The Black Velvet Gown

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Please. Please, Laurie, let us do nothing until the baby comes and she is back home. She’s determined to have nothing to do with the child.’

  ‘Well, I can understand that.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  He touched her cheek gently as she went on, ‘I’ll be thinking about it all the time, being brought up in some small foreign home when its rightful place is back in England in that house having all the attention in the world.’

  ‘Well, that can never be. You know that. Just imagine the shock of her landing back there with a baby in her arms, even if she wanted to.’

  She looked at him steadily for a moment. ‘That shock wouldn’t be half as great as the shock of Mr Laurence announcing the fact that he wishes to marry Biddy Millican, who once slaved in the laundry and was considered the lowest of the low,’ she said.

  He pursed his lips and smiled now and, taking her face between his two hands, he said, ‘And who has more brains in her little finger than the rest of that community put together? And who among them can converse, not just talk but converse? Biddy Millican. And it is she I mean to marry, even if the shock paralyses all at The Heights.’

  ‘And it might do just that, and also close the gates on you forever.’

  ‘No, that won’t happen, not as long as Grandmama is ruling the roost. No, I’m not afraid of that, for I don’t think there is anything I could do that would turn her against me. Perhaps that sounds conceited, but there it is. I pride myself I know her inside out.’

  Biddy could make no reply to this, because she couldn’t see madam through his eyes, and there was a section of her mind that was worried, not for herself, but for him.

  And all she could say to herself, and in her old idiom, was, ‘Oh, dear God, let things pan out.’

  Three

  Lucy’s baby was born on a Wednesday in the third week of January, 1841. It was a very bad delivery, her labour having lasted over a period of three days. It was a girl child, and after it was washed it looked so beautiful that Biddy cried over it.

  There was a great deal of bustle in the house. A midwife and Madame Arnaud had delivered the baby and now both were anxious as to the condition of the mother for after some hours the afterbirth had not appeared.

  The doctor had been long in coming as the roads were in a bad state, and when he saw the condition of the young mother, he shook his head and tut-tutted and gave her a strong dose of laudanum as well as a concoction from a green bottle before proceeding to perform a minor operation on her.

  When she screamed, Madame and Biddy held her down. And Biddy seemed to go on holding her for the next twenty-four hours, because every time she neared the bed Lucy would put her arms out and beg, ‘Hold me, Biddy. Hold me.’

  A fortnight ago she had sent a letter to Laurence in Oxford. It wasn’t only a love letter, it was also telling of her concern for Lucy’s condition. Now, three days after the baby’s birth she wrote again and sent the letter by special coach to Dieppe, hoping that it would catch the mail boat, and then the train, and reach him within two to three days. There were no words of love in this last letter, only the fact that the doctor had his grave doubts that Lucy would survive, and would he please come at once.

  Two days later, around five o’clock in the morning, Lucy died, her head resting on Biddy’s arm. Time and again she had asked, ‘Will Laurie come?’ And Biddy had assured her, ‘Yes, yes. He should be here any time now,’ knowing that the letter would probably not yet have reached him.

  Repeatedly she had tried to get Lucy to look at her child, hoping that it might, in some strange way, give her an incentive to live. But she had always refused; she even became agitated when the baby was mentioned.

  Biddy could not believe that the young girl was dead until Madame Arnaud lifted the head from her arms. She had become so stiff she found it impossible to move for a moment or so; then when realisation dawned on her she cried aloud, reverting to her old vocabulary, saying, ‘Eeh, no! No! Eeh, no!’

  ‘’Tis God’s will.’ Madame covered the still white face with the sheet and led Biddy from the room.

  The unreality of the situation stayed with her for the next five days, when the doctor said that the body must be buried; it would no longer be safe to leave it exposed.

  Almost at her wits’ end now, Biddy didn’t know what to do. By this time, either she should have had a letter or Laurie himself should have appeared, because on the morning Lucy died she had sent word straight away to him, telling him the news, and that he must inform her parents. She had just enough money to pay for the funeral expenses and the extra meals that Madame provided for the mourners who consisted of most of the village. The coffin had been borne on a cart to the little graveyard that was sheltered by a wood. The only flowers on it were some bunches of snowdrops and aconites. And as she stood at the graveside and watched the earth being shovelled on to the plain wooden box, she kept telling herself that this wasn’t happening. It was a dream. All these past months had been a dream. Laurie was part of the dream too, and all these strange people were part of the dream. The only thing that was certain was the baby lying in the farmhouse in its little crib. And she had to keep her thoughts on it because it was the only evidence she had of reality.

  Having had no reply from Laurence to her two letters, the dread increased that something had happened to him. If that were so, what would happen to her and the child? Nobody was going to take the baby unless they were paid for it. But the very thought of passing it over into strange hands was now almost unbearable. From the first moment she had held it it had bred in her a love, a new love, and when she put the pap bags to its mouth and watched it sucking while it gripped her finger with one of its tiny hands, she told herself it would be impossible to part with it, unless it was into very good hands. And the only hands she could think of were those of its own people back in England, in The Heights. It should go back there no matter what. Its mother was no longer here to bear the disgrace, so surely they would find it in their hearts now to forgive her and care for her child…

  The following day she was proved wrong, for not only did Laurie arrive, but also Anthony Gullmington and Stephen. It should happen that the two letters had definitely been delivered to Laurie’s quarters in the university but he had taken leave to go to London to attend a course of lectures. When he returned and found both letters he went straight back to The Heights and presented his adoptive father, mother, and brother with the facts, and had been amazed when Anthony Gullmington had at first refused point-blank to make the journey: ‘She’s dead? Then she’s dead,’ he had said.

  It was only when Laurence had pointed out to him that the child still survived and that if nothing was done Miss Biddy Millican would undoubtedly bring it back and present the family with it that he was persuaded to come.

  Yet, Anthony Gullmington had put it to Laurence that, seeing he had managed the whole affair so far, he could see to the rest of it. But Laurence would have none of this. His daughter, he reminded Gullmington, was dead, and in a foreign country. They could and would presumably say that she had died of a fever. And so what would people think if he didn’t have her body brought back?

  Madam had seen the sense of this and she had made her wishes known to her son, and so here they all were entering the sitting room of the farmhouse and looking towards Biddy. That was, until Laurence, going quickly to her side and taking her hand, said, ‘Oh, my dear, when did it happen? And how?’

  She looked from him to the two tall men gazing at her, no doubt amazed at Laurence’s attitude towards her and she said, ‘Will you, please, be seated.’ They stared at her for a moment longer before, together, they both sat side by side on the couch.

  But when she said, ‘Can I get you some refreshment?’ Anthony Gullmington growled, ‘No, girl! We don’t want any refreshment.’ And Laurence put in quietly, ‘We had a meal in the hotel back in Paris. Tell us what happened.’

  And in a few words she told them; then added, ‘I had no instructio
ns and the doctor said she must be buried. So two days ago they buried her in the cemetery’—she pointed towards the window—‘a little beyond the village.’ Then she added, ‘The child is very healthy, sir, and…’

  ‘I don’t want to hear anything about the child.’

  ‘She’s your granddaughter, sir.’

  ‘Don’t you dare take that tone with me. Remember your position.’

  ‘I do remember my position, sir, and I am not in your employ.’

  ‘What.’ He was about to rise when Stephen put his hand firmly on his father’s arm, saying placatingly now, ‘What she means, Father, is that Grandmama employs her.’

  ‘I know what she damn well means, and she’s insolent.’

  ‘I have no intention of being insolent, sir. I’m only stating a fact. And I can add to it by saying that I have stayed with your daughter these many months and cared for her, and I care for her child and wish to see the best done for it.’

  ‘God Almighty?’ He turned and glared at Laurence now. ‘Who does this one think she is?’

  ‘Well’—Laurence put his head back on his shoulders for a moment—‘this is not the time or the place to tell you, but since you ask, she is someone who has become very dear to me.’

  ‘Good God! Good God Almighty! What is this? Have you lost your senses, man? This…this slut who has caused more…’

  Both Biddy and Laurence spoke together, Biddy’s voice almost as loud as his as she cried, ‘Don’t you call me a slut! I’m no slut,’ and Laurence saying, ‘If she is a slut then she is the least of the sluts in your household, sir, for in intelligence she is above any of your offspring.’

  Father and son now looked at each other, not believing what they were hearing; then together they both rose to their feet, and it was Stephen who said, in a quieter tone but with a stiffness to it now, ‘We could talk about this, Laurie.’

  ‘There is nothing to talk about regarding my affairs.’

  ‘I forbid you the house as long as you continue to associate with this…’

  ‘That will certainly be no hardship to me. But forget about me for a moment. What you have come here to discuss is what is to be done with your…your granddaughter.’

  ‘She is not my granddaughter. I have no granddaughter.’

  ‘When the child is deposited on your front doorstep, as is the rule I think in such cases, then you will have some explaining to do.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare! Neither of you would dare.’

  ‘Father.’ Stephen was speaking again and the mind of the future member of Parliament was evidently getting to work because what he said was, ‘There is a way out. We could take the responsibility of the child, Father, and have her fostered. There are plenty of places in this country.’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t.’ Laurence’s voice was quiet as he broke in. ‘I know what you would do, both of you, you would dump her, and in the lowest possible place. If she is to be fostered it is to be in England and with suitable foster parents.’

  Anthony Gullmington’s eyes narrowed to slits now as, looking from Laurence to Biddy, he said, ‘You have both emphasised that she is my granddaughter, then as such I have claim to her, and I can do what I like with her.’

  ‘Not if I know it. You…you attempt to place her anywhere without my knowledge and, to put it plainly, I shall cry this affair from the house tops of every one of your friends in Durham and Northumberland.’

  ‘My God!’ The words came deep, yet on a whisper. ‘I just cannot believe it. After all the care and consideration you have been shown in my house over the years, you turn like a viper on me in this my hour of need.’

  ‘Your hour of need! Your daughter had an hour of need but she was so afraid of your hypocrisy and that of my so-called mama, that she begged a servant, as Biddy here once was, to break the news to Grandmama, because she was terrified to do it herself.’

  Looking at her late master, Biddy imagined for a moment that he was going to have a seizure. Then he growled at her, ‘Leave us,’ and as she went to walk away he spoke to Laurence, saying, ‘You too.’

  Laurence paused a moment, then followed Biddy. In the hall he took her hand and said, ‘Don’t worry. Things are bound to come out right.’ They were joined in a moment by Madame Arnaud who asked, ‘Would the gentlemen like some refreshment? I have pie and fresh bread, and…’

  ‘No, thank you, madame.’ Laurence inclined his head towards her. ‘We ate back at the hotel.’

  She looked at Biddy and said, ‘I shall be very sorry to lose you; you have been such good company. And the baby, she is so beautiful. And your visits, sir. Oh, I’ll miss your visits.’ She paused and turned to look at Anthony Gullmington and Stephen emerge from the room. Then returning her attention to Laurence, she went on, ‘Monsieur will be having a stone put up at the head of his daughter’s grave? There’s a good stonemason in the next village. Pierre burnt the name in the wooden plaque, and he had difficulty because it was so long, and he’s not very good, is Pierre. But Jean Lacousse, he is a good mason. He charges but his work is good. And it would be good to see Madame Millican’s name in stone, and it’s such a nice name: Lucille Beatrice Millican. The villagers and me, we would look after the grave well…’

  ‘What did she say?’ Anthony Gullmington was looking at Laurence, and after a moment’s hesitation Laurence said, ‘She was talking about a headstone.’

  ‘She mentioned a name, Lucille Beatrice…’

  ‘Yes.’ Laurence inclined his head; then added slowly, ‘She was known as Mrs Millican. Biddy was supposed to be her sister-in-law.’

  The father and son looked at each other.

  ‘And she was buried under that name?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What about the certificate…baptism, the child’s?’

  ‘It’—Laurence glanced at Biddy—‘it too bears the name of Millican. She was christened Louise Grace Millican.’

  Almost in horror now Biddy watched a slow smile spread over Anthony Gullmington’s face. Then he looked at his son. Stephen wasn’t smiling, but he was looking at Laurence, and Laurence said, ‘That won’t get you out of this.’

  ‘No?’ Anthony Gullmington pursed his lips for a moment before repeating, ‘No? Well, it will go a damn long way, I should say, for who’s to prove that a child called Millican was born of my daughter? My daughter died of a fever, as we were to infer. I had that placed in the Newcastle papers before we left.’ He now turned to Biddy, ‘You have dug your own grave, miss.’

  ‘I have done no such thing, sir. I can prove that I’ve had no child.’

  ‘And who would believe it? Who will believe you? Mud sticks. Well now, I shall leave you and your charge, and you too, Laurence.’ And all sarcasm leaving his voice now and bitterness filling it, he said, ‘You ungrateful swine, you!’ And with this he marched out.

  Stephen did not immediately follow his father, but he stood looking from one to the other; and then he said, ‘I’m sorry, Laurie. Believe this, will you? I’m sorry.’

  ‘I believe you, Stephen. But you believe that it was her child, don’t you?’

  Stephen cast his glance downwards, paused a moment, turned and then followed his father.

  Biddy and Laurence stood looking at each other. The expressions on their faces were similar: they looked like two fighters who had been told they had lost the battle which they felt they had previously won.

  Four

  Riah looked at Tol standing opposite her in the drawing room, and she said, ‘First thing in the morning I’m goin’ to the Justices. My girl’s in that foreign country. She went with their daughter. I want to know what’s happened to her. Have you heard nothing more?’

  ‘Nothing, except that Miss Lucy died of a fever. But there is more. Everybody knows it up there, but what it is they can’t fathom.’

  ‘Has Mr Laurence not returned either?’

  ‘No. And that’s another funny thing. They were supposed to be with his friends, I mean Miss Lucy and Biddy. That…that
seemed to be the whole idea, that Miss Lucy’s education was to be furthered with the young people of the French family.’

  ‘Ma! Ma!’ The door burst open, and Johnny stood there, his hand still on the knob as he cried, ‘They’re comin’ up the road. I saw them from the rise.’

  ‘Who is?’ They both moved towards him now.

  ‘Our Biddy. And it looks like she’s got a man with her.’

  ‘No, no. You must be mistaken. You couldn’t make her out in this light.’ She glanced towards the window to see that the twilight was deepening into dark, and the boy cried at her, ‘It is! It is! She glimpsed me and waved me from the road. They should be at the gate now. Come on! Come on!’ And Riah and Tol went out, running now, out of the front door and on to the drive, to see coming towards them Biddy, who was carrying what looked like a child in her arms, and a man by her side weighed down with two heavy cases.

  As Riah went to put her arms about Biddy, crying, ‘Oh lass! Oh hinny!’ she stopped and peered down on what she now saw was indeed a baby, and her mouth remained agape as Biddy said wearily, ‘Let’s get inside, Ma, we’re tired. We had to walk from the crossroads. Oh…this is Mr Laurence.’

  Riah turned her head to the side and looked at the man who smiled at her and said, ‘Good evening, Mrs Millican.’

  ‘Let me have those, sir.’ Tol picked up the cases that Laurence had placed on the ground. ‘Thanks, Tol,’ said Laurence, and they all moved across the drive and through the front door and into the hall; and there, Biddy, handing the baby to her mother, said, ‘Hold her a minute till I get my things off.’ And Riah taking the child, looked down on it as she thought, Not our Biddy; no no! Anyway, who to? And thinking thus, bustled them into the drawing room.

  ‘You have every reason to look amazed, Mrs Millican,’ Laurence said. ‘But you are no more amazed than both Biddy and I are to find ourselves in our present situation. We…we have a lot to tell you, a lot of explaining to do, which will no doubt amaze you further. But’—he smiled warmly at her now—‘would it be possible for Biddy to have a warm drink, and perhaps some milk for the baby? Both suffered on yesterday’s boat crossing. Neither of them, I’m afraid, enjoy the sea, and the train and coach journey has been long and arduous. We thought to stay in Newcastle for the night, but there was a coach leaving nearby, so we took the opportunity…’