They all laughed and the old, relaxed atmosphere between them returned. Kate told of most of her experiences over the months, except one which worried her and she didn’t want thatworry to show on her face so she put it to the back of her mind. They delighted in her tales of life in the ‘big, posh town house’ as Dot called it.
When they all fell silent for a while, Kate asked after her brother, Fred.
‘He’s well enough,’ Ada said. ‘He’s been staying with your Aunt Ena over in Greywell. They work him hard at the chalk pits. He won’t finish today until six and then he’s like a walking snowman, covered in chalk dust. He’d have to clean up and by then the light would be gone. A pity he won’t be here to see you, but I told him the walk from Greywell in the dark was too far. Next time perhaps?’
They spent the rest of the day catching up on all the local news, who had married, who’d died, who’d given birth and who’d newly arrived. The population of Micklewell didn’t alter much, some went away to work, like Kate and, occasionally, others moved in. Old man Addison had died out hunting with hounds and Addison Farm was now occupied by the Potter family. The time drifted by in a pleasant wave of accounts of comings and goings.
As the afternoon shadows crept over the back yard and the fire was banked up to warm them through the evening chill, Kate eventually plucked up the courage to tell them all of the Winton family’s move to London, knowing what their reaction would be.
‘London?’ they all exclaimed in unison but for different reasons.
‘How exciting,’ Dot said.
‘Andover is far enough, Kate, but London! Will we ever see you?’ her mother asked, her face losing its colour.
Her father’s reaction was as she expected. ‘As if she has any say in the matter,’ he said. ‘If she’s to keep her job then she must go with them, Ada. She’ll still write to us, won’t you, Kate?’
‘Of course, I will,’ Kate replied.
Her mother remained silent on the matter for the remainder of the evening while Dot did a good job of changing the subject with her talk of all the local news, who was courting and who was tying the knot, who had a new job and who was moving away.
The old feelings of being at home, really at home, overwhelmed her as she thought about missing her family and missing Eliza. She understood why Eliza could not come to London with them, but at the same time she was concerned about how life with the Winton family would be without her.
Chapter Seven
June 1913
While Mr Winton pursued his business dealings in London, Mrs Winton continued with her usual routines and maintained her social engagements and as time passed she began to rather enjoy the personal freedoms that her husband’s absence gave her. She made several decisions without consulting him, including the ordering of new drapes for the sitting room, despite their planned move. She just couldn’t bear their dowdiness any longer, she said, and it was she who had to suffer the indignity of inviting ladies into a less than perfect room.
She had also decided upon other changes that she had been contemplating for a while and, since James had been in London, she had enjoyed the luxury of time to think. She rang the bell. When Eliza appeared at the door she dispatched her to fetch Kate.
‘I have decided that I will walk with you and Clara today, Kate,’ Mrs Winton announced. ‘Let me know in good time when you will be leaving for the park so that I may prepare myself. And by the way, how are you getting on withThe Mill on the Floss? It’s one of my favourite books.’
Kate’s face turned pink.
‘It’s all right. Philip told me of your love of reading. I’m pleased to hear it, Kate. It’s good to know that a young woman interested in literature is looking after my children. They seem very happy that you are here and if they’re happy, I am too. Please let me know when you would like to borrow another book. As you have discovered, I have plenty of them.’
Kate bobbed and smiled. The appointment of this young woman was the right decision, Mrs Winton thought to herself. She had a spark about her and seemed to have more than theusual level of intelligence expected of a maid. George Eliot was not the average reading matter for a servant. She detected an expression of puzzlement on Kate’s face. It was unusual for Mrs Winton to ‘take the air’, it was true, but she’d decided she was going to do more to keep her own body and mind in good order instead of attending to her family’s needs all the time.
So, walk they did and it was a beautiful afternoon. The flower beds in the park were a picture and the bright sunlight showed them in their truest colours. The vibrant reds and yellows of the stately lupins saluted the women as they entered the park. There were many people strolling along the pathways, some nodded and smiled, some men lifted their hats, others were deeply engaged in conversation.
Nursemaids pushing prams congregated near the pond area and pointed out the antics of the ducks, tails bobbing, heads down. One over-adventurous child was being rescued by the collar of his jacket, his toy boats a little too far to reach. His loud objections, heard all over the park, appeared to be more to do with the lost boat than his dripping wet clothes.
‘Time to move on, I think,’ said Mrs Winton, not attempting to cover her intolerance of other people’s wailing children.
As they entered the shrubbery, two older women came towards them. As they came closer, Mrs Winton recognized them.
‘Mrs Wickham, Mrs Trimbrell, how delightful to meet you,’ she said.
‘Likewise,’ replied Mrs Wickham. ‘We don’t often see you out and about, Dorothea. Perhaps you have more time on your hands since James’s departure for London?’
‘We heard of James’s new venture, many congratulations. You’ll be joining him soon, of course,’ Mrs Trimbrell added.
‘Yes, just as soon as we can. Will you both be coming to tea at Mrs Hargraves’ next Friday?’
‘No, we must decline,’ Mrs Wickham said. ‘We have other commitments, in Shawford. We go to join with the Winchester Society to meet the march from Land’s End to London. We need to show our support. If women like Emily Davison are prepared to sacrifice themselves for the cause then it’s the least we can do.’
‘She threw herself under the king’s horse, you know,’ Mrs Trimbrell added. ‘I presume you’ve seen the papers?’
