“Some mill cottages are little palaces,” William said, sitting down at the table, thinking of Sarah’s parents’pin-neat cottage and not noticing the swift rise of Harry’s eyebrows.
Lottie opened her mouth to say that their grandfather hadn’t thought so, and then closed it again. Incredible though the conclusion had been, she knew now that her grandfather hadn’t been right about everything. He hadn’t been right about refusing to have anything to do with Aunt Lizzie, just because she had married someone he didn’t approve of.
Though Lottie still hadn’t met Rose’s father she knew he must be a special person because it had been so instantly obvious that her Aunt Lizzie was a special person. Her cousin Rose, too, was very very special.
She toyed with the scrambled eggs on her plate, wishing it were Rose who was coming to live with them, wondering when Rose would next visit them, wondering if her father would allow her to go with him the next time he visited Beck-Side Street.
Harry, seated beside her on the opposite side of the table to William and their father, caught William’s eye and frowned warningly. He’d always been able to read his elder brother like a book and he knew that William was sorely tempted to tell their father that his remark about some mill cottages being little palaces hadn’t been based on hearsay, but on personal experience. Now, however, at the breakfast table and with Lottie present, was not the time for William to embark on a disclosure that would lead him into confessing he was in love with a mill girl.
“I’m glad you’re not taking a snobbish attitude to your Aunt Lizzie’s decision to stay on in Beck-Side Street,” his father was saying guilelessly to William. “It may seem an odd decision to us, but she has her reasons and we must respect them.”
Harry speared a mushroom. Ever since their grandfather’s death, their father had been showing a side of himself none of them had ever seen before. Where once he had rarely uttered their aunt’s name, now it was on his lips continuously. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder if his father had been quite as appalled by their aunt’s marriage to Laurence Sugden as they had always supposed him to be. He certainly wasn’t behaving now as if the marriage had ever appalled him. And if, in the past, his ostracizing of the Sugdens had only been because he’d been too fearful of their grandfather’s displeasure to behave otherwise, his reaction, when William were to tell him about Sarah, might not be the one William so fearfully anticipated.
It was an interesting thought, but not nearly so interesting as his thoughts about Nina. Merely remembering how incandescent she had looked in the cathedral, her titian-red hair glowing like a candleflame against the velvety blackness of her hat and the high collar of her two-piece mourning costume, gave him a rising in his crotch. Dear God in heaven! She had looked unbelievable – and had behaved unbelievably too, as composed as if the pomp and ceremony of their grandfather’s funeral was something she was accustomed to every day of her life.
As his father droned on to William about how pleased he was that William had so easily and quickly established an amicable relationship with Noel, Harry’s thoughts turned from the elating prospect of welcoming Nina permanently to Crag-Side, and settled on her appealingly funny-faced sister.
It was only in the cathedral that he had truly noticed her, and then only because of the lovely richness of her singing voice. Once he had noticed her, however, his attention had been held. Not only because her large, honey-brown eyes had reminded him of a lemur he had fallen in love with as a child on his first visit to a zoo, but because it was a face that, once seen, could never be forgotten. And he had most definitely seen it before.
“It was outside Brown & Muff’s,” she had said much later when they had returned to Crag-Side with what seemed like an army of mourners, for the traditional cold collation. “Lottie and I bumped into each other trying to be the first to reach Brown & Muff’s revolving doors and Lottie accidentally knocked the new art portfolio I was carrying out of my arms.”
Despite the sombreness of the occasion she had flashed him the widest, most irrepressible smile he had ever seen in his life. “You bent down and picked it up for me.”
His own grin had nearly split his face. “And you never did go through the revolving doors!” he had said mock accusingly. “Where did you go instead?”
With mischief dancing in her eyes she had said, “Kirkgate Market,” and, a bond of camaraderie effortlessly formed, he had taken her off to show her a portrait of their grandfather and to steer the conversation around to her entrancing, enticing, mesmerizing sister.
“Harry! Are you deaf or are you in a trance?”
Harry blinked, realizing that William was speaking to him and had apparently been doing so for some while.
“For the second time,” William said with exaggerated patience, “I’m going into Bradford to meet Noel. He’s going to take me in to his art school to show me his work. It must be pretty good because in a couple of months time a London gallery is giving an exhibition of outstanding work from various art schools all over Britain, and some of Noel’s paintings are amongst those going to be on show.”
Lottie gaped at him. “In London?” she said incredulously.
William nodded, put his crumpled napkin at the side of his plate and pushed his chair away from the table, rising to his feet.
Lottie blinked. Only days ago she had felt serenely superior to her Sugden cousins. Then she had met them and liked them and had magnanimously been prepared to overlook their social inequality. Now, where talent was concerned, she was beginning to feel positively inferior to them! Rose was studying to be a tapestry designer, Nina designed clothes and had designed and made the amazingly stylish two-piece costume that had turned every head at their grandfather’s funeral. And Noel was to have some of his paintings on show in a London gallery – just like a professional artist – just like a famous artist!
“I’m coming too,” she said decisively. “Everyone else is doing interesting things and I’m not going to stay here all day with a stuffy tutor while William and Harry do exciting things with cousin Noel.”
Harry, who had no intention of leaving Crag-Side on the day Nina was to make it her home, said easily, “I’m not going with William.” He glanced towards his father. “And I’m not going into the mill today. I’ll look through the wool sales figures at home.”
Walter nodded. Every since he had been a small boy Harry had always taken more interest in the family business than William, never missing an opportunity to tag along at his grandfather’s side either at the mill, or at Bradford Wool Exchange, or at wool sales. Since the reins of Rimmington’s had fallen into his own hands he had had cause to be grateful to Harry’s know-how on more than one occasion and was secretly dreading the end of the month when Harry, with William, would be returning to Oxford.
“And so I can go with William, can’t I, Papa?” Lottie queried impatiently, breaking in on his thoughts. “Cousin Noel won’t mind and …”
Walter felt a familiar rise of indecisive panic. He wanted his family and Lizzie’s family to make up for all the time they had not known each other, to share outings and experiences, to become friends, but what if Noel suggested William and Lottie accompany him back home to Beck-Side Street? It wouldn’t matter too much where William was concerned, of course. It would be good for William to see how mill workers, Rimmington’s mill workers included, lived. But Lottie …
The thought of his little girl being exposed to the harsh realities and vulgarities of Beck-Side Street made him break out in a cold sweat. Why, why, why had Lizzie so stubbornly refused to move her family into Crag-Side? And it was Lizzie who had refused to do so, not Laurence, of that he was sure. He could foresee all sorts of difficulties in the future – difficulties just like the difficulty he was experiencing now.
“I don’t think that would be a very good idea …” he began, wishing William or Harry would come to his aid.
William did so, but not in the way he had hoped. “I think you’re mistaken, Father,
” he said pleasantly, standing with one hand resting lightly on the back of his dining chair. “I think it will do Lottie good to see how other people live, and Bradford School of Art isn’t exactly disreputable, is it? Next to Manchester School of Art and Glasgow School of Art it’s the most prestigious art school outside of London.”
With mixed feelings Walter gave up the battle. Perhaps William was right. Perhaps it would be good for Lottie to see something of Bradford. He, meanwhile, would spend the morning at the mill and then he would drive over to Beck-Side Street where Nina would be packed and waiting for him. He wondered if he would be able to talk Lizzie into accompanying them back to Crag-Side for dinner. Perhaps Laurence would come with her. Despite his many anxieties he felt a shaft of devilish pleasure. Laurence at Crag-Side would have Caleb turning in his grave.
“We’re going on a train? And a tram?” Lottie’s eyes danced in delighted anticipation.
“And we’ll be walking,” William said warningly, hoping Lottie wasn’t going to lose her enthusiasm for the adventure the minute she was faced with one of Bradford’s steep cobbled guinnels.
“And might we visit Beck-Side Street?” The long ribbons on Lottie’s sailor-hat, black in respect of her grandfather’s death, streamed in the breeze as they walked at a brisk pace down Ilkley’s main street towards the train station. “Might we see Rose?”
“I don’t know,” William said non-committally, trying to keep the excitement he felt from showing in his voice, “We’ll see.”
As they turned into the station his thoughts were turbulent. Dear Lord, if it once became accepted practice for even Lottie to visit Beck-Side Street, how could his father object to his visiting Sarah’s home? And if he couldn’t object to his visiting her, how could he object to their relationship? It was, after all, a relationship little different from the one his Aunt had embarked on, so many years ago, with Laurence Sugden. And if his father now found that relationship acceptable …
Oh, Sarah! he thought fervently as he shepherded Lottie aboard the Bradford train. Somehow, some way, we’re going to win through! Just have patience, Sarah! Just stay in love with me! Please stay in love with me!
With very mixed feelings Rose sat on the end of the bed she and Nina had shared ever since moving into number twenty-six, watching as Nina repacked her large canvas portmanteau for the umpteenth time.
“Winter underwear, hairbrush, hand-mirror …”
“There’ll be a dressing-table set on your dressing-table at Crag-Side,” Rose said practically. “Silver-backed, probably.”
Nina removed the tortoiseshell-backed brush and mirror from the portmanteau and put them back on the bed.
“Art-pads, pastels, crayons …”
“Are you really going to travel between Ilkley and art school every day in a chauffeured motorcar?”
Rose couldn’t even begin to imagine what their friends at art school were going to make of Nina’s dramatically new, flamboyant lifestyle.
Nina sat back on her heels on the floor, her box of pastels and her crayon case in her lap.
“For as long as I’m still a pupil there, yes.”
Rose’s ginger hair looked almost gold as she pushed it away from her face and stared at Nina. “And just what,” she said at last, “do you mean by that?”
“I think I may be going to St Martin’s College of Art and Design. Uncle Walter has offered to pay my fees and—”
“St Martin’s, London?”
Nina had the grace to look uncomfortable. Despite their age difference they’d never had secrets from each other and she was very conscious that she hadn’t taken Rose into her confidence when coming to the decision as to whether to stay in Beck-Side Street or move to Crag-Side, and she certainly hadn’t taken her into her confidence about the conversations she had been having with their uncle.
“It’s not an opportunity I can let pass, Rose,” she said fiercely, the cameo-like perfection of her face taut. “Just as I can’t pass up the opportunity to live at Crag-Side.”
Rose’s usually merry face was sombre. She, too, was fascinated by Crag-Side, but not to the extent of leaving home in order to live there. That Nina was going to do so, so unhesitatingly, was something she found very hard to understand. And now Nina was talking of living even further away – of living in London.
“I’ll be either in a hostel or staying with friends of Uncle Walter’s,” Nina said, reading Rose’s thoughts. “It’s what we always planned, Rose. At least, it’s what we always planned for me. And now, thanks to Uncle Walter, all those plans are going to come true.”
Rose remained silent. Lots of things they had once only been able to dream of were coming true; they were on friendly, familial terms with their cousins; they were welcome at Crag-Side; there no longer seemed to be a lack of money, though whether that was because their grandfather had left their mother a legacy, or whether it was due to their Uncle Walter’s generosity, none of them knew. Why, then, with so many good things happening, did she have such a sense of disquiet? Was it because she knew just how single-minded Nina could be, and because she knew what Nina’s ulterior motive was in moving to Crag-Side?
“I don’t think cousins are supposed to marry,” Rose said now to her, baldly. “And if you married William, how could you be a world famous dress designer? Dress designers have to live and work in cities such as London or Paris or Rome or New York. You couldn’t be a world-famous dress designer and live at Crag-Side, and as William will one day inherit the mill, and everything that goes with it, how could the two of you ever live anywhere else?”
Nina blushed to the roots of her hair. It had never occurred to her that Rose had read her intentions quite so accurately. “Cousins often marry in order to secure family dynasties,” she said stiffly. “Look at the Royal Family – they’re always doing it. And besides, I think cousin William and I are meant for each other. And that’s something you can’t know anything about. You’re too young.”
Rose wasn’t in the habit of keeping her thoughts to herself, but she did so now. To tell Nina that it wasn’t William who was interested in her, but Harry, would only complicate matters – and besides, she wasn’t so young that she didn’t wish she was the one Harry was so obviously attracted to.
“If you’re going to say goodbye to Jenny’s mum, you’d better go round to see her now,” she said, sliding her legs off the bed, knowing she would never be able to compete with Nina in the beauty stakes. “She won’t call in here, not when she knows Uncle Walter is expected any minute.”
“I suppose she’s too shy.” Nina closed the portmanteau’s lid. “I wish some of our other neighbours were shy!” She rose to her feet, tucking her butterscotch coloured blouse more neatly into the band of her caramel coloured, ankle-length skirt. “The last time Uncle Walter visited, Gertie Graham shouted out that he should move in if he liked being in the street so much.” She shuddered expressively. “Can you imagine the sort of thing she’ll call out if William and Harry and Lottie visit?”
Rose could, and didn’t think it would matter too much. It was only Gertie’s way of being friendly and was something their Rimmington cousins would have to learn to take in their stride.
“Shouldn’t you change into black out of respect to grandfather?” she said to Nina as she followed her down the short, curving flight of stairs. “Noel’s wearing a black armband and as you’re going to be living at Crag-Side …”
“I don’t mind wearing black,” Nina said truthfully, opening the door that blocked the foot of the stairs off from the downstairs room. “Black suits me. I’ll change when I’ve said goodbye to Jenny’s mum.”
“You’d better not be long round there!” Lizzie called out from the scullery where she was washing shirts by hand. “Your uncle’s likely to be here any minute.”
“We’ll be five minutes, that’s all.” Nina was already at the front door and Lizzie, about to repeat her warning about there being very little time left before Walter arrived, saved her breath. Nina wou
ldn’t be long and if she was to say goodbye to Polly there really wasn’t any alternative, for Polly certainly couldn’t come round to number twenty-six – not with Walter due at any minute!
“So you’re going to be living the life of a rich mill owner’s favourite niece, are you?” Polly said teasingly, springy dark curls framing a face of still elfin-like prettiness as she kneaded pastry on the large wooden table that dominated her little living-room.
A smile of sheer delight curved Nina’s mouth. “Yes,” she said, revelling in the knowledge, truthfulness obliging her to add, “though I don’t think I’m the favourite niece. Uncle Walter wanted Rose to live at Crag-Side as well.” She looked across to where Rose was perched on the arm of Polly’s shabby horsehair sofa, as mystified as ever by her younger sister’s adamant refusal to do any such thing. “And Uncle Walter seems to like the fact that Rose, unlike the rest of us, apart from Father, speaks with a Bradford accent,” she said, more mystified than ever. “He calls her his little Yorkshire Rose.”
Polly picked up her rolling pin and began to roll the pastry out thinly. There had been a time, long ago, when Walter Rimmington had called her his Yorkshire Queen.
The rolling pin ceased moving. She stared sightlessly down at her pastry. Did he, perhaps, sometimes still think of her? Had Rose, with her Yorkshire vowels and bubbly liveliness, reminded him of her?
“I may not be at Crag-Side for very long,” Nina was saying, toying with the enamel mug Polly used as a tart-cutter. “I may be going to London to study fashion design at St Martin’s College of Art and Design.”
Polly scarcely heard her. She knew now, of course, that Caleb Rimmington had been right in giving Walter the ultimatum to either give her up or to give up all hope of inheriting Crag-Side and Rimmington’s. What kind of father would he have been if he hadn’t done so? He was, after all, a self-made man; a man who had pulled himself up by his own boot straps to be one of the wealthiest and, where textiles were concerned, one of the most influential, in the county. It was only natural that such a man would want his son to marry well.
Yorkshire Rose Page 11
