A Sense of Duty Read online

  And her waving hand was swallowed up into the morning mist.

  * * *

  As fate would have it, they arrived at the coast too late to catch the last ferry of daylight and, unwilling to travel over water in darkness Beata said they should camp by the shore until morning.

  Aching from the bumpy ride, Richard was not averse to this suggestion and, after making the horse comfortable, saw to his own needs. ‘Leastwise we got plenty o’ grub.’ Big face smiling in anticipation, he lifted the edge of the cloth that covered the basket.

  Beata slapped his hand. ‘That’s got to last till we get home! Small chance o’ that with you troughing every five minutes. No, you go collect some o’ them mussels like them folk’re doing.’ She indicated a group of people who were levering shellfish from the hull of a boat that had been dragged from the water for repairs. ‘No point throwing away the chance of free food.’

  ‘No indeed,’ muttered Richard, reluctantly abandoning the basket and loping off towards the boat. ‘’Twould never do to spoil ourselves once in a while.’

  Later, having collected a hatful of the blue-black shellfish, he was still not greatly impressed. ‘Why we have to put up with these when there’s good victuals going stale in that basket. . He sighed and shook his head. ‘I’ll wager that ne’er-do-well son of ours is getting better fare, and him so undeserving. Sarah’s a good cook for one so young, ain’t she? No wonder he left home.’ Catching sight of his wife’s scowl, he realized his blunder. ‘Oh, I didn’t intend no slander! She nor anyone else could ever compare with you, my dear, but … well, you know what I mean.’ He offered a lame grin.

  It was too late. Nostrils flared, Beata did not speak to him for the rest of the night.

  * * *

  Some days later, his brief honeymoon over, Monty had braved the teeming rain to join the mass migration from village to colliery when, above the ring of miners’ boots upon the cobblestones, he heard his name called and turned, narrow-eyed, to see his wife running after him. Hunched against the torrent, he stopped at the top of the long terraced street, allowing a breathless Sarah to catch up with him and lean upon his arm. Notwithstanding the usual bank of surliness that precursored their dangerous descent, and the odd grumble from a superstitious collier at the appearance of a female before the day’s work, the cloudburst failed to deter the odd joker amongst them.

  ‘Oh see, she can’t let him out of her sight for five minutes!’ It was impossible to tell who the lilting Welsh accent belonged to as, in their sodden dozens, the miners veered around the young couple and continued heads down on their way to the pit shaft. ‘It’s very frail the poor boy’s looking, isn’t it? I don’t think he’s got it in him.’

  Monty blushed, but his wife ignored the taunts and spoke worriedly to him, still grasping his arm with one hand whilst the other clutched her shawl under her chin, the icy rain drizzling down her cheeks. ‘A boy just brought a message from your father. That horse and cart they came in, you’re to go at once and collect it from Bristol and take it to its rightful own—’

  ‘Bristol! What’s it doing there?’ Drenched now, he showed irritation with the passers-by who jostled him. ‘I gotta go to work! How can I—’

  ‘Monty!’ Sarah tightened her grip and enunciated clearly. ‘Your parents are in hospital.’

  ‘Oh my good Lord! The ferry—’

  ‘No! No, ’twasn’t that. Seems they ate something poisonous – it can’t have been anything I gave them!’ A defensive tone edged her tongue. ‘That food was perfectly fresh. Anyway, they obviously didn’t feel the ill effects till after they’d made the ferry crossing.’ Calmed by the absence of blame from her husband, she turned thoughtful. ‘I wonder what —’

  ‘Are they bad?’ Face aghast, Monty interrupted her. ‘Lord, they must be if they’re in hospital.’ People only went there to die – oh no, he couldn’t allow himself to think of it. ‘I have to go! Sorry, it’ll mean losing pay—’

  ‘Ach, don’t fret about that!’ she urged him genuinely, blinking the raindrops from her lashes. ‘We’ve got cash put by.’ Her overwhelming infatuation with this flame-haired youth that had precipitated such a hasty marriage now extended to compassion. She longed to take him in her arms and comfort him, but in this public place words must suffice. ‘Come, I’ll get you some food to take with you – and don’t worry, cariad, they might be recovered by the time you get there.’

  Hurrying back with her down the rain-lashed street, Monty nodded, but a pool of ice had begun to settle upon his stomach.

  At his forlornness, his bedraggled bride clung to his arm and offered softly, ‘I’ll go with you if you like.’

  Too immature to realize how his refusal would hurt her, Monty issued vaguely, ‘No, I’d as lief go alone.’ And never had he felt so alone.

  * * *

  In the time it took him to get to Bristol, Monty clung desperately to that thread of optimism provided by his wife; envisioned his arrival at the hospital to find his parents hail and hearty and laughing with relief as they sent him on his way home to his lovely Sarah.

  His previous visits to this city had been fleeting and, worried and disorientated, clothes still sodden, the country lad was forced to ask for directions many times in the bustling streets before locating the hospital.

  His footsteps clip-clopping upon a tiled floor, his nostrils inhaling the stench of sickness, he approached the enquiry desk, braced himself and issued self-consciously, ‘My name’s Kilmaster. I were told to come here ’bout my parents. They ate somethin’ poisonous.’

  ‘Let me see,’ uttered the slow-witted man behind the desk, consulting a list. ‘Ah, you be come to claim their bodies for burial.’ The flash of shock on the other’s face told him that he had made a gross error. Unable to think how to rectify this he bit his lip and said nothing, the poignancy of that interval and the mixture of nervousness and pity in his eye confirming to Monty that everything he had feared was come to reality.

  Hope expunged, Monty staggered and grasped at the desk. The dullard jumped to his feet and aided the bereaved son to a chair, then, averse to his dumb grief, rushed off to fetch someone more able to cope with this.

  Eviscerated by shock, Monty barely heard a word of the doctor’s explanation that a large number of people had been admitted suffering from a most virulent affliction, though he nodded constantly, feeling that it were expected of him, as if he were taking in every word. Even when told that his parents had finally succumbed to the toxic attack on their hearts only a few hours before his arrival he wagged his head automatically like some wretched clockwork toy, and allowed himself to be led to the mortuary for the purpose of identification, feeling that it was he himself who had died, for the ground beneath his boots seemed insubstantial as a cloud.

  As if the demise of his parents were not hard enough to suffer, the mortuary attendant led him to a place that could only be described as a charnel house which took his breath away with its awfulness, where, amongst the other naked victims of the contaminated shellfish he saw two that, despite the grotesqueness of their demeanour, were most familiar to him. Upon laying eyes on them, he escaped quickly and made for fresh air. Only when he had taken several lungfuls did Monty entertain the pitiful thought: he had not even been in time to make peace with his father.

  * * *

  The ensuing two days were a blur: first an inquest, then hurried interment in a paupers’ grave. Yet there was perhaps worse trial to bear during the journey to his old village for it was then that Monty had time to think, to digest the awful truth that his parents were indeed gone and that he was the one who must shoulder the dreadful responsibility of breaking the news to his siblings. With each grinding jolt of the wagon – so incongruous in its cheerful yellow hue – the image jumped into his mind of six young faces puckered in grief. It was the worst thing he had ever had to do in his life – but he would do it. Never again would Montague Kilmaster be accused of relinquishing his duty.

  None the less, wanting to
delay the moment for as long as possible, his first act was to return the horse and cart. The miller was shocked and sympathetic, told the distraught young fellow that if he needed to borrow the vehicle again it was at his disposal. Monty loitered at the flour mill for a while, accepting other commiserations, but there came a point when there could be no further avoidance.

  For days Kit had endured all the bossing and teasing from her brother and sisters, and on each of those days had sat patiently upon the step, clear blue eyes searching for her parents. This was how Monty saw her as he plodded dolefully up the village street that late afternoon carrying his awful burden.

  Kit saw her elder brother and yelped in joy. He faltered, agonizing, as she ran to meet him, then with cursory greeting he took her hand and allowed himself to be dragged into the cottage where Gwen and the others were laying the table and speculating whether their parents might be home that night. All smiled upon him. The time had come at last for Monty to inform them that their parents were dead.

  Shock postponed tears for a moment. The children just stood there looking at him in disbelief. But with the eventual digestion of the news, faces crumpled, sorrow began to flow. Kit did not understand the concept of death at all, just knew that something terrible had happened and because others cried, she wept too.

  Monty could think of naught to say, simply donated a rag and administered awkward pats though his heart felt leaden, and he wished that he could change gender so that he could be allowed to weep too, but he was a man, upon whom they were all depending for support.

  In between the bouts of tears, Gwen wrung her hands and searched her elder brother’s face, no hint of her normal rivalry, an unspoken question on her lips: what would become of them?

  The newly wed youth, desperate to assuage his guilt over the selfish abandonment of his mother, decreed without a second thought, ‘Don’t ’ee worry about who’s taking care of ’ee. You shall all come and live with me and Sarah! ’Tis my duty to keep the family together now.’

  And they howled again, for they were no longer a family, but a collection of orphans.

  2

  Sarah Kilmaster gaped at the host of young strangers and the cartload of household goods that accompanied her husband upon his return after a five-day absence, listened in disbelief as he confirmed his parents’ death then went on to tell her that Gwen and Flora, Charity and Owen, Amelia and Kit would be joining them in their two-bedroomed cottage.

  ‘They’re all willing and able,’ he announced rather grandly for his siblings’ benefit, then bent his face to confide in his wife, ‘Poor Kit’s taken to pissin’ the bed, but I don’t reckon it’ll last.’

  All this before they were even over the threshold! A moment ago, Sarah had been sweeping the pavement outside her new abode, anticipating her husband’s homecoming and imbibing the springtime air. Now, the besom lay redundant in her hands, her initial joy at seeing him eclipsed by shock.

  With her lack of response Monty called for the youngsters to start unloading the cart and take their beds into the house. ‘Come now, look sharp! This young chap’s got to get the wagon back to his master. Be you coming in for a bite and a sup, John, to set you on your way?’

  Having eaten not so long ago, the miller’s boy refused the offer. ‘No, I’ll jest stretch my legs and water the horse, then be off, thank ’ee. Don’t want the master to think I been idlin’.’

  Monty nodded and spoke again to his wife. ‘Thought the miller were most charitable to lend us the cart and a boy to drive us! Otherwise I’d ha’ been travelling back an’ forth till kingdom come.’ His tone was brusque, though his inner pain was evident in the starkness of his brow. Trying to dispel the image of his parents racked by pain, he told Sarah, ‘Sorry we ain’t seen as much of each other as we should, my dear, but there were a lot to sort out back home. I mean, where I used to live. But when I leave you again tomorrow – if I still got a job to go to – you’ll have all these willing helpers to keep you company while I’m gone.’

  Sarah looked on still dumbfounded as the children lifted items from the cart, two redheaded like Monty, the rest of them of sombre hue. Did it never once occur to him that his eighteen-year-old bride might like her new home to herself, that she might not wish to share it with five ‘willing helpers’ aged from fifteen downwards and a three-year-old who had reverted to wetting the bed at the ordeal?

  After issuing a subdued greeting, she continued to stare, wondering how he could heap this huge responsibility upon her, her dream of wedded bliss slowly disintegrating, whilst the bereaved children returned her scrutiny with grim faces.

  Kit examined the pretty young woman before her who, with unconscious effort had begun to drag the twigs of the besom across the pavement again, though from her expression her mind was less intent on her task than on the newcomers. She was very dark and foreign-looking, her eyes almost black. Her hair with its centre parting was held fetchingly in a bunch of ringlets over each ear. Her figure was slight, the top of her head barely reached Monty’s shoulder, yet there was no hint of frailty in her bearing … nor one of welcome either. Aware of the cool observation that had fallen upon her, the youngest child cast her desolate gaze further along the street, looking beyond the neat rows of stone and slate terraced housing that nestled at the foot of green hills, to the colliery with its slag heaps and its black towers that housed the winding gear, presiding over the village like ogres and bringing a chill of fear to the infant breast.

  ‘Come on, get a move on!’ called Monty upon noticing that he was the only one actually working. Neighbouring women, interested in the proceedings, had gathered on the footpath to watch, making him feel conspicuous. Kit was given the large leather-bound bible to carry and traipsed after her brother into the house.

  Annoyance rose in Sarah’s breast as the two elder girls almost elbowed her out of the way and manhandled a table over her threshold, gouging plaster as they went. The dark and suspicious-looking Owen and the younger ones formed the rear of the procession, trooping past Sarah with more belongings. Only consideration for their recent loss prevented her from voicing objection. Tight-lipped, she was eventually allowed inside her own home, simmering with resentment as they cluttered up the rooms into which she had put so much elbow grease.

  Her grip becoming tighter and tighter on the shaft of the besom, she was finally unable to constrain herself, and blurted, ‘Stop! Don’t put that there, it’s in the way, put it here.’

  Flora, grappling a chair, looked uncertainly to her sister for advice. ‘Gwen told me to put it over here.’

  ‘Oh, and it’s Gwen’s place to tell you where to put things in my house, is it?’ Sarah’s voice was not raised, her Welsh intonation lilting gently over the sentence, yet it informed all present in no uncertain terms as to who was to be obeyed.

  Gwen’s dark features were quick to shrug off the air of bereavement and challenge her sister-in-law. ‘Hadn’t ’ee better ask Mont—’

  ‘Doesn’t matter what Monty, the Queen of Sheba or anyone else says, I’m telling you to put it here.’ Sarah held the other’s gaze.

  A confused Kit stared from one antagonist to the other.

  Gwen set her mouth, puffed out her rather matronly bosom and looked to her brother for confirmation, but Monty merely shrugged. Though angry that his wife had dared to undermine his authority he made as if this was of no consequence and muttered, ‘The house is Sarah’s domain. You must do as you’re bidden.’

  Nevertheless, half an hour later, after the installation of furniture was completed and his wife went out to get water from a pump, he followed her to remonstrate. ‘Don’t reckon you ought to have talked about me like that in front o’ the young uns.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you!’ Her smouldering mood evolving into anger, Sarah abandoned the pump handle to confront him, hands on hips. She had changed from her pretty dress into one more fitted to mourning, but there was no obvious respect in her stance.

  Never having been faced with her temper, Monty
was surprised and backed off. ‘What I meant was, it makes me look a fool, you telling ’em what I say don’t matter.’

  ‘And what kind of a fool have you taken me for?’ With her black garb and black hair she resembled a furious little raven. ‘’Twas but a week ago you promised to endow me with all your worldly goods – no mention of six extra mouths to feed!’

  Monty hit back. ‘Didst expect me to put them in an orphanage? I didn’t ask for my parents to die!’ His voice caught with emotion.

  His wife felt sympathy, but that did not solve her own dilemma. ‘I’m not saying you did, and I’m sorry for you all, but, Monty, this isn’t what I expected married life to be!’ She imagined her parents’ derision – what of your romantic notions now? ‘I thought it would be just you and me and babies of our own.’ Heaving a sigh, she implored him with those black eyes that set his groin a-throb.

  Immediately he grasped her in his arms, pressing himself against her. ‘We will have babies of our own! And you’ll have plenty of hands to help with them, so you got all the time in the world for me.’ Though heaven knew, the last thing he wanted was a host of invaders who might threaten his libidinous rompings. He tried to kiss her.

  She extricated herself with a gasp and turned back to the pump, the cut of her shoulders communicating her feelings.

  Frustrated at her rejection and unable to understand her attitude, the young man heaved a sigh. ‘It’s my duty to look after ’em.’

  Water splashed into Sarah’s bucket and on to her boots. She ceased pumping. ‘Is there no one else? Aunts, uncles?’

  ‘No! I dunno, I think we got kin in Gloucester – but even if we have, they’re my responsibility, no one else’s.’ He brought the altercation to an abrupt end by going inside. To Monty there was a duty to be done and that was that.