The Black Velvet Gown

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Her voice was soft. ‘And thank you. Thank you most kindly for remembering them.’

  He was on his feet when he almost barked at her, ‘I didn’t remember them, I…I was just thinking back.’ And turning, he staggered up the room and out of the far door leaving her still standing holding the two sovereigns in one hand and a fancy coloured bag in the other. There were tears in her eyes when she reached the kitchen.

  The children had been seated round the table doing their nightly half-hour of reading, which she insisted upon, and she stood looking at them for a while before she opened the bag. Then one after the other she drew out four long multi-coloured twists of candy sugar, and the children’s astonishment came as one large gasp, and slowly she handed one twist to each of them, saying, ‘The master bought them for you in Newcastle.’

  As usual it was Biddy who was the first to speak. ‘He never did,’ she said. And her mother, looking at her, smiled as she said in a strained voice, ‘He did.’

  The four children had stared at the twisted columns in awe, but when Johnny bit deep into his, his mother cried at him, ‘Now don’t think you’re going to go through that all at once. Break it in three and make it last. Look at the length of them! I’ve never seen such long ones afore, nor any as bonny.’

  ‘Ma, will this mean we can go and thank him?’ Biddy said, only to shrink back in her chair immediately as her mother almost pounced on her, crying low, ‘No, it doesn’t, madam! You make a move in that direction and I’ll skin you alive. Do you hear? Things are just the same: he doesn’t want to see you; he’s not going to be pestered.’

  But undaunted by her mother’s attitude, Biddy muttered, ‘Pestered? We keep miles from him. I did a bunk into the bushes the other day when I saw him coming down the drive.’

  ‘Well, keep on doing bunks, and don’t you dare go near him. I’m warning you.’ Then her voice softening, Riah looked from one to the other of her children and said, ‘You like being here, don’t you?’ And immediately Johnny and Maggie nodded their heads. But Davey and Biddy said nothing which caused her to bark at Biddy, ‘Well!’

  ‘We don’t see many people, only Tol.’

  ‘She’s right, Ma’—Davey’s face was solemn—‘we don’t, we don’t see many people.’

  She sat slowly down at the head of the table, her two hands on it, one still doubled, and, her voice slow, she said, ‘We’ve got a roof over our heads; we are well fed; plain, but well fed; you’ve got beds like you’ve never had in your life afore; you’re healthy. What more can you want?’

  Their answer came into her mind: A bit of jollification, a bit of fun, young people to mix with; a fair now and again. Seth used to take them to the fair at holiday times, but there were no holidays kept here. She understood how they were feeling.

  Slowly she unfolded her fist and slid the back of her hand towards the centre of the table showing them the two sovereigns and, her voice still slow but quiet, she said, ‘He gave me these, so we could have a bit of jollification at Christmas. We’ll all go into Fellburn, perhaps into Gateshead Fell an’ all, and,’—she ended—‘we’ll buy up the town.’ And as she watched their faces brighten and their bodies become animated, she thought, I’ll have to ask him for a full day off.

  Sometimes Riah felt that she had known Tol Briston all her life. He had become a friend, a friend in a million as she put it to herself. Nothing was too much trouble for him. He would bring messages from the village, or even do an errand in the town when he had to go in there to help the other outside men from The Heights bring in fodder. He delivered the milk and wood as if it was part of his duty. He had also brought Fanny over twice during the past month, and that had been a treat for both of them, and listening to the old woman she had learned a lot more about her master and his early days in the house. Of course, she realised the old woman’s knowledge had come second-hand through her husband, but nevertheless it rang true. And the more she heard the more she realised how her solitary master had loved his mother. But what Fanny didn’t know and so couldn’t tell her was what had brought this man home and made him into a recluse, because something must have happened to bring a highly learned and presentable man, as he must at one time have been and still could be if he smartened himself up, back to this house to hide away, as it seemed, from human companionship. A broken love affair, most likely. But would that make him detest children?

  Anyway, tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and here they were all going into Gateshead Fell to buy Christmas fare.

  She’d had her work cut out these past three days to keep her brood from screaming and yelling at the prospect. She had made them keep their voices down but she couldn’t stop them from running. Wherever they went they wanted to run. And now here they were, all being piled into the cart, muffled up in their Sunday clothes and the woolly hats and scarves she and Biddy had knitted during the winter evenings.

  She felt happy as she had never felt in her life as Tol finally helped her up into her seat; then taking his place at her side, he cried, ‘Gee-up there!’

  They had left the yard and were crossing the drive when Biddy tugged at the back of her coat, and she turned and looked down at her daughter who whispered, ‘The master, he’s at the landing window.’

  She experienced a quick inclination to turn her head and look towards the house, but she kept her gaze on Biddy as she said, ‘Keep your eyes down and behave yourself.’ Then when she turned round, Tol, his gaze fixed ahead, said, ‘He must be coming round.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. He never comes near them.’

  ‘Oh, time’s young yet, time’s young yet. An’ there’s one thing, you’ve made a change in him: I saw him walking the other day and he was quite spruced up, shaven and a coat on that for once looked as if he hadn’t slept in it.’

  She laughed gently now as she said, ‘I see to his clothes on the quiet, press them and starch his cravats and such.’

  ‘You’ve been a blessin’ to him. Fanny did her best, God knows, but at her best that wasn’t much even on her good days. She was never given to housework an’ such, was Fanny. Her own cottage is like Paddy’s market, but she’s happy in it, and content, and that’s the main thing. Some people can be too clean.’

  ‘You think so?’ Her voice had risen at the end of the words into a question because she felt he was censuring her. Then he said, ‘Yes, in a way, when it brings no comfort. Now your kind of cleanness brings comfort, but there are some that would prevent a cinder falling from the fire if it were possible because it would alter the arrangement of the coal.’

  She laughed to herself as she thought: So that’s it, it’s his sister. She had met Annie Briston only four times altogether. She was a woman in her mid-thirties, but she looked much older. She had a pleasant face and voice and, being Tol’s sister, Riah had thought she would take to her straight away, but somehow she hadn’t.

  When she herself was in Fanny’s company, so free was her own chatter that she often smiled to herself, thinking, People won’t have far to look to know where Biddy comes from. But with Annie Briston, she found herself being merely polite, correctly polite. During their first two meetings the woman had acted quite friendly, but on the latter two there had been a change in her attitude. She had talked a lot about Tol. Told how she had left good service to come home and take care of him after their mother had died eight years ago. Yesterday, in their last meeting, she had given her two clouty dolls as Christmas surprises for the girls and a wooden cradle which had been made by Tol for Maggie’s doll. She had also remarked, as if in passing, how she would miss Tol when he got married and went to live in Rowdip.

  Her first reaction to this news had been one of surprise. But then she had asked herself, why should she be surprised? It was a wonder that a presentable man, such as Tol, had gone so long without a wife, and she hoped the one he had chosen would be worthy of him, for he was a good man. She herself would miss him, and not only for his fetching and carrying.

  She said now, ‘B
efore I forget, I must wish you good luck for the future.’

  He tugged on the right-hand rein, guiding the horse round a bend in the road, then said, ‘Careful, careful,’ before casting a glance at her and saying, ‘What have you got to wish me good luck for in the future?’

  ‘Well, your…your wedding.’

  ‘Weddin’?’ He pulled sharply on the reins again; then swivelled his body towards her, saying, ‘What weddin’?’

  ‘Oh!’ She knew her colour had risen, and now she muttered, ‘Well, perhaps I misunderstood her, your sister. She gave me the impression you were going to be married, and…and might move away.’

  He was staring at her and she at him, but he didn’t speak, at least not until he was once more looking ahead, when he said, his voice almost a growl, ‘I’m not gettin’ married.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I must have made a mistake.’

  ‘You made no mistake.’ His tone was flat. ‘When I think of gettin’ married I’ll tell you.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need.’ She felt annoyed both with his sister and at the attitude he was taking towards her now, and she added, ‘It has nothing to do with me. I only spoke out of politeness.’

  ‘Yes, I know you did.’ His tone had altered again. ‘But Annie had no right to give you that impression.’

  She was still feeling annoyance as she answered, ‘Well, I should imagine it isn’t something that a body would say if they hadn’t something to go on.’

  ‘She has nothing to go on, except that I sometimes visit this family in Rowdip. Betty is the daughter, but she’s just coming up nineteen. I’ve taken her to the fair and the races, things like that. There’s not much fun down in Rowdip. And her parents are elderly. But her mother and my mother were friends for years and I’ve known Betty since she was a baby. Talkin’ of getting married, I should have been a married man for many years now. I was courtin’ a girl when my mother died. It was then Annie came home for the funeral and decided to stay. I couldn’t do anything about it, that was her home. Well, my future wife didn’t see eye to eye with Annie, I mean living in the same house—three rooms and a scullery are not being enough to hold two women—and so she gave me her answer to it all by finding a better man.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Oh, as things have turned out, I’m not. It’s odd’—his voice was light now—‘queer in a way, how things work themselves out and how your mind accepts the changes, how little things of no account at the time become of vast importance. My dad used to say, all encounters lead to big battles, and he was right. You can apply that to anything.’

  Now changing the subject abruptly he lifted his whip and pointed, saying, ‘Look at that sky. I haven’t travelled at all, but I doubt if there’s any place in the world where you’ll find skies like here. The fire in that sun, you would think, should warm the earth, yet the sky is so vast and the horizons so long, so deep, that its flame is a mere candlelight by the time it touches us.’

  Her head was turned fully towards him and she said softly, ‘That was lovely.’

  ‘What was?’ He glanced at her.

  ‘What you said.’

  His head swung round fully towards her. ‘What I said? You mean about the sun an’ that?’

  ‘Yes, it’s like something I read in a book.’

  Again his eyes were fixed ahead and it was some time before he spoke; and then, his voice low, he said, ‘Aye, they tell me that you can read. And not only you, but the bairns an’ all. That’s amazing. And here’s me a fully grown man, an’ I can’t write me own name. Yet me head’s full of words an’ thoughts that colour me thinkin’.’

  She was bending towards him now, her voice low. ‘I’ll learn you, Tol,’ she said. ‘I never thought about putting it to you, but I’ll learn you.’

  ‘Oh, it would never do. It would never work. What use would it be to me now?’ he muttered.

  ‘Good gracious!’ she said, a note of indignation in her voice. ‘You’re young; you…you could have forty years to go, and think of all you could learn in forty years through reading. Why, even in the last few months when I’ve had time to meself at night I’ve improved. I could write a letter now as good as Biddy. I’m sure I could.’

  ‘Biddy can write a letter?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes. Biddy’s clever. I think she’s going to be the only clever one among them. They can all read and write, an’ they know their numbers, but Biddy thinks, she tries to work things out.’ Her voice had been low, and he turned towards her now, his own voice as low and a smile on his face as he said, ‘I think she’s a bit special, is Biddy. She’ll go places.’

  She sat back, and when she spoke it was as if she was asking a question of someone who wasn’t there: ‘Where?’ she said. ‘Where? What chance has she here, but to sweep and clean all her life?’

  As if Biddy had heard her name mentioned her head came between them now from where she was standing in the cart and, her voice high, she said, ‘You know something, Ma? You know what I’m gona buy when I get into Gateshead Fell?’

  ‘No, I don’t know what you’re going to buy. What?’

  ‘A bundle of pipe cleaners.’

  ‘A bundle of pipe cleaners? Whatever for?’

  ‘To give as a present to the master.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, child, the master doesn’t smoke.’

  ‘I know that, but he should. It’ll soothe him like it used to do me da, and when he sees them it’ll put the idea in his head.’

  She now looked from one to the other as her mother and Tol exchanged glances before bursting out laughing. And when she, also laughing, now sat down in the cart, Davey, shaking his head at her, said, ‘You know, at times I think you’re up the pole, our Biddy.’ And in answer she nodded at him brightly, saying, ‘Yes, I know. But from up there you can see more of what’s going on.’

  Now they were all laughing. Biddy knew that the two younger ones didn’t know what they were laughing about, but she knew: they were all laughing because they were joyful. Everybody was joyful. It was Christmas; they were going into Gateshead Fell; they had money to spend and their ma looked beautiful; so everything was joyful, so joyful, like bells ringing all the time on a Sunday morning. Joyful.

  Five

  Today was Christmas Day and tomorrow Boxing Day, she’d be twenty-seven years old. And she’d been aware of Christmases since she was four years old, but she had never known a one like this, full of excitement, yet peaceful. Yesterday, Christmas Eve, they’d had three callers, counting Tol, that was. The other two had been Parson Weeks and a stranger, a correctly dressed woman who looked like a lady, but turned out to be only a lady’s maid. Of course, that was still something. She was from the big house called The Heights that lay a good mile beyond the village, which, she now knew from Tol, was owned and lived in by the Gullmington family.

  Miss Hobson, she had also learned, was lady’s maid to the present master’s mother, a grand person well into her seventies. She also learned that Miss Hobson’s first post had been in this very house, and not as a lady’s maid but as a trainee parlourmaid when she was fourteen. She was twenty-six years old when she went as head parlourmaid to The Heights, and she had remained as such for fifteen years until Madam Gullmington, having lost her maid, chose her to fill the vacancy. But at least once a year she made it her business to come and see Mr Percival, for as she said she had seen him a few minutes after he was born, and had always retained a soft spot for him.

  Riah had wanted to put questions to her regarding her master. But Miss Hobson was so prim and her manner so correct that Riah felt in a way she was in the presence of one of the gentry themselves, and she was wise enough to know that one didn’t put questions to the gentry.

  Of her own accord she had set a tray, using the best cups from the cabinet in the dining room, and she had warmed the pot before mashing the tea, and when she took it into the drawing room where Mr Miller was sitting talking to his visitor, she knew that he was surprised at her gesture, but not annoyed. She k
new that Miss Hobson, too, was surprised, likely because she had set the tray correctly, but she wouldn’t have been able to do so if she hadn’t found in the back of the dresser drawer the book called Household Management. It covered almost everything that was required in the running of a large establishment, from making blacking for the horses’ hooves and the ingredients that went into their mash, to attending to the mistress’s wants before retirement. There were a number of pages at the back of the book full of do’s and don’ts, and one of the don’ts was: Never make the mistake of offering a visitor pastries or cakes with a cup of tea if they should call before three o’clock in the afternoon. It went on to state that it should be noted that the best tea service did not carry plates, merely cups and saucers. Furthermore, should you be required to offer your guests any sweetmeats, see that they were of a delicate and light quality. A footnote to this statement reminded the reader that it was only the common people who made a meal of sandwiches, buns, and pastry. In parts she had found the book very amusing; in fact, it had become like a joke book, especially when Biddy read it aloud to them, which she often did for her reading exercise, and she accompanied her reading with mimicry, causing them all to laugh so loudly Riah had often to quieten them, while her own face was wet with tears of laughter.