Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  His grandmother had never liked her. But then very few women would. Yet the women of that Drew family adored her. She seemed to court tragedy. What was it about her? Oh God! need he ask? He knew what it was about her; only too well did he know what it was about her. He wished she had never been born; or having been born, she hadn’t come to dwell on the estate and enchant his father, because that’s what she had done, enchanted him.

  He put his head out of the carriage window, saying, ‘Can’t you make them move?’

  ‘Too much traffic, sir.’

  ‘Aren’t there any short cuts?’

  ‘Not to Westoe, sir . . . ’

  Fred had no difficulty in finding Doctor Simpson’s house in Prudhoe Street because there was the cart standing outside the iron gate and sitting in it rocking the child was Tilly.

  When Matthew reached the tail board he began without any leading up, ‘Why are you sitting there?’

  Tilly showed no surprise at seeing him, she simply answered, ‘He’s not in, he’s not expected for another half hour.’

  ‘Come out of that.’

  ‘He’s . . . he’s quiet; as long as I rock him he’s quiet.’

  ‘Look, give him here!’ He almost grabbed the child from her arms, then said, ‘Come!’ and with that he marched towards the small iron gate, which Arthur, as quickly, jumped to open, then strode up the pathway leading to the front door, to the side of which was a brass plate with a simple statement on it: Arnold P. Simpson, Physician and Surgeon.

  ‘Ring the bell!’ He had glanced over his shoulder at Tilly and when she obeyed his command and the door was eventually opened, he stepped forward, almost thrusting the maid aside, saying, ‘You have a waiting room?’

  ‘Doctor ain’t in, won’t be for . . . ’ The girl looked from Matthew to Tilly, then said, ‘Aye, there’s a waitin’ room, but it’s for specials like.’

  ‘Then may I inform you that we are’ – he thrust his head forward over the child – ‘specials like. Take us to this room immediately.’

  The girl went hastily across the narrow hall and opened a door, then watched the gentleman place the child in the woman’s arms before turning and saying, ‘Fetch a dish of cold water and some hand towels.’

  ‘Eeh! can’t do that, mistress wouldn’t have it.’

  ‘Is your mistress at home?’

  ‘No, sir, she be out visitin’.’

  ‘Then, my girl, you bring me that water and hand towels or else I shall get them myself. Now away with you!’

  When he turned to Tilly he smiled gently at her as he said, mocking himself, ‘Terrible man. Terrible man.’

  She looked at him but could say nothing, and now he bent over her and his voice was unusually gentle as he said, ‘Don’t worry. Children are very resilient and, you know, a little blood goes a long way. One thing you must be thankful for, the blow did not touch his eyes.’

  Yes, she should be thankful for that. At first she really had thought he had been blinded.

  When the maid returned with a bowl of cold water and two towels, she deposited them on a side table, then scampered from the room, and he remarked again with a smile, ‘She thinks I’m the devil. Now let’s see the damage.’

  She was hesitant in unwinding the blood-soaked bandage, and so he, taking it from her fingers, slowly unwound it to reveal the gash still oozing blood, but not so heavily now. The cut went across the middle of the forehead, extending from the outer corner of the child’s left eye to a point above the middle of his right eye. Dipping the end of a towel in the water, he gently sponged the blood away from the surface of the brow. Then he dipped the whole huckaback towel in the water and wrung it out before folding it into a narrow length and placing it over the child’s brow, saying, ‘There, that should quell the bleeding; and it will be ready for him to start on when he comes . . . when he comes.’

  He now opened his coat and took out his watch from his waistcoat pocket, saying, ‘It is almost four o’clock.’ Then standing and looking around the sparsely furnished and dimly lit room, he said, ‘If that girl has any sense she’d tell the cook or whoever is in charge to bring you some refreshment. I’ll . . . ’

  ‘Please! Please, don’t trouble anyone; I’m perfectly all right.’

  As she finished speaking there was a slight commotion in the hall and the sound of a chattering voice; then the door opened and the doctor entered. He was a small squat man with a bald head and his appearance would have shattered all preconceived ideas of doctors or surgeons except that his manner was brusque. ‘What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘The child has been hurt, sir.’

  The small man looked at the larger one and seemed to take him in at one glance. This was the fellow who had demanded waiting room, water and towels. Evidently a gentleman and one who was used to throwing his weight about.

  ‘Well, let me have a look at the patient.’ He took the wet towel from the child’s brow, then said, ‘H’mm! h’mm! Nasty but fortunate, very fortunate. Another fraction and it would have got his eyes. How did this happen?’ He looked from one to the other, but it was Tilly who answered, ‘In the market; a drunken woman aimed a staff at me. It missed and hit the child.’

  ‘A drunken woman in the market is nothing new. Locked up half of them; chained up some of them. Wildcats, fishwives, trollops.’ The words came out in staccato fashion as he went to the end of the room, opened a glass-fronted cabinet and took out a small box of implements. Then coming back towards them, he looked at Tilly, saying, ‘You’d better let your husband hold him, he’ll have more stomach for this.’

  She opened her mouth twice to speak while the colour seeped temporarily back into her pallid face, and it was Matthew who answered stiffly, ‘She is not my wife, she is a Miss Trotter, an old friend of my family. My coachman happened to find her in distress.’

  ‘Oh!’ The doctor blinked first at Matthew and then at Tilly, and again he said, ‘Oh! Well it makes no difference to the stitching, does it? You can still hold the child I suppose.’

  Tilly, getting to her feet, placed the baby into Matthew’s outstretched arms, and why she should shudder at the contact with him she didn’t know, but shudder she did.

  ‘There you are, little fellow. Now we’ll put this on first to take some of the sting away. It won’t stop you from howling, but you’ll have forgotten all about it in a few minutes’ time. Although you’ll remember it later on because you’re going to have a scar here for life. If you’re ever lost they’ll be able to find you all right.’

  Tilly was standing facing the long window that looked on to what appeared to be a back garden and she closed her eyes when the child gave a sharp cry and continued to cry for what seemed an endless time, and she kept them closed until she heard the brusque voice say, ‘There, that’s done. It took more than I thought. Now a nice little bandage round that and you can face the world again.’

  The bandaging done, he now turned to Tilly and said quietly, ‘Let him rest for the next few days. No jogging up and down.’ He gave her a demonstration. ‘No chit-chat, pretty-boying, just let him be quiet. He has sustained a shock and that will take time to heal, as well as the cut. Anyway, bring him to me in a week’s time. Have you far to go?’

  ‘Quite a way.’

  ‘She . . . she will be here when required, sir.’

  The doctor looked at the broad individual with the granite face as he thought to himself, Yes, if he says she’ll be here she’ll be here. One of those: I speak, you obey. Well, it took all types to make the world go round. He was tired and hungry, and he’d had a day of it. He had drawn splintered bones together, he had stitched up the throat of an unsuccessful suicide, and lastly he had just over an hour ago pushed a man’s guts back, and put enough stitches in him to hold a feather tick together. But even so the fellow would likely die, having been at sea three days with part of a spar stuck in his belly.

  ‘Good-day to you.’

  ‘Good-day, doctor. Thank you very much.’


  ‘Good-day, sir, I too thank you.’

  He nodded from the man to the woman and blinked at them as he thought, Funny couple this, not man and wife, yet he shows the concern of a husband and she the reserved indifference of a wife. Looking at Matthew, he said, ‘I did not get your name, sir.’

  ‘I didn’t give it to you, sir, but it is Sopwith, Matthew Sopwith of Highfield Manor. You can send your bill there.’

  Sopwith? Oh yes, yes. Now he had the picture clear and bright in his mind. This was the son come back from abroad. Blandford had mentioned something about them. Senior had a mistress who had been a maid or something. Oh yes, yes. Well, well, he could understand it now; she was a beautiful woman. He could also understand the gentleman’s concern for the child, his half-brother. Yes, yes. And he had put his foot in it, hadn’t he, thinking they were husband and wife? Dear! Dear! ‘Good-day to you.’

  ‘Good-day to you . . . ’

  Tilly did not protest when Matthew insisted that she get into the coach for all she wanted to do was to get home . . .

  Not until she felt Fred pulling the horses round to enter the gates of the Manor did she speak, and then quickly she said, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll get off here, I can find my way.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense!’

  ‘Please, I insist.’

  ‘Go on insisting.’

  She remained stiff in the seat for a moment until he bent towards her, peering at her in the dim gleam from the carriage lamps as he said, ‘Look, Trotter; forget your feeling towards me, at least for the present, the child needs care. You heard what the doctor said. And you yourself need care after the shock you’ve had. Now you can’t look after yourself and the child properly back in that cottage. The weather is vile. Let’s be practical; you’ve got to go out for kindling, what happens if you take ill, who is going to see to the child then? It would have to come here if that happened, wouldn’t it?’

  She couldn’t say, Why should it? And he was right, for what would happen to it if she took ill? She felt tired, weary. Again she had the desire to lay her head down somewhere and cry, but that had become too much of a pattern lately and had to be resisted.

  When she remained quiet he said, ‘That’s it then, that’s settled. There’s one thing certain, it will be as good as a Christmas present to your friends, the Drews; they’ll have rooms prepared for you in the shake of a lamb’s tail.’

  She knew that he was smiling and she knew that what he said was right. Of a sudden there was no protest in her, she had the feeling that she was going to float away . . . she was floating away.

  She had never before really fainted in her life. As a young girl she had told herself that fainting was the prerogative of ladies and that they usually did it in church or in their drawing rooms. Even when McGrath and the others had put her in the stocks and pelted her with rotten fruit she hadn’t actually fainted.

  She opened her eyes to find Biddy bending over her, saying, ‘There now. There now.’

  ‘Bring some brandy.’ She couldn’t see Matthew’s face but she recognised his voice and for a moment she wondered where she was. Then she remembered the child and, aiming to rise, said, ‘Willy.’

  ‘He’s all right. He’s all right. He’s warmly tucked up and asleep. Don’t worry.’

  As she closed her eyes again she had the feeling it wasn’t Biddy he had asked to fetch the brandy. A moment later when Biddy said, ‘Can you raise yourself, lass, and take this drink?’ she looked from her to John, who was holding the glass in his hand, and when he said, ‘Poor Tr . . . Trotter,’ there was so much kindness in his voice that she had to press her lids tightly closed again to stop herself from crying. She had never felt so weak or so tired, not even when the child was being born; it must be the shock and the knowledge that the McGraths were on her horizon again. Yes, yes, that was it, the McGraths were on her horizon again.

  She choked on the brandy and when John said, ‘Dr . . . Dr . . . Drink it all up, Trotter, it’ll d . . . d . . . do you good,’ she drank it. Then she made to rise, saying, ‘I’m all right now.’

  ‘Stay where you are, there’s nothing to rush for.’ Matthew was standing at the back of the couch now looking down on her. ‘As Biddy said, the child is all right. Your room will be ready for you in a little while, then you can retire to bed and have a meal there.’

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ She pressed Biddy gently aside and, swinging her feet from the couch, she managed to sit upright in spite of still feeling she needed some support. ‘I cannot put you to this trouble, and there is no need.’

  ‘Whist! now. Do what the master says and be sensible.’ Biddy’s tone sounded almost like her master’s at the moment. ‘The child needs attention, and you an’ all. Go tomorrow if you must, but for the night, you stay put.’

  ‘B . . . B . . . Biddy’s right, Trotter. B . . . B . . . Be a good girl now.’

  As John backed from her she wanted to smile at him.

  Be a good girl now. He was a sweet creature was John. If only some of it had rubbed off on to his older brother.

  She turned her head and saw them both going from the room, and when the door had closed on them Biddy, pulling a foot stool up to the couch, sat in front of her and, taking her hands, gripped them tight, saying, ‘You have some sense, lass, if not for your own sake then for the child’s. You’re back here, so stay.’ She leaned forward until her face was almost touching Tilly’s and she whispered, ‘From what I gather he’ll be off to the Americas again shortly. He’s like a cat on hot bricks; he can’t find enough to occupy him here. Even since he’s taken on opening the pit he’s still looking for something to use his energy on. I’ve never seen a creature so full of unrest, he’s never still a minute, so it’s my belief he won’t be here much longer. He’ll leave Master John in charge and then things will run as before. And then the way things are going I’ll be surprised if Master John and Miss McGill don’t make a match of it. She thinks highly of you that girl. Katie heard her speaking of you to Master John, and his nibs was there an’ all. He didn’t say a word, Katie said, although I’ll give him this ’cos she said he was very nice to the lass. I suppose you’ve noticed she’s got a birthmark? Aye, well, we’ve all got things to bear. She’s got a nice nature and she’s sweet on Master John, you can see that, anybody with half an eye can see that. So now, you take my advice. I’ve never given it you wrong since we met, now have I?’

  ‘No, Biddy.’

  ‘Then, lass’ – Biddy’s voice dropped to a soft whisper – ‘do this for me, stay on. And it’s Christmas and we could have a lovely time because I’ll not know a minute’s peace if you’re back there on your own and the sky outside there laden with snow, and if it falls like it did last year we won’t be able to get through to you for days, perhaps not for weeks. It happened afore, it could happen again. I worry over you, lass, just as if you were me own; in fact’ – she looked downwards now – ‘I feel guilty at times ’cos I think of you more than I do me own.’

  ‘Oh, Biddy. Biddy. Do you know something?’ Tilly was smiling faintly now, ‘You shouldn’t be in ordinary service, it is the diplomatic service you should have gone into.’

  ‘And what kind of service may I ask is that?’

  ‘Well, it’s for people who have the powers of persuasion.’

  The door opened and Katie came stealthily into the room. ‘It’s all ready, the fire’s burning nicely, bed warmer in, and Peg’s got your tray all set.’

  ‘Oh dear me!’ Tilly drooped her head and Katie, looking at her mother, said, ‘What’s wrong now? Starting to be contrary again, is she?’

  ‘Less of your cheek,’ said Biddy, getting to her feet; ‘and get about your business.’

  Instead of Katie going about her business she came up to Tilly and, dropping on to her hunkers in a fashion they had both used whilst working side by side down the pit, she said with a grin, ‘Eeh! it’s like old times, isn’t it, Tilly? And we’ll have some Christmas jollification an’ all that, eh? I wasn�
��t going to decorate our hall but I’ll do it the morrow. I’ll get the lads to bring some holly in. And I wonder if his nibs will let us do something to the main hall now ’cos he said we hadn’t to bother. Didn’t he, Ma?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Biddy nodding; ‘but now, there’s a bairn in the house an’ that makes the Christmas, a bairn, so go ahead and decorate the main hall an’ all, and put some holly in the dining room.’

  ‘And what about some mistletoe?’ said Katie, now smiling broadly. ‘Master John might take a nibble at Miss McGill. That would be good to see. But I can’t see his nibs kissing anybody, can you, Ma? That would turn them to vinegar right off.’

  ‘Look.’ Biddy pointed her finger at her chattering daughter whom, although only a year younger than Tilly, she still treated as a girl. ‘What did I tell you? Get yourself away about your business afore I skelp your lug for you, and you’d need some vinegar to put on that!’

  Katie went out laughing and Biddy remarked, ‘That ’un ’ll never change: chatter, chatter, chatter. ’Tis well she hasn’t married, she’d drive a man to drink. Come on, lass; let’s get you upstairs.’

  As if Tilly was a real invalid, Biddy helped her up from the couch, but as they made their way towards the drawing room door Tilly stopped and said, ‘Where are they putting me?’

  ‘In your old room of course.’

  She remained staring at Biddy. Which old room? The room that she and Mark had shared or the one at the end of the corridor that she had rarely used?

  And Biddy added bluntly, ‘The one you started with.’

  Tilly turned away and, unaided now, walked across the hall and up the broad stairs, over the gallery and down the long corridor. She did not even glance towards the main bedroom but went on past it, past the dressing room, past the closet and into the end room, and as she entered it she knew that she had come back and to stay; but at the same time that strange fear mounted in her again, the fear that she was afraid to put a name to, the fear that wasn’t connected with either the McGraths or the villagers.