Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘I thought that too. But anyway, she’s supposed to be yours, and your uncle played on the fact that she was yours, and he would have gone on using both the mother and the child as a weapon to come between us, and like dripping water wearing away a stone who knows? Only his tactics don’t drip water, they drip acid and acid eats away quicker.’

  He turned from her as he said, ‘I’ve tried not to believe it of the old fellow but now, my God! this last proves what lengths he’ll go to just . . . ’

  ‘You might as well say it, just to keep you.’

  He turned to her again and, coming back, he dropped on to his knees once more and, holding her to him, he said, ‘You’ve been connected with every action in the whole of my life. The first woman I went with I did it not because the urge was on me, but in some roundabout way to spite my father and you. Every time I took a woman I imagined it was you.’

  When he dropped his head on to her shoulder she stared straight before her. It was like a revelation. Why had she been so simple? She had imagined that that dark Mexican had been the first and now he spoke casually of the women he had had before her. But then his father too, what about Lady Myton and the others he had had?

  It was the way of men.

  It was in this instant as if she suddenly awakened to life. All she had gone through in her thirty-three years had taken place in the girl, but with Matthew’s casual confession she had been turned into a woman, a woman who must go on loving, who couldn’t help herself loving, even with the knowledge that she was last in a succession of women, even perhaps not the last. Oh no! Her mind rejected that thought. She had him and he had her and she would see that there were no more escapades.

  If only they hadn’t to carry the result of his latest with them, for how were they going to explain a Mexican Indian in their family when they returned home? What was she thinking about? She would never go home now.

  Six

  They made the move to the unfinished house at the top of the slope which lay to the right of Luisa’s dog run the day after they had acquired a new daughter. But they were no sooner settled in when Matthew who had hardly spoken to Tilly for most of the day made a sudden statement. He was going to find a homestead for them, preferably one already made with a suitable acreage of ground. It didn’t matter he said, if it was back towards the south and Galveston or over to the west near San Antonio. He had talked the matter over openly with Mack, and Mack had agreed with him not only about the situation of a new home but about making a move as soon as possible.

  Towards evening Mack came up to the house and for the first time during their acquaintance he talked openly and it became apparent to Tilly that he didn’t like his employer any more than she did, and she guessed the reason he stayed on here was Luisa.

  One thing he advised: they should not venture north-west any further than Fort Worth. Although there were lots of homesteaders settling around Dallas, it was still too near the Indian territory to be safe for, as he said, those beggars couldn’t be trusted. The moon and fire water together could make them forget any treaty. And then there were the Comanches. They were a different proposition altogether, the Comanches, for at times they didn’t need fire water or the moon to get the blood lust up.

  Then all thought of moving was shelved for a time when Alvero Portes became ill with a fever. At first it was thought he had caught cholera, and this caused slight pandemonium in the compound because many men were more scared of the cholera than they were of the Indians. And so it seemed to be with Pete Ford and Andy O’Brien, for they shouldered packs and left.

  But Alvero Portes didn’t have the cholera, nor yet the plague, it was some kind of intestinal disturbance that weakened him so much that at one time Matthew really thought the old man was about to die. Emilio and Diego between them did most of the nursing, Luisa never went near him.

  Matthew visited him every day, but there was little conversation between them; what there was would follow the lines of:

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Better.’

  The next day. ‘How are you?’

  ‘It has returned.’ This was with reference to the diarrhoea.

  Another day. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Does it matter? I want to die.’

  Then one day he looked at Matthew and said, ‘Will you ask Luisa to visit me, please?’

  It was on that day that Matthew really thought the old man was on his last legs, but when he took the message to Luisa she looked him straight in the face and said simply, ‘No!’

  ‘He’s dying, Luisa.’

  ‘He’s not dying; he won’t die, it’ll take more than a dose of diarrhoea to kill him . . . ’

  Alvero Portes remained in bed for two months and after he finally did get up his recovery was slow. He spent his days sitting in the long room reading or looking out on to the compound and watching his horses being exercised.

  When Luisa remarked with a sneer on the slowness of the convalescence to Tilly, Tilly repeated her words to Matthew. ‘Luisa says he’s spreading it out purposely to hold you here.’

  At this Matthew didn’t shake his head denying any such strategy on the old man’s part, but what he said was, ‘Then he’s wasting his time. And yet if he is feeling well enough I don’t know how he can sit there and look at his latest acquisition of horseflesh and not want to jump on its back, because as you know he lives horses.’

  So the weeks passed into months. The house was finished and it was comfortable and she would have looked upon it as home if out of the window she didn’t see the ranch in the near distance.

  The house consisted of a living room, an eating room with a kitchen next to it, and two bedrooms on the ground floor with an indoor closet adjoining, and, above, a run-through room in the roof. This latter held two cots, Katie’s bed, and also served as a makeshift play-cum-schoolroom.

  Strangely, after their first tempestuous meeting the children got on extremely well together; in fact, where one was you’d always find the other.

  The first two weeks had been very trying for the little girl cried each night for her mother, but it seemed as if she had taken naturally to Tilly being her new mother; and stranger still, Tilly had taken to her and had given her the same attention as she had bestowed on Willy. But with Matthew it was different. Matthew never consciously touched the child. Whenever, following Willy’s actions and words, she would run towards him, saying ‘Poppa! Poppa!’ he didn’t if he could help it put his hand on her. When Tilly said this was unfair to the child he replied he couldn’t help it, that he had no feeling whatever that she belonged to him.

  But here they were in November again. They had been here over a year now and during that time had received only three lots of mail from home. But on this day they were sitting before the fire, Tilly in the corner of a wooden settle that was padded with skins, Matthew in his favourite position on a bear rug on the floor, his back against her knees, his legs stretched out towards a rough stone hearth that supported a huge blazing cradle of wood. They were both reading their letters, and when she bent over to him he turned his face up to hers and they spoke simultaneously on a laugh, saying, ‘They’re married.’

  He swung round and leant his elbow on the seat beside her as he said, ‘Oh, I wish I’d been there. And it’s almost three months ago.’ He looked at his letter again, saying, ‘He sounds very happy, over the moon as it were.’

  ‘And so he should be, Anna’s a lovely girl. And she’s very funny. Listen to this.’ She read from her letter: ‘The taffeta was so stiff with age it made an odd sound like moths beating their wings against the window pane, and as I went down the aisle I thought, Wouldn’t it be funny if all the moths suddenly became alive and I took flight. And I wanted to giggle, but I coughed instead and Lord Bentley looked at me with concern. Fancy being given away by a Lord!’

  Tilly looked laughingly at Matthew now, saying, ‘She put that last bit in brackets.’ Glancing at the letter again, she hooted with laughter as she read, ‘He mus
t have thought he was bestowing enough on us by his gesture because his wedding present was very mean. Lady Bentley said it had been in the family for years, it was an heirloom. Whatever its use I have yet to find out. It is not a vase because it has holes in the bottom; it is not a colander as it is not big enough. John thinks it is something that was used for a head cold: you put it over a bowl of boiling water, put your head in it and sniff.’

  Tilly now leaned forward and dropped her own head towards Matthew’s and as she laughed he brought himself up on to the seat beside her and, putting his arm around her, he said, ‘Oh, it’s good to see you laugh.’

  As she dried her eyes she answered, ‘It’s good to laugh, and with you. You don’t laugh enough, Matthew.’

  His face straight, he said, ‘No, perhaps not, dear. But we will, we will soon. Once away from here we will laugh till we split our sides.’ He had yelled the last words; and now their heads were again together and they were laughing hilariously.

  When he kissed her it was a long blood-stirring moment, and so it was with an effort that she disengaged herself from his arms, saying, ‘Look, there’s another three letters. And what did John say?’

  He wrinkled his face at her, ‘Oh, he’s full of life and sounds quite important. Believe it or not, the mine is going well, no more trouble with water. He speaks of the under-manager being a good fellow. A Mr Steve McGrath. You remember, Mrs Sopwith?’ He now rubbed his nose against hers. ‘The gentleman to whom you let your cottage, the man you were going to marry to escape me.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ She pushed him away.

  ‘It wasn’t nonsense. Come on, own up, you were, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was, Mr Sopwith.’

  He looked at her in silence for a moment; then pulling her into his arms again, he pressed her tightly to him, saying now, ‘I want to tell you something, I was for murdering him.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, you weren’t.’

  ‘Oh, yes I was. By accident you know, pushing him into a pothole down the pit, then holding him under.’

  ‘Oh Matthew! The things you say.’

  ‘It’s true, I had such thoughts.’

  Again she pushed at him, but this time she looked into his face and she knew that although he had spoken jokingly there was, nevertheless, a trace of truth in what he said, and she felt a tremor go through her as she realised that he would kill anyone who attempted to come between them, all that is except the man over there in the ranch house.

  Slowly now she opened the first of the three remaining letters, then said, ‘This is Anna’s handwriting but it’s from Biddy,’ and slowly she read the stilted paragraphs aloud: ‘Dear Tilly, I hope this finds you well as it leaves me at present. Everything here is fine. Mistress Sopwith is a good mistress.’ She glanced up at Matthew, saying, ‘Anna must have found it rather embarrassing to write that,’ then went on, ‘I miss you very much. I miss Katie an’ all. There are two new helpers in the house but it isn’t the same, pardon me saying so.’ She turned to Matthew again. ‘I wonder whom she was apologising to?’ Then continued: ‘Master John and his lady are well, thanks be to God. I hope this finds you as it leaves me at present. Ever your friend. Biddy Drew.’

  There was a lump in Tilly’s throat, and she bit on her lip before saying, ‘Do you think we’ll ever see them again?’

  ‘Of course, of course. Why say such a thing? Of course we’ll see them again. We’ll go home for holidays and try to inveigle more of them to come out here.’

  She had opened the next letter, and now she exclaimed on a high, excited tone, ‘It’s from Mrs Ross; you remember, the parson’s wife back when I was a girl? Oh well, you won’t remember her, but she was the one who first taught me to read and write . . . and dance. Oh yes, and dance.’ Her face lost its smile, and she read the letter. It was short and telling: ‘Dear Tilly, I am sorry to give you the news that my dear husband died some six months ago and I have returned to my family. I have had no news of you for some time but I trust that all is well with you. The last I heard of you was through a relative, who understood you were working in the Manor as nurse to the master who had been hurt in an accident. I have heard since coming home that he has died. I hope you yourself are well and that you have progressed in your studies over the years. Perhaps we may meet one day. I think of you with fondest memories. Your sincere friend, Ellen Ross.’

  She looked at Matthew as she said, ‘It’s like hearing of someone from the dead. Strange, I’ve hardly thought of her in years. Life is funny, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded at her; then putting his arm gently around her, he added, ‘And beautiful and exciting and filled with wonder.’

  As their heads went together again, a knock came on the door and Matthew turned and called, ‘Come in,’ and Luisa entered.

  It was very rarely she came over in the evening and Tilly got to her feet, saying, ‘Something wrong, Luisa?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. It could be if it comes this way. Doug’s just come back. He met up with Peter Ingersoll, his Bert and Terry, and the Purdies. They’d been on a bear hunt. Got three, but a mother was wounded and she and her two cubs made off. It was bad light and they couldn’t find her. She got into the foothills and the brush, so she might come this way. It’s too far for her to make for the forest, I think, and her wounded, so I thought I’d tell you.’

  ‘Thanks, Luisa. That’s all we want, a wounded bear running loose, and with cubs into the bargain. If she gets into the stockade – God! give me an Indian any day, or a couple for that matter. What is she, do you know?’

  ‘A black, and mighty big by what Peter Ingersoll said. And she’s likely very hungry and wants to fill up before she beds down for the winter with the young ones.’

  ‘Funny time to have cubs, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, not really. And they mustn’t be all that young. Anyway’ – she grinned towards him – ‘don’t go outside and shake hands with her, she mightn’t like it.’

  ‘Come and sit down, you look cold.’

  ‘I am. I tell you what.’ She nodded towards Matthew. ‘If she should come this way and you get her I want the skin; I’m badly in need of another bed nap.’

  ‘Have a drink.’

  ‘I won’t say no.’

  As Matthew was pouring out three glasses of brandy Luisa looked round the room, saying, ‘My! you’re cosy here. You know what I was thinking, if it’s all the same to you I wouldn’t mind taking it over when you’re gone. The dog run gets a bit dreary at times.’

  Tilly looked over the back of the settle towards Matthew. His eyes seemed to be waiting for her. He had forgotten during the last half hour or so that they weren’t settled here, and a minute later when Matthew handed Luisa her glass she looked up at him and said, ‘I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you both. God! how I’ll miss you.’ Then she added, ‘If only the old bugger would peg out.’

  Human reactions were strange, Tilly thought, as she again glanced at Matthew because she knew he was as shocked as she was at the vehemence, at the cold brutality in Luisa’s words, yet at the same time she knew that they, too, wished Alvero Portes dead. Then Luisa laughed, her strange forced laugh, and they joined in with her.

  Katie couldn’t sleep, she had a lot on her mind, she had fallen in love and was finding it a different feeling altogether from that which she had felt for Steve McGrath all those years ago. Anyway, she had known there was no hope for her with Steve, the only one for him was Tilly. When he had gone away she had quickly forgotten about him, and when he returned, a different Steve altogether, there had been less likelihood of him looking the side she was on for he was going up in the world; not that he was an upstart; and what was more he had turned out to be a handsome man, there was none of the dour, shy boy left in him. And now, of course, being the silly fool that she was, she told herself, she would go and throw her cap at another big fellow, a red-headed one this time whose very glance from under that big hat of his made her go hot and cold.

  What was
troubling her now was the fact that she might again be throwing her quoit on to a stone wall. Yet Doug Scott was always going out of his way to have a word with her, and he joked with her an’ all. He had once put his hand on her shoulder and laughed at her and said, ‘You’re a plump little dump, aren’t you?’ The words themselves hadn’t conveyed a compliment but the way he had said them had.

  She was cold. Why did it get so cold at night? She brought her knees up to towards her chin, and as she did so Willy muttered in his sleep and gave a little sob.

  She raised herself on her elbow. She hoped he wasn’t going to have a nightmare, not tonight, and wake up the other one for it was enough to freeze you. When the sound was repeated and louder this time, she flung the bedclothes back from the bottom of the bed, grabbed up a fur-lined coat which Tilly had given her at Christmas, and, dragging it on, she made her way across the room towards the cots. She had no need of a light for the winter moon was illuminating the land, except when it was obliterated by scudding clouds.

  It was as she passed the window that she saw in the distance a huddled form coming across the open space towards the house. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened. The next instant she was kneeling by the window ignoring Willy’s crying and gaping at the thing that had now become a shadow as the moon was momentarily obliterated. When it next came into her view it was only a hundred yards from the house and she saw what she took to be a huge man bent slightly forward and making stealthily towards the house.

  Indians! Indians! The scream that erupted from her brought the two children immediately awake and Willy also screaming at the pitch of his lungs.

  ‘Indians! Indians!’ She was scrambling down the steep stairs yelling as she went, ‘Indians! Indians! Tilly! Indians!’ She was about to bang her fist on the bedroom door when it was wrenched open and she was confronted by Matthew in his nightshirt, and he was almost knocked on to his back as she flung herself on him, crying ‘Indians! Indians!’