Chapter One
Kate Truscott removed her muddied shoes, rinsed the dirt from her hands and wiped them on the rough towel hanging beside the kitchen sink. She smoothed down her rumpled skirts and sighed.
‘My back is killing me,’ she moaned as she sat down opposite her mother who had her breast bared, feeding her fourth child. ‘I’ll be glad when there’s no more spuds to lift in that field. Seems like we’ve been digging and bagging forever.’
‘You wait ’til you’ve birthed a few babes, then you can complain about backache,’ her mother replied.
Kate was fifteen years old and her intention was not to become a mother just yet.
She had more important things to think about, dreams of a different life, a life that did not entail grubbing around in the dirt on a farm.
The money she earned was a feeble amount, but at least it meant she was contributing to the family income.
She just didn’t want to be doing it for the rest of her life.
‘I’ve brought back a bag of potatoes,’ she said. ‘The ganger said I could take the ones that were scabby or spoiled by the fork. They’ll last us a few days.’
‘Well they’ve kept you late today,’ Kate’s mother, Ada, said.’ You’d best get upstairs to your sister now. She wants you to tell her a story. She won’t go to sleep without one.’
Kate smiled to herself as she opened the door at the foot of the stairs. Her sister, Dot, was as dark as she was fair but they shared the same spirit. The difference between them now was that Kate was on the verge of womanhood and Dot was still a child.
Kate’s light-brown hair fell down her back and she flicked the loose strands away from her face and out of her deep blue eyes as she concentrated on navigating the turning stairs.
She remembered to duck her head to avoid the beam, for she’d grown to be taller than her mother now.
Her courses had started and she felt within her a surge of energy that she sometimes found it difficult to contain.
Her breasts were filling out and she was aware of attracting the attentions of the young men of the village.
She had a boldness in her expression that spoke of her growing confidence in herself.
Dot was sitting up in bed when Kate entered the room. ‘About time too,’ Dot said wrinkling her nose at Kate.
‘Just you wait ’til you have to earn your living, Dorothy Truscott,’ Kate said. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. Now, which story is it to be?’
‘The one about the two mice.’ Dot grinned, nestling down under the covers.
As Kate told the familiar story, she looked down at her sister’s sweet, freckled face and smiled.
When she spoke the final words, she kissed her lightly on the forehead and rose up from the bed, trying not to make the metal springs complain with their usual squeak.
She turned towards the door only to hear a pleading voice whisper, ‘Tell it again, Kate, please tell it again.’
‘But I’ve told you it so many times, Dot,’ Kate replied, ‘and there’ll be trouble from Ma if you stay awake any longer. It’s Sunday school tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh Kate! You know it’s my favourite story,’ Dot whined. ‘What sort of mouse are you, Kate, a town mouse or a country mouse? I’m definitely a town mouse. I can see myself drinking from fancy glasses and eating off the best china.’
‘I’ve told the story and now I’m going downstairs. I’ve got the washing-up to do and then Ma has given me a pile of darning — Dad’s work socks. Just be grateful you’re eight and not fifteen,’ Kate replied.
‘Phew!’ said Dot with her fingers clamped to her nose. ‘I hope she washed them first.’
Kate picked up a cushion from the chair in the corner and threw it at her sister.
‘Cheeky,’ she said, suppressing a giggle. ‘Don’t let Ma hear you casting doubt over her homemaking skills or there’ll be trouble. Now, night, night!’
Kate returned to the kitchen, the main family room in the house where they ate, drank, gossiped and sewed.
She looked at her mother and wondered how she coped with bearing so many children.
She was beginning to show her age and she was often tired.
Many of the daily tasks fell to Kate. There was always plenty to do.
She washed and cooked and cleaned as well as working in the fields at Wellhouse Farm.
It was nearing harvest time and there was a deal of picking and gathering in to do, so there were not many of the daylight hours that she could call her own.
Her brother, Fred, did little to help around the house, as he was out labouring long hours.
Together the family managed to feed and clothe themselves and keep warm in the winter, but there wasn’t much left at the end of each month.
The kitchen was warm from the range which had been stoked to cook the family meal. The stew had boiled over and the smell of burnt gravy filled the kitchen. Kate’s nose wrinkled. That would be another job to do, cleaning that up before the blacking, which was long overdue!
There was still the washing to get in and the chickens to put away for the night and she must try to get that darning done before the light faded.
Kate could see through the kitchen window that Pa was still outside trying to mend the puncture on his bike.
She wanted to talk to both of them about what Maisie Harwood had shown her in the Hants and Berks Gazette, but she knew better than to interrupt him when he had a job to finish.
She sat down opposite her mother, in the only other comfortable chair in the room, shifting the large black-and-white cat as she did so.
‘Go on, Jimmy, go and find some mice to catch,’ she said, moving him from his favourite spot.
‘Talking of mice, how many times did you have to tell it this evening?’ Ada Truscott asked Kate.
‘Just the once but she tried to get away with more,’ Kate replied.
‘She’s a bright spark that one,’ Ada said, moving Henry from her right breast to her left. ‘And so are you, Kate. There must be something better for you out there than digging spuds, it’s a waste of your talents. Miss Clarence always said that you were her star pupil,’ Ada added.
‘Mmm, well, as you mention it, there’s something I want to talk to you and Dad about,’ Kate began.
‘Sounds serious,’ Ada replied. ‘He must be nearly finished now. Go tell him the tea’s been poured and it’s getting cold, that’ll shift him.’
By the time James Truscott had put his bike away in the shed and cleaned himself up, Kate had rehearsed what she wanted to say several times over in her head.
She determined the best way to approach it was to come straight out with it. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘now Dot is getting a bit older, she’s able to do much of the work I do about the house.’
Her parents looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. Although Dot was an intelligent girl, they all knew that she was not the best at carrying out instructions. Her mind wasn’t always on the task.
‘Well . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . I think I would be better use to the family if I earned a bit more. Maisie Harwood gave me this. She cut it out of the paper.’ Kate read slowly and carefully:
WANTED, clean and presentable girl to work as nursemaid in family home of respectable businessman. All domestic household duties pertaining to care of five well-behaved children. Apply, in writing, to James Winton Esq. Woodland House, The Crescent, Andover.
‘It sounds just perfect, don’t you agree?’ she said. ‘I think I should apply.’
‘But Andover’s miles away and it’s a town, a very busy town,’ her mother replied. ‘Could you not try for something closer to home?’
Kate was aware of how much her mother relied upon her, but she also wanted to feel what it was like to be independent.
She loved Micklewell but she knew that there was a wider world beyond it and lives that must be lived in a completely different way to her own.
Being in service would not be a life of ease, she knew that, but a voice kept whispering that there was more to be discovered about herself.
If she didn’t try she would never know what that thing was.
She had to find her own way, besides which they needed the money and she would be one less mouth to feed.
She crossed her fingers and came out with it, hoping she sounded calm and considered.
‘You know as well as I do that there’s no decent paid work to be had here in the village, Mother. Come the winter I could be out of work for months,’ Kate replied.
‘The girl’s right,’ Kate’s father agreed.
‘My earnings at the forge and Fred’s at the farm add up to barely enough, once the rent’s been paid.
And now young Henry’s here, we’ve another mouth to feed.
If she wants to apply, I say we should let her.
She needs to take any opportunity she can.
She needs to earn herself a better living, Ada. ’
‘What’s this about earning a better living? Nothing wrong with getting your hands dirty.’ It was Fred arrived home from his work, covered in dust from the haymaking, his hands scratched and his hair matted and stuck with bits of straw.
‘Well don’t you look the scarecrow,’ Kate teased him. ‘Better get yourself cleaned up if you’re going to the Queen’s Head tonight. No young woman’s going to look at you twice with that hair. Looks like you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’
Fred threw the cap he’d removed from his head at her and she dodged out of the way.
‘Our Kate’s applying for a job,’ their mother said. ‘Nursemaid at some posh house in Andover.’
‘Oh, is she? Well, little sister, and how do you think you’ll get along with all those ladies and gentlemen with their fancy ways?’
‘I’ll learn to do what’s expected of me. I can read and write and I know more about looking after children and housework than you do,’ Kate said, defending her decision.
‘You’re right there,’ Fred said and then, softening his tone, he added, ‘And they’d better appreciate what they’ve got or I’ll be over there to sort them out.’
Kate laughed, her brother had always been there to stand up for her, from the time they were in school.
He’d ducked Gilbert Tucker’s head into the horse trough, outside the pub, when she told him about how he’d taken her skipping rope and tied her up to the school railings at playtime.
Earlier that summer, he’d warned off Bert Butcher, at the village barn dance, when he kept pestering her.
He threatened to hang him by his braces in the oak on the village green.
‘Hold on there, Fred. I haven’t got the job yet,’ Kate said. ‘I haven’t even applied. I’ve only just shown Ma and Pa the advertisement.’
‘Well, best get on and do it, then,’ Fred replied.
Kate was pleased that she had the family’s support and set about writing the letter that evening.