.
*
Maria sat upstairs with Ruth in her bed chamber. Matt sat in the large kitchen with Jem and reminisced about ‘the old days’ when Maria had been betrothed to Ruth’s brother and Romney House had been their home. Outside, a November mist hung over the river and encroached over the marshes. There was much hilarity, and upstairs Maria smiled to herself. Beside her the old woman dozed fitfully and Felicity sat by the window sewing. Maria was trying to decide what should be done for the best. The old woman was very frail and her right side was paralysed, but the physician thought she might linger on indefinitely. Alternatively, she might shortly have another ‘fit’ and die. He could not predict what would happen. Maria studied the old woman compassionately. The face was wizened and the mottled skin stretched tautly over the bones. Her sparse hair was tucked under her bonnet and the right eye oozed moisture.
And she cannot see either, thought Maria, pitying her the meagre existence. And yet still the old woman clung to life, talking interminably. But then speech was all she had left and no one could begrudge her that. Maria sighed heavily. What was to be done with her? It was a burden for Felicity to care for her alone. Maria had offered to take her back to Heron, but Ruth had refused outright. She had grown quite vehement on the subject and Maria, fearful for her health, had
‘That’s the way,’ said Nat. ‘Get yourself all muddy and your ma will want to know where you’ve been.’
They were immediately sobered. Piers helped his sister to her feet and made a half-hearted attempt to brush down her gown. Without another word they sat themselves down once more on the log. Lorna put her hands in her lap and her feet neatly together.
‘I only said it smells because it does,’ she muttered and Piers, groaning, put his hands over his ears. Seeing that Nat appeared quite unconcerned, he took them down again.
‘Everyone is dead,’ said Piers. ‘Harriet is dead and Beth’s sister is dead and old Ruth is nearly dead.’
‘Old Ruth?’
He nodded. ‘Old Ruth at Romney House. She’s had a fit and can’t walk. Mama is gone with Matt to visit her.’
‘Your poor mama,’ said Nat. ‘Always nursing sick folk. She’ll be worn to a frazzle. Isn’t there any good news? A little bird told me — ’
Lorna dropped her hands. ‘Oh yes, the baby! Beatrice’s baby! ’Tis a little girl born on the first day of November. Emily Mary Quarterman. And now I’m an aunt and Piers is an uncle.’ She giggled, putting her two hands to her face.
‘An aunt and an uncle,’ said Nat. ‘Well, I never did. I shall have to mind my manners with such important folks around.’
At that moment the goat, ambling around the room, decided to investigate the back of Lorna’s neck and gave her a little nudge. She leapt off the log with a scream.
‘Your goat!’ she cried. ‘He tried to bite me.’
‘’Tis a nanny,’ said Nat, ‘and she’s friendly enough. But shoo her outside … There now, I’ve finished the net. That’ll do me very well tonight when I go rabbiting — but ’tis time you were off home. Your folks will be looking for you before long.’
‘Can’t we watch you rabbiting?’ asked Piers. ‘You did promise.’
‘Ah, so I did. And so you shall, but not today. We’ll have to ask your folks, all right and proper. Next week, mayhap.’
Reluctantly the two children left the little hut. Nat walked back with them along the river until they came to the stepping stones that led into the garden at Heron. Nat watched them safely to the other side, waved a farewell and whistled for Brin who had followed them over. Then he set off for home, still chuckling. Nat Gully was very fond of the two youngest Kendals.
*
Maria sat upstairs with Ruth in her bed chamber. Matt sat in the large kitchen with Jem and reminisced about ‘the old days’ when Maria had been betrothed to Ruth’s brother and Romney House had been their home. Outside, a November mist hung over the river and encroached over the marshes. There was much hilarity, and upstairs Maria smiled to herself. Beside her the old woman dozed fitfully and Felicity sat by the window sewing. Maria was trying to decide what should be done for the best. The old woman was very frail and her right side was paralysed, but the physician thought she might linger on indefinitely. Alternatively, she might shortly have another ‘fit’ and die. He could not predict what would happen. Maria studied the old woman compassionately. The face was wizened and the mottled skin stretched tautly over the bones. Her sparse hair was tucked under her bonnet and the right eye oozed moisture.
And she cannot see either, thought Maria, pitying her the meagre existence. And yet still the old woman clung to life, talking interminably. But then speech was all she had left and no one could begrudge her that. Maria sighed heavily. What was to be done with her? It was a burden for Felicity to care for her alone. Maria had offered to take her back to Heron, but Ruth had refused outright. She had grown quite vehement on the subject and Maria, fearful for her health, had
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