Giving him time to collect himself, Eliza pondered on her future. Perhaps when her gramfer had had time to adjust, and the outstanding order from Longstones was fulfilled, she could go and see the school mistress, ask if she’d consider re-engaging her for a few hours a week. Their humble home wouldn’t take long to clean, apart from those cursed cobwebs, she thought watching them swaying like filmy ribbons of lace in the draught from the chimney.

‘Nearly forgot,’ Gramfer said, smiling as she refilled his mug and sat back down beside him. ‘Mrs Finch’s darter’s expecting and she’d like you to make one of them virtue rattles for her future grandchild. Over the moon she is. Must be nice to have something to look forward to,’ he smiled, his features softening. Eliza smothered a sigh, all too aware of where his thoughts were taking him.

‘Well that is good news,’ she agreed.

‘And everyone’s rallying round to help. Parsonage Farm have placed an order for ten sparrow traps,’ he added. ‘Not only that, Longstones are fed up with them shoddy laundry baskets Old Gliddon supplies and have transferred all of their orders to us. They’ve customers all over the county so that should put welcome coppers in the coffers. I only hope we’ve enough withies to keep us going until we harvest the new ones in December. Perhaps we could start early. I’ll check the leaves come mornin’.’

‘In that case we are both going to have a lot to do so we’d best have an early night. Good night Gramfer, try and get some sleep,’ she said quickly as she bent and kissed his whiskery cheek.

‘Night Eliza. Clem’s a fine man and thinks the world of you. But he won’t wait for ever.’

Up in her room, breath spiralling in puffs before her, Eliza quickly changed into her calico nightgown. Too cold and dispirited to give her hair more than a cursory brush, she dived beneath the covers of the iron bedstead, pulling the patchwork cover right over her head. Her dream of resuming her position at the school had disappeared almost as soon as the idea had occurred, for now it seemed she was going to be busier than ever. Closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears escaping, she hardly heard the birds scrabbling in the old thatch above her or the mice scratching in the walls.

‘Oh Grammer, why did you have to die?’ she sobbed.

Chapter 3

Next morning with the sun promising to break through the mist, Eliza determined to give their living room a thorough clean. She smiled, recalling her grammer’s fierce pride in keeping the place spick and span. Tidy house, tidy mind, had been her mantra.

Brushing the cobwebs from the beams, she thought back over the previous night’s discussion. It had been a shock to discover her grandparents hadn’t always lived here and she wondered what their lives had been like in Bridgwater. If her gramfer didn’t look too downcast when he came in for his midday meal, she would ask about it. Talking about the past might be good for him, she thought, dragging the rush mat outside and throwing it over a bush.

Snatching up the beater she gave a fierce thwack sending dust and ash rising into the air, coating the golden leaves grey. A sudden gust of wind shook the branches, dislodging the mat. Eliza cursed as a cloud of the smitch blew back into her face and clung to her curls. No wonder her grammer always covered her head with a mob cap, she thought giving another whack.

‘Hey, watch what you’re doing,’ a voice shouted.

‘Sorry Clem,’ she called, grinning as he coughed and thumped his chest. ‘That’ll teach you to sneak up on me.’ He snorted then turned to face her, his expression changing to one of mirth.

‘You’re blacker than a beast from the bogs,’ he hooted.

‘And you don’t look so good yourself,’ she giggled, pointing to the dirt clinging to his clothes. ‘What are you doing back so soon?’

‘George sent a message for me to fill your stack. Reckons weather’s on the turn,’ he replied, unloading turves of peat from his trow that was lying perilously low in the water. Eliza stared up at the sky, cobalt blue now that the mist had lifted.

‘That’s odd. It looks to me like this good weather’s set to last,’ she replied.

‘He doesn’t usually get things wrong,’ Clem muttered pushing his cloth cap to the back of his head. ‘By the way, here’s the money for the carrots and potatoes,’ he said, diving into his pocket and handing over a few coins.

‘You haven’t taken your cut,’ Eliza reminded him. ‘We are meant to be business partners after all.’

‘Mrs Gill’s sent an order for onions and turnips, and Ma’s short of some too, so if I can take her a few, that’ll square things.’

‘Deal. You can dig them up while I fill the sacks. Then I really must get on with making those baskets. I don’t think Gramfer realises how difficult it will be for me to fit everything in, for he’s accepted yet more orders.’

‘We’d best get on then,’ Clem replied, following her round to the higher ground at the back of the cott where the vegetable plot stretched halfway across their field to the orchard. Clem looked thoughtful as he took up the fork and began lifting the vegetables. Eliza was loading the pungent onions into the hessian sacking, when he turned to her.

‘This ground is very fertile and your vegetables are in demand. I know you’re busy but have you thought of extending the plot for next year? It would give you more income.’ And more work, Eliza thought, though there was no denying the extra money would be useful.

‘Seeing as it’s your bright idea, you can help me dig it over next month. After you’ve helped me pick the apples,’ she grinned, nodding towards the laden trees beyond.

‘You’re a slave driver, Red, do you know that?’

‘Bit of hard work never hurt anyone, and think of all those scrumptious pies and crumbles,’ she quipped, knowing his fondness for puddings.

‘You win, as always,’ he sighed. ‘Now, before you find me another job, tidy up here while I unload the rest of the peat,’ Clem said, putting down the fork, and throwing the full sack of vegetables over his shoulders.

‘Suppose you want a drink now?’ Eliza asked, when he’d finished restocking their peat stack. He looked up at the sun that was nearly overhead then shook his head.

‘Best not, I’ve more deliveries to make for Father,’ he sighed, climbing into his trow. ‘I’ll make sure I have time to stop next time and we can finish that conversation we began in the barn.’ Giving her a meaningful look, he picked up the oars.

She watched as he pulled away from the bank then bent and rinsed her grubby hands in the water. Clem and his talks, she thought, shaking her head then grimacing at the dust that fell onto her shoulders. There was no time for hair washing, she needed to make a start on that rattle for Mrs Finch’s grandchild. Bending down, she searched around until she found seven smooth pebbles, then made her way to the barn.

As ever, the tang of tannin in the air focused her thoughts. Selecting seven suitable withies, she dropped down onto her stool and began weaving the rods in and out to create the conical body. Carefully she inserted each pebble as she went; one for pride, another for envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust. Not that the little mite would have a clue what they signified, but superstition was rife around Sedge Moor and tradition adhered to. Taking up the rest of the lengths, she plaited the seven canes so that they wrapped the seven virtues. Faith, hope, charity, fortitude, justice, prudence and temperance, she intoned as she wove.

‘How lovely to see a maiden reciting her virtues, and a beautiful one with tresses soft as silk.’ Eliza’s head snapped up, her eyes widening as she took in the tall young man silhouetted in the open doorway. With the sun burnishing his locks golden, she couldn’t help thinking how handsome he looked.

‘Oh, you startled me,’ she cried, jumping to her feet and brushing bits of bark from her skirt.

‘Then please accept my apologies. My horse cast a shoe some way back and whilst waiting for the farrier to attend him, I began exploring. Somehow, I found myself inexplicably drawn to all those funny trees standing alongside the water,’ he explained, gesturing towards the rhynes. ‘I mean, I know they’re willows but I’ve never seen them shaped in such a way.’ His voice was cultured and he spoke in a quick tone, quite unlike the local drawl.

‘They are pollarded in order to encourage new shoots to grow straight upwards.’

‘Gracious, I can see my education is sadly lacking,’ the man replied. She stared at him, wondering if he was making fun of her, but although his green eyes were twinkling, his expression was serious. He was immaculately dressed in clothes so well cut, she couldn’t begin to imagine how much they cost. Their eyes locked and she felt a tingling down her spine. She could see by the way he stared that he’d felt something too, but before she could think of what to say to dispel the intensity of the moment, his glance lowered to the withies in her hand.

‘I’m making a rattle for a baby,’ she explained.

‘Oh,’ he replied, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘Hence the virtues.’

‘Ah yes. Well, thank you again for the arboreal lesson, er … I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Eliza, sir, Eliza Priddle.’

‘A pretty name for a pretty young lady,’ he said, smiling so charmingly Eliza felt sparks closing the gap between them. ‘As soon as I arrive home, I will make it my business to enquire of our estate manager about pollarding. Now, please excuse me, I must away and collect my steed. He is apt to become more than a little spirited if kept waiting. Good day to you.’

‘Good day to you, sir. Do feel free to call by again,’ she added impulsively. Heavens, had she really said that? Whatever must he think of her? Yet even as she flinched at her forwardness, he turned.

‘Should I find myself around these parts again, I might just do that,’ he replied, his eyes locking with hers once more.

‘Oh, please do,’ she whispered, hugging her body and suddenly feeling more alive than she ever had before.

Humming happily, Eliza picked up the baby’s rattle, her thoughts racing as fast as her fingers plaited. What a charming man. And so beautifully dressed. She grimaced down at her old skirt, criss-crossed with snags where the withies had pulled at the threads. How she wished she’d been wearing something smarter and brighter. Even the new dress Grammer had made for her was a sober dove grey, befitting the position of a school helper. If those smart garments were what he wore for riding then she could only imagine how he dressed when formally attired. Where had he come from, she wondered. It was only then she realized that, overawed by his appearance, she hadn’t thought to ask his name. Still, he’d said he might call by again, hadn’t he? And he knew where to find her.

Staring down at the rattle, her eyes widened in surprise. She’d been so busy musing, she’d finished it without her movements registering. Impulsively, she began singing, shaking it in time to her tune.

Then, once again, Eliza found her light blocked by a figure in the doorway. Her heart flipped only to flop when she saw it was her gramfer.

‘Someone sounds happy,’ he murmured.

‘Oh Gramfer, it’s you,’ she sighed.

‘And who was you expectin’, the queen?’ he grinned. ‘Haven’t seen you this chirpy for ages. Why, your cheeks are as rosy as the apples in the orchard.’

‘Sorry Gramfer,’ Eliza murmured, guilty at being caught singing so soon after her grammer’s passing.

‘Well don’t be. Mary wouldn’t want either of us moping about the place. Life won’t be the same without her but we has to carry on. I see Clem’s delivered them turves. Inside, is he?’ Seeing his hopeful look, Eliza shook her head.

‘He said he had a lot to do. I don’t think he was expecting to be making a delivery here, especially peat on such a sunny day.’

‘Ah, well you know how quickly the weather can change this time of year.’ He turned away but not before she saw the flush creeping up his neck. So, her suspicions were correct, he had got Clem here under false pretences. ‘See you’ve finished that rattle so I’ll drop it into Mrs Finch. Hopefully she’ll have been doin’ some baking,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I need to check how the beds on the northern boundary are comin’ along, anyhow.’

‘Well you’re the expert on all things arboreal,’ she told him, the pebbles jangling tunefully as she handed over the baby’s toy.

‘Yer what? Heavens girl, I don’t know where you gets fancy words like that from, I really don’t,’ he said, shaking his head. She was about to reply but as he shuffled back outside, she saw he was leaning heavily on his stick again and held her tongue.

Knowing he’d be gone for the rest of the day, Eliza decided to wash out the flour sack. She would make a start on her new top, just in case a certain stranger called by again, she thought, her heart flipping at the thought.

Hurrying indoors, she blinked as the peat smoke stung her eyes, then made her way up the steps and through to the tiny lean-to which her grammer had proudly referred to as the scullery. In reality it was little more than a glory hole that housed their dishes and mugs and a chipped sink with the wonkiest draining board alongside. Behind it was a store, grandly called the pantry, where their meagre provisions were set up on bricks to deter the marauding rats and other vermin that shared their damp environs.

Catching sight of her reflection in the old spotted mirror on the wall, she gasped. Her cheeks were smudged with smitch, while ashes and grass still clung to her windswept hair. To think the most attractive man she’d ever met had seen her looking like this. Clearly, it wasn’t only the flour sack that needed washing, she thought, lifting the old tin bath from its nails on the wall and dragging it in front of the smouldering fire. Snatching up the jug, she hurried outside to the barrel. It took quite a few journeys before she had sufficient rain water for it to be deep enough. Although it looked brown and uninviting, at least it would be soft.

It felt indulgent bathing in the middle of the day but needs must, she thought, climbing into the tub and laying back in the water. She’d bet her new flour sack that the handsome man never had to bathe in a smoky living room. Goodness, wherever did that notion spring from, she wondered, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks. His appearance had certainly stirred her emotions. Quickly she dunked her head but the cold water did nothing to deter the wild thoughts that were pounding her brain.

Chapter 4

Eliza finished bathing, threw on some clean clothes, then washed out the flour sack. Leaving her hair to dry in the warm air, she went back outside. The sun, lower in the sky but still casting its golden rays, felt pleasant on her bare arms. Spreading the sack out on a bush, she secured the ends so they wouldn’t be blown into the waters that were thick with green weed and scum. The leaves on the withies were turning, but it would still be a few weeks before they fell, signalling the tall green wands were ready for cutting. Getting the timing right was vital, she knew that.

Whilst waiting for the sack to dry, she began searching for material to make a suitable dye. Bark from the willow would result in a peachy brown colour but that would be too dull for her newly lifted spirits. Further along the drove, the carpet of dandelions were a riot of colour, but bright yellow would be too summery now winter was approaching. A heron rose from the bushes and disappeared into the tall trees beyond. How lovely to be free to fly or ride on horseback across the fields and up to the moors beyond. Chiding herself for such fanciful thoughts, she turned her attention back to her task.

Crab apples dotted the nearby trees like rosy buds. Their skins boiled up with red leaves and rosehips would make crimson but that would clash with her hair. Spotting a clump of nettles by the bushes, she smiled. Mixed with sorrel and tansy they would make a vibrant green which would complement her skirt. Hadn’t Grammer taught her that dressing in the same shades would lengthen her figure, making her look taller? The woman had certainly known about the art of dressing, and despite having had to make do with clothes reworked from old materials, exuded a gentle elegance. Why hadn’t Eliza thought to ask what she’d done before she’d married Gramfer? That was another question for him.

Hurrying back to the barn, she ignored the withies waiting to be woven into sparrow traps, and pulled on her grammer’s old thick gloves. Immediately, warmth flooded through her and she knew the woman approved. For hadn’t she explained the importance of harvesting the earth’s wild abundance, showing Eliza how to use it for food, medicine and the dyeing of material? Snatching up her basket, she retraced her steps and as she began gathering the plants it felt as if her beloved Grammer was standing right beside her.

Later that afternoon, as the plants bubbled with the sack in the big pot swinging from the crook over the fire, so did her excitement. What shape top should she make? It would be the first one she’d sewn by herself. Suppose she made a mess of it? However, the image of twinkling green eyes and that devastating smile rose before her instantly quashing any doubt she might have. She needed to look good and look good she would, she thought heading to the pantry for their bag of salt to fix the colour. If she was careful with the amount she used for cooking, she could make their supply last until after the harvest, when hopefully good sales would mean they’d have money to purchase more.

‘Eh girl, that stew don’t taste very appetisin’,’ her gramfer groaned when she returned. He was standing by the fire grimacing at the wooden spoon in his hand. ‘It don’t look too good either.’

‘Oh, Gramfer that’s the dye I’ve made for my top, not stew,’ Eliza cried, laughing at his look of disgust.

‘Thanks be,’ he replied, sinking into his chair and fumbling with his laces.

‘I know my cooking’s not as good as Grammer’s yet, but I am trying. Though I’ve been that busy I haven’t given a thought to what we’ll eat this night,’ she admitted, ignoring his protests as she bent to help him.

‘Ah well, happens Mrs Finch sent back a nice leek and taiter pie,’ he grinned, gesturing to the table. ‘It weren’t quite baked when I got there so she packed me and Fred off to the cider house to sample their new batch. Would have been rude to refuse.’

‘That explains your rosy cheeks and the liquor fumes,’ she laughed, wrinkling her nose. She knew it was good for him to spend an hour in the company of other men but couldn’t resist getting her own back for his earlier comments. Although she was still finding her way without Grammer’s supervision, her cooking wasn’t that bad.

‘I’ll just take the pot through to the scullery and peg up the sack to dry. When I come back you can tell me all the tattle.’

‘I’ll have you know we men don’t tattle, we discuss business,’ he protested, leaning back and closing his eyes. However, by the time she returned, he was awake and studying her carved spoon.

‘This is a fine bit of shaping. Must have taken ages to get it smooth and glossy like that,’ he marvelled.

‘Clem made it for my birthday,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a jam spoon.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t have spent all that time on it if he didn’t care for you.’

‘And you know I care for him,’ Eliza replied, steeling herself for another lecture, but to her surprise, he struggled unsteadily to his feet.

‘Heavens girl, we got so involved with our chin waggle last night, I clean forgot to give you my gift,’ he cried, delving into the dresser. Eliza waited, hoping he wasn’t going to mention the withy beds again. ‘It’s just a little somethin’ I bought your grammer when we was courtin’,’ he said, handing her a parcel wrapped in a cloth.

‘Why it’s beautiful,’ Eliza gasped, gazing down at the amber comb. It was studded with tiny green stones that twinkled in the fading light. ‘It must have cost a bit too,’

‘Yea, well Mary were worth it. She always wore it afore …’ his voice trailed away but then he swallowed and gave a weak smile. ‘It’ll look a treat in that red hair of yours. Always supposin’ you want to wear it, of course,’ he said, suddenly looking uncertain.

‘Of course, I do,’ she cried, throwing her arms around him. ‘I’ll love having something of Grammer’s and it’ll look perfect with the new green top I’m going to make. Thank you Gramfer, I’ll treasure it always,’ she told him, reaching up and fixing it on top of her head so that her curls swung high above her shoulders. Looking pleased, he sank back into his chair and closed his eyes.

‘I do miss her,’ he mumbled.

‘I do too,’ Eliza told him, but he was lost in his own thoughts and didn’t answer.

Next morning, as the first streaks of pink were tinging the sky, her gramfer donned his coat and cap and took off for his daily inspection of the withy beds.

‘I know you’re keen to make that new top, Eliza, but I promised Parsonage Farm they’d have those sparrow traps as soon as we could make them. You know what a pest those birds can be.’ Although he looked apologetic, Eliza’s heart dropped. She’d hardly had any time to herself these past weeks.

‘I’ll just cut the sack to shape while the light’s shining into the cott and then make a start on the traps.’

‘You’re a good girl,’ he said, patting her shoulder before picking up his stick. ‘If I’ve time later I’ll give you a hand.’ She smiled wryly, knowing that despite his best intentions he’d spend all day tending his precious crop.

After clearing away their breakfast dishes she spread the now leaf green sacking out on the table. It was the first time she’d tackled anything like this without her grammer’s guidance and she felt nervous yet excited. Using her old top as a guide, she marked out the shape in chalk, before taking up the scissors and carefully following the outline. If there was enough material, she intended adding a collar. It would be her first grown up blouse. By the time she’d cut the front, back and two sleeves the sun was high in the sky. Although she was impatient to start sewing the pieces together, knowing Gramfer was relying on her to fulfil their orders, she resisted the temptation. Reluctantly, she pushed the remaining piece to one side ready to shape the collar later. Then snatching up her shawl, she went outside.

Despite the bright day, a stiff breeze tugged at her hair and shook the branches of the withies making the leaves rustle. The air was heavy with the smell of pommy, the remains of the brown apple pulp and straw discarded after cider-making which had been spread on the fields for the cattle.

Entering the barn, she shivered. It was time her gramfer put up the wriggly tin sheet that served as a door, or her hands would be too cold to work the willow. She’d been meaning to make herself some fittens, her own version of mittens without fingers, to replace the ones that had been shredded by the constant snagging on the bark, but had been too busy. Still, she intended finishing her sewing first, for she was eager to have a new blouse to wear in case any visitor should come calling.

Gathering everything she needed for the first trap, she squatted on the mat, took up her board and began weaving. Having made many cages like this before, she worked automatically, her mind wandering. Would the handsome man come back today, she wondered, her heart flipping at the thought? Although she was dying to see him, it would be nice if she were wearing her new green top, her hair caught up in the amber comb with its emerald stones. Fancy Grammer having something as grand as that? She was beginning to think she hadn’t known her at all.

Eliza worked until late afternoon, when the sun disappeared and her hands grew too cold to continue. She’d managed to complete three of the traps and only had another seven to go. Just as she’d suspected her gramfer hadn’t appeared. But then, neither had the stranger. She sighed, her heart heavy with disappointment.

Taking herself indoors, she lit the candle from the fire but as she placed it on the table, she frowned. The material she’d left spread out for the collar was not only screwed into a ball, it was smeared with grease. And worse, the rest of the sacking she’d so carefully cut out, had completely disappeared.

‘Ee, it’s gettin’ cold out there,’ George said, hobbling into the room where Eliza was still staring at the table in disbelief. ‘What’s up girl?’ he asked, seeing her expression.

‘My new blouse, the pieces I cut out this morning are missing,’ she wailed.

He gave a chuckle. ‘Is that all? I thought the world had ended the way you was lookin’. I moved them over there earlier when I got out the withy hook,’ he told her gesturing to the dresser. ‘Needed sharpenin’ see, and you know how I likes to be prepared for harvest.’

Eliza hurried across the room and, picking up the pieces, turned to him. ‘What about …’ she began but he was continuing his tale.

‘That odd scrap you had left over came in useful for greasin’ the blade, so now I’m all set. Cors I was careful to move your sewin’ so it didn’t get messed up,’ he grinned, looking so pleased with himself Eliza hadn’t the heart to tell him that the left over piece had been intended for a collar. Now she’d have to make another top with a round neck. After supper she’d pin the pieces together, take her sewing things upstairs and work by candlelight. That way there could be no more mistakes.

‘How’s them traps comin’ along?’ her gramfer asked as they tucked into the remains of Mrs Finch’s pie.

‘I’ve completed three,’ she told him, pleased with her progress.

‘That all?’ he frowned. ‘Only I forgot to say that when I saw Ned in the cider house yesterday, he was askin’ about them. Said the birds were being right pests. I promised him …’ his voice trailed away and looking uncomfortable, he stared down at his plate. The ensuing silence was interrupted by a gust blowing down the chimney, making the fire splutter and hiss and sending another cloud of acrid smoke billowing around the room.

‘Must brush out that chimney,’ George wheezed, when it had settled.

‘What exactly did you promise Ned?’ Eliza urged.

‘That you’d have them ready for young Clem to collect tomorrow afternoon.’ Eliza let out an exasperated sigh but he carried on. ‘You know how quick you work when you set your mind to it and there’s them laundry baskets to make as well. We’re already into October and there’ll be the rent to find for Christmas quarter day. We can’t afford to risk losin’ our home, now can we?’

Eliza stared around the dingy room with its tatty bits of mismatched furniture and the stained walls that would run with damp when the rains came, and wondered why not. Surely anywhere else would be better than this?

‘If we had to move from here, it’d mean givin’ up my beds and you’d have no withies for basket-making. How’d we live then?’ he challenged, as if reading her mind. ‘Of course, weather permittin’, we’ll have some to sell come Christmas, but without your grammer the harvest will take longer to sort …’ His voice trailed away and he stared pleadingly at her.

‘It’s alright Gramfer,’ she interrupted gently as she got to her feet. ‘I’ll get on with the traps at first light. Now I’ll bid you goodnight. I’m going upstairs to make a start on my sewing,’ she said, picking up her candlestick and material.

‘You’re a good girl,’ he murmured. With a weak smile he turned to stare into the fire, losing himself in thoughts of the past.

It was only when she was sitting on her bed, pieces in hand, that she realized that having been caught up in her discussion, she hadn’t even got around to pinning them together. But with the moon sporadically obscured by scudding clouds and the light from her dwindling candle dimming by the minute, she knew it would be futile attempting the job now. Placing them down on the chest, she vowed to get up extra early and make a start before working on those wretched cages.

Sighing, she got up and stared out of the window. Beyond the night shrouded withy bed, flat fields spread far and wide, each separated by a straight rhyne. Her thoughts turned to the handsome stranger. What was his name? Where had he come from? More importantly, would she see him again? Just then the moon slid from under its canopy of cloud, turning everywhere a silver wonderland. Her spirits rose. Maybe he would call again tomorrow.

To koniec darmowego fragmentu. Czy chcesz czytać dalej?