The Potter's Niece

by Randall, Rona

  After a moment, Martin said, ‘You haven’t told me all, have you? There’s more, I think.’

  ‘Aye. There’s more. I couldn’t stand it, watching me dear ma dying slowly and in agony, so I went to his office and asked for the two gold pieces for Ma Tinsley, and told him why. “She’ll start the med’cines again once she gets wot ye promised,” I told him, but all he said was that the poor always made a drama out of illness. Then he reminded me of his generosity.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He meant the shilling he’d paid me every time I’d pleasured him. I’d had to do that to get money for Tinsley’s med’cines. I wouldn’t have obliged, but for that, an’ well he knew it. I’d nivver liked him, but now I hated him. I wanted justice, revenge. I wanted to brand him, so the whole world would know what a swine he was. I’d waited a long time. I could still wait.’

  ‘Even though it meant Frank leaving without you?’

  ‘Even though. Besides, ’twere better that he went. I didn’t want him to know now’t, not ivver. I hadn’t pretended to be wot I weren’t. He was the first person I’d met who didn’t blame me. He said ’twere life that’d made me so, the bad deal it’d handed me. He understood everything, did my dear Frank, but I couldn’t risk telling him what I meant to do. I said I’d unfinished business to settle, summat that had to be done and I couldn’t leave Burslem until I’d done it. That was when he gave me the knife. “I don’t want you roaming these lanes after dark, unprotected,” he said. He told me it were Pollyneeshun and a man’s best friend in a fight, an’ he’d been in many a dockside one so he oughta know. I used it as a kitchen knife, chopping cabbage stalks as swill for the hens, but the night I went to that garden house I knew wot I were going to use it for.’

  ‘And what was that, Meg?’

  ‘To brand him, like I said. I went to him on a Sabbath night after the household slept. He’d told me how he’d had the place built so I could go to him there. Well out of sight, it were, for that reason. I scarcely heeded any of it, I were so intent on wot I meant t’do. He were waiting for me, clad in a Chinese robe and lolling on a kinda bed covered in rich looking stuff, as grand as the place itself. I’d nivver seen a place like it, nor, please God, ivver will agin. Well, ye can guess wot happened, Master Martin. I led him on. I even enjoyed doing it, holding him at bay all the time. When he grew mad with waiting and ripped my bodice and bared me to the waist and grabbed and held me, I looked down at him and said, “I want you to know why I’ve come tonight, Master Potter … ” And he grew impatient, saying he knew why I’d come — to pleasure him, to please him. “So please me, damn you, at once!” Even now, I can hear him shouting it, and feel the way I felt — hot with hatred. “No,” I said, “I’ve come because of what you did to my mother. You killed her.’”

  Martin waited, hearing nothing of the din from the sheds, the surge of dragon’s tongues in the kilns, the whirring of potters’ wheels, the shouts of the men as they worked.

  ‘That angered him, but I was glad I’d said it. He was sitting on the bed and I was standing in front of him. He pulled me to him, mouthing me, hurting me … and I thought of my mother and the pain she’d suffered, and I looked down, waiting for his head to be lifted. I’d slash his face, marking it so the whole world would wonder how he came by such a scar. I’d brand him so that every time he looked in a mirror, he’d remember why I’d done it. I’d hidden the knife in my skirt and now I raised it, waiting for him to look up. God, I hated him so much there was a roaring in my ears and a blinding of my eyes. I wanted to attack him, savage as an animal, but still I waited. Through the blur I could see his head bent below me, the back of his neck upturned. Then his teeth suddenly bit harder, the pain so sharp that I jerked … and my arm came down.’

  She pressed a shaking hand against her eyes, and left it there. He waited, until at length she said, ‘You’re the first person I’ve ivver told, Master Martin. Not even Frank. Never Frank. I’ve lived with the memory of that knife piercing the back of that hateful neck, an’ how disappointed I was because I hadn’t scarred him the way I wanted to — just a neat jab, the stiletto blade going clean in and out again, leaving nothing but a neat hole and a small, swelling red mark. Not a scar the world would ever see; so small it would vanish in time. No branding at all, no mark of Cain. His fine head of hair would hide it. But at least he knew how I felt and why I’d gone to him. I remember how he fell back, his eyes staring in surprise before he passed out, an’ how surprised I was that a little jab like that should make a man faint. I left him there. I’d wounded him, an’ he would remember why. With that I had to be satisfied. I knew he’d put the magistrates onto me after he came round, making sure his good name were left outa things, o’course. But I’d be gone by then. Next morning, at five, I were to meet Zach Dobson at the Hiring Cross. He was a crateman from across the Mersey and Frank had paid him to bring me to Liverpool when I were ready to leave. They’d search the cottage, I thought, so I weren’t leaving the knife for them to find.’

  ‘You could have taken it with you.’

  ‘Aye, but I couldn’t bear to. I wanted to be rid of it. I’d tell Frank I’d lost it, an’ that would be the first and last lie I’d ever tell him. I remembered that foul marlpit and walked all the way there, then I flung the knife as hard as I could, as far as I could. An’ not until I came back all these years later did I even suspect I’d killed the man. All these years, an’ I’ve nivver known.’

  ‘And no one but you and I ever will. I can promise you that, Meg.’

  He touched her arm and told her to go back to work, for he knew that was the best thing for her, the best antidote to shock, the best route to forgetfulness. Then he returned to Amelia and told her that Meg was all right — just a little tired, perhaps, what with her new responsibilities and all she’d been doing to that cottage.

  ‘As for you, my love, you have done enough for today. You’re to go home now, and I’ll follow later.’ And when he saw his wife’s carriage driving through the pottery gates he gathered together a pile of shraff and hid the Polynesian knife amongst it and then rode down to the marlpit. The shraff was essential because workmen would see nothing odd about a potter throwing away a heap of broken pots, but to throw a solitary knife, even an old and rusted one, might attract attention, particularly one with an ornamental handle.

  He threw the lot into a pile of sludge being carted away for permanent disposal.

  *

  Some days later, Olivia decided the time had come for her to rearrange her life and her future. That it must ultimately go the way she wanted was possibly assured, but she was tired of waiting, and saw no sense in it. As decisively as she had made up her mind to work at the Drayton Pottery, so she now decided to live her life with Damian Fletcher.

  He would point out the pitfalls, but she was ready for those and uncaring about them. And he would point them out only because he felt it right to do so. Damian had a great feeling for what was right and what was wrong, what was justice and what was injustice, but he had one weak spot and she had discovered it. He loved her.

  She arrived on his doorstep early one Sunday. All the nicest things had happened to her on a Sunday — her uncle’s secret lessons, her uninterrupted hours at the pottery when she should have been dutifully at church, her first visit to Damian’s cottage when fleeing from Lionel’s coming-of-age celebrations in the early hours — so it seemed apt to choose that day for what was to be the most important occasion of her life.

  When he opened the door she handed her carpet bag to him without a word and, wordlessly, he took it. Then he dropped it and gathered her close.

  It was a long time before either spoke. By that time he had untied her bonnet and removed her cloak and laid them aside and then gone back to her and carried her across to his chair, cradling her.

  ‘My bag should go upstairs,’ she said at last. ‘I haven’t brought a lot, and I’m sure my clothes can be accommodated there quite well. You wouldn’t want me to use these ornamental closets, would you? I’
d like to see your bookshelves back in place.’

  Practical words at an emotional moment seemed the safest. Deeper, more meaningful ones would come later, alone, close together in intimacy.

  ‘The place must be exactly as you want it, Olivia. My dear, my precious Olivia. But the world will frown … ’

  ‘Let it.’

  ‘Society will disapprove.’

  ‘I disapprove of Society.’

  ‘Your people won’t want this for you — a life with a man such as me.’

  ‘The only life I want is with a man such as you.’

  ‘I mean my past. I fear Caroline did more than hint about that before she left.’

  ‘I’m not interested in your past, only your present and your future. Nor do I consider your past shameful. You were punished for your beliefs, and your beliefs were the right ones.’

  ‘Your people will be concerned for you, even so.’

  ‘Do you mean my grandparents, or my father and brother?’

  ‘Your grandparents, mainly. In view of the life he has led, your father can hardly expect to sit in judgement.’

  ‘He doesn’t. He is wrapped up in Miguel, but we hope to get to know each other with time and not a little patience. I am willing to give both. As for my grandparents, they love me. They may not wholly understand my desire to become one of the best potters in Staffordshire — I warn you, dearest Damian, I am still resolved upon that — but they have always wanted my happiness. They want it still. They said so when I told them what I intended to do. I also told them that if you gave me ‘no’ for an answer, I would refuse to accept it because I would refuse to believe it, and of course they said there would always be a home for me at Tremain, should I want it again … ’

  ‘Which I pray you never will.’

  ‘No need to pray for that, my dearest love.’

  ‘Let me kiss you again … ’

  ‘Please do. I’ve wanted you to so often, I can’t have enough. I wanted it particularly the night I arrived on this doorstep, bedraggled and wet and looking a sight … ’

  ‘Not to me. There was something about you, something that appealed to me for the first time.’

  ‘You had appealed to me for a very long time. I suppose it’s brazen to admit it, but only a brazen woman would pack a bag and knock on a man’s door and expect him to know without being told that she’d come to live with him, so it’s brazen I am and you must accept me so.’

  ‘No other way would I want you, except to marry you.’

  ‘That would please the grandparents.’

  ‘And me. I want it. For you, for both of us.’

  ‘I won’t ask if there’s any hope.’

  ‘I believe there is, but it will take time. Civilian problems are taking a back seat in the Colonies just now, but I gather Caroline’s family look approvingly on her handsome English pursuer, so that may hasten things — though, strangely enough, I felt she had taken an aversion to him before she left.’

  ‘You mean Lionel? So he did go after her?’

  ‘He did. Whether he will get her, remains to be seen. If he doesn’t, someone else will.’

  ‘Poor Aunt Agatha. She misses her dear boy. Pierre consoles her with endless trays. Which reminds me — I must learn to cook. Do you realise I have never cooked a dish in my life? I must get Sarah Walker to teach me.’

  ‘Culinary arts are not required in the higher social circles.’

  ‘With which I have never conformed — but give me a lump of clay, and I will happily create something. I shall insist on doing a portrait of you when I have finally finished Amelia’s. Uncle Martin has now given me my own modelling quarters and carte blanche concerning my work, but of course my portrait of you will be for myself alone. And dear, dear Damian — if you don’t — stop kissing me — I shall be unable — to tell you what my next piece of work will be — ’

  ‘Then I’ll obey. Tell me.’

  ‘Amelia’s child. Did you know that, after years of waiting, she is to have a child? When I said I hoped it would be a boy, an heir for the Drayton legacy, they said that was unimportant, and to such happy parents-to-be, of course it is. What surprised me more was Martin’s view that some legal loophole must be found through which female descendants can benefit equally, if they so wish.’

  ‘Very rightly, if women like you are to be fairly treated.’

  ‘I am content as I am. With my work. With my future. With you.’

  ‘No yearnings for Tremain and all you might have inherited?’

  ‘Good gracious, no! Tremain’s future lies in Miguel. I am not the only one who thinks that. I’ve heard Grandfather Ralph say as much. “There goes the best thing that ever happened to this place,” he said one day when we were watching the boy riding across the park, and do you know what Grandmother Charlotte said? “I agree, my love. I agree.’”

  They had come to the end of words. He picked up her carpet bag and led her upstairs, his hand clasping hers; urgent, demanding. She glanced back, fleetingly. The ornamental cupboards, with their flowery motifs and gilt mouldings and voluptuous French cupids, were a last reminder of Caroline, and soon they would be gone, as she was gone.

  A last reminder? Her glance flew to Damian’s chair. The table beside it was empty. The miniature, too, had gone.

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