Tilly Trotter Widowed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Cookson, Catherine

  In the office, Alec Manning was at the desk writing in the ledger, and Steve, hanging his lamp on the wall said, ‘It’s been coming down thick and heavy, eh?’

  ‘Yes; it started again about two hours ago.’

  ‘Well, that was just about the time I went in. And by the way, they’ve got about another thirty skips extra out of that seam the day; must have been glad of the warmth.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. And speaking of warmth, some of the fellows were at me about the free boots for the bairns come Christmas, and wondered if they couldn’t have the money instead.’

  Steve turned sharply towards him, ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Oh, they said the money could be spent on coats and such like and they can cobble the boots up.’

  ‘Cobble the boots up?’ Steve nodded his head. ‘Or get a skinful with the money? I doubt if she’ll agree to that.’

  ‘I didn’t think she would, but anyway they asked me to tap you so you could tap her.’

  ‘Well, I think I can tell you what her answer will be afore there’s any tapping done. The more you give some folks the more they want; they get an extra dollar at Christmas. Who else gives them that? You ask them that and tell them if they don’t take the boots for the bairns they won’t get the dollar. That’ll make them think differently. Are they all in on this?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so; just Conroy, Wilson and McAvoy.’

  ‘Oh, McAvoy. He’d see his bairns and his wife going naked, that one, as long as he could get his slush. He’s the one who wouldn’t send his lad to school, you remember? Anyway, I’m not bothering about them now, I’m ready for me bed. That’s if I can get there. By the way, if I’m not in in the morning you’ll know what’s holding me up.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be on hand. Rosie grumbles at times about the house being so near the pit, but this is one of the times I’m thankful it is. And so is she. And that’s another thing, you know, you needn’t make the journey home, there’s always a bed there.’

  ‘Thanks all the same, Alec, but there’s two rabbits in the yard that need feeding, and three pigeons, not forgetting the cat. Of course the cat could have the pigeons, then finish up on the rabbits if the worst comes to the worst!’

  They both laughed, then nodded at each other, saying, ‘Well, goodnight.’

  In the stable, he lit a lantern, attached it to the side of the saddle and patted the animal while he laughingly half-sang a verse from Cowper’s hymn:

  ‘God moves in a mysterious way

  His wonders to perform;

  He plants His footsteps in the sea,

  And rides upon the storm.’

  He was feeling happy tonight, yet on the face of it he had no reason to be. Tilly’s attitude told him plainly what her answer was going to be. His plain speaking had made her mad, which, in a way, was a good thing, it all depended how you looked at it. He was spending Christmas with Phillipa and Lance and the children. He supposed it was this prospect that was affording him this feeling, yet all the time his mind, when not taken up with work, dwelt on Tilly.

  When a voice came out of the darkness, saying, ‘You’re going to have a job further along, Mr McGrath,’ he looked down into the two faces peering up through the falling snow at him, and he said, ‘Well, you’ve managed it.’

  ‘Just about, but it’s worse further on. Doubt if the lads will get in from beyond the turnpike the night.’

  The other man laughed now as he said, ‘Never thought I’d say I’d be glad to get down below, but this is one time I will.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr McGrath.’

  ‘Goodnight, Higgins. Goodnight, Smith.’

  He hadn’t gone more than half a mile further on when he realised what the men meant for the horse was now up to its knees in snow in the middle of the road, and it wasn’t drifting here. Some way before he reached the cottage he dismounted and ploughed forward on foot, leading the horse now, and it was just as he came in sight of the gate that another dark figure stumbled into view gasping, ‘Is that you, Mr McGrath?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Who’s that?’

  ‘Scorer, sir. Billy Scorer.’

  ‘Hello, Scorer. Been finding the going hard?’

  ‘Aye, I have, sir. And there’s trouble back there, dreadful trouble. You’re the first one I’ve met. There’ll have to be help got. It’s a horse’n trap tumbled into a ditch or a small gulley, and there’s a woman and man pinned ’neath it. It was the horse that drew me attention, neighin’ it was, cryin’.’

  ‘Whereabouts was this?’

  ‘Just off the turnpike, a couple of dozen yards just afore you get to the wood.’

  Steve looked about him in bewilderment for a moment, then said, ‘Well, I’ll have to stable the animal, he couldn’t get through in this. Hang on a minute, I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I think it’ll take more than two of us. I tried to pull the woman clear but she seemed out for the count, didn’t help herself. From what I could see with me light she didn’t look hurt. I mean there was no blood or anything, but she’s pinned somewhat.’

  ‘I’ll be with you.’ Steve was shouting back now as he led the animal up the path and into the stable. There, pulling the saddle off him, he pushed him into his stall, placed an armful of hay and a bucket of water within his reach, then picked up the lantern and hurried out to join the man . . .

  It was a good half-hour later when they reached the side road. They hadn’t met a living soul on the turnpike. There was a deep silence all around them and Billy Scorer remarked under his breath, ‘Can’t hear the horse now, but it’s along this way; unless they’ve been found already.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so by the look of the road.’ Steve swung the light of his lantern over the smooth white surface ahead of them and added, ‘Likely they’ll all be covered by now.’

  ‘No, listen; that’s the horse again.’

  They both made an effort to hurry now, lifting their feet high above the snow. Then the light of their lanterns showed up the tangled mass of horse, trap and two twisted figures.

  ‘Dear God! what a mess.’ Steve shook his head, then said quickly, ‘Look; I think the first thing we’ve got to do is to get the horse out of the traces and then we can lift the trap, but we can’t budge it as it is now. But wait, hold your hand a minute. Here.’ Steve held his lantern out to Billy. ‘Keep it high and I’ll see what shape they’re in.’

  Slithering into the deep soft mass of snow, he let himself down to the bottom of the gulley; then shouting, ‘Move it to the right . . . the light,’ he saw dimly the face that looked as white as the snow in which it was pillowed but half-covered by the side of the trap, and now he whispered, ‘Good God!’

  Hanging on for support to one wheel of the vehicle, he swept the snow from around Noreen’s face and shoulders. Then his hand going inside her cloak felt for the beat of her heart. He waited a moment, then let out a long breath before easing himself around her to the other figure. And here he expected to be confronted by Willy, but the man lying on his side, his head hatless, his face almost buried in the snow, showed him immediately who he was, and again he whispered, ‘Good God! Simon Bentwood bringing his lass home and to end like this.’

  He now pushed his way through the drift to where the horse lay, and as he did so he shouted up to Billy, ‘Further along this way. Keep the light up.’

  The horse was still, its eyes wide open, the look in them almost of human appeal. He patted its head, saying gently now, ‘All right, all right, old fellow. We’ll soon have you loose.’

  Making his way round its head, he clawed himself up the incline which was less steep here, and now hastily said, ‘Stick the lantern in the snow and help me get him loose. But look out for his legs; if he can rise at all he’ll lash out.’

  Once they had pushed the snow away from around the horse, the unloosening of the traces was a comparatively simple matter, but when the animal was freed it didn’t kick and struggle to be up and away, and Steve had to prod the poor beast,
saying, ‘Come on, come on, on your feet. On your feet.’

  It was some minutes later when he looked up at Billy and said, ‘I think the poor fellow’s had it.’ But the animal, perhaps realising for the first time that it was free, gave a mighty snort and a heave and pulled itself to its feet to stand there quivering. In doing so, it moved the shafts of the trap and Steve, reaching quickly forward, grabbed at the iron frame that had supported the hood and, hanging on to it yelled, ‘Pull back! Pull back!’

  Seconds later they were both grappling with the frame and Steve was yelling again, ‘Pull back towards you. This way to the left.’ Then his voice again on a yell, he cried, ‘Do you think you could hold it?’

  ‘Aye, aye.’

  At this he scrambled round to the back of the trap and there, bending low down, he thrust his hands into the snow and under Noreen’s shoulders and gently eased her towards him.

  Pulling her well clear, he laid her down, and then made his way to Simon. And to his surprise he saw that Simon was free. The half-buried cartwheel had missed him by inches. But it took him all his time to pull the unconscious form through the few feet to where Noreen lay. Once he had done so, he called to Billy, ‘You can let go now.’

  When the trap had sunk once more into the snow, Billy came round the end of it and, holding the two lanterns aloft, he asked quietly, ‘They alive?’

  ‘Yes; but they won’t be much longer if they’ve got to lie out here. We’ve got to get help.’ He gazed down for a moment on Noreen where, through her open cloak her stomach rose, and he added in his own mind, ‘And quick!’

  ‘But where from? Where’s the nearest, would you say?’

  ‘The Manor.’

  ‘Aye, the Manor. But it’ll take another half-hour to get there in this. By the way, the beast’s got up the bank. Perhaps you could ride it.’

  ‘No; it could never make it. I’ll be quicker on foot . . . Will you stay with them?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, of course. What else?’

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, Billy. But here.’ He pulled off his thick overcoat, saying, ‘Put that round her.’

  ‘You’ll freeze, man, in this.’

  ‘Not if I keep running I won’t. And look there.’ He swung the lantern backward and forward. ‘That looks like a shawl of some kind. Drag it out and cover them. But see to her. I’m away.’

  Without any further words he scrambled up the bank, and when he came to the horse, standing mutely now, he slapped it on the flanks, saying, ‘You’ll be all right, boy, you’ll be all right.’ Then to his surprise the animal began to trudge after him . . .

  He was gasping for breath when he came to the gates. Finding them locked, he rattled the bars, then pulled violently at the iron bell pull. But no-one came out of the lodge, so he kept clanging the bell, and he was wondering if he should make his way along the boundary and climb the wall when he saw the glimmer of a light from a lantern in the distance.

  Ned Spoke peered at him through the bars in surprise, then at the horse standing there before saying, ‘Mr McGrath?’

  ‘Open up, Ned quick; there’s been an accident along the road. I want help.’

  Within minutes they were hurrying up the comparatively clear drive and to the house, and at any other time Steve might have been brought to a halt by the fairy-tale scene of the lighted windows set amidst the white world.

  He was kicking the snow from his boots and leggings when the door opened and Biddle, like Ned, exclaimed in surprise, ‘Mr McGrath!’

  Steve did not mince words but said briefly, ‘Your mistress. Get her quickly.’

  ‘Yes, yes, sir, Mr McGrath.’ And turning to Christine Peabody, who was passing through the hall, he said, ‘Tell the mistress Mr McGrath’s here. ’Tis important. Quick now!’

  Steve was still standing in the hall when Tilly came running down the stairs. She stopped at the foot and stared at him. The fact that he was wearing only his working jacket, breeches and leggings, and that there was snow still clinging to him, brought her hurrying forward now saying, ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s . . . there’s been an accident. Can I have a word with you? We’ll need men and . . . and a couple of stretchers.’ He moved now almost ahead of her towards the breakfast room, and when they were inside he turned to her, saying, ‘It’s Bentwood and the lass. He must have been bringing her home. The trap went into a small gulley. We’ve released them but they’re both unconscious.’

  When she put her hand to her mouth he said, ‘There’s something more I think you should know, the lass is full with a bairn and by the size of her almost on her time, I would say.’

  The whispered ‘No!’ reached him and he explained softly, ‘Now you can understand Willy’s concern. Anyway, we’ve got to get them out of that as soon as possible. I don’t know to what extent either of them is injured but they were both unconscious when I left them.’

  ‘You, you want them brought here?’ It was a question rather than a statement and tinged with disbelief and he said, ‘Where else? The only other place is the Rosier pit cottages and you wouldn’t have them go there, would you?’

  ‘No, no.’ Her voice was a mere whisper. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Then going swiftly to the door, she muttered, ‘I’ll get my things.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to come.’

  ‘I’m coming nevertheless. If the girl’s in the condition you say, well’ – she turned her head and looked at him for a moment – ‘the responsibility lies here as you’ve already indicated.’

  ‘Willy. Will you tell him?’

  ‘Not until we get back. He’s up in his own room, he needn’t know. Will you go to the stables and round up the men?’

  ‘Well yes; but there’s only four out there, isn’t there? So you’d better tell Biddle to come along an’ all, we’ll need four for each stretcher. I’ve left Billy Scorer along with them. That only makes seven.’

  ‘I can be the eighth.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ He had turned on her, speaking as a man might to his wife, and she as sharply replied, ‘I am not an old lady yet.’

  ‘Aw, you know what I meant, Tilly. But there’s no time for arguing, if you want them alive we’d better look skippy.’

  If we want them alive! As she flew up the stairs and got into her riding habit and donned a thick coat and fur hat she endeavoured to press away the thoughts: Did she want them alive, either Simon Bentwood or his daughter, the girl who was now carrying her son’s child, her grandchild? And the honest answer she could give to this was, for Willy’s sake she wished the girl to be still alive but not her father, for if he lived she knew that sooner or later she would lose her son.

  It was almost two hours later when the men, stiff and frozen-looking themselves, carried the prostrate forms upstairs and into the rooms that had been prepared for them. While Biddle and Steve saw to Simon Bentwood, Peg and Fanny Drew undressed Noreen, and Lizzie Gamble, Peggy Stoddard, Nancy Garrett and Christine Peabody dashed up and down the stairs carrying water bottles and oven shelves wrapped in blankets, and during all this time Peabody stood in the kitchen dispensing hot toddy to the men; and Tilly faced her son in her bedroom and listened in silence as he stormed at her for having kept the knowledge of the accident from him.

  Tilly was weary, she felt frozen to the bone. She had drunk a large glass of raw whisky, yet it seemed to have scorched only her throat.

  ‘What would the men think?’ he asked her now, and for the first time she answered him, saying, ‘That you were better kept out of the way, you’d have only been a hindrance.’

  ‘My God! The things you say to me!’

  ‘Huh!’ It was a weary sound. ‘The things I say to you, Willy? Have you ever considered the things you have said to me lately? Ever since this girl came into your life you have hardly spoken to me but there has been a streak of recrimination in your words. Well now, what I’m going to say to you now holds no recrimination. Noreen has come back into your life, but she’s not alone, she
is full with your child, at least I would hope it’s yours.’

  He did not exclaim, ‘What!’ he did not immediately storm out of the room and grope his way to find her; he made no movement whatever; even the muscles in his cheekbones remained still; it was as if for the moment he had been deprived of life while being told he was the creator of it.

  She rose from the chair and put her hand on his arm, saying, ‘You didn’t know?’

  He drew in a long, slow breath, then made a small movement with his head; then said slowly, ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the Blue Room. She . . . she has regained consciousness. She came to before they lifted her out of the ditch, but she’s very weak and . . . and—’ she pulled him to a standstill as he went to move away, then finished softly, ‘the child is about to be born.’

  ‘Aw no!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The doctor?’

  ‘We’ll have to manage without one.’

  She took his arm now and led him out into the corridor, down the gallery and into the west wing. This part of the house was rarely used but, as in the past, three or four bedrooms were always kept ready in case of visitors. Tilly had continued the practice although they hadn’t been used for years. Now in two adjoining rooms the fires were blazing; Simon Bentwood lay in what was known as the Yellow Room and Noreen in the Blue Room.

  When the door was opened in the Blue Room Tilly beckoned Peg out and Willy went slowly forward to where he could see the outline of the bed; then he was moving up by the side of it and now he was peering down into the white face and the eyes that were staring up at him.

  ‘Oh, Noreen!’ As he breathed her name he felt his mother pushing a chair for him and he sat down; and then his hands went out and cupped the face turned towards him, and again he whispered, ‘Oh, Noreen!’

  When she didn’t speak or make any movement, he muttered, ‘I didn’t know. Why didn’t you get in touch? This is terrible, terrible. Oh my dear, my dear.’