Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘I’ve been to the cottage.’

  ‘Oh, I . . . I thought you had l . . . l . . . let it to the . . . the under-manager?’

  ‘Yes, I have, but he’s an old friend of mine, I just wanted to see how he was faring.’

  She was walking by John’s side. Matthew, leading his horse, was walking between the two animals and because of their bobbing heads and the fact that he didn’t turn and look at her she couldn’t see the expression on his face as he said, ‘Very good fellow, McGrath. I think he’ll turn out to be valuable. As you remarked the other day, the only good one of that particular bunch.’

  She stared past John and over the horse’s back; her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. If he had said to her, ‘You are to go ahead and marry this man,’ he couldn’t have made it any plainer. It was evident in this moment that he wanted to be out of this situation as much as she did. Well now, at last she knew where she stood.

  It was a full minute later when she said to John, ‘Do please mount.’

  ‘N . . . no, Trotter; we . . . we can’t leave you w . . . w . . . walking along with that heavy bu . . . bundle.’ He poked the child in the chest gently with his fingers. ‘I t . . . tell you wh . . . what I’ll do, I’ll . . . I’ll ride him home. He’ll . . . he’ll like that, f . . . f . . . first ride on a horse.’

  ‘No! No!’ She stepped to the side, but he pulled the horse to a standstill and mounted, then held out his arms, saying, ‘All right. Trotter, I w . . . w . . . won’t drop him.’

  Matthew, too, had stopped. He was looking across at her now and she couldn’t fathom the expression on his face, in fact it seemed utterly expressionless, just blank. But when John laughingly looked down on her, saying, ‘W . . . w . . . would you fe . . . feel he was safer w . . . w . . . with Matthew?’ she immediately handed her son up to him and he, seating the child on the front of the saddle, cradled him firmly with one arm, while jerking the reins with the other, and he moved forward leaving an empty space between herself and Matthew.

  When she turned to follow John, Matthew did not mount his horse but led it forward and walked by her side; and they never uttered one word for the remainder of the journey, nor did he look at her when, having reached the house steps, they parted, he going on towards the stables and she reaching up to take the child from John.

  It was, she felt, the end of something that had not yet begun.

  Five

  She had other things on her mind when she returned from Shields after seeing the doctor the following day, for she had been given a letter to take to a Dr Davidson at the Newcastle Infirmary in four days’ time. Apparently Doctor Simpson was not entirely satisfied about the child’s sight. He had assured her there was really nothing to worry about but that this particular Dr Davidson had had a great deal of experience with regard to eyesight and that perhaps all the child would need in the future would be spectacles.

  There was a feeling of unrest in the house, not, as Biddy said, that you could put the blame down to his nibs rampaging, but quite the reverse, for during the last few days he hadn’t appeared as his natural self at all; in fact the house had hardly seen him. If he wasn’t at the mine he was away in the city, where he had been from early morning yesterday until late last night. And she didn’t voice what she was thinking: What do men want to spend all day in Newcastle for? for she would have answered herself by saying, ‘Well, what do young bucks like him go to the city for in any case, their kind of business doesn’t need a board room.’

  But this morning he hadn’t gone to the mine, and he hadn’t gone to Newcastle, he had come down to breakfast and was now closeted with John in the morning room, and at this moment John was gazing at him sadly as he was saying, ‘B . . . B . . . But why do you w . . . want to go back so . . . soon? Anyway, Matthew I don’t think I’m ca . . . ca . . . capable of man . . . managing the mine on my own.’

  ‘You won’t have to manage on your own, you’ll have two good men, Rowland and the new one, McGrath; he . . . he shows to be very promising.’

  ‘But . . . but . . . but what has happened b . . . b . . . between you and Mr Ro . . . Ro . . . Rosier that he w . . . w . . . wants to sell out now? He was so k . . . keen, it was he who p . . . p . . . put you on to opening it. There must be a se . . . se . . . serious reason.’

  ‘There is.’

  ‘Well, I f . . . feel I’m enti . . . enti . . . entitled to know what it is.’

  ‘I struck Alicia on the night of your engagement party.’

  ‘Y . . . Y . . . You what!’

  ‘You heard me, John, I struck Alicia, if you can call slapping her face striking her. She was bent on finding out all about Trotter, and when I wouldn’t go along with her she insulted her. My only excuse is that I was drunk, and so was she. The blow must have sobered her up.’

  ‘G . . . G . . . God! that’s why she t . . . turned down Pl . . . Pl . . . Platt’s Walk when she saw me c . . . c . . . coming the other day. I w . . . w . . . waved to her but she . . . she galloped off. Oh my G . . . God! Matthew, that was an awful thing t . . . t . . . to do. I thought you liked her . . . well m . . . m . . . more than liked her.’

  ‘I liked her but I didn’t more than like her, John, and I never had any intention of letting the liking grow; nor did I give her to understand this. That, I fear, is what piqued her.’

  ‘Aw’ – John wagged his head from side to side – ‘and I imagined it was a l . . . l . . . lovely party. So did Anna.’

  ‘It was a lovely party. That incident was private . . . ’

  ‘And it’s having it . . . it . . . its repercussions’ – John was nodding his head grimly at Matthew now – ‘and driving you off b . . . b . . . back to America.’

  ‘I intended to go in any case.’

  ‘But not so s . . . s . . . soon. Oh, w . . . w . . . wait a little longer, say three m . . . months until I g . . . g . . . get more used to it.’

  ‘You’ll never be more used to the mine, John, until you have to take full responsibility. The thing to do is to get married and bring Anna here. You could both be very happy here.’

  ‘I . . . I have n . . . n . . . no doubt of that, Matthew, b . . . b . . . but I’d be happier if I knew that you were . . . were . . . were about, at least at the m . . . mine. You can manage m . . . m . . . men, you . . . you’ve got a w . . . w . . . way with you that . . . that I’ll never acquire.’

  Matthew smiled weakly as he said, ‘I shout more, but men can see through that. If they respect you they’ll work for you, and you’re highly respected.’

  ‘Oh! Matthew.’ John now walked towards his brother and, putting his hands on his shoulders, he looked into his face and like a young boy, that he really was at heart, he pleaded, ‘M . . . M . . . Must you go? Must you go, Matthew?’

  ‘I must, John. Yes, I must.’

  ‘The f . . . fourth of July, it’s like tomorrow, just over f . . . f . . . four weeks. There’s something I don’t quite understand, I wouldn’t have thought that thi . . . thi . . . this business with Ro . . . Rosier would have m . . . m . . . made you turn tail, more like stand up and f . . . f . . . fight him when he’s b . . . backing out.’

  ‘Don’t try, John. As for him backing out, it isn’t like that. If it meant a fight and I couldn’t afford to buy him out and wanted him to stick to his contract then I likely would have stayed, but as it is I want him out and I can afford to pay the damned exorbitant percentage he’s asking. So now’ – he put out his hand and ruffled John’s straight hair – ‘what we’ve got to do, boyo, is to get you to that mine every day, and not just on the top but down below. Your training is going to be intensive during the next few weeks.’

  ‘Have . . . have you t . . . t . . . told Trotter?’

  Matthew turned away now and went towards the mantelpiece and lifting up a long-stemmed wooden pipe, he bent down and knocked out the dottle into the empty grate before he said briefly, ‘No.’

  ‘She’s g . . . g . . . going to be very upset.’

 
‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh, she w . . . will be.’

  Matthew now turned and smiled wryly at his brother as he said, ‘It would be nice to think so, but I think she will be as relieved as many others when I depart from these shores.’

  ‘You have a very p . . . p . . . poor opinion of yourself, Matthew. You . . . ’

  ‘On the contrary’ – Matthew’s voice took on its customary arrogant tone – ‘I’ve a very high opinion of myself, let me tell you, John; in fact, inside I don’t think there’s anyone to come up to me. Of course, outside’ – he pulled a wry face now – ‘things are a little different. Men don’t see me with my eyes . . . nor do women. I’ll have to do something about the latter.’

  ‘Oh! Matthew.’ John was laughing now but sadly as he said, ‘You’re a c . . . c . . . case, L . . . L . . . Luke always s . . . said there was only one of you and it would have been dis . . . disastrous had there been twins and . . . ’ Of a sudden John stopped and, his head bowed, he added softly, ‘Oh, M . . . Matthew, I’m g . . . g . . . going to m . . . miss you. You don’t know how m . . . m . . . much I love you.’

  Swiftly now Matthew went to his brother and put his arms about him, and they clung together for a moment before Matthew, thrusting him away, turned and went hastily from the room.

  Six

  It was five o’clock in the afternoon. They had both returned from the mine dirty and almost wet through for their capes hadn’t succeeded in keeping out the heavy rain. It had rained for the past two days, the heat of the earlier June days being but a faint memory now; the roads were like bogs, the sky low, promising more rain to come.

  They dismounted and after handing their horses to Fred Leyburn John said, ‘I w . . . w . . . want a bath, hot, steaming. I’ll t . . . t . . . toss you for which one gets prepared first.’

  At the top of the steps, Matthew turned and, thrusting his hand into his breeches’ pocket, pulled out a coin, saying, ‘Tails,’ and they were entering the hall as he flicked the coin; then lifting the palm of his hand up quickly from the back of his other hand, he said, ‘You win.’

  ‘Good. W . . . W . . . Why is it you don’t mind being wet, Matthew?’

  ‘I suppose it was because I was dry, so dry during those three years over there when at times I would have given half my life to stand in the rain.’

  Peg was in the hall to meet them. She took their sodden cloaks and hats from them, and as John dashed towards the stairs, crying, ‘Hot w . . . w . . . water, Peg. Hot w . . . water,’ she said, ‘’Tis all ready, sir, ’tis all ready. It’ll be up in your room in a minute.’

  It was something in her voice that made Matthew turn and look her full in the face. It was evident that she had been crying; her eyes were red, her lashes still wet. His voice holding a hearty tone, he said, ‘Ho! ho! what’s this, isn’t there enough water outside?’

  She blinked now and, her head drooping further, the tears ran down her cheeks which made him ask, his tone more sympathetic now, ‘What is it, girl? What’s happened? Are you in trouble? Your mother?’

  ‘Not me, sir, nor mam, ’tis the child.’

  ‘What! What’s happened to the child?’

  ‘Tilly . . . Miss Tilly, she took him to Newcastle to see the eye man. He says the child is to go blind.’

  He screwed up his face, his eyes narrowing and his lips moving silently on the word blind.

  ‘Miss Tilly’s in a state, she’s . . . ’

  He did not wait to hear what more she had to say but, taking the stairs two at a time, he ran across the gallery, along the corridor and up to the nursery floor where he thrust open the schoolroom door, only to find the room empty. He remained standing now and looking from one door to the other; he had not been up on this floor since she had taken possession of it. His eyes became focussed on the second door to the left of him. That had been her room when she first came here.

  Quickly he walked towards it, but gently now he turned the handle and pushed it open. She was lying on the bed, her back to him, her arm round the child. She did not move, likely thinking it was one of the Drews, but when he placed his hand on her shoulder she swung round as if she had been stung, and lay staring up at him.

  There was no sign of tears on her face, there was no colour in it; it was even no longer fleshly pale, it was more the colour of a piece of bleached lint. Her eyes were dark pools of pain, her mouth was slightly open, her lips trembling. He took his hand from her and, bending over her, he lifted the child up and, taking it to the window, looked into its eyes. They were deep blue.

  The child smiled at him and grabbed at his face.

  ‘What did he say?’ He was still looking at the child as he asked the question, but when she didn’t answer he turned his head towards her.

  She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, her body bent forward, and, her voice low, she answered, ‘He said he didn’t think there was much could be done. The . . . the sight of the left eye is already gone. Spectacles may help for a short time with the other but he doesn’t . . . ’ Her voice choked and when she turned her body round and buried her face in the pillow he quickly went to the bed and laid the child down again; then coming round the foot of it he dropped on to his knees by her side and, putting his arm around her shoulder, he brought her towards him, looking into her face as he said, ‘Don’t . . . don’t cry like that.’

  When her head drooped further and the tears flowed down her cheeks he implored, ‘Please, please, Trotter, don’t, it will be the undoing of me. Don’t.’

  When there erupted from her throat a strangled cry, he closed his own eyes tightly and brought his teeth clamping down on his lower lip and what he said now was, ‘You should have let me prosecute that woman.’

  Her breath was choking her, the tears seemed to be oozing out of every pore in her body. If the restriction in her throat didn’t ease she would die. Oh, if she could only die this minute and take the child with her.

  ‘Tilly! Tilly! Oh my God! Tilly.’ His arms were about her. He was sitting on the side of the bed now beside her. It was even more difficult to get her breath because her head was pressed tight into his neck, and he was talking, talking, talking. Now his hands were in her hair, lifting her face up towards him. She couldn’t see him, she could only hear him, hear him repeating her name, ‘Oh Tilly! Tilly!’ His father had said it like that, ‘Oh Tilly! Tilly!’ She must get away, push him off, this was wrong, she was going to marry Steve. Steve would be her salvation. But she didn’t want salvation; she wanted two things at this moment, she wanted her child to be able to see and she wanted this man’s arms around her. She wanted to feel his lips forever on her face as they were now. But it was wrong, wrong, in all ways it was wrong. And she was so much older than he but she looked so much younger; he wasn’t a young man, he had never been a young man. He was strong, determined; she would be safe with him, wherever she went she would be safe with him. And he was still talking, talking, talking.

  Now he was wiping her eyes and her face with his handkerchief and whispering all the while, ‘Oh, my love! My love! You know, don’t you, you’ve always known? When I hated you I loved you; when I knew you had given Father a child I think I would have murdered you if I had been near you. Now I love the child’ – he glanced towards it – ‘but I don’t love you as I love the child. What feeling I have for you is past love, Tilly, it’s like a rage, a mad consuming rage; it has grown with the years, it’s been like a malignant disease. I’ve feared at times I would die of it, and if I don’t have you, Tilly, I will die of it in the end. But I know that before I do I’ll make so many people miserable. That’s me; if I’m not happy I make other people unhappy too, I hate suffering alone. I have the power to make people miserable; I can be one big bloody swine. I know myself, Tilly. There is something in me that is mean. I knew this when I was a boy. You knew it too, didn’t you? Yet, once you put the weight of your love on the scales I could become a saint, at least a lovable, generous individual. Oh my dearest, dearest, Tilly
.’

  His lips were moving over hers gently, gently backward and forward. Then he was talking again, talking, talking. ‘The effect you have on a man, the effect you’ve always had on me. I even loved my nightmares because you gave them to me, Trotter, Trotter. From the first moment you stepped on to this floor you had me, all of me, the good, the bad, the rotten. Oh Tilly! my Tilly! I adore you. If God was a woman then you would be my God, you are my God . . . my God, the only God I want. Oh my dearest, don’t push me away, please.’

  ‘Matthew.’ His name came out as if it were weighed down with lead; then again, ‘Matthew, we mustn’t, we can’t.’

  ‘We can and we will. Do you hear me, Tilly Trotter?’ He was holding her face between his hands now. ‘We can and we will. We must come together; there will be no meaning in my life if we don’t. You were in it from the beginning. I wasn’t born until I was ten and that was the moment I saw you bending over me in the bed across the landing there.’ He pointed his arm backwards. ‘And from that moment until now I’ve never known any release from you. When you went to Father I went to hell.’

  ‘But . . . but it doesn’t seem right, clean . . . I can’t . . . ’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ His voice was harsh now. ‘There is nothing unclean about it. It was only by chance you went to Father and more out of pity and compassion I guess than anything else, and of course his need for you, for what man being near you wouldn’t want you. I don’t blame Father now, I don’t blame you, but you were mine before you were Father’s. Tell me, look me straight in the face. Come on, lift your lids, Tilly Trotter, and look into my eyes and tell me that you don’t love me.’

  She lifted her lids and she looked into his eyes and what she said was, ‘Oh Matthew! Matthew!’ and then she was in his arms once more; and now the fear in her was gone and in its place was a feeling akin to anguish, and when she returned his kiss with a fierceness that his father had never evoked in her she knew that at this age of thirty-two she was for the first time really experiencing young love, not the kind of love she’d had for Simon Bentwood, nor that tender love she’d had for Mark Sopwith, but the love that should come to every woman in her youth. And she was in her youth again and the six years between them was as nothing.