The blow had been intended for his head, but so quickly had Anthony Gullmington wrenched himself from his son’s hold that he himself had overbalanced as his arm had thrust itself out to strike and now he was half crouched against the wall and within an arm’s length of Laurence who had righted himself and was standing with clenched fists, but these tightly pressed against his sides.
It was Stephen who spoke now, saying, ‘Go, Laurie, please.’ And he pulled open the stair door, but Laurence still stood glaring at the man who had now straightened himself up but remained leaning against the wall and returning his look with equal vehemence.
‘Come, Laurence.’ Biddy spoke the name quietly, yet it would appear she had shouted it for it widened the eyes of the servants and brought a quiver to Grace Gullmington’s face. Slowly Laurence turned about, but he did not precede Biddy to the stairs. Putting his hand on her arm, he pushed her gently forward, and as he passed Stephen he looked him straight in the eyes and felt a pang attack his chest as he found no bitterness in the look that met his, if anything the message they sent to him was one of sorrow and understanding.
When they reached the yard they stopped for a moment, and her voice trembling, Biddy asked, ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No, no.’ He tried to smile at her as he said, ‘The answer might have been different if the blow had landed where he intended it should.’
‘Look, there’s Jean.’ Maggie tugged at Biddy’s sleeve, and Biddy looked to where Jean was crossing the yard holding one end of a large linen basket.
Turning towards Laurence, she said, ‘Would you mind? I won’t be a moment. I might not see her again.’ And hurrying now she went to where Jean stood open-mouthed, staring at her, and she drew her to one side, saying hastily, ‘There’s no time to talk, and I mightn’t see you again, but I thought, would you like to come and work for us?’
‘What do you mean, Biddy? At the house? Your house?’
‘Yes. There won’t be much money but it will be better than here. You could come over next leave day and we’ll talk about it.’
‘Oh, thanks, Biddy. Ta. Is…is that the baby?’
‘Yes, this is the baby.’
‘’Tis…’tisn’t yours?’ It was a whisper.
‘No, it isn’t mine, but nobody will believe it.’
‘Oh, Biddy.’
‘Never mind. See you soon.’
‘Aye, Biddy. Aye. Ta. Thanks.’
Quickly now, she rejoined Laurence and Maggie, but as she made to go towards the side path Laurence took her arm, and none too gently, saying, ‘No, not that way. We will go by the main drive.’ She stared at him for a moment, then lowered her head over the child and did as he bid without any protest as to the advisability of it.
As they crossed the stable yard, Biddy glanced about her, hoping that she might see Davey, but she seemed to see every stable hand except him. He had likely got word of their presence and was ashamed of the scandal. In a way she felt hurt. But what did it matter? Nothing could add to the hurt she was feeling at this moment. That awful scene Laurence had had to endure, and that old woman up there who had talked to her as if she was something crawling on the ground. Yet she knew that as she listened to her she had seen herself through her eyes as someone of such a low degree that even the thought of marrying Laurence would be presumptuous.
They were walking on the drive in front of the house now. There was no-one to be seen, not outside, but both she and Laurence were aware the house was very much alive behind the windows.
It was an amazed lodgekeeper who opened the gates for them but he raised his cap and his voice was very civil as he said, ‘Good morning, Mr Laurence.’ And Laurence said to him, ‘Goodbye, Mr Johnson.’
They walked over a mile before being met by Tol. He was driving the wood cart. It was half filled with logs and Maggie had to climb among them while Biddy and Laurence squeezed on to the driving seat.
Tol, seeing the look on their faces, remarked briefly, ‘Had it rough, sir?’ And Laurence replied, ‘Sort of, Tol.’
There was no further discussion until Tol dropped them at the gate, when Laurence said to him, ‘If they find out what you’ve been doing this morning, you will very likely be out of work.’
‘That wouldn’t worry me, sir.’ Tol smiled at him. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’d set me on. I’ve always thought that would be good for market produce.’ He nodded towards the wall before adding, ‘And I’m not the only one who thinks that way.’
‘Thank you, Tol, for the ride.’ Biddy’s voice was low, her face unsmiling, and he replied, ‘It’s a pleasure, Biddy. It’s a pleasure. And may I say this to both of you.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘I only hope you’re as happy, leastwise in the future, as your mother has made me.’
Biddy turned away, almost at a run, hugging the child to her, for there was an emotion rising in her that she had to quell until she got into the house. But when once she reached the kitchen where, on seeing Maggie, her mother exclaimed, ‘Why, what are you doing here?’ Biddy for answer thrust the child into her arms, saying, ‘Take her for a minute, and…and leave me be, just for a minute or so.’ And with this she ran out of the kitchen and across the hall and into the library, and there, flinging herself into the leather chair which had for so long been used by the master, she gave rein to her pent-up feelings.
After a while her crying subsided and she sat quietly looking about her, and she seemed to sense the master’s presence near her saying, ‘This is where life begins for you. You are still very ignorant, but you will learn as you teach.’ That’s what he had once said to her: One learns as one teaches. And sometimes one learns that the pupil is more intelligent than the master.
She hadn’t heard the door open, nor was she aware of Laurence’s entry until he stood in front of her and drew her up into his arms, and there, holding her close, he said softly, ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I’m sorry to the heart you’ve had to suffer all this through no fault of yours. Are you willing to bring her up as our own? You know, I could do as I said, and bring over the doctor and Madame Arnaud and take the matter to court. Letters would prove…’
‘No, no.’ She lifted her head from his shoulder. ‘I…I want to keep her. Somehow it’s strange, but…but from the moment she was born I felt…I can’t understand it.’ She blinked the moisture from her eyes and swallowed deeply before going on, ‘It was just as if she were mine. To tell you the truth I would have hated to leave her up there. I’m…I’m not crying about her, it’s the things that madam said to me, of me. They made me wonder what…what I’d be doing to you if we marry.’
He held her gently away from him, his chin pulled into his neck, his eyes narrowed, and he repeated, ‘If we married? There’s no if about it, we are getting married. I love you. When I say you are the only woman…and I mean woman, that I have ever loved or am likely to love, I would add that many in the same position might say the same things to you, knowing that nothing remains stationary in this life, not even emotions, and that some day they would forget these words or, if not forget them, repeat them to someone else. But with me, Biddy, I can swear to you that that will not be so, because I have already told you, I have known from the very first that you were for me, and I for you, although, truthfully, I tried to evade the question, even for a time thinking as madam does, that the solution would be to take you for my mistress. Yet, I knew that you would never countenance that.’ He pulled a slight face at her now before going on. ‘When I stayed away it was because I imagined any union between us would be impossible to bring about because of the insurmountable problems. But life being what it is, I know now that there is no problem that I wouldn’t surmount to get you, to marry you, to make you my wife. And’—his smile widened—‘you are getting no bargain. My worldly possessions, at least for the next year, amount to eighty-seven pounds in the bank, a few sets of gold cufflinks and studs, and two gold watches, while here I am, not only proposing to a most beautiful, highly intelligent young woman, but she is giving me a ho
me, a lovely home in which to start a dream of mine, a school for young men.’
‘No. No.’ He was amazed at the strength of the push that forced him backwards from her as she cried at him now, ‘For young men and young women. Definitely, young women.’
She watched him close his eyes while his head drooped, and now he muttered, ‘Yes, ma’am, young women. They will certainly be admitted to our school.’
‘In even numbers, sir.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He was gazing at her, his eyes bright and twinkling. ‘In equal numbers.’
‘And with equal attention.’
‘And with equal attention, ma’am.’ His head nodded with each word.
‘In all subjects.’
‘As you say, ma’am, in all subjects. I agree with everything you say; in fact, I will put it in writing on the day you first sign your name as Mrs Laurence Frederick Carmichael.’
Her eyes sprang wide. ‘Is that your name, Carmichael?’
‘Yes, that’s my real name, Carmichael.’
‘Oh, Laurie, Laurie. What a lovely name. Thank you for offering it to me.’ Slowly she went into his arms now, adding, ‘I will love and honour it and you all my days.’
On a windy day at the end of March they were married in the village church, reluctantly it would seem, by Parson Weeks. The bride’s stepfather, Mr Tol Briston, gave the bride away. There was one member missing from the family party. Davey had left The Heights the day after Biddy’s visit. He had not gone back to the house, but had given Tol a message for his mother, saying he wasn’t going to wait to be thrown out, and that, anyway, he had been half promised a job at a farrier’s in Gateshead Fell. It transpired that the farrier had a good business and also a daughter of marriageable age whom he met when stabling the coach and horses in the town.
The bride was attended by her sister and her friend Jean. The groom was supported by two friends who had come up from Oxford.
The combined number should have hardly filled the two front pews of the church, yet it was packed to the door, because it wasn’t every day that a gentleman from a place like The Heights married a servant, even one with a head on her shoulders, but who had arrived back home from across the seas with a bairn. Now that was a mystery: was it or wasn’t it? Some said it wasn’t hers. Then if it wasn’t hers, why was he marrying her? There was more than a whisper that it was Miss Lucy Gullmington’s. Now that was a thing to say, wasn’t it? But then it was a fact that the housekeeper had seen the bride there all rumpled from her rolling in the grass the day the bairn was conceived. All right, it hadn’t run nine months, but there was plenty of people alive today who had been born at seven months, weren’t there? Anyway, there she was, at the altar, looking as beautiful as any bride who had ever knelt there, and him looking like a dog with two tails. Well, all they could say for sure was, from the looks of them, they’d like to bet that another bairn would join the present one, in seven months or nine months, and it likely wouldn’t stop there.
And to think all this had come about because Mr Miller had taken her, her brothers and sister, and her mother in off the road not eight years gone. It just showed you that people should be careful before they do a kindness.
The End
The Black Velvet Gown Page 40
