Free Chaff upon the Wind by Margaret Dickinson

over an hour before she had smoothed out every knot and clipped the ends of the
hair to uniform neatness. ‘There,’ she said, standing back. ‘Now let me just get some warm towels and I’ll dry it for you.’
    Miriam yawned. ‘Very well. But do hurry. We’re dining at Nunsthorpe Hall tonight and I want to look my best. I think I’ll wear the blue satin, Kitty.’
    As she began to rub the girl’s long hair, Kitty said, ‘Miss, you know I’m to be the Harvest Queen, don’t you?’
    Through the mirror their eyes met. ‘No, I didn’t,’ Miriam answered shortly.
    ‘Well, Jack Thorndyke’s asked me to be his Harvest Nell.’
    ‘Really? What a great honour for you.’ Her tone was heavy with sarcasm, but through the glass Miriam’s eyes were still watching her.
    ‘Your mam, I mean, your mother said I should ask you if I might wear your shepherdess costume.’
    The girl shrugged her shoulders feigning lack of interest, but somehow Kitty knew that it was an act. She wondered briefly if Miriam could be a little envious that she, a lowly maidservant, had
been asked to be the Harvest Queen, but she dismissed the idea as ridiculous.
    ‘I suppose so.’ Then, her eyes sparkling with mischief, Miriam wagged her finger at Kitty. ‘But there’s one condition, if I do lend you my dress.’
    ‘Yes, miss,’ she said warily, ‘what’s that?’
    ‘At the Harvest Supper, which we all attend, you’ll introduce me to this Jack Thorndyke.’
    Kitty laughed with relief. Was that all? Well, she couldn’t see the harm in that. None at all.
    ‘Of course I will, Miss Miriam.’
    Kitty closed the back door behind her and stood for a moment listening. It was a warm, late summer night, a million stars dotting the dark velvet sky. She tiptoed up the three
steps and, lifting her skirts, ran down the grass path to the wall at the bottom of the garden. Again she paused to glance back at the windows of the house. A light burned only in Edward’s
sickroom, for the rest of the family, Mr and Mrs Franklin and Miriam, had left to dine at Nunsthorpe Hall.
    ‘You mark my words,’ Mrs Grundy had tapped the side of her nose and nodded knowingly. ‘They’re trying to wed Miss Miriam off to Sir Ralph’s son and heir, Guy. Mind
you, she could do a lot worse for herself. He’s a nice lad. He used to come here a lot when he was a youngster with his father to visit. Course, Sir Ralph is the master’s landlord. He
owns all the land we farm, and,’ she pointed to the floor, ‘even this house.’
    Kitty looked up in surprise and Mrs Grundy nodded sagely. ‘No, ya didn’t know that, did ya?’
    ‘I knew the mester dun’t own all the land he farms, but I didn’t realize he didn’t own this house.’
    ‘Well, he don’t. Fall out with the Hardings and we’ll all be out on our ears.’
    Kitty had carried on ironing the flounces of Miriam’s petticoat, listening with half an ear to the cook’s ramblings, but, all the while, glancing at the mantelshelf above the range
and wishing that the hands of the clock would turn faster towards nightfall when she could creep out to meet Jack.
    ‘Mind you, Sir Ralph’s such a nice feller, I can’t see him ever turning anyone out of their home, no matter what. His wife died, y’know, when Master Guy was born and the
old master and mistress – they were both still alive then of course – were so good to Sir Ralph. He always used to be here. Then of course when that bit of trouble happened . .
.’
    Kitty’s head lifted. ‘Trouble? What trouble?’
    ‘Oh nowt that concerns you,’ the cook flapped her hand and turned swiftly back to her original line of thought. ‘Guy’s a bit older than Miss Miriam, but that’s no
matter.’ She laughed and shook her head. ‘He’ll ’ave his work cut out with that little madam, if he does take her on, and no mistake. Too like ’er father, that one.
She’ll be the lucky one ’cos he’s a lovely feller, Master Guy. Just like his father.’