Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘Yes, master.’

  They now pressed close to each other, laughing as Matthew said, ‘I’m glad you know your place at last.’

  Her voice serious now, Tilly asked, ‘What kind of people will I be expected to meet really, because this won’t be any little barn dance, will it, not with Tessie sending out formal invitations?’

  ‘Oh, a political group likely, and between the eating and drinking and the jigging there’ll be a lot of serious discussion; and decisions will be taken in quiet corners of the garden, mostly about the slavery question. Strange—’ He turned from her and walked up the room and, standing with his back to the fire now, he said, ‘At one time back home I thought of going into politics because I felt I understood the situation, but here’ – he shook his head – ‘a man seems to be for one thing today and changes his mind tomorrow, just as they’re accusing Houston of doing; and on this point I think I am with him and against the extension of black slavery, yet because of his stand he’s been branded as a traitor. And, of course, he’s wholeheartedly for the Indians. It’s odd, you know, but I find myself with him in this too. Of course, as Rod pointed out to me when we were talking along these lines a few weeks ago, I’ve never seen the result of an Indian raid else I wouldn’t talk such codswallop. He wouldn’t have it that most of the raids were in retaliation for the Government reneguing on their promises. And you know’ – he nodded towards her – ‘it’s shame-making the way they’ve done this. Two years ago just before I returned home I was talking to one of the Indian agents. By the way, these are not Indians, they’re white Americans who are supposed to look after the welfare of the Indians who are living in reserves. He was a decent enough man but he told me of some of the practices that the agents used to rob the Indians of the very food supplied by the Government for them. Oh’ – he beat the top of his head with the palm of his hand – ‘it’s all beyond me.’ Then opening his arms out to her, he said, ‘All I’m concerned about is you. Come here.’

  When she was standing within the circle of his arms, he put his head on one side and said, ‘I’ve got some news that I’m sure will please you, Mrs Sopwith.’

  She waited, saying nothing until he said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask what it is?’

  ‘Yes, master. What is it?’

  He jerked her so tightly to him that she cried out; and then he said, ‘Mack tells me of a place going over Cameron way.’

  ‘Is that near the Red River?’ Tilly put in quickly.

  ‘No! No! it’s miles from there, two hundred miles or so. No, this ranch lies about fifty miles west as the crow flies, between Caldwell and Cameron, but we’ll have to go Washington way and cross the Brazos there. And so we’ll have to travel about a hundred miles. But you needn’t worry, we’ll be well outside the Comanche country. Anyway, there’s enough soldier-manned forts dotted about to keep the peace; of that I’m sure. Mack says it’s an excellent house and he thinks they must have marked out three or four thousand acres. It’s good grassland too with wood in plenty quite near. It somehow seems the realisation of a dream because I’ve thought for a long time now I’d like to start a good beef breed, not just rangy Longhorns, but half and half, the Longhorns for the stamina and say a Scottish breed for their fat. This business of letting them range wild on the plains is all right when there’s no alternative, but I can see an alternative. Things are moving fast; there’s railroads beginning to extend all over the States and they’ll come this way. It might be a few years but they’ll come this way. We have the rivers but we want the rails. Just imagine if there was a railroad near at hand and the fellows hadn’t to go on that death trail with the herds, because they lose at least a third of them in the dry season. But’ – he spread his palm out wide – ‘imagine an engine with countless wagons behind.’

  She moved from him, saying primly now, ‘Yes, yes, I do imagine it, and the poor cattle herded into them with no room to turn or squat. Yes, I imagine it.’

  ‘Oh—’ He caught her by the shoulders, saying softly, ‘Tilly! Tilly! You’re in a wild country; you’ve got to become hardened to these things else you’re going to suffer. Cattle are bred for eating. You like your joint as well as anyone.’

  She closed her eyes and drooped her head and said, ‘Yes, yes, I know, don’t stress the point, I know. Anyway, about the answer to Tessie’s letter. I suppose it will have to be formal.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it will.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get down to it right away. Honestly it’s funny when you come to think of it’ – she was laughing now – ‘anyone expecting you to be formal in this—’ She wagged her fingers in front of her face and ended weakly, ‘place. It seems as if we are back in the county.’

  ‘They have their standards.’ His face was straight as he answered her. ‘And I think that if you were in the towns you’d find more snobbery and social awareness than ever you did back home. In England ancestors are taken for granted and you rarely speak of them, here they mention them on every possible occasion. If you can discuss your great-great-grandmother what’s-her-name, then you can claim distinction . . . Go on and write your prettiest acceptance, and I’ll see it is sent off later today . . . ’

  Tilly wrote the letter of acceptance; then she told Katie she was going down to Luisa’s to see if she had received a similar invitation; or perhaps, if it had been included with her father’s, she would as yet know nothing of it.

  She paused on the slope before entering the compound and looked over the land away in the direction she thought the house would lie, and she knew a rising excitement within her and a feeling that she wanted in this instant to mount a horse and gallop across the land to see this place for herself. In her mind’s eye she imagined she saw what it was like, a two-storey house with a white-pillared verandah and steps leading down to a green lawn. Matthew had said it was good grassland, but she told herself that his idea of grass and hers were two different things.

  Such was her feeling at the moment that she only stopped herself from running the rest of the way down to the dog run and Luisa.

  It was as she entered the compound through a rough log gate that two men, coming out of the bunkhouse, stopped and looked towards her. They were strangers and she surmised they were two of the three new hands about whom Matthew had spoken. She returned their glances and smiled, and as she turned away one of them spoke, saying, ‘’Tisn’t, is it?’

  Feeling the question was aimed at her, she turned her head and looked at the man coming towards her. She didn’t know him. He had a long face which was bearded on both sides of his cheeks and met his hair underneath the big slouch hat; he was roughly dressed, not unlike the rangers, in long tight trousers and short jacket; he also wore a pocketed leather belt. He was about three yards from her when he stopped and said, ‘Can’t be two of you.’ His voice was unlike those of the other hands and she had to recall where she had heard it last; and when it came into her mind she screwed up her eyes as she stared at the man. The inflexion was northern, English northern.

  ‘Miss Trotter?’

  ‘Yes, I . . . I was Miss Trotter.’

  ‘Oh aye, I forgot. Sorry. Dad wrote ’n’ told me. Only had one letter from him since I came over. Aw, I’ve got you on the wrong foot. You don’t know me? Well, you wouldn’t remember me with all this, would you?’ He stroked both sides of his face. ‘And three years out here changes a man. I’m Bobby Pearson, you know.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, Mr Pearson’s son? Oh yes; he told me that you were bound for America. Well! Well!’ For a moment her voice had been pleasant as if she were pleased to see him, but it had only been for a moment for the import of his presence rushed at her with sickening awareness.

  ‘It’s a small world, ain’t it?’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed. What . . . what are you doing?’

  ‘Oh, me an’ me mate’s trekkin’ across country, makin’ for the mines really . . . gold mines. But as I said, there’ll be nowt left by the time we get there. That doesn’t worry me though. Live for the da
y, that’s me. We could’ve been there weeks gone but we dithered; laid up in the bad weather. Eeh! by, it is funny comin’ across you here an’ talkin’ like this. Don’t think I passed the time of day with you back home but I saw you many a time when you went out in the carriage. Aye.’ He nodded his head as if recalling the scene . . . ‘Mr Sopwith, he here? But of course he will be.’ He nodded, then looked around the compound, saying, ‘Good set-up this, well stocked as far as I’ve seen. The big boss has set us on for the drive.’

  ‘Oh! has he?’ She brought her head forward and wet her lips, then said, ‘Well, if that’s the case we’ll be seeing each other, Mr Pearson.’

  ‘Aye, we likely will.’ He backed a step from her, his head bobbing, his face wide with a smile. ‘Can’t help but bump into people here. Yet there’s so much space outside, it’s apt to scare the breeches off you at times . . . Well, be seein’ you.’

  She inclined her head and turned swiftly away and went towards the dog run; but once in the open corridor she didn’t knock on Luisa’s living room door, she paused for a moment, screwed up her eyes tight, then went straight through and out the back way. Here again she paused and put her hand out against the wooden wall for support. He would talk; that man was not like his father, he was a jabberer, he would talk, he would lay claim to knowing all about her. She could see him holding the floor as he described her life back in the Manor, and also the attitude of the villagers towards her. She must find Matthew and put him on his guard.

  Where was he? As she turned about to go back through the run into the compound Emilio came out of Luisa’s kitchen, and so she hurried toward him, saying, ‘Young boss. Have you seen young boss?’

  Grinning widely at her, Emilio thumbed over his shoulder, ‘He in . . . ’ he said.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  When she rushed into the kitchen, both Luisa and Matthew turned and looked at her. Luisa was preparing some food at the table and Matthew was standing munching a small cake. At the sight of her he gulped at the food in his mouth and swallowed deeply before placing the other half on the table, then putting out his hands, saying, ‘Here. Here. What’s the matter?’

  She looked from him to Luisa for a moment; then as if suddenly making up her mind, she said, ‘One of the men that came in this morning who brought the letter, I’ve just seen him.’

  As she paused, he said, ‘Yes, what about him?’

  ‘He’s . . . he’s the son of Mr Pearson. You remember? Or perhaps you don’t, but Mr Pearson, he was the odd-job man in the village. He . . . he was very kind to me, always took my part. The last time we met he told me that his son was going to America. Well’ – she nodded over her shoulder now – ‘he’s here, one . . . one of the three men.’ She cast her glance at Luisa now and, as if explaining her attitude, she said, ‘He . . . he knows all about me, about us, and he’s a loose-tongued man, I can tell you. He’ll tell them everything, and your uncle—’ She was looking at Matthew again, and now she paused and her head moved in one wide sweep as she ended, ‘This will be all he needs.’

  ‘Leave him to me. If he dares open his mouth he won’t close it for a long time; I’ll make that plain to him.’ As he marched towards the door she ran to him and caught his arm and said, ‘Go careful, Matthew, be tactful, I mean, don’t . . . don’t get his back up. Ask him, rather than tell him, not to mention my name.’

  He looked at her hard for a moment before turning from her and going out; and when the door was closed she leant against it and looked towards Luisa.

  ‘Is it as bad as all that?’ asked Luisa.

  ‘It . . . it isn’t to me, it never was, it’s how people will look at it.’

  ‘Look at what?’

  Tilly bowed her head, ‘Me being . . . named a witch, and . . . and living with Matthew’s father as his mistress for twelve years.’

  She raised her eyes to see Luisa staring at her with her mouth agape. She had moved from the table and her back was almost against the wood-stoked oven. Then her remark surprised Tilly, for what she said was, ‘A witch? Dear God! how strange.’

  She hadn’t shown any feminine horror over the knowledge that she had been Matthew’s father’s mistress, nor was she showing horror with regard to the witch question, rather her expression was one of amazement.

  It was at this point that their attention was wrenched from each other and to the window and to the sound of the cries coming from the compound. Suddenly Tilly put her hand to her mouth and let out a high cry before rushing to the door, with Luisa after her; and there they stood together for a moment as they watched Matthew and Bobby Pearson come staggering out of the bunkhouse, their fists flailing.

  When Tilly went to run towards them, Luisa, gripping her arm, hissed, ‘Be still for a minute.’ And so she remained still while at the same time her body seemed set for a spring. The yard was now full of people. Rod Tyler, Mack and Doug Scott were circling the combatants. The new men were in the bunkhouse doorway. One, Two, Three and Four, and Ma One were outside the stables, and Diego and Emilio were at the bottom of the house steps. But at the top, on the verandah, stood Alvero Portes, a look of amazement mixed with disdain on his face. And not until he saw Matthew borne to the ground by the new hand and the pair of them rolling in the dust did he hurry down the steps and shout, ‘McNeill! Stop them! Stop them this instant!’

  Mack moved away a little from the circle and, looking towards his boss, made a gesture with his hand which plainly said, ‘No.’ But when he saw that Matthew had the younger man pinned by the throat and was almost throttling him and that the man on the ground had ceased to thrash his legs, he sprang forward. Immediately Doug Scott was at his side and together they hauled Matthew upwards on to his feet; and it took them all their time to hold him. One of the men now ran from the bunkhouse doorway and, going to Bobby Pearson raised his head from the ground. Rod Tyler, too, went to his side, saying, ‘You all right!’

  Pearson jerked his head and felt his neck; then looking towards where Matthew was glaring at him, he gasped, ‘Bloody maniac!’

  ‘Get out!’

  Both Mack and Doug felt Matthew stiffen like a ramrod when Alvero Portes’ voice, rising above the murmured hubbub, said, ‘I engaged this man, I’ll tell him when to go. Now what is this all about?’ He looked towards Pearson for an answer and he, his voice a growl, cried, ‘All because I was speakin’ about his bloody wife, so-called.’

  ‘Steady! Steady!’ Doug’s voice came as a hissing whisper to Matthew. ‘You can’t stop him talkin’ now; he’s spilled it already, anyway.’

  And he was right, for Pearson, looking towards Alvero Portes, cried, ‘I knew her from I was a bairn, lived in the same village. She was hounded ’cos she was a witch; she caused trouble wherever she stepped.’ Again he felt his neck and with his other hand wiped the blood that was oozing from the top of his lip and soaking his beard. ‘She was the means of two men being killed; then she goes whorin’ up at the Manor and was his da’s mistress for years. She had a bairn to him . . . aye, aye . . . ’

  As Matthew’s body heaved itself forward he almost dragged the struggling Mack and Doug to the ground; this brought Rod Tyler to their assistance, saying, ‘Get him up to the house.’

  As the men managed to turn Matthew about, Tilly, too, turned away. There was no need now for Luisa to restrain her, nor did she attempt to follow Matthew and the men, but she allowed Luisa to lead her along the dog run and into the living room, and when Luisa pressed her gently into a chair she made no resistance, she just sat with her hands on her lap staring before her.

  A moment later Luisa, handing her a good measure of brandy, said, ‘Get that down you.’ And she did as she was bid, she swallowed the brandy in two gulps.

  When Luisa said quietly, ‘Well, you’ve been through the mill and come out ground down, haven’t you?’ she bowed her head and the tears oozed from her lids, and Luisa put in quickly, ‘Don’t worry your head, I’m not censuring you, I’m only amazed at the witch bit.’

  �
�I was never a witch, nor did any witch-like things.’ Tilly’s voice had a weary flat note to it; it was as if she had suddenly become very tired.

  ‘I believe you. But what I’m amazed at is that you too have suffered through being a so-called witch; I’m like I am today, a frustrated spinster, through much the same thing.’

  When Tilly blinked the tears from her eyes and they widened, Luisa said, ‘Witchery is a dirty word in some areas.’ Then turning, she pulled a chair up and sat down and, her knees almost touching Tilly’s, she said, ‘You know the photo back in my bedroom? Well, his name was Bailey and he lived in Massachusetts; at least he was born there, but then his father brought him here when he was about two years old. Well, it should so happen that my father lived in Massachusetts and his people had lived there too for some generations. They were as poor as slaves but as proud as Lucifer. Well, the Baileys were ordinary people and someone of that name had in the far, far past during a witchery time named a Portes as some kind of sorcerer. Anyway, one of Father’s relatives was hanged. Now as far as I can gather there were dozens of people by the name of Bailey roundabout the countryside, not so many Portes. Anyway, we were here and I was eighteen before I heard a word about this. You see’ – she bowed her head now – ‘I was never allowed to talk to men, never allowed to be alone with a man for five minutes, even a ranch hand, and never, never was I allowed to ride out on my own, he was always with me.’ She jerked her head towards the house. ‘Well, during our rides we often passed a homestead this side of Wheelock. It was a poor place, and nearly always I saw a young man and a woman in the fields, and the young man would straighten his back and look in my direction, and I in his. Then one day Father was ill and I went riding on my own and in the direction of that homestead; and for the first time I met and talked with Eddie Bailey, and straightaway we both knew what had happened to us.