Tilly Trotter Widowed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  When she had said, ‘But what can I do?’ his answer had been, ‘I don’t know, I don’t know. What has to be done he’ll do himself I suppose.’ And then he added, ‘The pity of it is he thinks if he doesn’t have her he’ll never have anyone. He can’t imagine anyone else wanting him, not in his condition. This is what makes the whole thing so very difficult. I’ve told him, or words to the effect, that there’s more fish in the sea than have ever been caught, but that slid off him.’

  More fish in the sea than have ever been caught. He must have come to the same conclusion with regard to his own affairs. He himself had picked on another fish, hadn’t he?

  Since this business of Willy’s daily treks had come about, Steve had made no further reference either to the woman or to marriage, but she knew it must be very much on his mind because she had seen the woman at the cottage twice during the week he had been ill. Her horse standing at the gate had been the cause of her turning her own animal about and riding back home. On another occasion Fanny had told her, ‘I didn’t stay to do anything, ma’am, because the lady was there again.’

  Fanny hadn’t said the woman, but the lady, and Fanny knew a lady when she saw one.

  Tilly knew it in herself that she dreaded meeting Steve’s ‘lady’, and because of this she generally took a different route when going to the mine. Here, she saw him at least once a week when on a Friday he, his underman, John and herself held their meeting in the new office buildings she’d had erected. Previously Willy had made the fifth member at the meeting, but no longer, and his absence would be commented upon by John as if it were the first time he had not put in an appearance.

  John, as dear as he was, could be very irritating at times, Tilly found, especially when he voiced openly what he thought of Willy’s behaviour. Inconsiderate to say the least. And the whole thing lacked dignity. Chasing a farm girl! Well, that’s what it amounted to, didn’t it? She didn’t come back at him and say that if Anna had been a farmer’s daughter and had showed an interest in him at the time when he imagined that no-one would ever want him or love him because of his stammer he, too, would have done the same as Willy was doing now, for she knew from experience that the years dimmed memories of failings and one’s reactions to them. That was why the old could never understand the young.

  Then came the day when Tilly met Steve’s lady. It was at the beginning of November. She herself was feeling at a very low ebb for she had nursed Willy through a severe cold that had bordered on pneumonia. One good thing had come out of this, for now he seemed to realise how fruitless his search was. He was physically weak and mentally dispirited and on this particular morning when the post arrived she was glad to see two of the letters were from abroad. One was in Katie’s handwriting, the other Josefina’s.

  Over the last few weeks she had dealt with her mail at a small desk she’d had placed in Willy’s bedroom, and now entering the room, she said cheerfully as she held up the mail, ‘Two letters from Texas.’

  ‘Oh?’ His interest sounded as weak as he looked. She did not immediately open the letters but went to the fire and, taking up the tongs, placed more coal on it. Then pulling her chair towards the brass fender, she placed her feet on the rim, reached out to the desk to the side of her and picked up the first letter. It was Katie’s, and it began simply:

  ‘Dear Tilly, I take pleasure in answering your letter. I am pleased to say I am very well at present and so is Doug. Miss Luisa, too, is well, although she misses Mr Mack very much. We all miss him very much, Doug most of all I think, but as my ma would have said, Tilly, one’s sorrow can be another’s joy. Which isn’t a very nice thing to say at this time, but you see it’s like this: Miss Luisa has taken Doug into partnership, and that is a big thing, isn’t it, Tilly? Just fancy, Doug in partnership on this ranch. But, of course, he’s taken it as another excuse for not coming to England because since fencing off the land there’s thousands of heads of cattle to be seen to. Eeh! It’s a sight, Tilly . . . the drives. And to think there wasn’t a single head of anything left after the war. I said to Doug the other day, you would enjoy it, the riding; as for meself, you know me, Tilly, I’m not built for a horse.

  ‘Now about Miss Josefina. Well, like I told you in my last letter, she only stayed here a few weeks and spent most of the time asking our Mexicans where she could find her mother. Then, off she went and I really thought, Tilly, I would never see her again for it was plain to see that she had her back up against white people. Well, I suppose that was only to be understood for, going by the looks of her, she is a half-breed and you know what things are like out here. Well, three weeks ago there she is come back getting off a scrub cart, dusty and tired and looking smaller than ever, and she looked different, so sad. Well, it was like this, Tilly. She finds her mother and was horrified, that’s her own word. I hope I’ve spelt it right. Well, she said she was horrified at the conditions under which her mother lived and she wasn’t pleased to see her, I mean her mother wasn’t pleased to see Josefina. All she wanted was money. And she told her that she wasn’t born of Mr Matthew but the man who fathered her was called Abelorda Orozco. He had once been a short-time hand on the ranch. He was living with her there in the house and whatever he was like must have come as a shock to Josefina for she found it difficult to speak about him, Tilly. And you know what, Tilly, she started to cry. Even as a child, although it’s years ago, I never knew Josefina to cry, and I couldn’t imagine she’d ever be given to crying.’

  Tilly stopped reading the letter and looked over the top of it towards Willy. Indeed, Josefina must have received a shock and be in great distress, for she herself, too, had never seen her cry, not even on that day of the great outburst, nor when she had finally said goodbye to her on the boat, and they had held each other tightly for a moment and looked into each other’s eyes. There had been a mistiness there, but no tears.

  She returned her attention to the letter:

  ‘Miss Luisa will be pleased to have her stay for she is lonely. She spends a lot of her time up here . . . Miss Luisa. The latest is she is talking to Josefina about starting a school of sorts. There are now about ten Mexican children in the huts and quite a number scattered further afield, and you remember Number Three? Well, he married a half-breed Mexican about ten years ago. But I think I told you that. And he has five children but they don’t look half-breeds for they’re all pure black and lovely bairns. At times with one and another the place seems swarming with bairns, it’s like being back home and, oh Tilly, how I long to come back, just for a little while, not for good ’cos I’ve got to like it out here. Well, I had to, hadn’t I? Well, Tilly, no more news now ’cos the men are riding in and that bloke of mine will go and eat one of his own horses if the meal isn’t on the table. Give my love to all of ’em . . . I’d better tell you afore I finish, Tilly, that I’ve written to Peg and told her I’d love to have her out here. I hope you won’t mind, Tilly, but I long to see someone of me own. You know what I mean. Love again, from Katie.’

  As she placed the letter on the table, Willy turned his head slightly towards her from the bed and said, ‘Well?’ And she answered, ‘I haven’t opened Josefina’s letter yet. That was from Katie.’

  ‘What has she to say?’

  ‘After I’ve read Josefina’s letter I’ll read it to you.’

  Josefina’s letter began:

  ‘My dear Mama, Strange but I still think of you as my mama, yet I have just recently returned from seeing my real mother and my mind is still saying, she was right, she was right, meaning you, for I haven’t yet got over the shock.

  ‘I imagined when we met she would take me to her heart. I was prepared for her and her family being poor, but not the kind of poor I was presented with, dirt, laziness, squalor, and a way of life that I am ashamed to put into words, yet I shouldn’t be because I know I was born to it.

  ‘I am ashamed to admit now that I left the ranch with hardly the courtesy of a thank-you to either Katie or Luisa and they both had been very kind to
me, but when I returned humbled in spirit I was brought low by their reception of me which was so warm and welcoming.

  ‘Luisa had ideas with regard to me putting my education to use. She talks of starting a school here for the children of mixed races. I should be enthusiastic at the prospect but I am only half-hearted with regard to it. I feel I must still be in a state of shock.

  ‘With regard to what you tell me about Miss Bentwood, I cannot believe that she will be gone for good. If she loves Willy then she will return. Or if he loves her . . . as I know he does, he will make the means to find her.

  ‘I miss you, my dear Mama, more than I can tell you, and over these past tempestuous days I have made comparison and thought how lucky are the people who work under your care.

  ‘My love to you and Willy, Josefina.’

  The movement she now made brought Willy’s attention to her again. ‘It was a long letter,’ he said.

  ‘Not as long as Katie’s . . . which do you want to hear first?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter . . . Well, let’s hear what Josefina has to say.’

  So Tilly began to read Josefina’s letter, but she noted before she was halfway through it that Willy had turned on his side, his face towards her, and that the look of despondency had for a moment left him. She omitted to read out the part concerning himself and Noreen, and as she ended he said immediately, ‘She should come home.’ Then after a moment’s silence he added, ‘Does she know about Noreen?’

  To this she answered briefly, ‘Yes, I wrote her.’

  ‘And she hasn’t referred to it?’

  There was a long pause before she said, ‘No.’

  She watched him lie back on his pillows, she watched his hand move across his usually clean-shaven chin that had a deep shadow of stubble on it for as yet today he hadn’t shaved and he would allow no-one to do it for him.

  His voice was low as he said, ‘She sounds different, broken somehow, her spirit gone.’ He turned his head slowly towards her again. ‘She was always high-spirited, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, yes, she was.’

  ‘You know, we lived together all those years and appeared so close but I’ve thought of late that I never really understood her, or her need . . . her many needs.’

  ‘That wasn’t entirely your fault, she had a secret self. I was excluded from it, too. I’ve wondered lately if it’s a good thing to take people from the environment into which they are born. Heredity is in the blood and it will out in the end, yet, if I hadn’t taken her, imagine the life she’d be leading now. One does what one thinks is best. But then, what is best? I know one thing, unless you are born into the class no amount of self education is going to prepare you for acceptance into it.’

  ‘You could grace any class.’

  He had held out his hand towards her as he spoke, and she rose from the chair and took it; and she stood in silence for a moment looking down at him before she said, ‘There’s never been more than half a dozen people in my life who have believed that, but thank you, dear.’ She bent down and kissed his cheek, then said on a sigh, ‘Well, it’s Friday again, I must get to the mine. I’ll send Ned up to you. The papers have come from Newcastle. He can read you the headlines. And I won’t be long, a couple of hours at the most.’

  She was going towards the door when he said quietly, ‘I miss you.’

  She paused and turned her head over her shoulders and answered as quietly, ‘I’m glad to know that.’ But even while saying it she knew in her heart that she was now but a poor substitute for what he needed.

  The meeting was over. It had been much the same as usual, even briefer because John was not there to ask questions and raise irrelevant points which he felt he must do to prove his interest.

  After the meeting she had gone some way into the mine accompanied by both Steve and Alec Manning. She had talked to the men and here and there enquired after a family, congratulating a Mr Morgan who told her that his son had got a book prize for reading at the village school and his daughter a certificate for her regular attendance at Sunday School.

  This over, they walked up out of the drift, there to see on the road beyond the huddle of stables and outhouses the woman. She was seated on her horse and she and the animal appeared as a beautiful picture in a grubby frame.

  As she walked slowly to the top of the drift, Tilly kept her eyes fixed on the woman. She knew that Steve had glanced quickly in her direction, but she did not look at him. Her whole attention was on the creature before her, and she saw her as a creature, a beautiful creature. She was attired in a dull brown corduroy velvet riding habit. Moreover, she was riding as a lady should, side-saddle. The whole made her own attire with top boots and breeches mannish and gauche in comparison.

  ‘Why, Phillipa; I didn’t expect you!’ Steve had gone on slightly ahead of her and was now holding the woman’s hand, and she, looking down at him laughing, said, ‘We just returned last night. I came by the cottage, but you weren’t there. And your fire’s nearly out. Do you know that?’

  ‘Huh!’ He was laughing as he looked up into her face. Then seeming to remember Tilly, he turned and said, ‘My dear, this is Tilly . . . Mrs Sopwith. I’ve mentioned her to you.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  The woman was nodding down towards Tilly now, but Tilly stood looking up at her making no movement until a hand stretched out; and then she had to force herself to lift her own, and as this was being shaken the woman said, ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Mrs Sopwith. And pardon me for saying it but I must do so right away, I admire your attire. It’s so sensible.’ Then releasing Tilly’s hand, she looked at Steve as she ended, ‘I’m going to have an outfit made like that.’

  ‘It won’t suit you.’

  ‘No? . . . Why not?’

  ‘Because . . . Well—’ He turned and grinned at Tilly now. Then looking back at the seated figure, he laughed out loud as he said, ‘You’re bursting out all over, you’ve got to be slim, flat, before you can wear breeches like Tilly here.’ He jerked his head towards her while still looking up at the woman.

  Flat, which really meant unwomanly. That’s how he saw her. Oh, let her get away out of this.

  ‘I must get my horse. It . . . it has been nice meeting you. Goodbye.’

  ‘Oh . . . oh no, you don’t.’ Steve had his hand on her arm. ‘We’ll both get our horses and we’ll all return to the cottage. I want you two to get to know each other. It’s about time.’ On this he looked up at the woman, saying, almost with a command, ‘You stay put, we’ll be back in a minute.’ Then taking Tilly’s arm, he hurried her across to the stables. But once inside, she released herself and, facing him, she said, ‘What if I have no wish to become further acquainted with your lady friend?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Matilda Sopwith’ – he was poking his head towards her – ‘for once I’m disregarding your wishes. Yes, for once in my life I’m disregarding your wishes. Now get that into your head. The time has come for plain speaking and I can’t do it here, so if you’ll allow me.’ He bent down and she put her boot onto his hand, and the next minute she was in the saddle and riding out of the stable.

  The journey to the cottage was lively, but she herself took no part in the banter. The grinding pain was in her chest again. Men were cruel. All men were cruel, but at this moment she thought Steve was the cruellest one she had met as yet, for he was getting his own back for the years of dalliance, for that’s how he must have looked at the time he had spent at her beck and call. And now he was paying her back, proving that a man past his prime but who could still be taken for forty was able to capture the affection of this young woman. She might be touching thirty or thereabouts, but she was still young . . . and beautiful, with a figure that could not carry breeches and a riding jacket, and was much more alluring to a man because of it . . .

  They were in the kitchen. The kettle had boiled; she, the woman Phillipa, had made the tea. She seemed to know where everything was kept in the cottage, and when the three cups of tea were poured
out it was she who handed one to Tilly, then one to Steve. And as she picked her own up from the table, Steve went to her side and, putting his free arm around her waist, pulled her tightly towards him. And like this they confronted Tilly as she sat barely able to hold the cup and saucer steady in her hand. And then his next words almost sent them flying, for what he said was, ‘Tilly, meet my daughter, Mrs Phillipa Ryde-Smithson.’

  Tilly gulped, such a deep gulp that it brought her chin moving towards her shoulder and her right hand jerking to steady the saucer that her left hand had almost let drop. She looked up at them. They were both grinning at her, for all the world like two children who had sprung a surprise on an elder.

  When she found her voice all she could manage to say was, ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘Yes, Tilly, my daughter.’ The grin had gone from his face. He looked at her steadily before adding, ‘It’s a long story. I’ll get down to it shortly, but in the meantime I’d like you two to get to know each other, and so if you’ll excuse me I’ll take my cup of tea into the back and have a wash.’

  It would be difficult to say if there was ever a time when Tilly had felt more embarrassed than at this moment. She could find no words with which to express her feelings. Nor apparently could Mrs Phillipa Ryde-Smithson. But it was she who spoke first. Drawing a chair up to the table, she sat down and she tapped the saucer with her spoon and kept her gaze fixed on it as she said, ‘As Steve said, it’s a long story.’

  Tilly noted that she had called him Steve, not Father. ‘And he’ll tell you the tale much better than I can as he knows more about it, but all I can say is that I am very proud that he is my real father although Daddy, as I call him, is a wonderful man and I love him dearly. But they also know that I have a special affection for Steve, and strangely they have too.’ Now she lifted her gaze to Tilly and her large grey eyes twinkled as she said, ‘It was very naughty of him to keep you in the dark. You thought I was his woman, didn’t you?’