Tidelands Page 42

  Alinor had meant to divert Mrs. Miller to pride in her harvest home but she had accidentally summoned a vivid memory of James Summer standing before her, and her own flare of temper when he said she must not dance.

  She bowed her head as if she were giving thanks for her food; but in reality she was hiding a pain so sharp that she might almost think that her heart was breaking. She took a deep shuddering breath and turned her mind to the dairy and the work they still had to do. She had promised herself that she would not think about losing James, nor about how she would manage without him. She would not think of anything, until after Sunday, Alys’s wedding day. Only then, when Alys was married, and safe, would she allow herself to look clear-eyed at the ruin she had made of her life.

  “I always give a good harvest home,” Mrs. Miller said complacently. “Sir William always says so. Says he would rather be at my harvest home than anywhere in the county. D’you remember, he brought the tutor, didn’t he? Mr. Summer?”

  “Yes,” Alinor said steadily. “Mr. Summer. D’you want to see the butter before I set it into shape?”

  Mrs. Miller rose from the table and left Jane and Alys to clear up. “You can wash the plates,” she said over her shoulder, and went into the dairy with Alinor. She closed the door behind them to keep the dairy cool, though it was already as cold as the ice house at the Priory.

  “That’s doing well,” she said, looking into the churn where the butter was pale and creamy and starting to separate from the buttermilk. “It always comes so quick for you, Alinor.”

  Alinor smiled. She knew it was because she worked harder and churned faster than Mrs. Miller, but the woman would never say so.

  “I tell my husband, you must whisper a charm into the milk,” Mrs. Miller said. “A good charm, of course. I wouldn’t suggest other . . .”

  “It’s rich milk,” Alinor said easily. “There’s no need for charming. If you’re happy with this, I’ll make squares for market.”

  “Don’t make them too big,” Mrs. Miller said. “One pound each only. No point in giving it away.”

  “Exactly,” Alinor said patiently.

  “If it’s slightly underweight that’s better than over. They don’t weigh at the market.”

  “Certainly. And I’ll wrap them.”

  “And you’ll come Saturday morning to pack the cart for me?”

  “Yes,” Alinor said. “And Alys will come, too. D’you want us all the day?”

  “You can mind the farm and the mill while we’re at market. Low tide at dinnertime, but I won’t ask you to open the sluice and turn the wheel.”

  Alinor smiled at the weak joke, as the door from the kitchen opened. “Am I to check the hens’ eggs?” Alys asked.

  “Haven’t you done that already?” Mrs. Miller asked crossly. “Go and do it now, lazy girl.”

  Saturday morning Alinor was up at dawn to do the final strain and pour of the wedding ale. Alys helped her mother and they both sniffed the rich yeasty aroma.

  “It’s going to be good,” Alinor said with satisfaction.

  Ned put his head around the brewhouse door. “I hope it’s not too strong?”

  “It’s wedding ale,” Alinor replied. “It’s as it should be.”

  “I want no drunkenness, and no bawdy games,” Ned specified.

  “What sort of woman do you take me for?” Alinor demanded.

  “You’re one that loves the old ways, and you know it. But this is to be a godly, quiet, and temperate marriage.”

  “No wedding ale?” asked Alinor. “Shall I pour this in the rife?”

  “Well, no wines,” he specified. “And no strong waters.”

  “In that case,” Alinor said regretfully, “I shall have to beg Mrs. Stoney, for once, to stay sober.”

  Ned could not stifle a chuckle. Mrs. Stoney had already impressed him with her grim puritanism. “She’s a godly woman,” he reproved his sister. “She shouldn’t be mocked.”

  “I know!” Alinor replied, and gave the wedding ale a final stir, before putting on her cape to go to the mill.

  When Alinor and Alys walked into the mill yard the cart was at the door and clean straw in the bottom. A sprinkling of snow made it cold enough for the squares of butter to be loaded in their baskets without fear of them going soft. Alinor, Alys, and Jane loaded big round cheeses and eggs in baskets as well, until Mrs. Miller came out of the house, wrapped to her eyes in furs as if she was going to Russia, and took her place on the cart seat. Peter and Jane climbed up beside their mother.

  Mr. Miller hurried to take up the reins. He knew that his wife would not tolerate delay. “Good day!” he said to Alinor, with a smile for Alys. “You’re in charge, you know! We’ll be home by dinnertime!”

  Working at the mill without the constant critical commentary of Mrs. Miller and the hangdog eyes of her husband was like working in their own yard. Richard and the miller’s lad cleaned out the barn where the plowing oxen were stabled, and Alys and Alinor fed and watered them. The women turned the horses out into the frozen pasture for a few hours while the young men mucked out the stables. Alinor pumped the buckets of water and Alys carried them. They raked out the kennels and the henhouses, the pen for the geese and the cows’ stalls. The two women milked the cows and carried the pails to the dairy. They collected hens’ eggs from the henhouse and looked in the little warm nooks around the barns where the hens sometimes laid away; but Mrs. Miller had gone around at dawn and taken every one she could find to market. Every time anyone went past a fallen branch they carried it back to the yard and piled it up for the boy to break it into kindling or split it for logs.

  They fired up the baking oven for those villagers who would bring their bread or homemade dinners to use the big oven at sunset, and Alys kneaded dough for their own breadmaking. They worked all day until the sun started to sink over the western mire and Alinor said with relief, “Time to go home.”

  “Not without our wages,” Alys said. “I need them for tomorrow.”

  “Alys, how much of your dowry do you have, exactly? Because we can’t be short tomorrow. They won’t call it off for the want of a shilling, but we don’t want to look like we’re robbing them on the church doorstep on the very day of your wedding.”

  “Richard will give me whatever is missing. But I’d like to do as much as I can. I want my wages for today, since we’ve worked so hard. And Richard will give me his.”

  Alinor was about to reply when they heard a shout from the gate and the rumble of wheels. Alys ran to open it and then she called to her mother: “Look who they’ve brought from Chichester!”

  For a moment Alinor’s head bobbed up in the certainty that it was James Summer, come to claim her before them all. “Who?”

  “It’s Rob!”

  Alinor hurried out to the gate. “Oh, Rob! Oh, Rob!”

  “Now then,” said Mr. Miller kindly. “You would think he’d been gone to Afric and back. He’s only been away a week.”

  “But I didn’t think he’d come till tomorrow morning for his sister’s wedding!” Alinor exclaimed. “How are you, son? How was your first week?”

  Rob, smartly dressed and grinning, bounded down from the mill wagon and hugged his mother, ducked down for her blessing, and kissed his sister. “Mrs. Miller came into the shop and bought some ratsbane, asked them if she could give me a lift home, and they were happy to let me go early,” he said. “I’m to be back at work Monday morning at eight o’clock, so I can stay for the wedding and overnight.”

  “How kind of you.” Alinor turned to Mrs. Miller, her face glowing with happiness. “Neighborly indeed. I thank you.”

  “Ah well,” the other woman said with unusual generosity. “He’s a fine young man and a credit to you. Is all well here?”

  “Oh, yes,” Alinor said. “And we made a meat pie for your dinner. I didn’t know what you would get at market.”

  “He dined well enough.” Mrs. Miller nodded towards her husband, whose red face and merry smile indicated a long s
tay in the market tavern while his wife and children were selling their cheeses, butter, and eggs. “But we shall be glad of something to eat.”

  “I shall be glad of one of Mrs. Reekie’s pies,” Mr. Miller said cheerfully. “Nobody makes a meat pie like Mrs. Reekie.”

  Alinor shook her head deprecatingly as Mrs. Miller surged past her into the kitchen. Alys and Alinor took the horse from the wagon, led him into the stable, hung up his heavy collar and bridle on the hook while Richard and the lad pushed the wagon into its place and unloaded the goods. Mrs. Miller had bought sacks of wool in the wagon for spinning, a new milking stool, some wooden bowls, and two feather pillows.

  “Spent all that she earned,” Mr. Miller confided to Alinor.

  “Shame on you,” Alinor said loyally. “Mrs. Miller is one of the best housewives on the island.”

  “And what about this girl of yours?” Mr. Miller asked, giving Alys a casual slap on her bottom. “Is she going to make a good housewife to Richard Stoney?”

  “I hope so,” Alinor said, drawing Alys to her and detaching her from Mr. Miller.

  “Have you put the horse away?” Mrs. Miller bawled from the kitchen doorway.

  “Aye!” Mr. Miller hollered back. “I’ve done all my work for one day. And they’ve done theirs. Are they getting paid today?”

  Mrs. Miller disappeared back into the house and came out with their wages, a shilling for the two of them.

  “Thank you very much,” Alinor said, as Mrs. Miller went back into the house and Alys and Alinor turned towards the yard gate.

  “Is that right?” Mr. Miller asked suddenly. “A shilling, for a day’s work when you’ve done everything on the farm today?”

  “It’s right,” Alinor said stiffly. She could have added—but hardly generous for a girl getting married tomorrow—but she would not say a word. Rob beside her stiffened, and she put her hand under his arm and gave it a little squeeze.

  “It’s not right,” Mr. Miller said with the resentful persistence of a slightly drunken man. “Here! Betty Miller! You come out here!”

  “Really,” Alinor said. “It’s right, Mr. Miller. Shilling a day, for the whole day, because we stopped at sunset.” She gave Rob a little push towards the yard gate.

  Mrs. Miller came bustling out of her kitchen door. “And who’s shouting me out like I was a milkmaid?” she demanded.

  Rob nodded to Mr. Miller. “Thank you for the lift in the wagon, Mr. Miller,” he said. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Miller.” Tactfully, he went to the yard gate and waited for his mother out of earshot as Mrs. Miller surged out and stood, hands on hips, glaring at her husband and Alinor.

  “What’s this?” she demanded.

  Alinor shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Really, nothing.”

  “You’ve underpaid the Reekies,” Mr. Miller said mulishly. “Mother and the maid.”

  “Sixpence each, as I always have done.”

  “Sole charge!” he said, like a man who has discovered a password. “Sole charge. They had sole charge of the farm today, so that makes them like a yard man. Or like a bailiff. Sole charge. Good as a man. Good as two men.”

  “You want to pay a woman and a maid as much as two yard men?” Mrs. Miller demanded scathingly.

  “No,” he said, “course not. But they should have . . . and the pretty maid is getting married . . .”

  Alinor noted the fatal slip of calling Alys “pretty” to his slate-faced wife.

  “Who pays them?” Mrs. Miller suddenly demanded of him, going close and taking him by his linen collar as if she would choke him.

  “Why, you do?”

  “And who watches them, and keeps them right and clears up after their mistakes, and all the mess they make?”

  Alinor let her gaze slip away from Mr. Miller’s crestfallen face to the creamy rosy sky over the harbor, glanced towards her son, Rob, waiting at the gate and wished herself home, with her children at the dinner table.

  “You do,” Mr. Miller said sulkily.

  “So, I think it’s best left to me and them, isn’t it? Without any man coming in and wanting extra payment for ‘pretty’?”

  Mr. Miller had been defeated twenty years ago by the iron determination and chronic bad temper of his wife. “I was just saying—”

  “Best not to say anything,” Mrs. Miller advised him smartly.

  “Feeding the horse,” he said, as if to himself, and turned towards the stable.

  “And we have to go,” Alinor said smoothly.

  “Old fool that he is,” Mrs. Miller said.

  “Good night, Mrs. Miller. We’ll see you tomorrow at church,” Alinor said.

  “Good night, Mrs. Reekie,” she replied, recovering her temper now that she had won. “And God bless you tomorrow, Alys.”

  Alinor and her two children walked down the track to the ferry crossing, where Rob ran ahead like a boy to ring the chime.

  TIDELANDS, FEBRUARY 1649

  The wedding was to be simple. Alys and Richard would be married before the usual Sunday morning congregation at St. Wilfrid’s Church, Alys in her best gown with her new white apron and new white linen cap. Richard would wear his best jacket, and Ned would lead the bride to the altar. The service would follow the new style as ordered by parliament: Richard would make brief promises, and Alys would assent to her own vows. After the wedding in St. Wilfrid’s, they would all cross the rife, take a goodwill drink at the tide mill, and then go on to Stoney Farm for the wedding feast. There would be good food, and healths drunk, and finally the young people would go to bed in the big bedroom under the thatched eaves.

  Alys did not sleep until the crowing cock from the barn told her that the night was nearly over, and then she turned on her side, sighed with anticipation, and slept deeply.

  The morning of her wedding day was freezing cold but clear, the ice on the harbor so white that the seagulls whirling above it were bright against the blue sky and then invisible against the blanched landscape. Alys, waking late and tumbling down the stairs to eat gruel at the kitchen table, swore that she would not wear her cape but would go into church in her gown and new apron and cap.

  “You’ll freeze,” said her mother. “You have to wear your cape, Alys.”

  “Let her freeze,” Ned advised. “It’s her wedding day.”

  Alinor granted the one liberty that Alys had set her heart on. “Oh, very well. But this is what comes of a winter wedding. And no flowers to be had but a posy of dried herbs!”

  “As long as I can wear my new pinny,” Alys stipulated.

  “Oh, wear it!” Alinor said. “But you’ll put your cape on when you’re going home in the wagon to Stoney Farm.”

  “I will! I will!”

  Rob came down the stair from the loft, wearing his new work jacket and the Christmas shoes.

  “And how fine d’you look, lad?” Ned asked, slapping him on the back. “This is a proud day for the Ferrymans.”

  The children did not mention their father’s name, and Alinor, tightening her cape around her broadening waist, thought that if she had not needed a name for her baby she might never have heard the words Zachary Reekie again.

  “All right, Ma?” Rob asked gently.

  She smiled at him. “I’m fine.”

  “She’s missing Alys before we’re rid of her,” Ned advised, but Rob’s brown eyes were fixed on his mother’s pale face.

  “Are you really all right?”

  Alinor held her breath. From childhood, Rob had been able to see beyond the surface of things, to illness and sorrow. She wondered if he could see her heartbreak, she wondered if he could sense her baby, his half brother.

  She shook her head and smiled. “It’s as your uncle says,” she lied. “I’m seeing you and Alys out the house, both of you, in the same week and I feel like a broody hen with all her eggs stolen.”

  “I’ll be working at the mill with you tomorrow,” Alys pointed out. “You’ll see me at first light. And Rob’ll be home at Lady Day.”

>   “I know, I know,” Alinor said. “And I couldn’t be happier for both of you. Come along now, Rob, and eat some breakfast. Alys, have you had anything?”

  “I can’t,” she said at once. “I’ve no appetite.”

  “Don’t you go fainting away at the altar for hunger,” Ned warned her.

  “Take some small ale and a little bread,” Alinor urged her. “And I have eggs as well.”

  Alys sat at the table as she was ordered, her uncle on one hand and her brother on another, and smiled up at her mother. “My last breakfast here,” she said. “My last breakfast as Alys Reekie.”

  “Stop it,” Ned advised swiftly. “Or you’ll set your mother off again.”

  Mr. Stoney, his wife, and son in their wagon rang the chime for the ferry just as the family was finishing breakfast, and Ned went out to bring them across the high water. Once they were on the island side Alinor rolled out the barrels of wedding ale for them, and the two men loaded them into the wagon. Alinor had two big wheels of cheese and two loaves of bread baked in the big oven at the mill.

  “And are you ready?” Mr. Stoney asked Alys. “All your little things packed up?”

  “I’m ready, I’m ready!” she said breathlessly.

  Richard jumped down from the back of the wagon, his face pink with cold and shyness. He took her hands and kissed each one, and then he kissed her on the lips.

  Mrs. Stoney climbed down from the seat at the front of the wagon and Alys curtseyed and kissed her mother-in-law, and as the adults greeted each other, she slid her hand in Richard Stoney’s warm grip.

  “I’ll get her things,” Ned said to Alinor. “Are they all ready?”

  Alinor and Ned went into the house and brought out a small pile of good linen, the best that Ferry-house had, and a knapsack of Alys’s personal goods. Mrs. Stoney’s eyes flickered over the little bag, but she said nothing. Richard gave Alinor his hand to help her into the back of the cart and lifted Alys in.

  “We’ll walk over the mire,” Ned said for him and Rob. “See you at the church door!”