Chaff upon the Wind (33 page)

She saw Guy about to give the order to the driver to move off, back to the Hall and no doubt to a sumptuous reception that awaited them and their guests, when Miriam touched his arm and said
something to him. Then Kitty saw him smile and nod and Miriam stood up in the carriage holding the beautiful bouquet in her hand and looked around her, seeing the upturned, smiling faces. Her
glance roamed over the throng. She appeared to be looking for someone. Then her gaze met Kitty’s and for a long moment they stared at each other. Suddenly Miriam’s smile broadened and
Kitty heard her laugh aloud and say, ‘There you are, Kitty Clegg . . .’

Before Kitty realized what was happening she heard Miriam call out, ‘Catch!’ and saw her throw the bouquet high into the air towards her. The crowd cheered and clapped with delight
as Kitty put up her hands and caught the flowers, petals and leaves showering about her.

‘Another wedding,’ a voice called somewhere. ‘Now there’ll be another wedding.’

Kitty’s eyes filled with tears as she smiled tremulously towards Miriam and waved her hand in thanks, but now Mrs Guy Harding had turned away, back to her new husband and the carriage was
moving off, the crowd surging forward, following it as far as they could.

Kitty was left standing alone at the church gate staring after them, feeling strangely lost and suddenly very lonely.

It had been a kind gesture on Miriam’s part, Kitty thought, and so much more lay behind it than the other watchers – even Mr Guy – could ever know. Kitty thought that it was
Miriam’s way of wishing her well, perhaps even a way of saying that she hoped Jack would, one day, marry her.

But that, thought Kitty sadly, bridal bouquet or not, would never happen.

In the small kitchen of their cottage, Kitty was sitting near the warm range, Johnnie fast asleep in her lap, his head against her breast, his thumb in his mouth, when the door
flew open and the February wind lifted the rug on the tiled hearth.

‘It’s all right for some with time to sit near the fire all day. Come on, rouse yarsen. I need help. The lad’s not turned in. And get that boy’s thumb out of his mouth.
He’s not a babby any more.’

Johnnie stirred and whimpered as he woke and Kitty saw Jack’s lip curl. ‘He’s becoming a mother’s boy. Soon be time I took him in hand and made a man of him.’

Kitty lifted the boy to his feet and got up herself. ‘You’ll do no such thing yet, Jack Thorndyke. Time enough. Now, what is it you want me to do?’

‘The chaff hole. You’ll have to mind the chaff hole. It’s a mucky job, but I’ve no one else.’

Kitty shrugged. ‘I’ve done muckier jobs in me time, but what about Johnnie? Do you want me to take him to me mam’s.’

‘No, it’ll take too much time. He’ll have to come with you. I’ll put some straw in a barrel and he can stand in that and watch. That way your precious little boy will be
safe from the rats.’

Kitty did not answer. She knew Jack was fond of his son, but he was the kind of man who expected a boy to be rough and tough. But Johnnie was only two and a half, Kitty told herself again, time
enough.

She wrapped Johnnie warmly against the blustery day and, leading him by the hand, they walked from the cottage to the Manor and entered the stackyard. For a moment, Kitty and the child stood
watching, both fascinated by the scene before them. For the child, it was the first time he had been allowed close to such excitement and for Kitty, although she had often come into the yard during
threshing days, she had never before taken the trouble to try to understand how things worked. Until this moment, she had always come to see Jack. Now the atmosphere of the yard enveloped her and
drew her in. The air was filled with noise: the steady throb of the engine, the whirring wheels and belts, the rattle of bright metal rods and the hum of the thresher.

Jack stood on
Sylvie
’s footplate, his glance ever watchful of the water gauge, his ears listening to the rhythmic chug-chug of his engine, attuned to the slightest change. A young
boy, with two buckets suspended from a yoke, carried water across the yard to the engine, while Jack himself jumped down to stoke the fire box with coal from a heap a few yards from the
machine.

On top of the corn stack to be threshed, men swung loaded pitchforks to a man on the top of the drum. He cut the band and passed the sheaf to Ben, who, standing over the hole, laid the corn on
his left arm and fed it steadily and evenly into the jaws of the rotating drum.

And already another stack was being formed by the straw falling from one end of the thresher on to the teeth of an elevator that carried it high and dropped it to the men waiting below who,
skilled in their work, built a new stack with as much precision and care as a bricklayer would build a house.

‘You going to stand there gawping all day?’ Jack’s voice made her jump. ‘That chaff hole’ll be choked if you don’t keep it clear . . .’

Kitty moved forward to become part of the operation of manpower and machinery that worked in unison, each with their own part to play.

It was indeed the worst job on the threshing team. The chaff hole was where the chaff poured out of the drum just behind the small front wheels. Kitty spread the chaff sheet – a hessian
sack cut open and tied at each corner with bands to pull it by – on the ground at the side of the machine. The dust and chaff flew everywhere, hazing the air. It clung to her hair, her
clothes; it blocked her nostrils, tickled her throat and made her cough. It even stung her eyes and made them run, but doggedly Kitty stayed, raking the chaff on to the sheet and dragging it across
the yard to the small chaff shed at the side of the barn.

She leaned against a post and pressed the palm of her hand to the small of her back, trying to ease the ache. She closed her eyes for a moment.

‘Not quite the lady’s maid now, are we?’

Kitty opened her eyes and turned to see Milly standing a few feet away. In the last three years Milly had grown and blossomed. Gone was the scrawny, lank-haired, rather pathetic, young girl. Now
she was plump, but it was a roundness that was voluptuous. Her face was no longer pasty and her cheeks were smooth and pink with health. Even her hair, once so lank and colourless, was clean and
shining. It was skilfully plaited and wound into a coil on the top of her head beneath her kitchen maid’s cap.

A sharp retort sprang to Kitty’s lips. ‘Well, I see you aren’t a lady’s maid yet either?’

Milly laughed. ‘I don’t want to be, not to the likes of the new Mrs Harding at the Hall anyway. No, I’m quite happy where I am, thank you very much. Mrs Grundy can’t last
for ever. She’s getting on a bit and some days ’er legs are that bad, she can hardly stand.’ The girl’s smile widened slyly. ‘I don’t reckon it’ll be long
afore she gets thrown out because she can’t do the job.’

There was not an ounce of pity in the girl’s tone for a woman who had given a life of service.

‘Mrs Franklin wouldn’t throw her out.’

Milly shrugged uninterestedly. ‘I expect she’ll get a little cottage on the estate somewhere to see out her days. That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?’

‘Selfish, that’s what you are, Milly Clegg. Can’t wait to step into the poor old dear’s shoes, can you? Anyway, I can’t stand here talking to you all day. Some of
us have got work to do.’

As she moved away, she heard Milly say, ‘I wouldn’t swap jobs with you now, our Kitty, for all your fancy notions of being me lady’s maid. Look where it’s got
you!’

Kitty did not look back but marched towards the chaff hole under the huge threshing drum.

They were getting near the last of the stack and the rats started to run from it as the forks drove deeper and deeper. Kitty glanced towards the barrel, checking that Johnnie was safe. The boy
was watching with wide eyes and pointing at the scurrying vermin.

Jack climbed down from his engine. ‘Ben, Ben, where’s that useless mongrel of yours?’

Ben’s rumbling laugh came from the top of the thresher where he stood to feed the drum. ‘He’ll be cowering at the back of the barn, I shouldn’t wonder. Afeard of rats, he
is, Jack.’

‘Is he, begum? We’ll soon see about that.’

He turned and walked towards the barn, whistling and calling, ‘Here, boy.’ Then Kitty saw him glance towards Milly and nod and she saw her sister dip her head and slant her eyes
coyly at Jack.

He can’t stop it, can he? she thought bitterly. It’s as if he can’t even help it. Any girl and he has to flirt with them. Even me own sister.

At that moment, four huge rats scuttled out of the straw and ran wildly about the yard, one making a bee-line towards Milly. The girl screamed and clutched at her skirts. Holding them high, she
ran towards Jack. He caught her up in his arms, lifting her feet high off the ground and swinging her round, laughing. Milly, safe now, laughed up into his face and though Kitty watched, her mouth
tight, she neither spoke nor moved from her place by the chaff hole as she saw Jack carry Milly round the corner of the barn.

He was back in a few moments, however, carrying Ben’s black and white terrier. He brought the dog to the diminishing stack and set it down. Rats of all sizes still appeared from the heap,
but the minute Jack released his hold on the dog, it fled back to the deep shadows of the barn.

‘Why, the little beggar!’ Jack said and Ben’s laugh could be heard again.

‘I telled ya, Jack, didn’t I?’

Jack strode after the terrier, anger in every long stride. ‘I’ll teach you, you little runt.’

He came back carrying the struggling dog and went towards the barrel where Johnnie stood. Kitty threw down her rake and crawled out from the chaff hole, wiping away the dust and wisps of straw
with the back of her hand.

Still keeping hold of the terrier in one hand, Jack lifted his son out of the barrel and set him on the ground. Then he reached down into the barrel and pulled out all the straw he had placed
there for the boy to stand on.

‘What doin’?’ Kitty heard Johnnie ask as she drew near and put her hands on his shoulders.

‘You’ll see, lad,’ Jack said grimly. Then he dropped the terrier into the depths of the now empty barrel, turned and strode towards the mound of wheat, still moving with vermin
that had yet to escape. Kitty and the boy watched as Jack plodded into the last remnants of the stack, stamping with his feet. Then he was suddenly still and they saw him bend down to part the
straw near his foot. They heard the squealing then and, a moment later, Jack held a rat aloft by its tail. He turned and came back towards the barrel.

Instinctively, Kitty drew Johnnie back, but the child pressed forward, crying, ‘See, see, me see.’

She bent and picked him up in her arms, unsure what it was exactly that Jack meant to do. In a second, she knew. He stood by the barrel, holding the wriggling rat suspended in midair above the
petrified terrier below. And then, with a grin that was almost evil, he dropped the rodent into the barrel.

There followed such a scuffling, yelping and squealing that Kitty drew back even further. ‘Jack, no, oh no. Stop it at once. That’s cruel.’

But Jack only laughed while in her arms Johnnie struggled, leaning towards the barrel and shouting. ‘See, see.’

‘Ben . . .’ Kitty turned, yelling above the noise of the engine to the owner of the little dog. But Ben Holden, still on top of the drum, merely shrugged his huge shoulders and shook
his head, making no effort to stop what Jack was doing.

The yelps of pain from the terrier were more than Kitty could bear. Holding the boy fast in one arm, she reached out with her other hand to tip over the barrel and free the poor trapped
creature.

‘Oh no, you don’t, Kitty.’ Jack, seeing her intention, grasped her wrist and held her back.

She glared up at him. ‘You’re a bastard, Jack Thorndyke.’

‘Language, Kitty,’ he remonstrated, laughing all the while. ‘And in front of the boy too. Tut-tut.’

But Kitty was too incensed to care. ‘A cruel bastard.’

‘So I’ve always been led to believe, Kitty, because me father weren’t the marrying kind either.’

‘Oh.’ Kitty pulled herself free. ‘You!’ was all she could say.

From the barrel came a yelp and then, suddenly, a growl, a low ferocious growl followed by a high-pitched squeal and then there was silence. The three of them looked at each other, Jack with a
wide grin on his face, Kitty with puzzlement and the child reaching out with one arm, still crying, ‘See, me see.’

Jack looked down into the barrel and then he tipped it over on to its side and the terrier trotted out carrying the dead rat in its jaws.

‘Well, I’ll be . . .’ Kitty began as the dog laid the rat at Jack’s feet and looked up at him, panting. There were patches of blood on the dog’s coat and one paw
was oozing, but in the animal’s eyes there was triumph.

From the team of threshermen, who, though taking no part, had been fully aware of what was happening, there came a cheer. Jack reached down and patted the dog’s head. ‘Good
dog.’ Then, straightening, he raised his arm and gestured towards the stack. ‘Go on then, boy. Fetch.’

To Kitty’s amazement the dog now raced towards the depleted stack and burrowed beneath the straw. He emerged a moment later shaking a rat in his mouth. A quick nip and the rodent was dead.
The dog dropped it and was back beneath the straw again.

‘If I hadn’t seen that with my own eyes, I’d never have believed it,’ Kitty said.

Jack only laughed and began to move back towards the engine. ‘It’s a tough life, Kitty. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. You can take the boy home now. We can
manage.’ He glanced back at her just once. ‘You’ve done a good job today. Thanks.’

Kitty raised her voice and said, ‘I thought for a minute you were going to pat me on the head and say “Good dog”. Come on, Johnnie. I’ve had enough for one day.’
She held out her hand to the boy. ‘Let’s go home.’

Though the boy walked alongside her, he was craning round to watch the dog and the rats until the last possible moment.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Guy, I really can’t go to London again.’