‘Are you sure there was no malice? For weeks and months beforehand Matthew Sutcliffe had been openly threatening my father because he had some twisted notion in his head that papa stole the credit for an invention which really belonged to his father. To have called it manslaughter instead of murder was a travesty of justice. There cannot be the slightest doubt about what happened. On that dreadful night when poor papa went late to the mill to make some adjustments to one of the looms, that evil man followed him and brutally stabbed at him again and again with the pointed end of a fly shuttle, then ran off leaving him covered in blood and dying, In the name of heaven, uncle, how can that be called anything but murder?’
Randolph was amazed by her preciseness. He had not realised she knew so many details.
‘You were only four years old, Emma, surely too young to grasp such things?’ he said,
‘Children grasp far more than adults imagine. Mama was always reticent when speaking about papa’s death, but little by little I came to know the whole story. Odd remarks and curious looks made me ask questions, and the servants sometimes let things slip. It all added up,’
‘I see.’ Randolph was thoughtful, wondering how best to deal with the situation. From his desk he picked up a handsome silver snuff box that had belonged to his father, flicking the lid open and closed.
‘We live in a civilised country,’ he said at length, ‘and we have to be governed by the laws of that country. In the eyes of the law Sutcliffe has paid the price for his crime. He has squared his account with society.’
‘But not with me! Never with me, as long as I live! ‘
‘You’ll come to see things differently, lass, as I myself have had to do. I freely admit that my first reaction was much like your own. I was furious when I realised that Sutcliffe had returned to the district. But I soon came to see that I’d been over hasty. A man can’t be treated like a pariah for ever.’
‘Why did he have to come back?’ Emma said wretchedly. ‘Why couldn’t he have stayed out there in Australia, like most of the convicts do after they’re freed?’
‘Only because they haven’t got the money to return to England. But Sutcliffe seems to have made his fortune out there, a sizeable fortune at that.’
‘And if he hadn’t made a fortune but come back a poor man,’ she flared, ‘would you still be preaching Christian forgiveness like this?’
The instant the words were out, Emma wished them unsaid. She watched in dismay as Randolph’s face darkened with anger.
‘You’ll take that back, girl!’
Emma lowered her head, ashamed. ‘I am sorry, uncle. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’
There was a weighty silence, then, putting down the snuff box, Randolph said stiffly, ‘We’ll say no more about it. But let’s have it clearly understood that while you live under my roof, you do as I say. You’ll be present on Wednesday evening when Mr Sutcliffe comes, and you’ll treat him with civility. I ask no more of you than that. Now off you go and get yourself ready for church, before I regret being so soft with you.’
* * *
Emma hesitated over her wardrobe, then drew out the grey and white taffeta gown that dated from her period of half-mourning for her mother. Cathy, she recalled, had told her at the time that it made her look drab and dowdy, so it would be eminently suitable for this occasion. But a few minutes later, surveying herself full-length in the cheval glass, her defiant spirit flared again. Why should she have to go downstairs and be polite to Matthew Sutcliffe? If she pleaded a severe headache, her uncle might even now relent and permit her to be absent. Almost as the idea formed in her mind there came a tap on her bedroom door, and Randolph’s voice called, ‘Emma, are you ready?’
Her heart plummeted, ‘Yes, Uncle.’
‘Then come downstairs with me, lass.’
She went to the door and opened it. Her uncle stood there, handsome in his well fitting evening clothes. ‘But what about Cathy? She will be expecting me.’
‘I have asked your aunt to see to Cathy. Come along, it’s almost seven-thirty. Our guests will be arriving in a few minutes.’
As they descended the staircase which was solidly built of English oak, like a symbol of the Hardakers’ solid worth, his hand was firmly gripping her elbow as though he suspected, even now, she might make a bid to escape. He led her into the drawing room, where very soon Chloe and Cathy joined them.
Cathy looked ethereal in rose-pink tarlatan with a sash of matching silk ribbon. The dress had been made for her by Mrs Spratchley in the village at Easter time, and Nelly had spent yesterday afternoon putting tucks in the bodice so that Cathy’s loss of weight would not be too distressingly apparent. Chloe’s choice was a sad mistake; she had not learnt the art of managing a cumbrous crinoline cage, and in her wide-necked crimson silk gown with its flounced skirts and pagoda sleeves festooned with Nottingham lace, she was overdressed and more ungainly than usual.
The first to arrive were the Dr Paget Eade, who were both portly, though Jane, having the advantage of the Hardaker height, appeared slightly the less so of the two. Clad in a rich brown velvet and lace which had seen much service, her plump round face was set in disgruntled lines. Paget, who brought with him a reek of whisky, was fingering his straggly side whiskers, and his bulbous eyes darted nervously round the room as he entered. The girls went to kiss their uncle and aunt, Cathy with innocent warmth, Emma more coolly from her still smouldering resentment. Chloe and Jane exchanged mere pecks on the cheek.
Blanche came next, the widow of the middle Hardaker brother, William, who had died of a stroke nine years ago after a long and tedious illness. Chloe and Jane greeted their sister-in-law even more perfunctorily than they had each other. Unlike Chloe, Blanche had no difficulty in coping with the fashionably wide crinoline, having spent a good deal of time practising before her looking-glass. Her moire silk gown was decollate, in a rich shade of purple trimmed with bands of delicate green ribbon; around her throat was a gold necklet inset with pearls, and clusters of pearls hung from her ears.
‘You look magnificent tonight, my dear Blanche,’ said Randolph gallantly.
She accepted her brother-in-law’s compliment with a gracious smile, but it was plain to Emma that the youngest of her aunts was not at her sparkling best this evening. Was she, too, antagonistic to the idea of meeting Matthew Sutcliffe socially? The thought made Emma warm slightly towards Blanche, with whom she seldom had anything in common.
‘Tell me, Randolph,’ Blanche was saying, ‘is Mr Sutcliffe very much changed?’
‘Well, naturally! Fifteen years is a long time and no doubt we’re all greatly changed. But even more so, I imagine, when those years have been spent as Sutcliffe has spent them. It was no picnic in the colony, Blanche, by all accounts.’
‘No, I suppose not!’ she said with a visible shudder.
Bernard Mottram was ushered into the drawing room, and after a round of greetings he took up a stance behind the red plush sofa upon which Emma sat with Cathy.
‘It promises to be an interesting evening,’ he observed in an undertone.
‘Interesting!’ Emma directed a look at him, ‘I am only longing for it to be over.’
‘Yes, of course,’ he murmured apologetically.
‘Look, here he comes!’ She felt a nudge in the ribs from Cathy, and bracing herself, glanced across the room, but the double doors from the hall remained closed.
‘You’re mistaken, Cathy,’ she said faintly.
‘No, look!’ Cathy indicated Seth, who had entered through the service door beside the fireplace and was waiting with a tray of filled glasses, ready to hand round the whet-cup at Randolph’s signal.
‘Oh, Seth!’ Emma made an effort. ‘I thought he was in your bad books at the moment.’
‘No, not any more! I know I was vexed with him at the fair, but he explained about that.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Well, it was just that he happened to be standing next to that girl Bessie Lister,
and she asked him to take her for a turn on the merry-go-round. That’s all it was.’
‘I see.’ Emma guessed this wasn’t all, but she applauded Seth’s good intentions in wanting to spare Cathy pain. Her cousin’s possessiveness must often leave the poor lad bewildered.
‘You will keep your promise, won’t you, Emma?’
‘My promise? What promise?’ She earned herself a reproachful glance.
‘Have you forgotten already? I mean about telling Seth how smart he looks in his footman’s clothes.’
(Oh yes, I’ll be sure to tell him at the first opportunity.’
As a result of this diversion Emma was unprepared when Mr Sutcliffe was announced. By chance, as he stood in the doorway of the drawing room, the dying sun’s rays shining through the stained glass of the hall window held him in relief, and lent him the appearance of a giant, dark and terrible. Then as Randolph brought him across the room, making the necessary introductions, he became once more of human dimensions; a tall man handsomely attired in evening clothes of excellent cut and finish, his crisp dark hair gleaming. Only his face, the skin weathered and lined beyond his years, seemed in any way out of place in an English drawing room.
‘You have already met my daughter, Cathy,’ said Randolph, ‘and,’ with a steely glance of warning, ‘also my niece, Emma.’
Emma gave Matthew Sutcliffe the smallest permissible nod, but kept her eyes downcast.
‘Indeed we have met,’ he murmured, ‘and I have been greatly looking forward to this renewal of our acquaintanceship.’
* * *
Passing through to the dining room with their guest of honour, Chloe reviewed the dinner arrangements with satisfaction. She and Mrs Hoad had put their heads together to plan a suitable menu, aided by Mrs Beeton’s household management articles in the invaluable Domestic Magazine. The poulterer had provided two brace of grouse that had already hung, and there would be red mullet and curried lobster, a haunch of venison, their own capons and numerous side dishes; to be removed with a summer pudding, a lemon cream pudding, a Stilton cheese, thin dry biscuits, shortbread, ginger parkin and sweetmeats. Randolph, selecting the wines from-his cellar, had marked the occasion with four bottles of the fine light claret he had laid down for his own consumption, and a couple of his best after-dinner port.
Randolph took his place in the carver’s chair at the head of the table, with Blanche on his right hand and Jane on his left; next to Blanche sat Bernard Mottram with Emma on his right, then Dr Eade, who was put at Chloe’s left hand; on her right sat Mr Sutcliffe, and Cathy, seated beside him, was separated from Jane by the large arrangement of flowers which was Chloe’s expedient for dealing with uneven numbers.
Conversation was slow, once Chloe’s general remarks on the wet start to the summer and her hopes for a continuance of the recent improvement had been disposed of. Bernard Mottram, anxious to be helpful, mentioned the interesting account he had been reading in the Illustrated London News of the solar eclipse so spectacularly observed in northern Spain; but no one else had anything to contribute on that subject. The visit of the Prince of Wales to North America fared somewhat better, and Chloe referred to the gracious letter the Queen had received from President Buchanan and his exceedingly civil invitation to the Prince to become his guest at the White House. But even this topic died for want of sustenance. Randolph then broached the question which was in everyone’s thoughts; what were Mr Sutcliffe’s future intentions? Emma noted with bitterness that the past was discreetly ignored. It might have been that the man had left England as a free emigrant, and made his fortune in Australia. All thoroughly estimable.
‘You’ll be looking around for something to do now that you’re back in this country,’ Randolph was saying. ‘Will it be land or industry, do you think?’
‘Perhaps neither,’
‘Come now, my dear fellow, a man must have an interest of some sort.’ Randolph raised his thick eyebrows and added jocularly, ‘You’d find a ready home in the Brackle Valley Mill for any spare cash you wanted to invest.’
‘You surprise me, Mr Hardaker. I imagined that trade was so good that you’d have no need for outside capital. Or have the Factory Acts cut into your profits? I well remember the opposition to the Ten Hour bill. My father was staunchly in favour of it, believing that women and children should be protected from exploitation in the mills.’
‘Yes, and your father didn’t have to pay the wages!’ retorted Randolph with an asperity Emma knew he did not intend. Recollecting himself, he shrugged and said, ‘We’re all reformers now, Mr Sutcliffe. The working class of England is pampered and cosseted as never before, and devil take the masters who have to find the money for it all.’
‘If things are really as bad as you suggest, sir,’ Matthew Sutcliffe observed with a smile, ‘then your mill would hardly be a safe investment for any surplus cash I might have available.’
‘Oh, but you are quite wrong.,’ Chloe intervened in an affronted voice, ‘The Brackle Valley Mill is one of the most thriving and profitable woollen manufactories in the entire West Riding.’
Randolph laughed. ‘Our friend knows that full well, he’s just having his little joke, eh, Mr Sutcliffe? You’ll understand there’s been a good deal of speculation about you. Are you prepared to tell us how you came by this renowned fortune of yours?’
‘It is no secret. I made it from gold.’
‘Gold, eh?’ Paget Eade emerged from his alcoholic mist, and adjusted his spectacles. ‘So you were one of those who struck it rich? Fine life for a young man – adventure, comradeship, big rewards. As it’s turned out, Lady Luck hasn’t treated you too badly, all things considered, you can’t deny that, can you? I’ll tell you this, by Jove! If I weren’t a professional man tied here by responsibilities, going to Australia to search for gold is very much the sort of thing I would decide to do myself.’
Absurdly, Emma felt apologetic for her uncle’s fatuous, ill-chosen words, and found herself glancing across the table to see how Matthew Sutcliffe was reacting. He caught her eye, and responded with a look that invited her to share his unconcern. At once she turned away, furious with herself for betraying a lack of family loyalty.
‘I daresay,’ she heard him remark ironically, ‘that the newspapers have printed stories of the diggers picking up great slabs of pure ore, and washing gold dust by the pannierful from the river beds.’
Paget beamed, nodding his bald head vigorously, ‘I was reading of one huge nugget found at Ballarat a couple of years ago worth nearly ten thousand pounds. Just fancy, all that gold lying there for the taking. Remarkable!’
‘It is a pity, Dr Eade, that the newspapers don’t show the reverse side of the picture. For each man who’s lucky enough to strike gold like that, there are ten men who find it only after sweating their hearts out. And a hundred more who suffer the misery and hardship of a gold field – the mud and squalor, the accidents and disease, the long hours of back-breaking toil, the inhuman brutality of desperate men – and have to give up in the end with nothing to show for it. Nothing.’
Randolph interceded, ‘There are always those who fall by the wayside in any endeavour. Happen the ones who get on in this world are those who deserve to. How about you, Mr Sutcliffe, did you find your gold easily?’
‘No, sir, I did not.’
‘So that just proves my point. You didn’t give up when confronted by hardship. You stuck at it until your efforts were crowned with success. In other words, like myself, you’re a man of determination.’
‘I’d like to think so. It could be merely that a man who starts with nothing has nothing to lose by persisting against all odds.’
Blanche had remained silent so far, but now she lifted her head. ‘Was it very dreadful, all those years out there?’ she said with husky intensity. ‘I often wondered, one hears such tales—’ She broke off, confused, aware that everyone round the table was silent with embarrassment, then went on brightly, ‘And now you’re back, having made your fortune! Y
ou will soon forget it all, I am sure, living the comfortable life of a gentleman here in England.’
‘There are some things a man can never forget, Mrs Hardaker,’
She coloured, and Emma felt a stab of satisfaction. Earlier she had thought of her aunt as a possible ally, but now Blanche had proved she was just as ready to appease this man as the rest of them. She deserved to be snubbed for her pains.
Changing the subject to something- safer, Blanche struggled on, ‘Your railway is greatly used, Mr Sutcliffe. Only last Saturday I travelled to Bradford by it with some friends, to attend a choral concert at the St George’s Hall.’
Cathy looked up at him with sudden interest. ‘Do you own the railway, Mr Sutcliffe?’
He laughed, ‘By no means, Miss Cathy! Your aunt is referring to the fact that I was an engineer during its construction. A very junior engineer. But all that is a long time ago, before you were born.’
‘Any road, we’re grateful to you for your part in building the Brackle Valley branch line,’ said Randolph. ‘It brought us cheap coal, so I was able to convert from water-power to steam. But for that, we’d be sadly behind the times. The coming of the railway was our salvation at the mill.’
In Emma’s eyes, though, the railway was first and foremost an escape route from the narrow confines of this uplands valley, an outlet to the wide world. With her mother, and afterwards with Uncle Randolph, she had visited all the major towns of the West Riding, and some beyond. One day, she had long promised herself, she would take the train to London and a life that was rich with meaning and purpose; like that of the indomitable Miss Nightingale, whose Notes on Nursing had filled Emma with inspiration and a desire for service. Her dreams had always begun with the railway, but now, the knowledge that Matthew Sutcliffe had contributed to its building, in however humble a capacity, would taint it for her for ever.
When at long last the meal came to an end the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the four gentlemen to their port. The room was now lamplit and the green curtains had been drawn across the windows.
The Other Cathy Page 4
