Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Because I can’t take presents from you.’

  ‘’Tis merely a gift like from one neighbour to another.’

  She turned her head away and looked down towards the step for a moment, then said, ‘We both know, Simon, that it is no ordinary gift. If . . . if I accepted it you . . . you would think . . . Oh well!’ – she spread out her hands – ‘it doesn’t need any explaining. I appreciate your kindness, Simon, and I hold no bitterness towards you now, but . . . but I cannot take anything from you.’

  His face was stiff, his lids half lowered. He looked down at the bird dangling from his hand; then he hit it almost savagely with his crop as he said, ‘You can’t stop me from trying to get things back as they once were, and you’ve no intention of going up there again.’ His head jerked to the side. ‘You refused to go back so what do you intend to do, spend the rest of your life in this little hole?’

  How did he know that she had refused to go back to the Manor? She had, of course, told Biddy and she would, of course, have told Katie and Katie would have told . . . on and on, until it reached Fred Leyburn and then the two part-time outside men that Matthew had engaged lately.

  ‘You can’t mean to remain on your own for the rest of your life, Tilly, you’re not made that way. And you won’t be allowed to, men being what they are. I made one mistake, but as I said afore I’m not the only one, am I? We both could forgive and forget. I’d look after you, Tilly.’

  ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself, Simon. And Simon, listen to me, I want to make this final, I shall never marry you, Simon, loneliness or necessity would never drive me to marry you. I have known one man. I looked upon him as my husband, I hope he suffices me.’

  ‘Suffices you, did you say? Huh!’ His face was one large sneer now. ‘By what I hear you’re going to run through the family. One man sufficing you? They’re never off your doorstep. Huh! Do you know your name’s like clarts, a whore could claim more respect than you round here. I could make you into a decent woman.’

  The blood had drained from her face and she felt as if it was draining from her whole body, her legs were weak. She put out her hand and supported herself against the stanchion of the door, but she kept her head up and her gaze steady on him as she answered, ‘If my name is like clarts then our names are well matched; you’ve had to come down in the social scale since Lady Myton, for I understand you’re quite at home in the Shields brothels.’

  She thought for a moment he was going to strike her. It was strange but there was the same look on his face as had been on Matthew’s a few weeks ago when he had stood by the table and glared at her as if he could kill her. That Simon might actually have hit her, or at least grabbed hold of her, she was sure except at that moment the cart came into view round the bend in the road and Arthur, jumping down from the high front seat, came smiling towards them, only to jump to the side as Simon flinging round from Tilly went striding past him, the goose swinging from his hand.

  ‘Something wrong, lass?’

  She had pushed the door wide open and was leaning against it.

  ‘Here! has he done owt to you?’ He had his hand on her shoulder whilst looking back to where Simon was mounting his horse; then he exclaimed on a high note, ‘God! he’s thrown the bird into the thicket, he’s as mad as a hatter. What’s happened, Tilly?’

  She walked away from him and, sitting down by the fire, she said on a shaky laugh, ‘He . . . he brought a proposal of marriage, Arthur.’

  ‘Oh. Huh! Oh, I see. Well, I’ve heard of rejected suitors but I’ve never imagined one as mad as he looks. Are you sure you’re all right, lass?’ His face was serious now.

  ‘No, Arthur, quite candidly I don’t feel all right; encounters like that rather shake you.’ She looked towards the doorway. ‘Where’s Katie?’

  ‘Well’ – he pulled off his cap and scratched his head – ‘she couldn’t get away. The master’s going round like a bear with a sore skull. He had me mam in this mornin’ tellin’ her he was implementin’, that was the word he used, implementin’ the staff. He told her to send the lasses over and prepare the other rooms above the stables. We don’t fancy anybody next door to us now ’cos as you know, Tilly, we’ve been there since Katie and Peg went down to the lodge . . . Anyway, just afore I came out he ordered Fred to get the coach ready ’cos he’s off somewhere. I laughingly said to Fred it might be to pick up the butler and such, as if he would, but as he said you’d just get the throw-outs at this time of the year. Anyway, the butlers are generally recommended men. Anyhow, Katie can’t get away so there’s nowt for it, lass, but you’ll have to wrap the young ’un up if you want to come along of us. ’Tisn’t all that cold the day, in fact it’s pleasanter than it’s been for weeks; and you’ve had it out afore in the cart.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll . . . I’ll wrap him up well.’

  ‘You can take the basket an’ all. Put it in the back at your feet. He’d be better in there than on your knee.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Arthur. And I can put an extra blanket over the top.’ She turned to him now, saying on a weary laugh, ‘I’ll have to leave the basket in the cart while I go shopping, so don’t forget to lift it out before you start loading up.’

  ‘I’m not daft, Tilly. Here! give him to me and get your hat on.’

  Whilst Arthur carried the basket and the child out to the cart Tilly stood pinning her hat on; then she banked down the fire and placed the iron screen in front of it. But before she went towards the door she stood with her hands on the table and, looking down at them, a familiar thought came back into her mind, for she told herself she wished she was old. Oh, how she wished she was old, so old that this thing that she possessed that drew men to her would have withered and died as if it had never been and the shell of her would at last know peace . . .

  The ride was pleasant, smooth in parts, that was until they reached Shields, and there the traffic had defied the wind to harden the surface of the mud roads. But in the main shopping centre of King Street was a pavement and there Arthur put Tilly down with the baby in her arms, together with her bass shopping bag, and as he placed the latter in her hand he said, ‘Now don’t pack that too full ’cos he’s enough for you to hump.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Arthur. Remember what you once said? I’ve got arms like steel bands.’

  ‘Aye, that was once upon a time but they’ve softened a lot since then. Well, I’ll see you in an hour, eh?’

  ‘Thanks, Arthur.’

  Although the streets were crowded she had no difficulty in making her purchases, and she was able to rest in the drapery shop on one of the many seats provided for the customers while the assistant unrolled bale after bale very anxious to please her, knowing that here was a customer who didn’t want a rough serge or a moleskin, nor yet cheap prints, but a good cord velvet – she had already purchased five yards of the finest flannel. The assistant was puzzled by her. She certainly had money to spend and she spoke well but although her speech was correct it was interspersed with ordinary words; she looked like a lady, yet her dress wasn’t fine enough, and then again she was carrying her own baby and she hadn’t arrived by carriage. The street was full of them passing by but there wasn’t one standing outside the shop. Moreover, she carried a bass bag and no real lady would carry a common bass bag.

  ‘Eight yards, madam? Thank you, madam. And you would wish for a good lining, madam? Certainly, madam. Certainly, madam.’

  Tilly looked at her watch. It was almost twenty minutes to three; she had plenty of time to take a quick walk round the market. She liked the market, it was an exciting place. It was strange but she’d always preferred Shields to the city of Newcastle. Although Newcastle had more in the cultural line to offer, such as galleries, not to mention very fine shops with huge plate glass windows and in which you could stand and gaze for hours, she still preferred Shields. Perhaps it was because of its sea front and the wild waters of the North Sea so near. Whateve
r it was she preferred it, and she wished she could visit the town more often. Lately, she had been toying with the idea of a pony and trap; she had sufficient money to buy both, and the pony could graze on the common land.

  The shop assistant showed her to the door where he condescended to place the handle of the bass bag over her forearm, and so she smiled at him as she thanked him even as she thought, That’s what I’ll do as soon as the year turns, I’ll get a pony and trap. Why haven’t I done it before?

  As the shop assistant was bowing her out he still held the door open to allow a man to enter; but the man stopped, and Tilly stopped, and both said, ‘Why! hello.’ And both were surprised.

  ‘What are you doing here, Fred?’

  She did not mean why was he entering a draper’s shop but why was he in Shields. She had understood from Arthur that he was taking his master into Newcastle, yet she remembered that there had been no place mentioned.

  Fred Leyburn, smiling at her broadly, said, ‘I don’t need to ask you what you’ve been doing, Tilly, been buying the shop it looks like. Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m just going to walk round the market and then meet Arthur at the corner, he’ll be there at three o’clock.’

  ‘Well, wait a minute, I’ll walk with you; I just want some thread for Phyllis.’ He turned to the assistant who was still holding the door open and, handing him a piece of paper around which was tied a few brown threads, he said, ‘Could you get me two bobbins of that, please?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  As the assistant went back into the shop, Fred, bending towards the child, said, ‘Hello there, Big Willy. How you gettin’ on?’ And the baby laughed at him and grabbed at his finger and Tilly said, ‘Have you come in on your own? I thought you were . . . ’

  ‘Me! on my own?’ he cut her off. ‘Me life’s not me own these days, lass. I’m here, there and everywhere, like a cat on hot bricks. No, the master’s gone to see some solicitor bloke with offices just down the street. He said he’d be half an hour, so I haven’t stabled the coach, I’ve left a runner hanging on to it at the end of the market. Of course if his nibs knew I’d done that I’d likely get the sack. Eeh! Tilly, I’m tellin’ you, that fellow doesn’t know where he is half his time. He’s not here afore he’s there, and he’s not there afore he’s back here again . . . Oh, ta.’ He turned to the assistant who was handing him a small paper bag.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Twopence, sir.’

  ‘There, and thanks.’

  As they walked into the street Fred said, ‘Shall I carry the bairn for you, Tilly?’ and she answered, ‘No, but you can take this bag, Fred.’

  ‘You say Arthur’s just at the other end of the street?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, after a quick walk round I’ll see you to him ’cos you’ve got enough to hump with that ’un.’ He thumbed towards the child, and Tilly, laughing said, ‘Yes, this ’un’s no light weight.’

  They had entered the market square now, Fred walking a little in front of Tilly wending his way between the fish stalls, the meat stalls, the hawkers’ baskets and the people milling all around them.

  When above the usual cries of the market there arose some shrill screams, Fred turned to Tilly and, pulling a face, said, ‘Look out! Look out! We’d better keep clear; there’s a fight going on ahead. Oh my!’ He caught hold of her arm as the people before them, most of them laughing and jeering, backed away from the combatants. But when Fred went to turn Tilly about and make their escape they were checked by the throng behind them who, although not wanting to be brought into the fight, were still interested in the progress of the two women who were tearing at each other’s hair, while a man and a boy tried to separate them. The boy had a stout stick in his hand and he was belaying the buttocks of one of the women with it. When at last the viragoes were parted and only their screaming filled the air, Fred remarked, ‘Tight as drums. They’ve started well afore Christmas those two. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  Being unable to go back, he now led her towards a gap between two stalls, and it was just as they neared the opening that the larger of the two women turned about. Over the distance of a few yards she stared at Tilly; then grabbing at the shoulder of the boy by her side, she cried, ‘Bloody well look at that! This is a day of bad luck all round I’ll say. No wonder that whore stole me purse. An’ after me standin’ her a drink an’ all, ’cos look at that, will you! Will you look at that!’

  A number of people had gathered in the opening between the two stalls and before Fred could pull Tilly forward Mrs McGrath was upon her, screaming now, ‘The bloody witch who killed me son!’ Even as she spoke she grabbed the stick from the boy’s hand and seemingly in one movement struck out at Tilly’s head. Instinctively as Tilly jerked her head away, Fred’s arm came upwards to ward off the blow, but too late, it missed both Tilly’s head and his arm and caught the child across the forehead.

  The cry that went up from all sides drowned that of the child’s scream, and when its blood ran over Tilly’s hand she, too, screamed, ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘She’s knocked the bairn’s brains out.’

  ‘Eeh! where’s the pollis? They’re never here when they’re wanted.’

  ‘She’s as drunk as a noodle, but why had she to go and do that? The poor bairn.’

  ‘Oh my God! My God!’ Tilly was trying to quench the blood flowing from the gash in the child’s brow. There was so much blood that she didn’t know exactly where the cut was.

  ‘Here, give him to me. There’s an apothecary along the street, he’ll do something.’ Fred grabbed the child from her arms now and pushed his way through the crowd. Once clear, he ran down the main street, Tilly at his side holding a sodden handkerchief to the child’s brow.

  The apothecary said, ‘Dear! dear!’ as he swabbed the child’s forehead. Then looking at Tilly, he said, ‘There’s very little I can do, you must see a doctor. At a pinch I could cauterize it; then again the cut is much too long and it requires stitching. Look, I will bandage it up temporarily but I think you must get him to a doctor as soon as possible.’

  ‘Which . . . which is the nearest one?’

  ‘Oh . . . let me see.’ He scratched his forehead, then said, ‘It isn’t the nearest one you want but the best one. Now there’s a Doctor Simpson. He lives in Prudhoe Street, that’s just before you get to Westoe. It’s a tidy step but I know he’s used to stitching people up.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing, my dear, nothing. I only hope the little man is no worse for this accident.’

  Accident. Accident. Those McGraths, they’d be the death of her and her child; nothing they ever did was an accident. Oh God! Oh God! where was it going to end?

  Fred picked up the child once more and they hurried out, and in the street he said, ‘I’ll take you to Arthur and he’ll run you along, Tilly, ’cos I’ll have to get back to his nibs. He’ll be playing hell as it is, leaving the coach in charge of a runner and him but a lad.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Fred. And thank you, thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there. Oh that woman!’

  ‘You’d likely not gone into the market at all.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I would; I intended to go round. He’s quiet, is he all right?’

  ‘Aye, he’s all right. Don’t worry.’

  ‘In the name of God!’ The long drawn-out exclamation came from Arthur as he saw them hurrying towards him, the child lying limp in Fred’s arms, the bandage heavily blood-stained and both he and Tilly bespattered with blood.

  After Fred had explained briefly what had happened, Arthur looked at Tilly and, shaking his head, said, ‘Eeh! them McGraths. They’re devils. Males and females, they’re devils. Eeh! By! wait until our Sam and Henry hear of this, they’ll deal with the buggers, her an’ all. Oh aye, her an’ all.’

  All Tilly said was, ‘Hurry! Arthur. Please hurry.’ Then as they moved away she looked
down from the cart on Fred, saying again, ‘Thank you, Fred. Thank you.’

  The cart gone, Fred now took to his heels and ran back the length of King Street, across the market and towards the Mill Dam end, there to see his master mounting the carriage, definitely intent on driving it back himself and, as Fred said later, it was only the sight of the blood on him that stopped him from taking the horses off at a gallop.

  ‘What’s happened to you? Been in a fight? Well, it looks as if someone has given you what I would like to give you this minute. Don’t you ever dare leave my coach in charge of a boy again, because I promise you it’ll be the last time you handle it.’

  ‘Sir, it’s . . . it’s Miss Trotter.’

  ‘What! What did you say?’ Matthew’s hands slackened on the reins.

  ‘I . . . I met her while shoppin’. She . . . she was carryin’ the child. She . . . she wanted to . . . to . . . ’

  ‘Yes! man. What’s happened to her?’ Matthew had got down from the box now and was standing facing Fred.

  ‘It isn’t her, sir, it’s the child. She was carrying the boy an’ she met up with Mrs . . . Mrs McGrath. The woman was fightin’, and then she saw Tilly . . . Miss Trotter, and she went for her with a big stick.’ His hands made an involuntary motion as if measuring the size of the stick. ‘But it missed her and struck the bairn’s head open.’

  ‘No! Where are they?’ The words were quiet, flat sounding.

  ‘I took him to the apothecary’s but he advised a doctor and so Arthur . . . Drew, sir, he was in the town collecting stores and I . . . I asked him to take her along.’

  ‘Which doctor, man? Which doctor?’

  ‘Someone near Westoe, Prudhoe Street, a Doctor Simpson.’

  ‘Get up. Let’s get off. Go there.’

  As Fred scrambled up on to the box, Matthew entered the coach. McGrath. McGraths, those were the people that hated her. One of them who had wanted her had died, stabbed. He remembered his grandmother coming back with some tales about that being the second man who had died through her.