In Sickness and In Health
Eleanor was widowed quite young, at forty-two. By then, her daughter, Grace, had already married a pleasant lad from the neighbouring village and moved with him up north, seeking better wages.
Grace called her mother every so often, reassuring her not to worry, saying all was well: good friends, a decent job, new in-laws. During those calls, Eleanor felt the distance between themher daughter had drifted away, like a ship leaving the shore.
Work in the village was scarce for Eleanor. The only school, where she had served as an assistant in the kitchen, had closed its doors.
But Eleanor didnt despair. She began taking the bus twice a week to the next village, selling fresh milk and homemade cheese to her loyal customers.
The few pounds she earned barely kept her afloat, but what was there to complain about? She lived alone, sustained by her own milk, cheese, and the vegetables from her patch.
Loneliness never had much chance to settle in. Her yard, bustling with chickens, geese, and ducks, took her mind and time. Bessie the cow lowed from the shed, and a cat named Buttercup always circled at her feet. By the time she fed, watered, and cleaned after them all, the day was done.
Each afternoon, after lunch, Eleanor would place her stool beside the window and gaze at the countryside.
And what a view it was: graceful birch trees set against the vast English sky, and beyond them, a spring bubbling out of the ground, icy and clear, forming a small ponda quiet masterpiece of nature.
It was hardly surprising, then, that one morning Eleanor was roused early by the rumble of heavy vehicles outside her gate.
Yawning, she wrapped herself in a thick flannel dressing gownher mothers, now her ownand stepped onto the porch.
She craned her neck, watching a group of smartly dressed men surveying the land. Approaching onea distinguished sort in a tailored coatshe asked, Good morning! Mind telling me whats going on?
The man turned at once, glancing at her and then the cottage.
Do you live here? Ive just bought the parcel next door. Planning to build for my brotherneeds country air, doctors orders. Seems well be neighbours.
Neighbours, is it? Eleanor repeated quietly, retreating indoors, unsettled. She felt she ought to find out more, so she donned her coat and hurried to the village shop.
The shopkeeper, chatty old Mabel, was up to speed with all village affairs.
Some London businessman, he isgot his money from God knows where. Says hell build a house for his twin brother, poor chaps been ill, told to get away from the city. Country air and all that, you know.
A businessman, you say Eleanor mused. Well, maybe hell take to village life, and open a shop or hire some folks. Lord knows, we need the work.
Mabel chuckled, Thats wishful thinking, love!
As Eleanor left, she bumped into Tom, who delivered bread for the shop. He was balancing a tray precariously.
Eleanor, be a dearhold the door!
Of course, Tom, she said, blushing as she obliged. Tom had made his affection clear for nigh on three years, but Eleanor always kept him at arms length.
Tom was six years her junior, and local tongues never tired of whispering that Eleanor was already past her prime. Shed convinced herself Tom ought to find a girl his own age.
But Tom wasnt exactly rushing down the aisle with anyone else, either; hed look at her from afar, sometimes muddle through an attempt at kindness before Eleanor squashed it.
He just sighed and went on his way.
—
Building commenced without delay.
Soon enough, an impressive house rose from the meadow, its windows aglow in the evenings, and Eleanor resolved to make a neighbourly visit.
Balancing a homemade apple pie, she knocked at the shiny new door. An unfamiliar woman in overalls answered.
Im Eleanor from next doorbrought you something sweet.
The woman thanked her, took the pie, and behind her, a pair of men and another woman eyed Eleanor curiously.
I wondered, is there any work I could take off your handspapering, painting, a bit of whitewashing?
Heads shook. They already had a team busy with renovations. Youll need to ask the ownerhell be here in a few days.
Disappointed, Eleanor trudged home, regarding her own tired little cottage. A lick of paint and a slate or two wouldnt hurt, but it all felt hopeless. Worse still, she felt invisibleher overture dismissed, her help not wanted. In the old days, newcomers introduced themselves, shared a cup of tea, became friendsit was just how it was. Now it seemed that had been left in another era.
—
Soon, the new house twinkled with Christmas lights, and the residents arrived. Eleanor found herself peering from behind her curtains, watching lorries unload furniture, boxes, and trunks.
From one stepped a young woman in a pale fur coat, gliding inside with regal poise.
Well, she looks like the Queen of May, Eleanor thought, lips pursed. Who else would move into a house built by a man of wealth?
The invalid brother was nowhere to be seen; the lady, Eleanor soon learnt, slipped out only once a week for a swift errand at the shop, never looking Eleanor in the eye, barely returning her greeting. Years passed this way.
Eleanor stopped trying. A fine car would turn up at the neighbouring drive each weeka gentleman unloading shopping bags, hustling inside. And that was that.
But then, one afternoon, a knock came at her door. Standing there was the aloof neighbour.
I noticed you have livestocka cow, hens. Would you sell me some meat? And butter, cream, potatoes, if youve any to spare. Ill pay.
Glad to, Eleanor said, feeling a peculiar sensationperhaps hope. She fetched a joint from the freezer. Its good beef, freshwont need much cooking.
The woman eyed it anxiously. How long is not much?
An hour and a half, perhaps.
That sounds ages… I was just going to fry it up, in a pan. But Idont really know how.
Eleanor studied her handsmanicured, not a hint of a callus. Do you know how to cook?
She shrugged, Of course not.
Their names were exchanged at lastBeatrice, she called herself.
Eleanor offered, Ill cook for youlunch and supper, if youd like, for a fair price.
That would be wonderful! Might you start today?
Eleanor hardly needed convincing. She packed up provisions, locked her door, and followed Beatrice.
The house was magnificent insidepolished, grand, and exquisitely furnished.
In the lounge sat a morose man, buried in a book. He glanced up, frowning.
Whos this? Something wrong?
Beatrice prattled, Darling, Ive found a helperthis is Eleanor, our new cook.
Eleanor chimed, Im your neighbour, actuallyjust next door. Pleased to meet you.
The man grunted and pointedly turned away.
Beatrice ushered her to the kitchen. Go on, make us something, will you?
So Eleanor rolled up her sleeves, washed her hands, and set to work. In just over an hour, she served up a hearty meal of beef and potatoes.
Thus Eleanor found the work shed been longing for.
The man of the houseMr Henry, as she learnedwas brusque, though his mood mellowed as her fare worked its magic. He paid her weekly, and little by little he softened, speaking kindly to her when he remembered.
Eleanor kept noticing the house in a statebeds unmade, dust everywhere, the missus never lifting a finger. At last, she fetched a bucket and mop and gave everything a good scrub.
Mr Henry noticed. No one asked you to clean! I wont pay for your sudden enthusiasm. Your wages are for cooking only.
Hurt but undeterred, Eleanor finished the job.
Soon, the brotherthe one who had had the house builtceased his visits, and Beatrice stopped popping into the shop. She seemed small and sulky now.
One day Beatrice snapped, Dont wash the dishes; Ill do them. Dont bring any more meat. Just potatoes, eggs, milk.
Is something the matter? Eleanor ventured.
Everythings the matter! This villagenothing here! No shops, no cafés, nowhere to go!
A few days later, Eleanor stopped by as usual and found the door ajar. The entrance hall was strewn with scattered belongings, the parlour a chaos of books and broken trinkets.
From the kitchen, Henrys voice drifted, Shes gone. Left me. Said village life isnt for her.
His eyes were glassy; he slumped at the table, surrounded by empty bottles. Fetch some beef, will you? Fry it up for me.
So Eleanor fetched the meat and cooked, tidied, tried not to judge.
Henry ate straight from the pan, and as she gently chided him, he suddenly put his hand atop hers.
Youre a wonder, Eleanor. Dont leave me. Sit with me, drink with me.
She declined; he was tipsy, and she was uncomfortable. But as he drew her closer, he murmured, I never noticed how lovely you are.
—
Eleanor found herself the talk of the village, especially at the shop, where Mabel smirked, Eleanor, you buying smokes and fancy cheese these days? And isnt it odd youre staying overnight…?
Flushed, Eleanor muttered, Theyre for Henry, who else? Told you Im working for him.
Mabel leaned in, whispering, The whole village wonders, you know. First chance he gets, Henryll toss you aside for someone younger.
Eleanor grabbed her change, stung, and stormed out. People are so spitefulnever happy unless theyre gossiping, she fumed.
Outside, she nearly tripped over Tom, who just huffed and managed the door himselfgone were the days when hed blush at her touch.
—
Eleanor barely went home now. Henry promised marriage, a home together in the smart new house, a coop for her hens, a shed for her cow. He whisked her off to the registrars office and slipped a gold ring on her finger.
Afterwards, Henry settled in with a bottle.
Dont you think youre drinking rather a lot, love? she asked gently.
I drink because Im so happy. Fry up some beef, will you?
Theres none left, only salad
What do you mean? The cows in the shedgo and butcher it.
But thats Bessie! Shes our milker, we rely on her…
Henry cracked the table with his fist. Did I stutter? Bring me beef!
—
Eleanor went in search of help, but it was freezing outside, and no one wanted a long nights work. At last, Tom agreed, though he eyed her sternly.
Why dyou want rid of your cow, Eleanor?
She avoided his gaze, not brave enough to admit it was Henrys wish.
Oh, its all too dear to keephay and grain, you know how it goes
Youre married now, isnt he helping with the hay?
Changing the subject, she muttered, Will you help or not?
Tom relented, but when it was done, Henry didnt lift a finger to help, just demanded his meal.
Afterwards, Eleanor loaded Tom down with beef in thanks, but as she handed it over, Henry staggered from the neighbouring house, slurring, Wheres my supper, and dont forget, you owe me a wedding night!
Tom threw the meat into the snow, grabbed his knives and left.
—
Marriage soon lost its sheen.
Henry did little but drink and eatalways beef, and plenty of it. Hed even learned to cook it himself. The yard emptied. Only Buttercup the cat remained, now unwelcome.
Grace visited, taking one look at her dishevelled stepfather snoring at the table and said, You call this marriage, Mum?
Hes not so bad, Grace, honestly. Hes just struggled to adjust to country life after Londonnew start, you know?
Grace shook her head. This grand house isnt even yours, and youre a cook, not a wife. If they kick you out, where will you go?
Scolded thus, Eleanor tried to give Grace some beef, but the pantry was padlocked. Returning to the kitchen, she asked her husband for the key.
No sense letting in anyones children, he grumbled. Dont get ideas.
Grace frowned. Well, Im off, and I shant visit again. Sorry, Mum.
Tears stung Eleanors eyes.
That night, Henry broke the news: My brothers wife now owns the house. Were to clear out.
Henry knocked back a glass.
What are we to do, Henry? Eleanor despaired.
In your villages, dont you fight for your rights? Lock yourself inbear me some children! Refuse to leave.
Eleanor shook her head. I cant, Henry. Thats not me.
Then pack your bagswell move to yours.
Then Henry, muttering about Beatrices desertion, began devouring cold beef from a pot.
Eleanor was aghast: Well live how? All the beefs gone
Henry grinned, Thats your problem. Youll think of something.
Something inside Eleanor snapped. Grabbing the key, she found the larder picked clean, not a scrap of meat or potatoes. She returned.
Henry, what have you done? Wheres all the food?
I bartered it for drink. What else?
She exploded: Youre a wretched man! I shall leave youIll file for divorce!
—
So ended Eleanors marriage to Henry.
But that wasnt the end of it. Henry, left homeless, tried sneaking into her old cottage in the night, sidling up to her as she slept.
She startled awake, fleeing into the snowy night to Mabels cottage.
Mabel, let me inhes here! Oh, you were right, I never should have…
For weeks, Eleanor hid while Henry eventually left the village for good.
Returning at last, Eleanor found her home ransacked, pantry empty, grounds neglected.
Sitting at the kitchen table, she thought, So this is whats become of meno livestock, no cow, nothing left.
Just then, Tom crept in with Buttercup in his arms. I had a word with Henryhe wont trouble you again. Would you stay with us? Mums made up the parlour, baked some pies. Come on, Eleanor, its warmer at ours.
—
In time, Eleanor and Tom married. Grace forgave her mother and visited with her husband. Henry, they heard, had remarried a widow in London.
As for the handsome house next door, the late owners widow came down each summer, extending a friendly hand, often bringing a pie. She and Eleanor got on very well.
One day, Eleanor asked about Henrys supposed ill health. The neighbour scoffed, Henry? Ill? Not in the least! Hes as strong as an ox, only drinks too much. My late husband only wanted to help by sending him here, hoping hed dry out, but hope was no use. Henrys always been the samecant hold on to money or sense!
And there Eleanors memories resta cautionary tale, as it were, told over freshly baked bread and a steaming pot of tea, of how things once were.
