The Keepsake. Sheelagh Kelly

this ridiculous notion out of your head, say goodbye to this bog-Irish fortune hunter, in which case we’ll say no more about it.’

      Etta tried to appear dignified. ‘Presented with such generosity of spirit, Father, you leave us no choice.’ She took Marty’s arm and headed for the gate.

      Her mother panicked – this was not what she had intended at all. ‘Henrietta, don’t be so rash! Will you not consider your mother? For I must stand by my husband in this, there shall be no return.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’ Etta turned a pitying expression on Mrs Ibbetson, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Say goodbye to John for me when next you see him.’ Then she turned away to hide her distress.

      ‘Pybus, you cannot allow her to go!’ The mother clutched her cheeks in anguish.

      Ibbetson was unnerved too at his bluff being called, though he did not let it show. ‘You were the one who said she was determined. Well, let’s see how determined she is when she has to fend for herself.’ And to his daughter: ‘Don’t come begging to us when you find your boot boy doesn’t earn enough to keep you in scent!’

      Etta rounded angrily on her father, fighting tears of rage at the blithe manner in which he rejected her. ‘If you think that by spoiling Martin’s chances of finding work I’ll come back to you –’

      ‘You think I’d have you back?’ Ibbetson gave an uncaring snort. ‘Once you get beyond those gates that’s it – and that fellow doesn’t need my help in losing a job, he’ll do that for himself by his reckless attitude.’

      ‘I know you, you vindictive wretch!’ stormed Etta. ‘The minute I’m gone –’

      There was no chance to say more, for at her father’s declaration of ‘Enough of this!’ she was bundled unceremoniously from the grounds along with her lover and the gates clanged shut in her astonished face. There was nothing else for it but to walk away.

      Behind the barricade, watching her go, Etta’s father remained furious. Her mother was only sad, her voice caught with emotion. ‘We’ve lost her.’

      ‘Rubbish! She’ll try crawling back when he finds he can’t manage her either and throws her out.’

      In response came a miserable shake of head from one who knew: both husband and daughter were as stubborn as each other.

      Ibbetson turned dismissively to march back to the house, the servants scurrying ahead. But his daughter’s ingratitude had wounded him deeply. He could never forgive her.

      

      Elated at having won, Marty would have tackled the fifteen-mile return hike with aplomb, but how could he drag Etta all that way in those flimsy little shoes? Especially after such extreme upset as she had endured.

      ‘We’ll bide here for the carrier,’ he told her kindly, even though he had little cash to spare, as he led her to a bench on the village green. ‘Hope it’s not too long a wait.’

      Etta nodded and sat beside him, constricted, chafed and sweating in the corset that held her upright like a fist of iron but could not prevent her overall subdued bearing.

      It hurt to say it but he felt he must. ‘There’s still time to go back if you’re regretting –’

      ‘No!’ Her upper lip beaded with sweat, she hastened to reiterate her love for him, trying to appear her bright self. ‘I’m not in the least regretful. You’re all I’ve ever wanted and will want, truly.’ She laid her head on his shoulder. ‘It’s just so sad to have to leave Mother…’

      ‘Aye…but you mentioned she didn’t have much to do with bringing you up.’ He remembered Etta voicing her sense of loss at the dismissal of her old nanny.

      Her head came up. ‘That doesn’t matter! She’s still my mother. Imagine how you’d feel.’

      Nodding, he entwined her in comforting arms, coaxed her head back to his shoulder and was thoughtful for a while. ‘It’s not the same, I know, but I’m sure mine will welcome you as her own once she gets to meet you in person. And my da’s a lovely man too.’ Perhaps, again, it was the wrong thing to have said, her father being quite the opposite. He rested his chin atop her perspiring scalp, imagining the initial commotion his parents would make. But they were good people, and once they had evidence of Etta’s love for their son they would take her to their hearts.

      Reassured, Etta cuddled up to him, ignoring the fact that it was far too hot, feeling the heat of his body searing though her bodice, to her heart. Away from the angry voices the atmosphere of the village was one of calm, barely a sound other than that of the hover flies suspended in the sultry air around their heads. Her demeanour gradually relaxed and her mind began to drift.

      ‘I wonder what John will say when he learns of this,’ she murmured. ‘I know he was beastly to you, but only at father’s instigation and because he sought to protect me; he and I used to be close until recent happenings.’

      Marty thought he understood. ‘I suppose you would be if there was just the two o’ yese.’

      ‘I believe there was some sort of crisis when I was born. At any rate, Mother couldn’t have any more. But of course that doesn’t mean we are Father’s only children.’ At Marty’s frown, she added, ‘He has a mistress – in fact more than one.’

      ‘How do you know?’ asked her amazed partner.

      Her head still upon his shoulder, Etta wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, gossip, you know.’

      ‘It might be just that,’ offered Marty.

      ‘No, I followed him one day, witnessed his indiscretion for myself. I feel so sorry for poor Mother, who shows him such devotion – yet I deplore her weakness for allowing it to happen. I tried to tell her, but it was obvious she already knew and was turning a blind eye. I’d never countenance anything of that nature in my marriage.’ It was not merely a declaration but a warning.

      Marty was quick to squeeze her and voice his own fidelity. She hugged him back, and to pass the time whilst they waited for the carrier asked about his brothers and sisters, whom he had named before but she had forgotten. He listed them: Louisa, Bridget, Mary and Anne, all of whom were older than himself and married, Elizabeth and Maggie still at school, Tom and Jimmy-Joe the youngest – and that was not to mention the dead ones in between.

      Etta chuckled. ‘My word, do you think we’ll have such a clan?’

      He wondered how to respond. ‘Would you want to?’

      She toyed thoughtfully with one of his brass buttons. ‘Well, maybe not quite so many – and not for years. For now I’ve no desire to share you with anyone.’

      He gave vigorous accord. ‘I’d never say anything of the sort to my parents, but too large a family drags you down. All your money goes on feeding and clothing them and there’s none left over to spend on things for yourself.’

      ‘And what would you like for yourself?’ Etta quizzed with a smile of interest.

      Marty grinned, but bit his tongue upon cognising that he had painted himself into a corner: how could he confide his dream of a big house and servants with good-quality furniture and a suit of clothes that didn’t have to be kept for best? It wouldn’t matter that it was pure fantasy; Etta would think that her father had been right about him only being after her for her money, and that just wasn’t true at all. Knowing how touchy she was about her looks, he couldn’t even admit that part of his dream had been realised in a beautiful bride-to-be.

      But then to his relief he did not have to speak. Alerted by the rumble of a cart, Etta jumped up to hail its driver. ‘Are you by any chance going near York?’

      The grizzled waggoner tipped his hat. ‘All t’way there, lady.’

      ‘See!’ Etta turned to Marty, her dark eyes refilled with their usual sparkle. ‘Luck is smiling on us already.’

      Belying