by Val Wood
Annie remained silent but pointed towards the door and window. The blinds had been drawn and a notice written by Robin to say that they were closed, was pinned to the door.
Mrs Mortimer sniffed and looked around her. ‘I see you’ve put the cloth back on the shelves. That won’t do, it’s far too difficult to reach up there.’ She pointed to Robin. ‘Take them down and stack them on the floor.’
He glanced uncertainly at Annie. ‘Should I do that, Mrs Hope?’
Mrs Mortimer gasped. ‘You will do as I say, young man or there will be no position here for you in this drapery.’
Annie spoke up. ‘I’m sorry to go against your wishes Mrs Mortimer, but nothing must be touched until Mr Blythe gets here. I’ve already sent for him and he will issue instructions according to Mr Sampson’s wishes.’
‘You think you have been very smart don’t you?’ Mrs Mortimer spat out. ‘My brother didn’t get around to marrying you did he? No, nor do I think he ever intended to. Never mentioned it to me, his only sister in the world. His only confidant.’ She gave a snort. ‘Marry! At his age? As if he would!’
‘Please be seated Mrs Mortimer,’ Annie said quietly. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer to sit in Mr Sampson’s room while we wait for Mr Blythe? There’s a comfortable chair in there and a warm fire.’
Mrs Mortimer glared at her but turned her back and stalked into the back room and Annie rushed upstairs to her own room before anyone could see her tears.
She had forgotten, in the rush of organizing messages and notifying those who needed to be told of Mr Sampson’s death, that Robin and Rose had spent the night in her room, and though the bed was neatly made, there were vestiges of their presence still lingering.
Rose’s bedgown and robe were draped across the foot of the bed and Robin’s striped nightshirt still with its pristine creases was folded beside it. Annie sat on the bed and started to sob. She hadn’t cried for such a long time, but now the uncertainty of her future alone but for Henry, plunged her into a deep well of depression.
Squire Linton’s image flashed into her mind but she brushed it aside. She’d not ask him for help. If she ever went to him it would be on a visit as his son’s wife, not begging for shelter as she’d once done.
Wearily she got up from the bed and wiping away her tears, opened her chest of drawers and taking out her belongings laid them on the bed. If she had to leave this place then she would be prepared. Mrs Mortimer might keep Robin, she thought. She’ll realize that someone who knows about cloth is needed. And she thinks he’s the manager, she won’t realize that as yet he hasn’t had any shop experience. Mrs Cook will help him; they’ll keep her on. It’ll only be me that they’ll want rid of.
When she’d emptied all the drawers she sat down in the chair by the low fire. She was very tired, she had had little sleep that night. It had been late when she had arrived back at the lodging house and there was little space in the narrow bed which she shared with Joan and Henry, and her sleep had been scanty, beset as she was by worries.
Rose knocked softly and opened the door. ‘Annie. My fayther and Joan are here, they’re leaving now, they said they wouldn’t linger on account of how things are. Joan has brought Henry back but I’ll watch him if you’re busy.’
There was a brightness about Rose, a warm sparkle in her eyes; no sadness for the old man who had died for she didn’t know him, but a sympathetic respect at a bereavement. Annie blinked away her tears, she was glad at least that someone was happy.
She went downstairs to say goodbye. Mr Sutcliff took her hand and gave a bow. ‘I wanted to talk to thee, Mrs Linton,’ he said in a low voice, ‘but it’ll have to wait now, this isn’t ’right time. I’ll settle summat for Rose now they’re wed, they’ll not go short, I’ll see to that.’
Annie was relieved. If Mr Sutcliff would help Robin and Rose financially, then it would be something less for her to worry about.
As the chaise drew away and they waved goodbye from the doorway, another drew up and Marcus Blythe got out. He touched his hat solemnly. ‘Good morning Mrs Hope. This is sad news, sad news indeed. But death comes to us all, there’s no avoiding it.’
They all turned as an open curricle drawn by two sleek horses drew up beside them and Ralph Mortimer in a shiny black topper and black frock-coat jumped down.
‘That’s a fine carriage, Mr Mortimer.’ Mr Blythe moved closer to inspect it. ‘Almost as good as new I would say. It must have cost you!’
Ralph Mortimer looked slightly embarrassed, Annie thought, and neither could she remember seeing him drive his own carriage before.
‘A snip at sixty guineas, Mr Blythe. Too good to miss don’t you think?’
‘That depends on whether you have sixty guineas, Mr Mortimer,’ Mr Blythe commented wryly. ‘But you young men seem to have money to throw away nowadays.’ He turned to Annie. ‘Shall we go inside, Mrs Hope, and proceed with the formalities?’
Annie led the way into the shop and then suggested that they remove to Mr Sampson’s old room where Mrs Mortimer was already waiting. There wasn’t a great deal of room for the four of them, but Mr Blythe placed himself behind a small table and opening a leather bag took out a roll of parchment.
‘I do not intend reading the deceased’s will here today, but ask that you all, Mrs Hope, Mrs Mortimer, Mr Mortimer, will kindly attend my premises on Wednesday of next week at ten o’clock when I will acquaint you of Mr Sampson’s wishes.’
He scanned them all gravely from beneath frowning brows. ‘In the meantime however, according to my instructions, it is requested that Mrs Annie Hope proceeds with a complete assessment of stock in hand in the drapery establishment herewith; details of which shall be given to me. Mr Sampson also instructs, Mrs Hope, that you alone shall supervise this stock-taking with one other person of your choice, with the purpose of it being completed for next Wednesday. Salary of course will be paid for the time taken as usual.’
Annie heaved a sigh of relief. At least Mrs Mortimer and her son would be kept out of the way for a few days. She’d ask Robin to help her and Rose could look after Henry. There had been no sign of Polly since the Mortimers had told her to go.
‘And what about the funeral, Mr Blythe?’ Mrs Mortimer put her handkerchief beneath her veil to wipe away a tear. ‘I suppose Ralph and I must attend to that being his only relatives?’
‘Not at all, Mrs Mortimer,’ Mr Blythe gave her a small smile. ‘All taken care of, there is no reason for you to trouble yourself; Mr Sampson was meticulous in his arrangements. Tomorrow at three-fifteen at St Denys’.’
First a wedding and now a funeral, thought Annie, then a—? Her mind drifted to Robin and Rose, but then Mr Blythe was speaking to her.
‘Will you be able to manage in time, Mrs Hope? Before Wednesday?’
‘Yes. I’ll ask Mr Deane to help me, he has the experience of checking stock, but perhaps we could close until then? It would be a sign of respect too.’
Mr Blythe agreed and snapped closed his bag. ‘Until Wednesday then. After you, Mrs Mortimer. Can I perhaps drop you anywhere?’
Gratefully Annie showed them to the door as Mr Blythe ushered Mrs Mortimer in front of him. Ralph lingered for a moment, glancing around proprietorially, and catching sight of sweet-faced Rose standing by the window, gave a bow, his hand to his chest.
Robin wagged a finger as they drove away. ‘Don’t think we’re staying here if he takes over, Annie. I’d rather go back to my donkey-and-cart. I’ve seen that sort of dandy afore, they don’t think twice about dallying wi’ other men’s wives; but he’ll not dally wi’ mine!’
Annie put her head back and laughed out loud as Robin, the man of the world, thought to protect his new wife.
They started checking the stock immediately and finished five minutes after the stroke of midnight on Wednesday morning. The small church of St Denys had been packed to the doors for Aaron Sampson’s funeral, which they had thought would be attended by only family and staff; but the old draper was well thought o
f by members of his trade, and drapers and haberdashers came from all over the city to pay their last respects. Even some of his customers came, not just the wives of the confectioners and bakers and innkeepers who bought from him, but those whose husbands were bankers and businessmen, sent their companions and maids to represent them.
Annie was pleased that the man who had been so kind to her should be remembered by so many others, and Mrs Mortimer had fairly preened as she took her place at the front of the church.
As she walked across the Ouse bridge to Micklegate towards Mr Blythe’s house, Annie was once more beset by the fears she had put aside while following the instructions left by Aaron Sampson.
I wouldn’t have had this worry had I married Aaron, she debated and paused to look at the shipping in the water below. Supposing I had married him, or even promised, before I went to Hull? How would I have felt then, meeting Matt? How strange fate is. But I wouldn’t have had it otherwise. Henry has his father’s name, nobody can take that away from him. And I have a husband, even though – she gave a silent sob – even though he might never—, no, don’t think that way, Annie. She gave herself a mental slap. Don’t think that way.
But I’m so lonely without you, Matt, she thought sadly. Meeting with him again had rendered the loss much worse than before. She thought she had hidden away the pain, storing it at the back of her mind, yet now, when she had in her presence the loving Robin and his wife, it was brought to the fore once again. She, too, had savoured and shared the sheer joy of a physical and all-consuming love and passion, and her body ached with need.
Mrs Mortimer and Ralph were already seated in Marcus Blythe’s first floor, panelled library where he conducted his affairs. They had taken the chairs on the opposite side of the desk to Mr Blythe and he brought a chair for Annie and placed it at the side nearest him.
‘I hope I’m not late?’ she began, then stopped as she heard a clock in the hall strike ten.
He smiled at her. ‘Punctual to the minute, Mrs Hope. Please, make yourself comfortable.’
Mrs Mortimer glared at her and Annie knew by the look on her face that she was wondering why she should even be there at the reading of Mr Sampson’s will.
Why am I here? Annie wondered. Mr Blythe did request it. Perhaps after all Mr Sampson wanted me to run the shop – I wouldn’t mind as long as Mrs Mortimer wasn’t there, but oh, Ralph! No. I don’t think I could. But how desperate am I? I need to work.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr Blythe’s mellow voice beginning to read ‘The last Will and Testament of me, Aaron Joseph Sampson, resident of the City of York.’ She watched Mrs Mortimer’s mouth working beneath her veil and saw Ralph turn to look first at his mother and then at her, his mouth opening slightly.
What? What was he saying? I wasn’t concentrating. Something about Henry and the shop and getting married. She was only aware of Mrs Mortimer’s face getting pinker in spite of her powder and her cheeks quivering.
‘And to you, my sister, Mrs Charlotte Mortimer, to be given each year for five years, the cloth of your choosing from the said drapery premises to the value of thirty pounds each year. To my nephew Ralph Mortimer one gift of cloth to the value of twenty pounds to be made into a suit by Mr Denby the tailor, payment of which has already been made.’
‘That concludes the instructions.’ Mr Blythe moved the parchment from which he had been reading to one side. ‘Is there anything that needs to be explained further, or that you don’t understand?’
His question was directed at Annie but it was Mrs Mortimer who spoke, her face livid and her tongue waspish as she vehemently spoke. ‘I shall challenge that will. This woman has insinuated herself into my brother’s favour. That business should be mine by rights, mine or my son’s!’
Mr Blythe nodded his head and picked up another sheet of paper. ‘Mr Sampson foresaw that you might well challenge it, Mrs Mortimer, and left me a letter to this effect. His will has been made for some time now, in fact about two years after your son Henry was born, Mrs Hope.’
He peered down his nose at the letter. ‘The date of this is approximately six months ago, and states; “my sister Mrs Charlotte Mortimer may feel slighted that the drapery businesss has not been left to her or her son, Ralph. I feel, however, that they are not in need financially of extra income, and therefore my intentions should be made perfectly clear, as outlined in my will, that Mrs Hope and her son Henry will be the beneficiaries, and I trust that my relatives will accept my wishes with good Christian charity.”’
‘I must add,’ said Mr Blythe firmly, ‘that the only alterations which were made in the will were at my suggestion and that was that it would be fitting for him to leave Mrs Mortimer a small gift as a remembrance; and so he chose to leave you and Mr Ralph the gift of cloth, a suitable gift, he thought, for a draper to leave.’
‘But, I don’t understand.’ Annie was bewildered. ‘Are you telling me that Mr Sampson has left Henry his shop?’
‘Legal jargon is very complicated I know,’ Mr Blythe said patiently. ‘But what it amounts to in general terms is that the shop premises of the drapery which Mr Sampson owned outright, will be yours, unless you should marry within three years of the pronouncement of the will, in which case it will revert to your infant son Henry; this is an obvious procedure to safeguard the inheritance, as otherwise if you should marry again, the property would automatically become your husband’s and not your son’s. But,’ he added with a genial smile, ‘the profit from the business is yours outright, to do with whatever you wish.’
Annie sat stunned. She had a business of her own. That dear man had left it to her. An inkling of conversation she had had with Aaron came back to her which she had almost forgotten. ‘Even if you won’t marry me, Annie, I intend to leave the business to you and Henry’.
‘Thank you so much for coming, Mrs Mortimer, Master Ralph,’ Mr Blythe rose to his feet. ‘I’ll wish you goodday.’
Annie in a trance also rose but Mr Blythe stayed her with a movement of his hand. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to stay, Mrs Hope, I—’
‘Please,’ Annie interrupted him. ‘I have something to say.’ I’ll have to tell them, she thought. I’ll have to tell them that I am married. It’s best that they know.
She sat down again and pondered where to begin. ‘When Aaron asked me to marry him, he knew of my feelings towards Henry’s father, and that because of a misunderstanding we were apart. I told him that after I returned from my journey to find Robin – Mr Deane, I would give him my answer.’ She turned appealingly to Mr Blythe. ‘He had been so kind to me and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I had already decided that I couldn’t marry him, that the only man I would ever marry would be my son’s father.’
Ralph Mortimer assumed a bored expression and sat leaning on his elbow with one finger against his cheek.
‘But the strangest thing happened. Whilst I was in Hull, I met again with Henry’s father, and we were married immediately. When I came back to York, Aaron was so ill that I couldn’t tell him. He would have been so pleased for me.’ She bowed her head and thought of the old man with tenderness and sorrow.
‘And who is this man who decided to marry you at such short notice?’ Mrs Mortimer snorted. ‘And why isn’t he here?’
‘He’s Captain Matthias Linton.’ Annie stared at the woman. This would give her something to think about. ‘And he left immediately after our marriage to fight for His Majesty’s navy in the war with the French.’ Mentally she crossed her fingers. No need, she thought, to tell her that he had been pressed into service with members of the rabble. Sufficient to tell her only what she needed to know.
‘Well, good gracious.’ Marcus Blythe leaned across his desk. ‘You don’t mean to tell me that it’s Henry Linton’s son? Squire Linton from Staveley Park up on the Wolds?’
Annie nodded. ‘The same.’
‘Well, well well. Who would have thought—! I know the family well of course. I’ve looked after Henry Linton’s affai
rs for years.’ Marcus Blythe rubbed his hands together as if he was well pleased.
Mrs Mortimer’s attitude changed. Her nostrils quivered and she pursed her lips and then rose to her feet. ‘Well, of course, Mrs Linton, had we known—! You must call, we should be so pleased—.’ Her voice trailed away, Ralph had also risen to his feet and stood hesitating behind his mother.
‘I don’t think we have anything to say to each other, Mrs Mortimer, that we haven’t said before.’ Annie’s voice was cutting. How the woman would gossip and drop the name of Linton into every conversation. ‘Except that I would prefer to use my business name of Hope while I am in York. That is how I am known. There is no need for public interest in my private concerns.’
‘I quite agree,’ broke in Marcus Blythe. ‘And of course I don’t need to remind anyone that what has passed here today is private and confidential.’ He glanced pointedly at Ralph and then Mrs Mortimer. ‘It goes without saying, of course. Good-day then.’ He rose again from his desk and crossed the room to open the door. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Mortimer. Take care in that curricle, young man. Repairs are costly as are broken limbs. Good-day.’
‘Well now, Mrs Linton. What news!’ He fairly rushed back to his desk. ‘But I think there is more to tell? But first we must have a little celebration.’ He went to a corner cupboard and opening it brought out two crystal glasses. ‘We must have a glass of wine to celebrate your acquisition of a business and what is more, your marriage to a fine young man!’
‘You know Matt?’ She took the glass with trembling fingers. The revelation of the morning’s events was just sinking in.
‘Since he was a boy – and Tobias. I knew them both. Sad, very sad, about Tobias,’ he sighed, his jubilation sinking for a moment, but then rising again. ‘But here’s to you and your husband; when he returns may you have a long life together.’
