Cherry Tree Lane Read online

The following morning Jacob again donned his best clothes, muttering under his breath as he tried to get the tie straight. So in turmoil was his mind that only at the last minute did he remember the birth certificate and ask Mattie about it.

  ‘I did bring it. But it was in my bundle and it’s in a terrible condition after getting soaked.’

  ‘Can I take it with me?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She went into the front room and came back holding a crumpled piece of paper, its black ink water-smeared.

  They peered at it together.

  ‘I’d better write down the names,’ she said. ‘Some of them don’t show up very clearly.’ She did this while Jacob found an old envelope to put it in and stowed that in his inner jacket pocket.

  ‘There. I’m ready.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Mattie came across to straighten his tie, smiling up at him involuntarily. ‘That’s better.’

  He too was smiling when he left, and kept thinking he felt the butterfly touch of her fingers on his neck.

  In the middle of the morning, after she’d had a liedown, Mattie went to try on Alice’s shoes. They were far too big for her. She’d just have to polish up her own and hope no one noticed the cracked leather of the uppers till she could buy some new ones.

  There were only a few clothes hanging in the wardrobe and from the way one of the dresses had been mended, she could tell that Alice hadn’t been a good needlewoman. She muttered, ‘Sorry to take your things!’ as she went through them, because it seemed the right thing to do. After choosing a dress, she took it downstairs to unpick the seams. It was pale blue, a nondescript colour, not one she’d have chosen for herself, but it wasn’t worn, so at least she’d be decent.

  There was a Singer sewing machine in the front room, a very old-fashioned and heavy treadle type. When she pedalled the foot pad and tried it out on a piece of rag, it clanked and rattled and clearly hadn’t been well cared for. She wondered if Alice had used it much and guessed not. It wasn’t half as good as the one which had belonged to Mattie’s mother, which she’d been using for years. She paused for a moment to wonder what her stepfather would do with her sewing machine and the few books her mother had left her. He’d probably hurl the books out into the yard or sell them to the rag-and-bone man.

  She found it hard to concentrate as she unpicked some of the seams and pinned them to fit her properly. Her thoughts drifted and the dress lay unheeded on the table in front of her as often as not. She looked down at it with distaste, then got angry with herself. She should be grateful for these clothes … only she hated the thought of getting married in another woman’s dress, absolutely hated it.

  She looked round at another cause for irritation. Jacob had done his best, but she was aching to get the house clean. Physical activity still exhausted her, however, so she was saving her energy for cooking the meals and mending, which seemed the best way to help the family at the moment. They’d certainly been appreciative of her efforts last night. Well, Jacob and Sarah had been. Until prompted, Luke had offered only the unspoken appreciation of clearing his plate and accepting a second helping. He’d also scowled at her a few times. She couldn’t understand why.

  There was a knock on the front door and almost immediately someone pushed it open and called, ‘Mr Kemble? Are you there? It’s only me.’

  Mattie jumped to her feet, but it was too late to hide.

  The woman who came in was dressed in dowdy, old-fashioned clothes but was clearly a lady, the sort who visited the poor but considered herself superior to them – though Jacob wasn’t poor exactly and had no need of anyone’s charity.

  The newcomer stopped dead at the sight of Mattie, then drew herself up and said in tones of distaste, ‘So they were right. I didn’t believe it, but they were right!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  Mattie stiffened at the tone but for Jacob’s sake tried to think of something conciliatory to say.

  Before she could manage it, the woman took a step forward and said in an even louder voice, ‘Well? Answer me this minute.’

  Something inside Mattie rebelled. ‘What business is that of yours?’

  ‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me, young woman.’ She studied Mattie from head to toe and didn’t seem to like what she saw.

  ‘If you’re looking for Jacob, he’s out—’

  ‘I deliberately chose a time when I knew he’d be working in the field, so that I could see for myself if rumour was correct.’ Her expression became even more disdainful. ‘And it is. He’s keeping a trollop here.’

  Mattie gasped at this insult and drew herself up. ‘Please leave now.’

  ‘I shall not leave until you’ve told me who you are and what you’re doing here.’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘I’m Mrs Henty, the curate’s wife, and it most certainly is my business if one of my husband’s parishioners is living in sin. Just wait until Miss Newington hears about this. She’ll be furious. If you have any concern for Jacob and what’s right, young woman, you’ll leave at once. Decent people don’t want to live cheek by jowl with your sort.’

  Mattie walked to the front door. ‘I’ll ask you one more time to leave.’

  Instead Mrs Henty marched through to the kitchen door, opened it and bellowed across the field, ‘Jacob Kemble! Jacob! A word if you please.’ When there was no answer she called again, in a voice which would have woken the dead. No answer. After peering across the field, she turned back to scowl at Mattie. ‘I’m not going anywhere till you tell me where Jacob is.’

  ‘In that case, you’ll excuse me if I get on with my work.’ She had no intention of telling her that he was in Swindon, making arrangements for them to marry. It would sound apologetic, and she had nothing to apologise for.

  Since the curate’s wife was a stout woman, who must have weighed twice what she did, Mattie had no way of forcing her to leave. Ignoring the open door she sat down again and bent her head over her sewing, trying to hide the fact that her hands were shaking with suppressed anger.

  ‘I’ve never met such impudence in my life!’ The curate’s wife moved to stand at the opposite side of the table.

  ‘Nor have I.’ Mattie raised her head to meet the other woman’s gaze and held steady against it until Mrs Henty looked away. Then she bent over her work again.

  It was a full five minutes before the curate’s wife said loudly, ‘You will regret this. I’m going up to see Miss Newington. Perhaps she can bring him to a sense of what’s right.’ She swept out of the room and slammed the front door behind her.

  Mattie let her mending drop and buried her face in her hands. She hadn’t thought to lock the door. People didn’t usually barge into others’ houses without being invited, not unless they were close friends or family, and she was surprised that Mrs Henty had done that. Perhaps they had different ways here in the country.

  She hoped she hadn’t done anything which would upset Jacob, but to be spoken to like that had made something snap inside her, and the temper that had been reined in by fear for so many years had taken over.

  She had done nothing wrong – nothing! – and would not be treated like a loose woman.

  Nor would she kowtow to anyone again, not if they beat her to death for it.

  In Swindon, Miss Newington’s presence at Jacob’s side swept away all difficulties, because she could vouch for the bride, explaining to both the lawyer and the man at the registry office that she was a friend of the family and the bride was unfortunately recovering from the influenza and needed to rest.

  ‘She’s just lost the last of her family,’ Emily said in a hushed voice, ‘so she and Mr Kemble wish to get married earlier than they’d planned.’

  Jacob signed papers when told, made the appropriate answers and found himself with a wedding booked for the following Tuesday morning.

  Sitting in the train, Emily said suddenly, ‘We need to find something for your b
ride to wear.’

  ‘I’ve given her Alice’s clothes and she’s going to alter them.’

  ‘What? You can’t expect another woman to get married in your dead wife’s clothes!’

  ‘There isn’t time to buy anything else.’

  ‘Nonetheless …’ She frowned for a moment then beamed at him. ‘I know! There are trunks full of clothing in the attics at Newington House. We’ll take her up to the house in the trap and let her choose. There may not be time to have a dress made, but there’s time to alter one. None of my things will suit her. I’m too tall, and anyway, my father didn’t believe in ladies dressing flamboyantly.’ She looked down at herself, sighed, then became brisk again.

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll accept charity,’ Jacob said.

  ‘She won’t even hesitate. She’ll wear anything rather than your wife’s clothes. And besides, it’ll be my wedding present to her.’

  It felt like riding a runaway horse, he thought. Would Mattie want this? He didn’t know.

  They picked up the horse and trap in Wootton Bassett and Emily asked Jacob to drive it back. She enjoyed the pleasure of being able to study the scenery on the way back to the village instead of concentrating on driving, something she wasn’t good at. When they got to the cottage, he would have handed the reins to her, but she started getting out of the trap before he could prevent her.

  ‘You wait here. I want to have a quick word with Mattie.’

  When she went into the house, she saw at once that the younger woman had been weeping.

  ‘What’s wrong? Do you not wish to marry Jacob?’

  Mattie’s lips trembled for a moment, then she said baldly, ‘The curate’s wife walked into the house this morning without so much as a by-your-leave. She accused me of … of being Jacob’s trollop. She said the rumour had gone round the village. I shouldn’t have let it upset me, because I know I’ve done nothing wrong, but it did. I seem to cry very easily at the moment.’

  ‘Drat the woman! She will poke her nose into people’s lives, whether they want it or not, and half the time she tells them it’s at my behest, so they do as she wants, then blame me.’ Emily hesitated, then went to give the younger woman a couple of quick pats on the upper arm. She wasn’t one for mauling people around, but she had taken a liking to this young woman and didn’t like to see her so upset.

  Mattie blew her nose and squared her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Just ignore that woman. I’ll have a word with her later. She’s not going to blacken your name if I can help it. Now, get your coat and come with me. We need to find you a wedding dress.’

  ‘I was altering one of Alice’s.’

  ‘Nonsense. You don’t want to wear her things and if that garment is anything to go by, she had dreadful taste in clothes. She was a decent young woman, but more at home in the fields than in the house, and looked it.’ Almost as an afterthought, she added, ‘Oh, and everything’s booked for Tuesday, so we haven’t a minute to waste. We need to find you a dress quickly.’

  ‘We’re getting married on Tuesday!’

  ‘Yes.’

  Still Mattie hesitated. ‘Are you still sure I should marry him, Miss Newington? People will think—’

  ‘I’m very sure. It was the best thing that could have happened to Jacob, rescuing you. He’d let things get him down. I’ll sort out what people think later. Now do come on.’

  ‘But your dresses won’t fit me, either.’ And Miss Newington had even worse taste in clothes than Alice.

  ‘I’m not offering you one of mine. There are trunks full of discarded clothing in my attics. I’m sure we can find you something suitable to wear, as long as you’re prepared to alter it yourself. They’re very old-fashioned, I’m afraid, and I can’t help you with the sewing. I can embroider, but I’m no good whatsoever at dressmaking.’

  ‘Oh. Well. All right. Um … there wouldn’t be any shoes, would there?’ She gestured down at her shoes.

  ‘There may well be. Now, get your coat on. Hurry up.’

  ‘Don’t tell Jacob about Mrs Henty,’ Mattie whispered as she was swept towards the door.

  ‘Don’t be foolish. Of course I shall tell him. He needs to know.’

  Jacob listened in growing indignation as Miss Newington explained what had happened during their absence. He was furious on several counts. Fancy the woman daring to walk into his house without so much as a by-your-leave! He’d make it clear to her that she was not to do that again.

  But what angered him most of all was that she’d upset Mattie. He hated to see her reddened eyes and think of her all alone, weeping. He heard her voice shake as she answered his questions and longed to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  ‘What I don’t understand,’ he said at last, ‘is how anyone knew you were there.’

  Silence. The only other people besides themselves who knew about Mattie were his children. Had Luke broken his promise to keep quiet about their visitor? That thought upset Jacob. At eleven, Luke was old enough to know right from wrong. But Luke had been very sulky about Mattie’s presence.

  ‘It must be my son who let it out,’ he said at last.

  ‘You have a daughter too,’ Miss Newington pointed out.

  Jacob considered this, then shook his head. ‘No. Sarah loves keeping secrets. And Luke’s been in a bad mood lately. I reckon it’s him.’

  ‘They’re only children,’ Mattie said. ‘You can’t expect miracles of them. And it may not be Luke.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I’m going to ask him,’ Jacob said with quiet determination. ‘Now, let’s sort out this dress, then you must have a rest. You look exhausted even before we start.’

  ‘I’m tired of resting.’

  ‘It’s the only way to get well,’ Miss Newington said in her crisp, no-nonsense voice. ‘Now, Jacob, would you carry your young lady up to the attics and help me with the trunks?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I can walk,’ Mattie protested.

  ‘You’re such a little thing, it’s no trouble to carry you.’ He picked her up and she put one arm round his neck. He liked the feel of her, the softness, the clean smell of soap and water. Her hair was shiny today. Had she washed it? It was tied back with a ribbon into a mass of waves. He had a sudden urge to kiss her again, but you couldn’t do that sort of thing with an elderly spinster standing waiting for you at the top of the stairs.

  He smiled at Mattie as he set her down on the attic landing. He was breathing heavily, but not just from carrying her. He was surprised by his reaction. He hadn’t desired a woman since Alice died.

  Miss Newington’s sharp voice brought them both to attention.

  ‘It’s this way. There’s a big storage area at the rear behind the maids’ bedrooms. I’ve started going through the stuff there, but it’ll take me months to sort it all out at this rate. Hurry up!’

  Mattie was amazed at how much stuff was lying around up here. Miss Newington seemed to know what she wanted, though. Jacob was told to fetch a rickety old chair for Mattie to sit on, then pull a big trunk closer. It proved to be full of discarded garments.

  The two women pulled out clothes, none of which looked worn to Mattie. She couldn’t help stroking the beautiful fabrics, which were like nothing she’d ever worn before. How much had these cost? ‘They’re too good for me.’

  ‘I can’t produce clothing of inferior quality just to suit you,’ Miss Newington said sharply. ‘This stuff is going to waste and costs me nothing. You must choose from what’s available. This is no time to be picky.’

  ‘I didn’t mean … I’m not ungrateful … Oh!’ Mattie reached for a dress in a soft green, holding it up reverently and trying it against herself.

  ‘The colour suits you,’ Miss Newington said, ‘though the dress is far too big for you. Shall you be able to alter it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She’d do it if she had to stay up all night. It was such a beautiful colour.

  ‘Then take it.’

  Mattie could see Jacob smilin
g approvingly and couldn’t resist accepting.

  Miss Newington flapped one hand towards the trunk. ‘Might as well pick two or three more while you’re at it. No use leaving them here for the moths to feast on.’

  Mattie opened and shut her mouth, then gave in to temptation and dipped into the trunk again.

  The colours were like a garden of pretty flowers, the materials beautiful, some fine and silky, others of soft wool. They weren’t practical clothes, but she wasn’t in her dotage yet and had longed for prettier clothes for years.

  ‘We’ll have to find you a hat to go with that one for the wedding. And there were some ribbons in one of those drawers. Perhaps you could use them to trim a straw hat.’ Miss Newington bustled about, fetching out some hatboxes, trying out their contents on Mattie, sometimes shaking her head, at other times nodding approval.

  Finally, she looked down at the younger woman’s feet. ‘We need to find you some shoes. These were worn out even before they got wet. Let’s see …’

  The shoes in the attic were more worn than the clothes, showing impressions of the wearers’ feet. They were mostly too big, but just as Mattie was despairing of finding something suitable, they came across three pairs that were markedly smaller than the others.

  ‘Try these!’

  They fitted her perfectly and were as soft as gloves.

  ‘I think they must have belonged to a young girl,’ Miss Newington said thoughtfully. ‘They’re hardly worn. I wonder if she grew out of them quickly or …’ She cut off what she’d been going to say. ‘Anyway, you might as well have all those shoes. They’re doing no good to anyone lying here.’

  Mattie surprised herself by daring to give the older woman a quick hug. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’ Her voice broke and she was near to tears.

  Miss Newington flushed and for once seemed lost for words. Perhaps she wasn’t used to being hugged. But she didn’t seem annoyed, thank goodness.

  Exhausted but filled with quiet joy that – for once in her life – she’d be well dressed, Mattie began to gather her new possessions together. As she did so, she thought of something she could do as a thank you. ‘You should take that blue dress for yourself, Miss Newington. I could easily alter it for you. It was worn by someone as tall as you and that saxe colour would be very flattering on you.’