The River Folk

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Ernie works indoors. You’re proud of him and his posh office job, aren’t you? Even if it is still only a stone’s throw from the river.’

  Bessie opened her mouth to reply but to everyone’s surprise Ernie spoke. ‘I sometimes wish I was out on the river instead of stuck indoors.’

  The whole family and Mary Ann stared at him, waiting for him to go on, but a flush of embarrassment crept up the young man’s neck. He looked down at his plate, crumbling a piece of bread between his fingers. Then, as if to cover his discomfort, everyone seemed to speak at once.

  ‘You’re doing well there, Ernie,’ his father said. ‘You stick at it, lad. Maybe one day you’ll be office manager.’

  ‘I envy you in winter,’ Dan grinned. ‘Nice and warm indoors. I’ll swap you, if you like.’

  ‘Can you get me a job there?’ Duggie joked.

  ‘We were talking about Miss Edwina,’ Bessie said, glancing at Mary Ann. Her smile faded as she added, ‘And no, I doubt she will ever get married now, if I’m honest, because I don’t know whether she’ll ever meet anyone who will match up to Mr Christopher in her eyes. It was a match made in heaven. They were ideally suited and were so in love. You could see it in their eyes.’ She sighed heavily. ‘It’s a cruel world.’

  Now there was silence around the table for a few moments, the only sound the clatter of knives and forks against plates.

  At the end of the meal, Dan stood up. ‘I’ll be on me way then.’

  Everyone looked up at him and then Mary Ann rose too and slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Are you going to walk me home, Dan?’ she said, her head coyly on one side. ‘But I don’t have to go yet. I don’t have to be back at The Hall until nine.’

  For a moment Dan looked embarrassed. ‘Well, I . . . er . . . I’ve arranged to go out tonight, Mary Ann. Perhaps Duggie . . .?’ He looked hopefully across at his younger brother.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll walk you back, Mary Ann.’

  Mary Ann pouted. ‘You always see me back on a Sunday night, Dan.’

  ‘Maybe he’s meeting someone. A girl,’ Duggie tormented. ‘Oho, I’m right. Look at his face.’

  Under their scrutiny, Dan’s face reddened even more.

  ‘Who is she, Dan? Come on, you can tell us.’

  Bessie stood up and began to gather the plates into a pile. ‘Leave the lad alone. He’s big enough and ugly enough to look after himself. He’ll tell us when he wants us to know.’

  Dan shot his mother a grateful look, but even so he said, ‘You might as well know, I suppose. I’m seeing Susan.’

  ‘Susan!’ came a chorus of surprised voices and Bessie added, ‘Not behind her father’s back I hope, lad, else you’re stacking up trouble for yourself.’

  ‘No, no. He’s given his permission. She was waiting for me yesterday on the wharf. I thought it was all over – for good – but it seems she asked him if she could see me again and he agreed. So . . .’ He shrugged and then glanced down at Mary Ann, seeming about to speak to her. But she, after staring at him in shocked silence for a moment, snatched her hand away from his arm and sat down heavily on her chair. For the first time in ages, Mary Ann’s hand crept up towards her face and, almost of its own volition, her thumb crept into her mouth.

  She was aware that Dan was still hovering close by, looking as if he didn’t know whether to go or to stay. Mary Ann felt his hesitant gaze upon her but, stubbornly, she refused to look at him.

  ‘Don’t stand there dithering, lad,’ Bessie was saying briskly. ‘Get off with you, if you’re going. And you, Mary Ann, can stop that sulking this minute and come and help me with the washing up.’

  But Mary Ann continued to sit quite still, sucking her thumb and staring into the fire.

  Twenty-Three

  Mary Ann walked quickly through the dark streets with Duggie trying to keep up with her.

  ‘By heck, you walk quick for a girl. What’s the hurry? Got a train to catch, have you?’

  ‘It’s cold and I’m getting wet,’ she snapped.

  Duggie laughed. ‘Little bit of rain won’t hurt you. You ought to work outdoors in all weathers like me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t and I don’t want to.’

  ‘Oho, getting used to the soft life, are we?’ he teased, but there was no malice in his tone. Duggie hadn’t a drop of spite in him, but Mary Ann was in no mood for his jocularity.

  She stopped suddenly. ‘You needn’t come any further.’

  ‘Our Dan’d knock me head off if I hadn’t seen you to the door and summat happened.’

  Through clenched teeth Mary Ann said, ‘If “your Dan” had been so bothered, he’d have come with me himself.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Duggie said, ‘By heck, you’re jealous. You’re jealous of him going to meet Susan, aren’t you?’

  Mary Ann glared at him. Through the darkness she could not see his face, but she knew he was laughing. She could hear it in his voice.

  ‘What would you know about it, Duggie Ruddick?’ With that parting shot, she whirled about and was gone, running along the wet pavement to get away from him as fast as she could.

  She heard him calling behind her, ‘Mary Ann, Mary Ann. Wait. I didn’t mean . . .’

  She rounded the corner, and before her loomed the dark shape of The Hall, lights twinkling from its leaded windows. He wouldn’t follow her any further now. He would know she was home. Near the door leading into the kitchens and thence to the servants’ quarters, Mary Ann leant against the wall to catch her breath. She rested her head against the rough brickwork, closed her eyes and gave a low groan.

  Now the whole Ruddick family would know of her love for Dan. Duggie was the last of them to be able to keep a secret. She could imagine him telling them all, could see them sitting round the fire laughing together at her foolishness. Maybe Dan would laugh the loudest. The thought wounded her and she let out another low moan.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you hurt?’

  Mary Ann jumped as the voice came unexpectedly out of the darkness.

  ‘Oh! Mr Randolph. No – I mean . . .’

  ‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’ He moved closer, towering over her. ‘Waiting for a young man, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh no, sir.’

  ‘Really? You surprise me. A pretty little thing like you must have a string of admirers.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Mary Ann said again, trying valiantly to make her tone sound prim. ‘Mrs Goodrick would flay me alive if I had a follower.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He paused and then asked, ‘So, what are you doing out here, skulking about in the dark?’

  ‘I’m not skulking,’ Mary Ann flashed indignantly, quite forgetting for the moment to whom she was speaking. ‘I’ve just come back from my afternoon off and – and . . .’ Ingenuity came to her rescue. ‘I – I think I’ve twisted my ankle coming up the path. I was just resting against the wall for a moment. I . . .’ She began to embroider the tale. ‘I felt a bit dizzy with the sharp pain.’

  ‘Pray allow me to assist you.’ The words sounded concerned and yet his tone held a hint of derision, as if he didn’t quite believe her and yet was willing to play along.

  ‘I’ll be all right, sir, thank you. If I can just get inside.’

  ‘You didn’t ought to put any weight on it, if you have sprained it, my dear.’

  Before Mary Ann realized what was happening, Randolph had bent down, put one arm beneath her knees and the other about her waist and lifted her up into his arms. She gave a cry of protest, but his only answer was a soft laugh.

  Moments later, they were in the room that Randolph called his den and he was setting her down gently into a leather armchair at the side of a crackling fire.

  The room, at the far end of the east wing of the sprawling old house, had been the boys’ playroom. As they had grown older they had called it their den, where they could be alone together or where they could invite their friends without disturbing the rest of the household. Sadly, only Randolph now enjoy
ed its privacy. Not a day went by when he did not miss his quieter, more sober, brother, although not for one instant would he ever have admitted what he believed to be a sign of weakness – that of pure, unadulterated affection for another human being.

  ‘Which foot did you hurt?’

  ‘The . . . the right one.’ Mary Ann was feeling apprehensive. What if he could tell that she had not hurt her ankle at all?

  Randolph sat down on a footstool and took Mary Ann’s foot into his hands. He unlaced her boot and gently slipped it from her foot. Then his hands slid up her leg to find the top of her stocking. Mary Ann’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t . . .’ she began, but he only smiled in the firelight.

  ‘If I’m to be your doctor, then you must allow me to examine you properly.’ His voice was deep and somehow hypnotizing, silencing her protests almost before they had begun.

  Gently, he eased her stocking down and drew it from her foot. With strong fingers he gently pressed around her anklebone. His head was bent over her foot and Mary Ann noticed that his hair was thick and springy and that, despite his efforts to smooth it, there was a tiny, wayward curl behind his ear. For some irrational reason, she had the urge to reach out to touch it.

  ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything broken, nor is it swollen.’ He looked up at her then, his eyes, shadowed and unfathomable depths in the flickering light from the fire, the only illumination in the room. In little more than a whisper, he asked, ‘Where does it hurt?’

  Mary Ann ran her tongue around her lips, which were suddenly dry, naïvely unaware how provocative her action was to the man kneeling before her. ‘It doesn’t now,’ she said. ‘It must have felt worse when . . . when I did it than it really was.’

  Randolph smiled in the dim light. ‘I’m sure it did.’ He spoke the words so softly that she was unable to tell whether he believed her or not. He was still kneeling in front of her, stroking her foot with his fingers in a caress that suddenly became stronger, more urgent. ‘Perhaps a little massage will help,’ he murmured.

  He was stroking the area around her ankle and then smoothing the top of her foot and gently wriggling each of her toes. His touch, intended to heal her imaginary hurt, was, in fact, driving that other hurt from her heart and her mind. He leant towards her, looking up into her face. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, his voice soft and deep.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Mary Ann gulped at the strange feelings enveloping her. A tingling sensation was coursing through her, making her feel as if she was blushing all over her body. Her heart was beating faster than normal and now it had nothing to do with having run the last few yards to the back door of The Hall. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

  She tried to pull her foot out of his grasp, but his hands held it and his fingers continued to fondle her toes. ‘You have a very delicate foot, Mary Ann. And such trim ankles. I wonder – I long to know – are your legs as perfect? Are you every bit as perfect all over?’ His hand was creeping once more beneath her petticoat.

  Mary Ann reached forward and pushed away his searching hand. ‘Please, sir. I must go.’ With a sudden, sharp movement, she wrenched her foot away from him and bent forward to retrieve her boot and stocking, but before she could reach them, he had taken her by the shoulders and was drawing her gently up.

  ‘Can you stand on it without pain?’

  Pretending to test her weight upon it, Mary Ann nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I think so. Thank you for your kindness, but I must . . .’

  The rest of her words were silenced as he bent his head and found her mouth with lips that were hungry for the taste of her. ‘You sweet, pretty little thing,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘What kind Fate brought you to me?’

  It was the first time that anyone had kissed her with the passion a man has for a woman. It frightened her, yet at the same time exhilarated her. The blood was pounding in her ears, her heart was thudding beneath her ribs as Randolph kissed her and stroked her hair.

  Then he was straightening up, drawing away from her and leaving her bereft, washed upon the shore by the tide of a shared passion and then abandoned. He took both her hands in his and gently, reverently, kissed each of her fingers in turn. The touch of his lips sent a shudder through her.

  ‘My dear, I would not hurt you for the world. You are far too sweet and innocent. Come, sit with me.’ He sat down in the huge armchair himself and drew her, unresisting now, on to his lap. ‘I’ve seen you about the house, Mary Ann, and oh . . .’ He rested his cheek against her breast and she felt sure that he must hear her heart, taking wild, leaping somersaults. ‘How I’ve longed to hold you, to touch you. And then, tonight, there you were. A damsel in distress and me, your knight in shining armour. Sweet, sweet Mary Ann.’

  Mary Ann said nothing. She did not know what to say. She had not the words to express the excitement, the heady emotion that filled her heart and tore her rational mind to shreds.

  Somewhere a door banged and Mary Ann jumped, pulling away from him. He reached out and caught hold of her. ‘Don’t be afraid. No one will come in here, I promise you.’

  ‘I . . . I must go, sir. I must.’

  He nodded and stood up too, towering over her. Resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, he looked down into her upturned face. Then he traced the outline of her cheek with his forefinger.

  ‘Sweet, sweet girl. This is our secret. You know that, don’t you?’

  Mesmerized, Mary Ann nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’

  Tenderly and with great gentleness, he kissed her once more, then held her hand as he led her across the room. He opened the door a little to stand listening for a moment before whispering, ‘The coast is clear. Off you go. And remember, this is our secret. Our very own wonderful secret.’

  Blushing, Mary Ann smiled and passed through the doorway, carrying her boot and her stocking. The door closed behind her and, as she paused, she thought she heard his deep, soft laugh beyond the panels. She smiled and hugged her arms around herself. She, too, felt like laughing aloud and shouting with sheer joy. Instead, she crept away, hurrying swiftly along the passages and corridors with the silence of a wraith until she reached the safety of her own room.

  Luckily for Mary Ann, Clara was asleep, lying on her back, her mouth wide open and snoring noisily.

  Mary Ann wrinkled her nose in disgust. It seemed so unfeminine for a girl to snore. True, Clara had adenoidal trouble and couldn’t help it, but still . . .

  Mary Ann stretched her arms above her head and let out a sigh of sheer delight. Slowly, she began to undress in the moonlight shining in through the skylight that afforded the only natural lighting in their attic bedroom. Running her hands over her body, savouring the feel of Randolph’s hands upon her, Mary Ann smiled to herself.

  I can do better for myself than you, Daniel Ruddick.

  Twenty-Four

  The following morning Mary Ann was disappointed to find that Randolph was not in the dining room waiting for her to serve his breakfast.

  Keeping her tone devoid of any particular interest, she asked, ‘Will Mr Randolph be in to breakfast, Miss Edwina?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mary Ann. I understand he left early this morning for Yorkshire. He’ll be gone a few days.’ Edwina rose from her place at the table and smiled. ‘Would you like to come to the school this afternoon? I was wondering if you would like to teach the little ones a few basic embroidery stitches.’

  Mary Ann swallowed her disappointment and smiled brightly. ‘I’d love to, Miss Edwina.’

  ‘Good. Then we can walk home together later and call to see Bessie.’

  Mary Ann nodded, although the smile faded from her mouth. She avoided meeting Edwina’s gaze and busied herself clearing away the breakfast dishes. She would love to see Bessie, but, for the first time ever, she hoped that the rest of the family would not be at home.

  That afternoon, Mary Ann sat surrounded by seven eager little girls. Each held a piece of linen, some coloured wool and a needle.

  ‘Now,’ Mary Ann began, smiling
around at them all. ‘I don’t know all your names, so each time I speak to you, you must tell me what your name is until I can remember it for myself. All right?’ Seven small heads nodded. ‘First of all, I must warn you about the needle. You must be very careful not to hurt yourself or anyone else. When you are not working with it, you must fasten it on to the corner of your piece of work. Like this.’

  She held up a small piece of linen and threaded the needle in and out of the material until it was securely fastened. ‘Never leave your needle lying about and always keep a piece of thread in it and attached to some material. Now, let’s begin . . .’

  For the next hour, Mary Ann worked happily with the children, showing them firstly how to make small, neat running stitches about an inch in from the edge of the material. Then she taught them how to do buttonhole stitch about the very edge of the fabric. Some of the tiny fingers found this very hard, pulling the thread too tightly so that it puckered the material. Mary Ann seemed to spend most of her time picking out the stitches and then showing them again and again.

  Towards the end of the afternoon, Edwina slipped into the room and sat at the back of the class watching and listening. As the bell sounded and Mary Ann allowed her charges to put their work away, Edwina moved forwards.

  When the girls had trooped from the room to retrieve their coats from the cloakroom, she smiled and asked, ‘Now, did you enjoy that?’

  Unable to keep the surprise from her voice, Mary Ann said, ‘Yes, I did. I didn’t think I’d have the patience, but they were so keen and willing to learn.’ She pulled a face. ‘Even though some of them don’t seem to have held a needle before.’ She blushed a little as she remembered. ‘Still, I can’t say much about that, can I? I didn’t do any sewing until I met Bessie and then you.’

  Edwina smiled kindly. ‘You have a natural talent for it, Mary Ann. Always remember that not everyone is lucky enough to have your gift. You must be very patient with those who have not.’

  Mary Ann nodded. ‘Do you mean you want me to do it again?’