Free Poppies at the Well by Catrin Collier Page A

the farm. Besides, there’s no reason for me to travel. I went to Swansea once,’ he continued. ‘With my father. My mother took care of the Well then. Life was good in those days. We were happy. I had my parents. Brothers and sisters too. They all died of the throat fever, five years back.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ She was, truly. She was familiar with loneliness. She knew what it was to have no one to care for, no one to love who did not already love others better.
    â€˜You’re pretty.’
    She fell silent. The Mistress was right. Men wanted to use women, not talk or befriend them.
    â€˜I mean it. Would your Mistress let me call on you?’ he ventured tentatively. ‘I could walk to the hall of an evening. We could talk.’
    â€˜I have to work.’
    â€˜The children. They must go to bed early.’ He was amazed at his own temerity.
    â€˜The Mistress wouldn’t agree.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t want to see you alone. The Well is my life, but it’s not enough. I want it to be as it was, with a family living there again. Not one lonely man. Will you see me again?’
    â€˜I’d like to,’ she capitulated hesitantly, encouraged by his sincerity. ‘You’re not like the others.’
    â€˜What others?’
    â€˜In London, men came in to the Institution. At night. They never talked, only wanted to …’ She stood still for a moment, twisting her hands around the iron bars of the drive gates. ‘I was too young, they didn’t bother me, but if the Mistress hadn’t taken me, my turn would have come. I must go. Goodbye.’ She turned and fled up the long drive to the hall.
    â€˜Your name. I must know your name,’ he shouted after her.
    â€˜Kitty,’ she called back breathlessly. ‘Just Kitty.’
    Kitty Ellis would be a good name, he thought that night. And he, like Kitty, slept a little less lonely than he had done in years.
    That Sunday he went to church in Reynoldston. He’d been to church before, but only the weather-beaten, clifftop church of Rhossili. The warm, comfortable, sheltered church in Reynoldston was alien to him. He crept in early and sat at the back, leaning against the grey stone wall.
    People filed into the church. The curious glanced at him, not unkindly, but he saw only the stares, not the friendship proffered behind them. The vicar walked in slowly from the vestry, holy book in hand, altar men and choir trailing behind, all dressed in white surplices. This was a grand parish, not a windswept one where poverty whistled in on the winter storms.
    The gentry from the Hall came in last. They could afford to. Wasn’t God’s servant also their own? They paid him more than his stipend in the Easter offering. Heads bowed, they glided to their pew, retainers following in their wake like ripples trailing behind fisher craft going out to sea.
    Ellis saw Kitty. She looked different. Her long hair was tied in a stiff little knot, an ugly starched calico hat nailed to her head. She wore black, which accentuated all the corners the Institution had chiselled into her frame. When the service was done he followed the carriages back to the hall. He’d made up his mind. He would speak to her Mistress, and ask for Kitty’s hand in marriage.
    â€˜Kitty, come here.’ The butler’s voice was leaden with condemnation. ‘A young man had the audacity to knock the front door and enquire after you. I sent him packing, but the Mistress will want to see you after evening prayers.’
    â€˜Oooh Kitty, you naughty girl. What have you done?’ winked Nancy the scullery maid. ‘And there’s me thinking you were quiet.’
    â€˜That’s enough, Nancy. The poor girl’s in trouble. Kitty, how could you?’ Cook’s reproach was worse than the butler’s harsh words. Kitty burst into tears.
    â€˜I only met him once. He seemed nice, lonely like me.’
    â€˜I