“I don’t think this is quite the subject for a family dinner table,” he said, aware that though everyone else had finished their pudding William hadn’t touched his and didn’t look as if he was going to. “After all, it’s all water under the bridge. What matters isn’t past family unhappiness but the present, and as far as the present is concerned—”
“As far as the present is concerned I shall be asking your permission to get engaged in a couple of weeks time, Father.”
Walter had been wondering whether he should ring for the dishes to be cleared and the cheese board set on the table and it took him a moment or two to register what William had just said to him.
“Engaged?” His bewilderment was so total as to be comic. “Engaged?” He looked in confusion towards Harry.
If the announcement had come from Harry it would have been understandable. Harry’s feelings for Nina were no secret and it had already been agreed between himself, and Lizzie and Laurence, that if an engagement were to result it would have their unconditional blessing. William, however, had never given any indication that there was anyone special in his life. There were doubtless some very suitable and attractive young ladies at the tennis club he spent so much time at when home from Oxford, but none of them had ever visited Crag-Side. As for Oxford itself …
As Harry blandly returned his gaze, making no attempt to come to his aid, Walter’s thoughts floundered hopelessly. Any girl that was at Oxford would be bound to be frightfully academic and would unnerve him utterly.
“Engaged to whom?” he said unhappily, returning his attention to William. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, William. Where did you meet this young lady? When? How is it you have never previously mentioned her? Never introduced her to us?”
No one moved. It seemed to Rose, seated opposite William, that no one even breathed.
“I’ve known her for over two years, Father.” William’s hands were clasped in front of him on the table, his eyes holding Walter’s with fierce intensity. “Her name is Sarah Thorpe and she’s twenty years old and a weaver at Lutterworth’s. Her father is a Methodist lay-preacher and…”
Lottie’s jaw was so tightly clenched her teeth hurt. There it was, out in the open, and she knew what would happen now. Her father would leap at the opportunity to react in a completely opposite manner to the way his own father had reacted when, years and years ago, he had confronted him with similar news.
Harry, too, was well aware that his father would be feeling as if history were repeating itself. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. There’d certainly be no similar sense of déjà vu when he broke the news to him that he and Nina wanted to marry.
Noel waited with interest to see how his uncle would react to the news that he hadn’t been the only one doing a spot of courting in the back-to-back streets of Bradford.
Nina thanked her lucky stars that no one, apart from Rose, knew she had once had hopes that William would fall in love with, and want to marry, her. To have been publicly rejected in preference to a mill girl, even if the mill girl could quote Emily Brontë, would have been unbearable.
Rose fizzed with excited anticipation. In another second or so William would no longer be in any doubt that his romance with Sarah was going to end happily, and perhaps it wouldn’t be too long before her uncle’s romance with Polly ended in wedding bells also.
“A weaver …” For a brief moment Walter thought his leg was being pulled, and then William was saying, “They’re a well-educated family. Sarah will want to be married in her Methodist chapel, of course, not a church, but—”
“No!” Feeling as if he was choking Walter blundered to his feet, pushing his chair back so violently it toppled over. “No!”
Six stunned faces stared back at him, five of them utterly incredulous. Walter was uncaring. He’d known right from the moment he had begun making plans to hand over the running of the mill to William, that William’s youth, in the eyes of the men he would have to do business with, would be seen as a handicap. They would doubt his capacity for mature judgement – and if one of William’s first actions on becoming master of Rimmington’s was to marry a mill girl, they would do more than doubt his judgement, they would put no faith in it whatsoever!
He sucked in a deep, deep breath, knowing he was on the verge of losing happiness with Polly for a second time. William’s judgement had to be seen as sound because William had to take over the running of the mill. If he didn’t do so he, Walter, would not be able to marry Polly and live with her in retired domestic bliss at Scarborough. And that was a sacrifice he wasn’t prepared to make. Not for William. Not for anyone. It was impossible. Unthinkable.
“It’s impossible for you to marry this girl!” he said, his voice clipped, curt, implacable. “Unthinkable!”
A rage William had never before experienced roared through his veins. He’d known his father was going to react in this way! He’d had a sixth sense about it right from the very beginning!
“Why?” he demanded, on his feet, his eyes blazing, his lanky body as taut as a coiled spring as he tried to come to terms with the sheer bloody hypocrisy of it. “For Christ’s sake, Father! Why?”
“Because … because …” Unable to think of a reason that wouldn’t reveal the depth of his selfishness Walter floundered, as he always floundered. Why was he having to endure such a scene? His own father wouldn’t have endured it for a single second. Why didn’t William accept his word as law, as he had had to accept his father’s word as law? Frustration at his own inadequacies fuelled his unreasonableness. “Because I say so!” he fumed, glaring across the table at his blatantly unintimidated son.
Noel cleared his throat. William had already uttered one blasphemy in Rose and Nina and Lottie’s presence and though he was far from being a prude, he didn’t particularly want him uttering another.
“I think perhaps I should—’ he began, about to suggest he took the girls into the sitting room for coffee.
“That isn’t good enough!“ William was uncaring of Noel’s attempted interruption, uncaring of the fact that the girls were listening to every word in round-eyed stupefaction. “Sarah’s a darling girl! She’s intelligent, caring, beautiful. And I’m going to marry her! I’m going to marry her whether you approve of my doing so or not!”
It was too much for Walter. For years he’d been bullied by his father. He wasn’t now going to be bullied by his son. “No, you’re not!“ he shouted. “Not if you ever want to be master of Rimmington’s! Either you do as I say or you’re out! The mill will go to Harry! And so will Crag-Side! And so will every bloody bit of brass as well!“
William held his father’s eyes for a long, long, pitying moment and then he shrugged, patted Harry in a friendly fashion on his shoulder, and walked with terrifying finality from the room.
Walter gaped after him like a beached fish.
Harry crumpled his napkin onto the table, rose to his feet, said crisply, “Excuse me, everyone,” and strode from the dining-room in William’s wake.
Lottie began to cry.
Noel, seated next to her, put an arm comfortingly around her shoulders.
Rose was too appalled to cry. How could her Uncle Walter have spoken to William in such a fashion? How could he? Didn’t he know how very hypocritical he was being? Didn’t he know how very unfair he was being?
Nina had no such thoughts, she was too busy struggling to look suitably distressed. It wasn’t easy, for she didn’t feel remotely distressed. At the prospect of Harry inheriting Crag-Side and the mill she felt overwhelmingly, staggeringly, stunningly euphoric! She wanted to kick off a shoe and send it spinning sky-high. She wanted to dance around the room. Instead, with superhuman restraint, she said, “Shall I ring for the cheese, Uncle Walter? Shall I ask to have coffee served at the dining table this evening?”
Chapter Eleven
Dazedly Walter stretched a hand out, reaching for the nearest solid surface. He made contact with the table, knocked a cream jug over, sent a che
ese knife skimming to the floor. What on earth had happened? Fifteen minutes ago he had been the happy patriarch of a united family. He had been about to ask William to stay behind when the others went in to the drawing-room for coffee; he had been going to tell him he was handing the mill over to him lock, stock and barrel.
And now? Using the table for support he backed unsteadily towards his chair. Someone had righted it for him. Noel? Nina? He didn’t know. He only knew that William had walked out of the room as if were never going to enter it again, that Lottie was still crying, and that Rose … his Yorkshire Rose … was looking at him out of eyes so appalled his knees felt as if they were turning to jelly.
He sat down heavily. He could take it all back, of course. He could go after William and tell him he had been talking in rash anger, that he shouldn’t have done so and had now reconsidered and would be pleased meet the young woman in question. And then what would happen? William would marry her. He would be unable to hand the mill over to him – at least not with any peace of mind. There would then be no Scarborough for himself and Polly, or not in the near future and he couldn’t wait for a distant future. Dear God in heaven, hadn’t he already waited far too long? Twenty-five years too long?
“I think you should go after William, Uncle Walter,” Rose said unsteadily, uncaring of the fact that it wasn’t her place to tell her uncle what he should, or should not do. “Otherwise I think William may not come back and—”
Walter made a weary, silencing motion with his hand. He wasn’t angry at her impertinence. It hadn’t even registered on him. “No,” he said, thinking of Scarborough, knowing that Harry was more than capable of taking over the mill and was committed to it in a way William never had been. “No. I’m not going to be browbeaten. I’ve made my mind up. I’m standing by what I said. Harry can have the mill. And he can have it tomorrow.”
Before anyone could make a response there came the sound of the front door being slammed in someone’s wake. Seconds later Harry strode into the room. A Harry so blazingly angry Rose scarcely recognized him.
“William’s gone,” he hurled at his father from the wide-open doorway, his legs apart, his hands on his hips, his eyes so dark with outraged fury they looked to be black. “And he isn’t coming back! As for the house and the mill! If you think for one minute I’d take what is rightfully William’s you must be stark, staring senseless! I won’t accept a single brick or a penny-piece that should be his! Not now! Not ever!”
Nina made an agonized, strangling sound. Harry was oblivious. He’d known for years that his father was weak-willed and that, like most weak-willed characters, he could also be irrationally stubborn, but his stubborness had never before been cruel or pointless. This time it had been both. This time it had resulted in William leaving Crag-Side, probably for ever, just as their Aunt Lizzie had once done.
“You know what you’ve done, Father, don’t you?” His voice was as cutting as a whip. “You’ve split the family, just as Grandfather once split it. William will marry Sarah but he won’t bring her here. And he won’t bring their children here. You’ll grow old not knowing them, just as your father grew old not knowing Noel and Nina and Rose,” and unable to bear the pain and fury and utter frustration he felt for a moment longer, he spun violently on his heel, striding away through the adjoining drawing-room as if he, too, were never going to return.
It took Rose all her will-power not to run after him. She wanted to comfort him; to assure him that nothing would be quite as bad as he thought it would be for the simple reason that neither William nor his father were men of unbending pride. Caleb might have been capable of carrying grudges with him to the grave but neither William nor her uncle were remotely capable of doing so. Only the knowledge that it was Nina’s comfort Harry would want, not hers, kept her seated at the table.
Lottie was the first person to move. Very stiffly, keeping tightly hold of Noel’s hand, she rose to her feet. Looking across at her father she said in a cracked, strained voice, “If William doesn’t come back I shall never forgive you, Papa.”
Walter didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. He was way beyond speech. What had happened? How had everything gone so wrong? He’d been firm, for once. Decisive. And still he’d been undermined as he was always undermined! If Harry refused to take over the mill … He groaned and lowered his head into his hands. If Harry refused to take over the mill then an early, happy retirement in Scarborough with Polly would remain nothing more than a shimmering mirage.
“He only wanted to do what you once wanted to do,” Lottie continued, her voice so brittle it was a miracle to Rose it didn’t break completely. “And I’ve met Sarah. We’ve all met Sarah. She’s a grand girl. She wouldn’t shame William or show him up. She’d be sensible about the difference in their backgrounds. Even if you’re not a quarter as knowledgeable about English literature as she is, she wouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable about it.”
Rose felt as if she were at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. First her uncle had behaved in a way she would never have thought him capable of. Then William had reacted with a passion so totally out of character it had stunned everyone present. And now Lottie – Lottie who had been so adamantly hostile towards Sarah – Lottie was championing her!
As Lottie walked from the room, her hand still in Noel’s, Rose knew by the set of Noel’s shoulders that Lottie had at last achieved what she had long ached to achieve. She had gained his admiration.
“I think … if you’ll excuse me, Uncle Walter …” Nina rose to her feet, her face taut with distress.
Rose felt a rush of warmth towards her. It was unlike Nina to care very greatly about anyone’s problems but her own and that she was so distressed now, by William’s quarrel with their uncle, just went to show what a very united family they had become.
Walter groaned, his head still in his hands. Rose sighed. She didn’t feel in the least like comforting him. He’d brought all his troubles on himself and her sympathies lay entirely with William. He did look abject, though, his shoulders slumped like those of a man of sixty or seventy. With another sigh she moved her chair closer to his. Someone had to make him see how wrong he had been, speaking to William as he had. Someone had to make him see that he had to put things right – and that he had to do so with all possible speed.
“You have to put things right with your father,” Nina said urgently to Harry.
It was the next day. William hadn’t returned to the house. Noel had gone to Leeds, taking Lottie with him. Rose was intent on returning to Bradford and Beck-Side Street and Harry, certain he would find William at the Thorpes, had said that he would drive her there.
The family’s motorcars were all garaged in what had once been stables and a horsey aroma that reminded Nina of the Porritt’s carthorse and Beck-Side Street still hung over the cobbles and empty stalls.
“You have to make sure he knows you didn’t really mean it when you said you would never accept Crag-Side or the mill,” she continued, seizing the first moment of privacy that they’d had and hoping Rose wouldn’t put in an appearance for several more minutes. “You have to let him know you were speaking in anger; that you were distressed by his falling out with William and …”
They had reached the Renault by now, she on the passenger side, Harry on the driving side. He stared at her across its open-topped width. Her upswept, deeply waving titian hair was burnished almost gold by the mid-morning sun. Her ivory silk blouse was high at the throat, the sleeves tight at the wrist and fastened by buttons of mother-of-pearl. Her skirt was the colour of rich caramel and from beneath its hem peeped shoes as pale as buttermilk. With the halo-like effect of her hair she looked ethereally lovely; as lovely as an angel in a pre-Raphaelite painting. But what she was saying wasn’t lovely. What she was saying was scarcely believable.
“Of course I meant what I said.” He had been about to open the car door but now he stood, not moving, his eyes holding hers. “William is the eldest,” he continued, hoping to God he had s
imply misunderstood her and speaking slowly and carefully so that she shouldn’t misunderstand him. “Crag-Side and the mill go to him. Only if William dies will I inherit them.”
Panic began bubbling deep in the pit of Nina’s stomach. All through a wakeful, restless night she had tried to convince herself that Harry hadn’t meant what he had said to his father; that out of a sense of fairness he had merely been trying to frighten his father into reconsidering what would, after all, be a very far-reaching decision. And all along, knowing how reckless and, in his own way, how high-principled he was, she had had doubts.
Now, facing him in the bright light of day, her doubts were certainties. Unless she persuaded him otherwise he was going to turn his back on all his father was offering him – and he was going to do so out of a loyalty to William that was entirely unnecessary.
Taking a deep steadying breath, knowing how very, very important it was that he should see things as she saw them, she said in what she hoped was a voice of sweet reason, “William doesn’t want your loyalty, Harry. Not where Crag-Side and the mill are concerned. Sarah would hate to be a mill owner’s wife. Her mill working friends would have nothing further to do with her and what other friend would she have? William’s tennis club friends wouldn’t want to know her and William’s mill owning acquaintances and their wives certainly wouldn’t befriend her. She would be completely isolated …”
“She would have her family.” He was standing with one foot resting on the Renault’s broad running board, his hands deep in his trouser pockets, his hair tumbling low over his brow. “She would have you, me, Rose, Noel, Lottie. Your mother and father. Her own mother and father. That would count for something, surely?”
There was an odd note in his voice; a note she had never heard before; a note that sent fresh waves of panic beating up into her throat. She wasn’t convincing him. He wasn’t changing his mind. And she knew now that he had to change his mind; that if he didn’t do so she would never marry him; that his turning his back on Crag-Side and the mill would be an action she would never be able to forgive.
Yorkshire Rose Page 16
