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“Din’t expect ter see you ‘ere this evenin’, Mister Farnon,” Dick Rudd appeared at his elbow in the out of the way nook Siegfried’d found in the Drovers to nurse his whisky and his ego. He’d hoped not to be noticed, that the farmers of Darrowby would leave him be, leave him to ponder how his evening had ended up with him here. Hiding in the Drovers from his housekeeper.
But, as Siegfried had to live with these people, he should at least attempt politeness rather than telling Dick Rudd – who was gentle and nice – to bugger off. That would earn him some way back into Mrs Hall’s good books, if she ever found out about it.
“I’m afraid I’m rather poor company this evening, Dick,” he apologised pre-emptively, lifting the whisky to his lips briefly. “Can any animal ailments wait until the morning?”
“Nowt wrong wi’me ‘erd since you were up this afternoon,” Dick Rudd was looking at him in concern over his own ale. “Looks like there’s owt wrong wi’you though. Talk ‘bout it?”
The very last thing Siegfried wanted to do was talk about it. It would be round the village by the next day if he did. The Drovers had ears and liked to talk.
“I’d really rather not,” Siegfried said firmly, looking past the farmer he could almost consider a friend to the room beyond. He supposed it was something good that had led the kindly, good-natured Rudd to his table, rather than someone like Dinsdale. He might have actually picked a fight with Henry if he’d come near, and heaven knows if Biggins had come by… Well, Mrs Hall would certainly have been cross with him then. “Thank you though.”
“Mind if I join you anyhow?” Rudd asked, indicating the seat. “Only, this ‘ere table’s best fer ‘idin’.”
It was, indeed, the best table to hide away from the village, and Siegfried blinked his own troubles away to look at Rudd. Rudd looked tired, and more than a little sheepish. He remembered, suddenly, how Rudd had been chattering on about an evening with his wife – something about setting the barn up for dinner and leaving their eldest in charge of the little uns.
“Didn’t you have plans with your wife tonight, Dick?” he asked, not seeing affable Mary Rudd in the room beyond.
Rudd shuffled awkwardly, and took that as invitation to sit, taking a draw on his ale before answering.
“Well,” Dick began, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “I rather upset our Edie earlier, and Mary bade me clear out fer a few ‘ours,” he was sheepish, and remorseful, “Me an’ me big mouth. Came down ‘ere to keep out’th’way but not much company meeself. Been a fair while since I were in th’doghouse.”
Well, that was just the icing on the cake of a truly ridiculous day.
“To the doghouse,” Siegfried raised his glass in empathy. After a moment, Dick knocked his tankard against it. They sipped in companionable, though individual, silence.
“Takes a lot ter get your missus mad,” Dick mused aloud, after a few minutes of quietly sipping their respective drinks. “Awful lot. Don’t think I’ve ever seen your Audrey proper cross.”
“It’s certainly something,” Siegfried said dryly, thinking of the flare of her nostrils, and the chilly and very proper way she’d been acting towards him. Almost like she was, indeed, just the hired help. The politely folded hands, how she didn’t take up more space than she absolutely needed to. She called him Sir. It had been utterly awful. He much preferred her shouting back and calling him ridiculous as she usually did. In that, they were evenly matched and would both say things they did mean and some they didn’t and after they’d had a bit of a battle, they’d have a drink and crack on. Her silence spoke volumes and he hated it.
“That why yer here in th’corner?”
Siegfried nodded reluctantly. “Mrs Hall made it clear in her … own way… that it would be better if I were to stay out of the way this evening, and not in the kitchen or… anywhere she might stumble on me,” he admitted that at least. “I… well, I suppose I rather upset my brother, and then he found out Mrs Hall knew about it and…. He is furious with her as well. Therefore-”
“She’s mad at you and kicked you t’th’doghouse,” Dick surmised with a wince. “Us Da’s sticking our giant feet in, and making the missus mad, eh Mr Farnon?”
“Indeed.”
He should point out to Dick that it was slightly different in his case – Tristan being his brother, not his son – but it made it all the more embarrassing that he was hiding in the local pub because his housekeeper was cross with him.
Not that Audrey Hall was anything as simple as just a housekeeper – she was his friend and confidante and battle-weary general, standing side by side in his fight to keep Darrowby’s animals well. She was his stalwart and often the only thing that kept him and Tristan talking. But nomenclature didn’t have a word for all she was, so housekeeper would have to do.
“I’ll ‘ave t’be up early to get our Edie summat for an apology,” Dick sighed, looking a little mournfully into his mug. “Flowers p’raphs. Or maybe strawberries if I can find em.”
“Probably worth picking a few for your wife as well, for the trouble you’ve put her though in calming Edith down,” Siegfried offered, then he thought of what he’d be doing and amended, “Though, for Mary, perhaps try helping with the chores or something. To make things a little easier for her for a few days.”
It had worked for him before, with Mrs Hall, after all. And his Evelyn had always appreciated the silent apologetic help after a quarrel. Though she had also demanded additional recompense he couldn’t offer Mrs Hall.
Dick nodded thoughtfully. “What’ll you do for your Tristan? And Missus ‘All?”
“Mrs Hall wants me to apologise to him,” Siegfried grumbled darkly. He knew he’d been in the wrong about Tris’s exam results, he did, but it was hardly their first argument and it would all blow over soon enough he was sure. He just didn’t want to have to admit he was wrong and he knew he’d stand by that for longer than he should to protect his pride.
“Will you?”
“Eventually, I’m sure,” he glowered at his whisky. He would, he knew, have to admit it at some point but he was still smarting with pride, and Mrs Hall’s polite-treatment certainly wasn’t helping him want to admit he was wrong. “A few days of helping Mrs Hall carry the groceries and the laundry and any other errands she might think of are in my future though.”
“Maybe get ‘er some flowers too, though,” Dick advised in return, “And maybe say sorry t’her as well, for puttin’ ‘er in a bad spot with yer brother. We all knows she’s got a soft spot fer’im.”
Yes. A big enough soft spot that when Tristan had found out she’d known for months and not told him, he’d been hurt and upset with her too. And that had devastated her. Tris would’ve forgiven Mrs Hall by now though, she was practically a mother to him and he wouldn’t be cross with her for long when Siegfried was the true object of his ire. That, at least, Siegfried had going for him in terms of harmony at home.
“Hmm,” he considered Dick’s suggestion, and immediately thought of a patch of daisies by the creek that he was sure she would like. Bright and summery and cheery on her desk.
It was funny, he thought suddenly, that he could find flowers for Mrs Hall immediately, but he wasn’t sure what flowers he’d have to get Diana if he ever needed to apologise. She’d probably like something fancy and expensive. It was the thought that counted with Mrs Hall. Not the cost.
“Another?” Dick asked, tilting his tankard towards the almost empty whisky. Siegfried knocked the whisky back and nodded.
“We have some time till we can return to our respective homes,” he agreed wearily. He wanted to be at home, in front of the fire, with his pipe and his book and the gentle click of Mrs Hall’s needles. He wanted her to not be cross with him. He wanted Tristan not to be devastated. He wanted the ease of the prior few months without the lingering sense he’d mucked up by lying.
Tristan being upset with him was hardly anything new. It would blow over eventually. They would find something else to argue about and this would be forgotten. But for now they were neither of them ready to have anything resembling a discussion.
Siegfried was reluctant to admit that in the short term, he was far more concerned with Mrs Hall’s opinion of him.
He was used to her being generally irritated by him, by sometimes being frustrated and cross, but he didn’t think she’d been truly this upset with him before. Or, if she had, he hadn’t noticed. But then, Tristan had never been quite so upset with her. There were many firsts going on, and none of them good.
Dick placed the next whisky down and they slipped into an easy but weary conversation, the weight of home fires they weren’t welcome at hanging about at their shoulders.
-------------------
Audrey glanced at the clock above the mantle, and tried not to worry that Mr Farnon wasn’t yet home from wherever he’d taken himself off after returning from his rounds. He’d barely eaten before disappearing, Audrey glancing every few seconds at the gap to her side where Tristan usually ate with gusto, sharing worried looks with James across the table as Siegfried pretended everything was perfectly fine and normal and then had vanished.
She’d been miffed at him, that was for sure. Furious even. Seeing Tristan so devastated, so broken hearted at learning the truth had been something she’d been trying to avoid. The guilt of telling Mr Farnon that Tris could never know gnawed at her. As did the humiliation of having to smooth over the brother’s respective lady friends while they had an argument just out of sight but not out of hearing, heaped onto the earlier humiliation that Margot had mistaken her for Mrs Farnon, and Diana had teased.
It was well earnt, all the swirling guilt and pain and frustration from seeing Tristan – her boy – so upset and rightfully so. She had known. She had advised. And like all secrets, it had come out anyway and now her boy was upset with her and she found herself furious with Siegfried Farnon for putting her in that position in the first place. Where she had to choose between keeping the secret for one brother or breaking the heart of the other. She had chosen, and she had chosen wrong.
Truthfully, Audrey had hardly been able to bear seeing Mr Farnon that morning and in her hurt and anger had reverted to the civility she’d needed in her previous employments. She hadn’t even realised she was doing it at first, until she’d seen James wide-eyed concern, head swivelling between them both, and Mr Farnon’s loaded fork hovering above his plate. Then he’d run off on rounds and barely been back long enough for her to do more than dish his food up and watch him inhale a few bites and leave again.
She was worried about them both – worried how this latest argument would impact the fractured relationship the brothers shared – a relationship she had spent years patching up and bridging and making sure that Mr Farnon and Tristan didn’t end up like her and Edward with anger and guilt festering in the space between them.
Audrey sighed, and dropped her eyes back to her knitting, half-wishing it was a more complicated pattern to keep her mind occupied, but relieved it wasn’t more complicated as she didn’t have the attention to keep on it.
The floorboard creaked behind her, and Audrey turned immediately and hopefully. She hadn’t heard the door open, didn’t even know where Mr Farnon was, so could only hope it was Tristan ready for food or to talk.
It was, and the relief shot through her.
“’Ello, love,” she pulled the knitting down the needles and set it aside, standing up quickly. “I saved some dinner for you – wasn’t sure when you’d want t’eat it down ‘ere… with… us. Or I can do you a cup’o’tea and some biscuits, p’raphs?”
She was nervous, she realised, anxious to smooth over anything and everything that she could reach to ease the tired and world-weary look from Tristan’s oh so young face.
“Mrs H,” he sighed, holding out a hand to stall her before she could rush off to kitchen to keep her hands occupied. “I will happily take a cup of tea, and maybe a sandwich, and shortbread will never go amiss, if you have some. But first – I wanted to apologise.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Apologise? T’me?” she checked and he nodded, lips pressed together in an exhausted face. “What on earth for?”
“Snapping at you last night, mostly,” Tris sank against the doorframe, exhaustion in every muscle. She wanted to wrap him up and keep him safe and well. She wanted to turn back time to Christmas and take the letter off Mr Farnon with her own two hands so that Tris could open it himself. But she couldn’t turn back time with regret.
“I reckon you had more’n good reason to be upset wi’me last night, and today too,” Audrey hesitated, and then reached an arm out to rest against Tris’s forearm. To her relief, he patted it gently. “I am truly sorry, Tristan. You wer right, I should’ve told you – I just-”
“It’s alright,” Tristan interjected, “It’s not you I am cross with. It’s him. And… I was upset with you last night because you always defend him, even when he’s done something wrong.”
Audrey opened her mouth to defend herself, realised it would sound like she was defending Siegfried, and closed it again.
“I know you, at least, meant well,” Tristan reassured her.
“I did,” Audrey sighed, “I didn’t want you ter be upset.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Tris asked with a wry, exhausted chuckle.
“Not too well, if I’m ‘onest,” she smiled back, eyes damp. “I am sorry, love. And I know you don’t like it when I defend ‘im but ‘e meant well t’start with and then… I think it got away with ‘im. And I won’t say any more fer ‘im, I promise.”
Tristan nodded slowly, frowning, his face older than it had ever looked before.
“Tea?” Audrey held a hand out to him, and he nodded, taking it to squeeze briefly before leading the way to the kitchen table. He sat down heavily as she busied herself with the kettle. “I ‘eard you’n James come in this morning.”
“Oh, sorry if we woke you,” he said with a wince, “Though if we woke Siegfried as well I am not sorry in the slightest.”
“I weren’t sleepin,” she confessed, pulling his dinner out of the oven and setting it in front of him, a hand to his shoulder. “I were worried bout you.”
“Oh, you know me, Mrs H,” he said, voice flat and humourless, “I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t fine, and she didn’t think he would be for a while yet. Audrey followed her instinct and pulled him into a hug, holding his head tightly against her stomach as his hands wound tightly around and hugged her tightly back. His shoulders began silently shaking.
“Why can’t I just be good enough for him?” she felt, more than heard.
“You are good enough,” she insisted fiercely, “Tristan Farnon, you are more than good enough, believe me. And for all he messes up, I need you to believe me when I say you’re enough for him too.”
Tristan didn’t say anything, but the way he gripped her even tighter spoke of how little he believed that. Audrey took a deep, heaving breath to make sure she didn’t cry, and then she patted him firmly on the shoulder as the kettle began to whistle.
“Now, I’ll make you a brew, and you eat your dinner,” she said with a strength she didn’t entirely feel but that her boy needed from her.
Tristan sniffed, and dragged the plate towards him.
Into the quiet of the kitchen, as she put the tea service down and started to prepare the tea, he said quietly, “Thank you for the bag, Mrs H.” And she knew she, at least, was forgiven.
-------------------
“No,” Maggie said firmly as Siegfried dropped two ale tankards to the bartop and asked for another. He was hardly the worst she’d seen, but after the state Tristan had been in the night before, she didn’t feel inclined to accommodate another Farnon brother being drunk and mournful. “You and Dick Rudd should both ‘ead on ‘ome, Siegfried Farnon. I reckon you’ve some apologising to do.”
Siegfried scowled at her, opening his mouth to argue but Maggie glared at him with a surprisingly effective look for one so small, and he closed it again, turning back to Dick Rudd.
“We’ve been cut off,” Siegfried grumbled, picking his jacket up off the back of the chair. “And been ordered homeward.”
“We ‘ave?” Dick looked marginally terrified, and Siegfried couldn’t blame him. He felt a little afraid of the reception waiting for him as well and he wasn’t married to Mrs Hall.
“We have,” Siegfried confirmed, waiting for Dick to rise and half glaring at Maggie watching them from the bar. “Maggie says we have apologising to do.”
“Oh,” Dick leant against the bar, cheeks a little flushed with ale but not so far gone that Mary Rudd would be even more furious with him when he got home, and Siegfried had to admit he still felt sufficiently compos mentis to cross the square and sneak up to his room without disturbing Mrs Hall. Perhaps Maggie had the right of it after all. “M’sorry, Maggie,” Dick was mumbling earnestly, “Din’t mean ter stay so long.”
“You don’t need to apologise ter me, Dick Rudd,” Maggie smiled at him, patting his arm. “But I reckon your Mary’ll be glad ter ‘ave you ‘ome again. And your Audrey will be an all, Mr Farnon,” she cast a glance with raised, pointed eyebrows over to him as well.
“Yes, yes, we’re going,” Siegfried sighed and tugged on Dick’s arm. “Come on, Rudd, man, we’ve been given our marching orders.”
He was rather pleased to successfully draw Dick Rudd out to the village square and they stood a moment, shoulder to shoulder, taking deep breaths of the summer air and looking up to the darkened sky.
“Looks like your missus ain’t too mad at you after all, Siegfried,” Dick said suddenly, and Siegfried looked to where he was pointing directly across the square to the soft yellow square of light that made up his living room window. He could just about make out a shadow moving across the space. “Maybe there’s ‘ope fer me an all, then,” Dick mused, dropping his hands heavily into his pockets. “Suppose we’d better just… get on with it.”
Though, now it seemed that Mrs Hall wasn’t inclined to let him sneak into the house and up the stairs, he wanted nothing more than to snag the keys to the Rover and take himself up on an emergency call. Or, perhaps, offering a friend a lift back. She couldn’t be cross at that surely…
“Don’t suppose you need a lift back, do you Dick?” Siegfried asked hopefully, feeling the pocket-warmed metal of his keys in his pocket.
Dick snorted, “Never took you fer a coward,” he grinned, “I got me bike, and I need ter sober up a bit more fore I get ‘ome. Go apologise to ‘er, you been wanting to all night. Like I want to apologise to my Mary. ‘ere, let me get me bike, I’ll walk ya ‘ome.”
Siegfried looked at him incredulously, and turned back to the short stretch of square he had to travel. “I am fairly certain I can make it across on my own,” he replied drily, though made no move to do so.
“Go on then,” Dick nodded towards the house and turned to collect his bike from where it was propped against the eaves. Siegfried didn’t move and Dick chuckled. “Is she really that frightening?”
“She was polite to me, Dick,” Siegfried informed him soberly, looking at him sternly. “And called me Sir.”
Dick whistled, “Mary ‘ollared at me. You sure yours is mad if she’s just bein’ polite? Audrey’s very polite.”
Siegfried just looked at him, and repeated “Sir!” and Dick nodded solemnly. Even if Audrey was polite, she hadn’t called Siegfried “sir” since her first week and he’d told her not to be so ridiculous.
“You goin’ or what, then?” Dick interrupted his musings, leaning on the handles of his bike and grinning. “Oh, come on, Mr Farnon, gerrit over with.”
And Siegfried found himself stepping forward, Dick Rudd at his side until his own front door loomed in front of him.
“Good luck, Siegfried,” Dick tipped his hat in farewell and clambered a little ungainly onto the bike.
“You too,” Siegfried answered sincerely, suddenly rather glad Dick had become his drinking buddy for the evening after all. “Remember what I said about helping.”
“Gerrin w’ye,” Dick only replied, putting a foot to the pedal and turning for home. “Night, Mr Farnon.”
And then he was alone on his front doorstep, looking left to the square of yellow light that she’d left open – he could only hope to guide him home. He took a deep breath, told himself to stop being a coward, and let himself into the house.
Then he just stood there for a long moment, wondering what he was supposed to do next. He looked to the left, to the open doors to the living room and the dark head that hadn’t even looked up from her knitting at his entrance.
“You closin’ the door, or letting ‘alf the village in behind you?” a wry voice asked and he felt a gasp of relief in his chest. That she was teasing him, that she was waiting up, that even if she was cross she wasn’t some caricature of a prim and proper housekeeper instead of the Audrey Hall he shared his home and hearth with.
He shut the door.
“Well done,” he watched her head tilt sideways, and he wondered if she was finding it hard to know what to do next as well, in the yawning chasm between them. He watched her head straighten; saw the moment she dropped her knitting to her lap and heard the sigh of frustration. “Are you comin’ in, or are you goin’ t’run upstairs and ‘ide from me some more?”
“Well, I hadn’t decided,” he admitted and took the first hesitant steps into the living room, “I wasn’t sure how cross you still were with me.”
Slowly, he reached the back of the sofa, resting a hand carefully on the back of the cushions, still watching her warily. Finally, she turned her head to look at him with a pale, drawn face and eyes still slightly red from an earlier rush of tears and she smiled wanly.
“Less than I were,” she said at last, and put her knitting aside to turn her body towards him. He let her observe him, and saw the slight frown on her face in the furrow between her eyebrows. “I were worried ‘bout you, you rushed off so fast after dinner.”
“Yes, well, I rather got the impression it would be better for all involved if I … wasn’t here for the night,” he said slowly, frowning, and wondering if he’d gotten it all wrong. But she made a noise and a face that agreed with him, albeit reluctantly.
“Probly fer the best,” she said reluctantly. “Tris only came down an ‘our or so ago fer ‘is tea.”
Well, that probably went a ways towards explaining why she wasn’t jumping up immediately to become the perfect housekeeper again, as if this wasn’t her house far more than his these days. She liked to keep them well fed, and it would have been such a relief for her that Tristan had allowed her to feed him rather than the Drovers, or – even worse – the new chip shop.
She made an unsatisfied noise and stood up, wringing her hands in a way that made him feel uncertain all over again, and he had the horrid suspicion she was going to apologise to him, as if it hadn’t been his own choices that led them here with the sofa a bulwark between them.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out suddenly, unable to bear the thought that she felt she had to apologise and remembering Dick Rudd’s advice to just apologise outright, rather than hedge around it like he usually did with help and treats until she’d sternly tell him that he was forgiven and he could melt back into his usual routine.
She blinked at him, stunned in the firelight, her pinny gone for the day. And as absurd as it was, he was glad her pinny was gone, he felt more of an even footing here with her like this – like they both had an equal stake with no pretence at her being anything less than his friend.
“I’m sorry for putting you in that position with Tristan,” he clarified quickly, waving a careless hand at the empty dining room. “And for making you have to try and make everything better with our guests. You shouldn’t have had to do any of that. But you did. And you did it marvellously of course and-”
This apology was getting away from him, and he saw Mrs Hall raise her eyebrows and a dimple appearing in her cheek as she tried to suppress a smile at him. He stopped at her look, using it to ground him while he took a deep breath and tried to order his muddled thoughts.
“I am sorry, Mrs Hall,” he started again, and held up a hand to stop her interruption he could see brewing. “No, no, let me finish. Then you can have your say about what a fool I’ve been.”
“Well, not sure I’d call you a fool to yer face,” Mrs Hall muttered, and he could have sworn she looked almost fond. “But go on.”
Somehow that teasing steadied him more than he’d have thought it would. He was so relieved she was still here, willing to even listen that his chest ached with it.
“I am sorry,” he started again, ignoring the look on her face that plainly said you said that already, you daft apeth. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that at dinner, no matter how much he was frustrating me. But more than that, I should never have put you in that position in the first place. I shouldn’t have made you my accomplice, and I am truly sorry that Tristan has become upset with you for something I did.”
He paused and glanced around the room, feeling the ghosts of their guests still lingering. He added on with a wince, “And I am sorry that you had to try and hurry our guests out in an attempt to preserve our dignity. Did you have any trouble with that?”
Mrs Hall pointed at her chest with a finger, eyebrows raised and eyes dancing a little more than before and he nodded quickly, wanting to hear her voice now more than he thought he’d ever wanted to hear it before.
“It were ‘ard not to ‘ear you two goin’ at it, ‘ammer and tongs,” she admitted, a worried look pinching her face together. “But Diana were fine with it, even took Margo back with ‘er, thankfully. I weren’t leavin’ you two on your own to drive Miss Seabright-Saunders back. It were awkward though, Mr Farnon, I won’t lie t’you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t test me ‘ostessing skills like that again, if it’s all th’same to you.”
“I promise,” he said quickly and she just rolled her eyes at him like she didn’t quite believe him. Surely there would be some other argument while they had a houseful, and she’d be pulled away to mediate between them as she always was. “Yes, alright. What about: I shall certainly endeavour not to put you in such an outrageously awkward position while hosting again?”
She nodded her acceptance of his amendment with a half-smile that slid off her face quickly.
“Truth is, Mr Farnon,” her hands began to worry each other again, and she looked so painfully sincere and awkward he wanted to stop her, to wrap her up in a hug though he wasn’t a hugger by nature. “I wanted to apologise as well. If I’d made you tell ‘im back when I found out in the Spring, none o’this would’ve ‘appened.”
It was his turn to blink in surprise, indignation flaring that she had found a way, as always, to make it her fault. He was usually quite delighted to pass blame onto someone else, but not for this.
“Absolutely not,” he said sternly, “You have nothing to apologise for.”
“I do, though,” she insisted, hands finding their way to her hips and he wondered what was wrong with him that he was pleased she was answering back. “I may not’ve known when you did such a foolish thing as tell Tris ‘e passed when he ant, but when I found out, I told you not ter tell ‘im. I told you ‘e could never know. I am as much t’blame for all that as you.”
“Poppycock,” he snapped, finally crossing into the centre of the room with her in front of the fire. “Absolute poppycock. I had no intention of telling him, of him ever finding out. Short of telling him yourself and bearing the blame, I don’t know that you could have said anything to me that would have made me change that.”
She glared at him.
“No, in this I must insist, Mrs Hall,” he placed a hand firmly on her shoulder, and made sure she was looking at him. She looked away almost instantly, pressing her lips together and looking more upset than he had thought she’d permit him.
“It’s why ‘e’s cross w’me,” she said softly, and he saw the firelight glancing off a sheen of tears in her eyes. She looked so guilty at this. “That I took your side, and din’t tell ‘im when I found out.”
“My side?” he asked incredulously, finding himself suddenly wanting to bark out a laugh at the thought. “I should tell that boy how much you harangue me on his behalf. My side indeed. You are firmly on Tristan’s side most of the time.”
“I ain’t on anyone’s side,” she sighed with a familiar roll of her eyes that felt like striking gold. “I made a mistake ‘ere in not keeping you ‘onest, but really Mr Farnon you shouldn’t ‘ave done it in th’first place.”
Yes, he was realising that now. Now that everything had exploded so spectacularly for them all.
“Regardless,” Siegfried gently squeezed her shoulder. “I was the one to put you in that position, and I am sorry for it. And I hope that you even being willing to talk to me this evening means my brother is no longer… quite as cross with you?”
Mrs Hall raised her eyes to his, and studied him for a moment though he struggled to read her expression, then her face softened a little and she smiled a small smile and nodded.
“’e’s goin’ to be quite cross with you for a while, though,” she added, lifting her arm across her body to take the hand he had on her shoulder, and squeezing it gently. “You and I can apologise to each other and try to assign blame all we like, but the truth is you need to apologise to ‘im.”
The response was instinctive and out of his mouth before he’d thought of it and checked his pride at the door. “Absolutely out of the question.”
Her gaze hardened, and she dropped his hand, taking a small step back.
“You’re going to ‘ave to admit you were wrong at some point,” she said, and she sounded so tired, like she’d not slept and then done several rounds with a bull on a farm in the dark. Weary, even. Weary with him. “I’d it were sooner than later, for all our sakes.”
And he felt the gap between them, that had closed back to warm and comforting as they commiserated over the upset and their parts to play in it, stretched back into the cool detachment and his days stretched before him with a practiced servility that made him cringe.
“Please don’t go back to how you were today,” he all but begged her, closing his eyes when she turned back, confused. He decided to soldier on, “I am very, very sorry. Please, believe me. I don’t need you to be so cross with me you call me sir.” He spat the last word out, despising it, and closing his eyes briefly against the emotions it stirred.
Understanding dawned on her face, though he didn’t see it, too occupied with looking over her shoulder to the window and his reflection there.
“I were right cross with you this mornin’, I won’t lie,” she said at last, her voice heavy in a way he didn’t quite understand. “And I shouldn’t ‘ave gotten so proper, but I din’t know I were doin’ it, I don’t think. Not properly anyroad.”
She sighed deeply, and rubbed her forehead. “Tris don’t seem so angry at me now. So… I won’t stop tellin’ you that you need to apologise, but I ain’t so cross with you as all that. Not anymore. I’ll go back to being the one ter keep you two from maimin’ each other.”
He nodded stiffly.
“I would expect nothing less,” he said at last and found that the over-emotion of the evening was finally due to overwhelm him, and he most assuredly deserved another whisky after all that.
“Don’t you think you’ve ‘ad enough at the Drovers?” Mrs Hall’s voice stopped before he reached the sideboard. He should have known that she’d worked out where he’d gone. He probably still smelt of ale. “You should go t’bed, Mr Farnon. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“It is,” he agreed, and then reached out to splash a very small amount as compromise, dashing the water in a little more liberally than he usually did. He somehow felt her acquiescence without even looking at her, before she made to leave. He heard her draw the heavy curtains closed.
“You should tell ‘im why you did it,” Mrs Hall said suddenly into the quiet room. “Explain it to ‘im like you did to me.”
Siegfried scoffed, not sure how that would even help. Tristan wouldn’t want excuses. He’d want to be coddled and to know he was right, and Siegfried couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not even for harmony with Mrs Hall.
Over his shoulder, he heard her sigh a weary, world-worn sigh, and make to leave him alone with his drink and his thoughts.
“Don’t apologise to Tris until you mean it, Mr Farnon,” she warned in the doorway, her voice brittle and tired and he hated himself for putting it there again after all the work removing it. “’e deserves you to be ‘onest, and truthful now more’n ever. Just… think on it, please.”
He nodded to the wall, knowing she was still watching him.
“Goodnight then, Mr Farnon,” she sighed, and he turned to watch her go, her shoulders slumped after a day of worrying and a pang lodged itself under his ribs.
“Goodnight, Mrs Hall,” he called softly after her, and was rewarded when she turned back briefly to smile thinly at him before she made her way upstairs to bed.
Tomorrow was another day. It would be a trying one, with Tristan, but at least he was fairly confident Mrs Hall was no longer cross with him.
He hoped Dick Rudd had as much luck getting out of the doghouse too.