Tilly Trotter Widowed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, wrestle.’

  ‘But I can’t wrestle properly, ma’am. Well, what I mean is, not like me Uncle Phil. He’s got prizes for it.’

  ‘Your Uncle Phil has prizes for wrestling?’

  ‘Aye, ma’am; he’s a champion.’

  ‘Indeed! And where does he live?’

  ‘Hebburn, ma’am.’

  ‘Hebburn, so near?’

  ‘Aye, ma am.’

  ‘When is your next leave, Ned?’

  ‘I had it last week, ma’am.’

  ‘Well now’ – she smiled at the boy – ‘you may take another leave tomorrow morning and I want you to go and ask your uncle to come and see me with the idea of giving you real lessons in wrestling so that when you wrestle with Master William you won’t hurt him in any way, but he’ll learn from you. Will you do that?’

  The boy’s mouth was agape, his eyebrows, which were inclined to points, seemed to be straining to disappear into his hairline, and again he gulped before he said, ‘He works in Palmer’s, ma’am; he . . . he could only come on a Sunday ’cept in the summer when the nights are lighter.’

  ‘Well, tell him he can pick his own time. And when we meet we can arrange his fee.’

  ‘Wh . . . what, ma’am?’

  ‘I mean we can discuss what he will charge for his lessons. Tell him that.’

  ‘Aye, ma’am.’

  ‘And another thing: while you are playing with Master Willy, Miss Josefina will be skipping and playing hopscotch.’

  When the boy’s face took on a look of utter perplexity, Tilly said on a gentle laugh, ‘I won’t expect you to play hopscotch or skip with Miss Josefina, Christine will be there to see to that; but I’d like you to be all together when you are . . . well, having a game.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ His next words, however, seemed to come out of the mouth of a very small boy, not of this gangling thirteen-year-old youth, when he said tentatively, ‘But Mr Myers, ma’am?’

  ‘I shall see to Myers, Ned. Don’t worry about that. I shall also tell him that I want you to learn to ride so that you can accompany Master William when, later, he is able to ride out on his own.’

  When Tilly got to her feet, the boy came up from the chair as if he had been stung, and he walked two steps backwards before bowing his head to her and saying, ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ and, his face breaking into a broad beam, ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  She knew she was being thanked not for the wrestling part of his order but for the fact that he was going to be given the chance to ride a horse, and for a moment she recalled the negro slave, Number Three, whose life was saved because he had sneaked out at night just to touch a horse, for if he had been in his hut he would have been massacred with the rest in the Indian raid.

  Ned Spoke almost ran across the hall, the passage, then the kitchen, oblivious of the staff waiting to know what the mistress had had to say to him, for he was telling himself that only last week he had been about to give in his notice because his father had said he could make more in the pit. He hadn’t wanted to go down the pit, but there was little excitement in his present job, and Mr Myers was always at him, but now, by golly! Every day to play with the young master and then to learn to ride. Eeh! He couldn’t believe it . . .

  Nor could the rest of the staff when they heard. Even Biddy was strong in her protest to Tilly, saying, ‘Is it true what I hear, you’re goin’ to get the bairn learn to wrestle?’

  ‘Yes, it’s true, Biddy.’

  ‘But he’s little more than a baby yet.’

  Tilly stared at Biddy for a moment before she said quietly, ‘In a few years more, Biddy, and under other circumstances he’d have been able to go down the pit.’

  ‘Oh’ – Biddy had swung herself round – ‘those days are past now. And anyway, seeing who he is he should be brought up like a gentleman. That’s my opinion, if you want it.’

  ‘I’d rather see him brought up like a man, Biddy. He’s already handicapped but he’s going to grow big and strong. Well, I want him to be able to use that strength should the occasion arise. And what is more—’ She had turned away and looked out of the window onto the stable yard as she ended, ‘I have learned over the holidays that he needs more than a nursemaid and a tutor, he needs a man’s company, a boy’s company.’

  ‘Well’ – Biddy now flounced back again – ‘a lad like Ned Spoke isn’t to my mind edifying company for the likes of him.’

  ‘For what I need Willy to learn Ned and his uncle are the right people to teach him.’

  ‘And the little youngster is going to skip and play hopscotch an’ll?’ There was a sneer in Biddy’s voice. ‘Might as well have her brought up in a back lane; or perhaps you could find some flags and chalk up a hopscotch on them for her.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps I could, Biddy’ – Tilly was smiling tolerantly at the old woman now – ‘but I’m afraid I’d have a job. Still, the next best thing is the stone flags in the corner of the barn. I’ll have them cleared and they can play on them there.’

  ‘My God! I’ve heard it all. It would never have happened if Master Matthew had come back with . . . ’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t, Biddy.’ Tilly had turned on her now, her voice conveying deep hurt and anger. ‘Everything would have been different if Matthew had come back as you say; but he didn’t come back, I’m on my own, I have the lives of two children in my care and I’m doing what I think best for them. I said Willy was handicapped, but not half as much as is Josefina. For the first time in our acquaintance, Biddy, you’re not being very much help.’

  As Tilly stormed her way up the kitchen, Biddy leant over the table, her head bowed deep on her chest, and although she said aloud, ‘I’m sorry, lass,’ it didn’t carry. The flouncing figure went out of the far door and now Biddy groaned aloud as she muttered, ‘You’ve gone too far this time. You should practise what you preach, woman. You’re always on to the others about knowin’ their place.’ Putting out her hand, she now groped towards a chair and, flopping down on it, she muttered, ‘I’m tired. Oh God, but I’m tired!’

  It was the first time in her life that she had ever expressed those words aloud.

  The following morning, like any housekeeper or ordinary servant, Biddy knocked on the morning-room door, and when she was bidden to enter she went in slowly and, standing some distance from Tilly, who although she had finished her breakfast was still seated at the table, she stared at her for a moment before swallowing deeply and saying, ‘I’ve come to apologise—’ she was on the point of adding ‘lass’ but substituted ‘ma’am’, and on this Tilly closed her eyes tightly, gave such a hard jerk to her head that a bone cracked audibly in her neck, before getting to her feet and, taking Biddy by the shoulders, she actually shook her, saying, ‘Don’t! For goodness sake, woman, don’t! Never, never do that, Biddy. Never apologise to me, not you! There’ll never be any need for that between us. Oh, you old fool!’ Now she pulled the older woman into her arms, and Biddy returning the embrace, they held tightly for a moment; then almost embarrassed, they pushed away from each other, Tilly, her voice almost rough now, saying, ‘Sit yourself down.’

  ‘No, lass; I’ve got a lot to do, I’m up to me eyes in the . . . ’

  ‘Sit down. That’s an order.’

  When Biddy was seated Tilly took a chair opposite her; then leaning forward, she gripped Biddy’s hands as she said, without any lead-up, ‘It was Luke. You see, when he was here he had such an effect on the pair of them’ – she jerked her chin upwards indicating the nursery – ‘and we had . . . well we almost had words about them. He—’ She looked away now as she went on, ‘He said that they both, not only Willy but Josefina too, needed the presence of a man in the house, they were surrounded by women, they were being brought up by women. Anyway, he set me thinking, and the best I could think of was that Willy should have a playmate who could also instruct him in games. You see, Biddy, I’ll never be able to send him away to school. As things are, all I’ll be able to teac
h him in the physical line will be how to sit a horse, and he can do that already, so I want him to be able to box, run, wrestle with the best of them. Do you understand?’

  ‘Aye, lass, aye; yes, I understand now.’

  ‘And it won’t hurt Josefina to be able to stand physically on her two legs either.’

  It was Biddy who smiled now and said, ‘Well, I doubt she’ll ever be more than a bantamweight, Tilly.’ When they laughed together, Tilly said, ‘No, perhaps not; but she’s wiry and she’s smart up here.’ She tapped her forehead. ‘She’s miles ahead of Willy in that way.’

  ‘Huh!’ Biddy was on the defensive. ‘You’re not sayin’ Willy’s dim?’

  ‘No, no; far from it, but she’s got a brightness of mind that is . . . well, the only way I can explain it is by saying it’s very un-English, she’s as knowledgeable and keen-witted as a child twice her age and she has a sort of sensitivity, a kind of knowing that is very unchildlike. Anyway’ – she squeezed Biddy’s hand – ‘I have no intention of sending them both to the fair or the hoppings.’

  ‘Well, that’s something to be thankful for.’ Biddy now rose to her feet and, changing the subject completely, she said, ‘About New Year, is Master John and Miss Anna coming?’

  ‘Not to stay, Biddy. They wanted me to go across there, but I couldn’t really think about leaving the children for a couple of days, so they are popping over on New Year’s Day for dinner, that is, weather permitting. There is a smell of snow in the air. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I was just saying the very same thing to meself this morning when me bones began to rattle when I got out of bed.’

  ‘Well, that’s your own fault.’ Tilly now pushed her towards the door. ‘There’s no need for you to rise before eight in the morning; Peg can take over nicely.’

  ‘It’s a habit, lass.’

  ‘Well, it’s a habit you’ll soon have to break.’

  ‘When that time comes order me a wheelchair, will you?’

  ‘Go on with you!’ Tilly pressed her out through the door and into the hall and as she watched her walking away it dawned on her that Biddy was an old woman. She must be seventy if a day, but she wouldn’t admit to any age. The saddening thought came to her that if Biddy retired or died there would be a gap in her life that no-one else could fill, because, whether she had realised it or not, from the first time she had met her she had looked upon this woman in the light of a mother, and as they had been drawn more and more together Biddy had taken the place of a mother, the only real mother she had ever known.

  As she made her way up to the nursery she told herself she would get Peg and Fanny to one side and tell them that they must lighten their mother’s load in the kitchen and see that she kept off her legs more.

  Her granny used to say work never killed anybody. Not perhaps outright but it led them by both hands to the edge of the grave.

  Fifteen

  They were preparing for a New Year’s party in the servants’ hall. Lizzie Gamble and Betty Leyburn had been infected with the giggles from early morning and by afternoon had passed them on to Peg and Fanny; even Christine Peabody, when out of her father’s sight and hearing, hugged herself at the thought of the fun they were going to have at the party.

  Peter Myers’ brother who played the fiddle had been invited and he was bringing along his friend who played the concertina, and both these males were unmarried; also Biddy’s eldest son, Henry, and his wife and their two children were coming, and Alec and his wife, and Sam and his wife.

  So it must have appeared to Mr Peabody that the Drews were having the monopoly in the coming entertainment, for he had approached the mistress to ask if it would be possible to invite his brother and his wife, who lived in a village outside of Hexham in Northumberland, to be his special guests. But having come so far would it be in order that they could be accommodated for the night? And to this the mistress had replied, most certainly. Some of the Drew family too would be staying overnight and so he could give orders that rooms were to be aired and beds warmed in the west wing.

  This left only Biddle; and he surprised everyone by asking if he could bring his mother and father. As Fanny laughingly said, fancy Biddle having a mother and father. Well, she supposed he had been born at one time. She had then gone on, still giggling, to relate to her mother that Biddle had said he would like to invite his parents because he had no female appendage. She had made great play on the word and mimicked him. Then her laughter becoming filled with a self-conscious embarrassment, she had added, ‘He asked me if I would dance with him, an’ all.’

  Biddy had looked at her daughter for a long moment before she said, ‘Well, he’s a man underneath his uniform and I suppose you could do worse.’ which had elicited a great, ‘Oh, our ma! Me and Biddle?’ And Biddy had repeated, ‘You and Biddle. Beggars can’t be choosers, not when they’re gettin’ on a bit, they can’t.’ And again Fanny had said, ‘Oh, our ma!’ then stormed out of the kitchen, the skirt of her stiff print dress bobbing with each movement. But in the passage she had paused for a moment and looked towards the stillroom where Mr Peabody and Mr Biddle usually had their morning tea. Then she looked back towards the kitchen door as if viewing her mother through it; after which she wagged her head and hurried along the corridor, a tight smile on her comely face. It could be a leg up, he could become butler if old Peabody snuffed it. It was worth considering. She gave a little hitch to her step, pulled the waist of her apron straight, patted the back of her starched cap, then went into the servants’ hall where two long tables were covered by starched white cloths, and on them Betty and Lizzie were laying out the extra crockery, cutlery and glasses, all loaned from the dining room . . .

  Tilly, of course, had promised to attend the party and to see the New Year in with them, but not wishing her presence to put any restraint on them, she told herself that after drinking in the New Year she would take leave, for once she was gone then, she knew, the fun would start.

  While Mark was alive, she had often listened to the laughter and song seeping up through the thick walls into their bedroom. A servants’ party was allowable on New Year’s Eve, and if it continued on into the early morning of New Year’s Day it would have been a very mean master who would have checked it.

  Mark had been no mean master but she knew that he had been irritated by the sound of gaiety and the distant thump, thump as they danced their way through the night. Of course, she had understood that the prancing about must have been a special kind of agony to a man who had been deprived of his feet, and never once during the eleven New Years that she lay by his side did she by word or sign show how she longed to be down in that hall among the Drews dancing in the New Year.

  It was strange, she told herself, that she had never been to a New Year’s party, not where there was meat and drink and dancing. She had seen the New Year in standing between her granda and her grandma; she had seen it in from the window of this very bedroom year after year. Then she had seen it in in America; but never, like other folk, had she known any jollity, and so in a way she was looking forward to tonight and the party. She would, under the circumstances as mistress of the house, not be able to let herself go as she once would have done, but nevertheless she told herself she would enjoy the happiness of those around her, especially the Drews, for besides being her friends, they were, she considered, her family.

  She was coming down the lower part of the main staircase when she saw the dining-room door open and Fanny start to run across the hall, only to pull up at the foot of the stairs and, with head slightly bent, say, ‘I’m sorry Til . . . ma’am.’

  Tilly looked down on her for a moment; then, her head shaking as her lips compressed, she walked to the foot of the stairs before she said, ‘And so you should be. Thank your lucky stars I’m not Peabody.’

  The words were uttered in an undertone and issued with mock censure which caused Fanny’s head to lower still further and her teeth to clamp down hard on her lower lip before, sedately now
, she continued walking across the hall towards the kitchen.

  Tilly was smiling to herself as she went towards the drawing room, then her head turning to the side, she glimpsed between the heavy tapestry curtains draping one of the long windows, a rider dismounting on the gravel below the terrace. Going sharply to the window now, she recognised John and was also aware at this moment that Peabody had appeared as if from nowhere and was making his way towards the front door. It was as if he had smelt a visitor, or perhaps his hearing was so acute it was attuned to any unusual noise outside.

  He had the door open as John came hurrying up the steps, and as Peabody reached out for his hat and cloak John thrust him aside with a wave of his hand, while addressing Tilly, saying, in a more than usual flustered fashion, ‘Glad I f . . . found you in. Thought you might have g . . . g . . . gone to New . . . Newcastle.’

  ‘What is it, John?’

  She looked at his bespattered clothes, even his face showed streaks of dirt. He was leading the way now towards the morning room – he seemed to have forgotten for the moment that he was no longer playing master – and Tilly, after a quick glance at Peabody, followed him, and not until they were both in the room and the door closed did he turn to her and say, ‘It’s the mine. I . . . I thought you should know. There’s b . . . b . . . been an . . . an accident.’

  ‘Oh no!’ She put her hand across her mouth, then asked, ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘B . . . b . . . bad enough. One man dead, three . . . b . . . badly injured. B . . . B . . . But there are still f . . . f . . . four others down below.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘This . . . this morning. L . . . L . . . Last shift. They ge . . . ge . . . get careless at holiday times. It’s always the way.’ He stumped round from her and walked to the end of the room, his hand now gripping his brow; then coming back to her again, he stood before her and his body seemed to sag as he said, ‘I . . . d . . . didn’t want to trouble you but off . . . officially you are the owner, Tilly, so you had to know.’