Every Mother's Son Read online

  A few days later Charles rode alone to Dale Top Farm to talk to Daniel but he had forgotten that his friend would be busy; Harriet told him he was repairing fences somewhere nearby. ‘You can go and talk to him, but don’t hold him up. Remember that he’s a working lad and he has to earn his keep.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Mrs Tuke.’ He looked repentant. ‘I should know, shouldn’t I? Daniel is always reminding me that he’s a man and I’m still a schoolboy!’

  Harriet laughed. She’d always liked Charles; she enjoyed his ironic humour and although he was obviously a young gentleman, he wasn’t overbearing or pompous and she could see why he and Daniel got on so well.

  Maria came into the kitchen whilst they were talking and blushed when she saw Charles, who gave her a polite nod. ‘Hello, Maria,’ he said. ‘I told Stephen I was coming over to see Daniel and he sent his regards to you. I think he would have liked to come too but he’d arranged to go out with the bailiff to visit the farms.’

  Maria blushed even more, and Charles, seeing her discomfiture, said awkwardly, ‘Well, I’ll go and have a word with Daniel if I may.’

  ‘Come back and have a bite to eat if you’re still here in half an hour or so,’ Harriet told him. ‘That’s when ’men come in.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, I will. I’ll make sure I’m still here! Do you want me to round everybody up?’

  ‘No.’ Harriet smiled. ‘They’ll know; they won’t need reminding.’

  Charles could see Daniel and Tom Bolton in one of the fields. Daniel was wielding a hammer whilst Tom held the fence steady.

  Daniel looked up as Charles approached. ‘Well, it’s all right for some folks wi’ nowt to do but disturb them that’s working.’

  Charles grinned. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten what day it was. The last of the visitors have gone today; they seem to have been here for ever. Not that I’m grumbling; they’re good company.’ He saw Daniel’s wry expression. ‘Well, some of them!’

  ‘I heard your party had gone well, Master Charles,’ Tom said.

  ‘Yes,’ Daniel grinned. ‘I gave a good report on you youngsters.’

  Charles sighed. ‘We were all very well behaved, Tom, especially in front of old gentlemen like Daniel, otherwise we might not have been.’

  ‘You clear up here, Daniel.’ Tom collected his tools. ‘I’m going down to ’bottom field to fix ’gate. I’ll see you up at ’house in half an hour.’

  Charles gazed after him. ‘Your mother said that no one would need reminding when it was time to eat.’

  ‘That’s because we start work so early,’ Daniel remarked. ‘It’s onny just getting light when we come outside. So what brings you here?’

  Charles hesitated, then said, ‘Do you recall the conversation we had at the party about going to Rome? Were you serious? Bea said that you weren’t. That you’d only said it because of Hanson.’

  ‘I did.’ Daniel buttoned up his jacket. ‘But I’ve been thinking about it since and I would like to go. I promised Granny Rosie when I was young, although I don’t suppose she’d hold me to it.’

  ‘Promised her what?’ Charles bent down and picked up a bag of nails.

  ‘To go and look for my grandfather. It’s complicated. She said he was a seaman, from abroad, but she doesn’t know where. Somewhere hot, at any rate.’

  ‘But if she doesn’t know where, how will you ever find him? The world is huge!’

  ‘Don’t know,’ Daniel said. ‘But if I needed an excuse to travel, then I have one, and,’ he wrinkled his nose, ‘I’d like to know more about my birth father’s family. He wasn’t really a Tuke – my ma said that Granny Ellen brought Noah up because Granny Rosie wasn’t able to. I think,’ he said confidingly, ‘that she probably wasn’t married to my grandfather.’

  ‘Ah!’ Charles said meaningfully. ‘So what you’re saying is that your birth father was born out of wedlock to an unknown foreigner?’ They set off up the field towards the house, and he murmured, ‘How very interesting. So you think that you might travel to look for him?’ He glanced at Daniel, who appeared to be pondering on the subject, and added, ‘And if you decide that you will, do you think you could wait until I’ve left school, because I really would like to come with you.’

  Daniel blew a silent whistle. ‘Would your parents allow it? To travel with me?’

  His face broke into a grin and Charles felt a fleeting surge of envy. He was so handsome, dammit, even he could see it and he was sure that Beatrice did; she was always dreamy after being with him. ‘Why not with you?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I’d have thought that they’d rather you went with some of your chums from school,’ Daniel answered. ‘Not a farmer’s labourer like me.’

  ‘I thought you were a farmer’s son, just like me,’ Charles said laconically. ‘Is there a difference?’

  ‘You know very well there is. Your father isn’t a farmer, he’s a landowner. Come on,’ Daniel urged. ‘Let’s get a move on, or there’ll be no grub left – sorry, old fellow, I mean luncheon.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be marvellous if we could go together?’ Charles continued. ‘We’d have such a great time, no parents to say what we should be doing or what path we should be taking.’

  Daniel frowned. ‘Mine don’t,’ he said. ‘Although I suppose they took it for granted I’d join Da and Tom at the farm, as I did too. But don’t mention it yet. I need to think it through and talk to Granny Rosie.’

  Charles was curious about Daniel’s natural father, probably more than Daniel was. ‘Are you like your father – in looks, I mean?’

  They opened the gate into the yard and secured it behind them. Daniel leaned on it and looked back over the meadow. There was still a rime of frost shimmering on the surface, which probably wouldn’t clear all day. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I was only a week or so old when he drowned in ’estuary. I suppose I look like him; I don’t look like ’rest of ’family, do I? You’ve onny to look at my sisters and Joseph to know they belong to Fletcher. Lenny looks like Ma, though,’ he added. ‘Although she says he’s the spit of one of her brothers.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had any uncles,’ Charles remarked. ‘Do you ever see them?’

  Daniel shook his head and turned towards the house. ‘I think they were lost at sea when she was young.’ An idea struck him. ‘I’d never thought o’ that. Mebbe that’s why I’ve got this feeling about going to sea, cos of Ma’s family and nothing to do wi’ my grandfather at all.’

  ‘How lucky you are to have such a diverse family,’ Charles said. ‘Mine is quite ordinary in comparison.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fletcher took the horse and trap down Elloughton Dale early one Sunday morning, heading towards Brough. He hadn’t asked any of the children if they’d like to come with him. If they had asked him if they could, he would have made the excuse that he was only going to check that his mother had plenty of provisions as more snow was threatened; but they didn’t ask, as they were all busy with things to do of their own.

  They were all growing up so fast, he thought; the older ones, if they wanted to, could visit either of their grandmothers on their own without having to be taken. They saw Rosie regularly, except in winter when she only walked up the dale to see them if the days were fine and dry. ‘I’m not walking up that track in ’teeth of a gale,’ she asserted. ‘I’ll see you all in ’spring.’ But someone, Harriet or Daniel, Maria or Dolly, always called at least twice a week.

  But they don’t visit my mother, he brooded. She doesn’t make them welcome and they have to search for something to talk about. But he had something to talk about, or at least ask about, which was the real purpose of his visit today.

  The wind was whistling across Brough Haven, whipping the waters up to a froth as he turned down the lane that led to the waterfront and the cottage where his mother now lived. She hadn’t wanted to leave Marsh Farm; when Fletcher returned from America on hearing of the double loss of his father and Noah, she wanted her and Fletcher to run
it together. ‘I can stop here as long as I want,’ she’d said. ‘Master Christopher allus said so.’

  She had such plans for him, she’d told him, and he remembered his shock and the gleam in her eyes as she’d whispered the devious schemes she had nurtured for years; but those plans didn’t include Harriet, whom he loved, or Daniel either, and since that time, after his rejection of her propositions, even after so many long years, Ellen had never again spoken to or even asked about Harriet.

  The water was surging against the path outside the cottage as he approached. The property belonged to the Hart estate and was once the home of Mrs Marshall, a former cook, after her retirement from the manor. It was to Mrs Marshall that Ellen had gone scurrying in pique and defiance when Christopher Hart had told her that he had changed his plans and she could no longer stay at Marsh Farm, that he had another purpose for the land. She had never left, even after Mrs Marshall’s death, and Christopher Hart, feeling guilty for turning her out of the farm, charged her only a peppercorn rent.

  She’d have been better accepting the cottage in Brough that Hart had first offered her, Fletcher considered as he climbed down from the cart and made the horse fast. She’d have been more comfortable, and safe from the estuary waters if they should flood over the path and into the cottage. But some devilment within her had made her defy them all and choose to live a lonely life by the Haven; it’s so that we’ll worry about her, Fletcher concluded as he tapped on the locked door. It was a challenge, he’d decided long ago, but a challenge that no one had taken up.

  He was kept waiting as always; it was as if she wanted whoever was disturbing her to go away. But she would know his familiar knock; it was just another idiosyncrasy that she deployed, another eccentricity to show that she didn’t care a jot about anyone.

  After waiting a few more minutes, he walked round to the back of the cottage and found his mother standing by the open back door with an axe in her hand. ‘In God’s name, what ’you doing!’ But he knew what she was up to. She had heard him at the front door and intended giving him a fright.

  ‘Chopping wood, what does it look like? I need to keep a good fire. It’s cold by these waters.’

  He looked towards the log pile that he had chopped the last time he was here. There was plenty of wood, enough for two weeks at least, and Christopher Hart often sent a sack of coal.

  ‘You don’t need to do this, Ma. You’ve plenty of fuel. Put the axe down and I’ll split some more before I leave.’

  She grunted but leaned the axe against the wall. ‘Talking of leaving as soon as you get here,’ she grumbled.

  He didn’t retaliate. He needed her in a reasonable humour. If they ever argued he always left feeling disgruntled and frustrated. He followed her into the small porch and then into her only room, where a pan of stew was bubbling over a bright fire. At least she cooked, he thought. She wouldn’t starve. He unfastened his coat and unwrapped his scarf.

  She sat down in the chair that had been his father’s when they’d lived at Marsh Farm. Her bony hands rested on the worn upholstered arms as she gazed at him. He had often noticed that she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in sitting in that chair, as if by doing so she was claiming victory over Nathaniel, her long dead, much maligned husband.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, sitting opposite her.

  ‘Have to be, haven’t I? There’s nobody to care if I’m not.’ Her voice was forthright, her straight back uncompromising. ‘And to what do I owe ’pleasure o’ this visit?’ There was no delight or joy at seeing him and he knew that she was hoping for some indiscretion or misunderstanding that she could pounce upon.

  ‘Do I have to have a reason to come? Am I not welcome?’

  She blinked. ‘In my experience folk who call generally have a purpose in mind. They don’t come to talk about ’weather.’

  I won’t argue with her, he decided. It’ll spoil my day. ‘Well, I didn’t think that I counted as folk,’ he said genially. ‘Who else has been who wanted summat?’

  She gave him a sharp look. ‘So you do want summat?’

  He shook his head and sighed. ‘It was a figure o’ speech, Ma. A joke.’

  She turned her face away. ‘I don’t understand jokes,’ she muttered. ‘Never did. Life isn’t funny.’

  ‘You spend too much time on your own,’ he told her. ‘Why don’t I look for a cottage in Brough or Elloughton for you? You’d see more people, have—’

  ‘I don’t want to see more folk,’ she snapped. ‘Nosy busybodies most o’ them. I’m all right here. I’ll decide when I want to be somewhere else.’

  ‘I’ve brought you some eggs and a bacon shank, and bread,’ he ventured. ‘I think we’re in for some snow.’

  ‘Who baked ’bread?’ she demanded.

  ‘Maria,’ he lied, knowing that she’d throw it out for the ducks and geese on the Haven waters if he’d said that Harriet had baked it, which she had.

  She nodded. ‘It’ll save me baking,’ she said grudgingly. ‘And my hens have gone off lay so I’ll use ’eggs. Now tell me why you’ve really come.’ The question was sudden and he was taken aback.

  ‘Next time I’m coming I’ll send you a postcard with a list o’ reasons on it,’ he said tersely. ‘Then you can be prepared.’

  She didn’t answer and Fletcher drew in a breath. ‘If you don’t want me to come, I won’t,’ he said abruptly; the only time his temper rose was when he was with his mother and it was rising now. ‘So if this is to be ’last time, then yes, there are some things I want to ask you.’

  He saw by her expression that she knew she had gone too far in her cat and mouse game; if he didn’t come to see her there would be no one she could use for her whipping boy, no one else who would tolerate her moods, her bitterness and resentment that life had treated her unfairly, for the fact was that no one else did come, not even his children, although they would have done if they’d thought she was glad to see them.

  She waited for him to continue and he in turn waited to order his thoughts, to decide on the best approach, knowing already that there wasn’t a best way or a right way; she was going to be angry however he said it.

  ‘My children,’ he began. My children, not our children; she wouldn’t tolerate even a vague reference to the mother of his children. ‘My children are growing up, and as you might know they have been friends of Christopher Hart’s children since they were very young.’

  He had her attention now: her eyes narrowed, and her forehead creased into a frown. ‘You mean Noah’s son, not your bairns,’ she corrected. ‘She used to tek him to ’manor.’

  ‘No,’ he said softly, ‘all of them. Mostly Daniel, I agree; he’s a similar age to ’twins. But lately Maria too; she went with him to ’twins’ sixteenth birthday party up at ’manor.’

  ‘And?’ she said. ‘What’s that to do wi’ owt?’

  He held her gaze. ‘It’s to do with what you once said. About me. About my parentage. I want to know if what you said back then is really true.’ Or if you were speaking out of spite, he thought. As we know that you can and do.

  Her mouth twisted and she grunted. ‘Why would I lie?’ she muttered. ‘What would be ’advantage o’ that?’

  ‘But can you be sure?’ he hedged. ‘My father, Nathaniel – surely he would have guessed?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure!’ Her voice was strident, outraged, censuring him for such an unseemly suggestion. ‘Huh! Mr Tuke believed me all right. He was that proud that he’d sired a son.’ She paused, and then smirked. ‘At least he was at first. He might have had doubts as you got older cos you looked nowt like him. But it was too late by then.’

  Fletcher closed his eyes, defeated. What was to be done? He opened them to find her staring at him.

  ‘You’ve spoiled your chances, o’ course,’ she muttered.

  ‘What?’ Baffled, Fletcher stared back at her.

  ‘Spoiled your chances. You should have gone to him – Christopher – like I said all them years ago.’ El
len nibbled her nails. ‘You should have told him afore his wife gave birth to them twin babbies, you’d have been ’eldest son then, seeing as his first wife onny gave him a daughter. It might still work,’ she rumbled on. ‘You’d still be heir to ’estate even if from ’wrong side o’ blanket, but she might mek trouble; his second wife, I mean. She’ll want it for her sons.’

  ‘Mother!’ he shouted, and stood up. ‘Don’t you understand? I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about my children and what it means to them!’

  She looked up at him. ‘They’ll be way down in ’pecking order,’ she sneered. ‘Especially with a mother like they’ve got and wi’ knowledge that she was once married to Noah.’

  He lifted his hands in exasperation. ‘Are you being obtuse or do you really not understand what I’m saying? I’m telling you, Ma, that my children are friends of Christopher Hart’s children. What if they should form an attachment?’

  He thought of Maria’s animated conversation when he had collected her and Daniel from the party. He’d pretended he wasn’t listening as she described the talks she had had with Stephen, but he was, and he’d grown afraid. Nothing would come of it, he had persuaded himself. They are way out of our class, but then so had his mother been, and Christopher Hart had gone dallying where he should not.

  ‘They’d not,’ she said. But her voice trembled.

  ‘They have three sons,’ he exploded, his voice breaking. ‘And I have three daughters! And are you telling me, once and for all, that their father Christopher Hart is also my father? Is it true or not?’

  She looked at him for only a moment before turning her head away so that he could only see her profile, which told him nothing. She lifted her chin, in pride or defiance he couldn’t tell, but there was no shame, no regret for what had gone before or the future consequences of her actions.

  ‘It’s true.’ She turned back to face him. ‘I knew he couldn’t marry me, but I didn’t care about that. Men like him don’t marry for love, but they can marry to please their family and take a mistress elsewhere, and that’s what I wanted and expected.’