Forever Yours

by Rita Bradshaw

  Constance rose to her feet. The sudden change in her circumstances was too much to take in. With tears in her eyes, she whispered again, ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, my lady.’ In a daze she allowed the house steward to lead her from the room, and it was only when she was in the hall that she realised she hadn’t made a final curtsy.

  When the door closed behind Constance, Isabella glanced across at her husband. ‘Moses and Aaron,’ she murmured, a gurgle in her voice, ‘because they had run out of New Testament names.’

  ‘And they were right little devils. Oh, beg your pardon, my lady. High-spirited.’

  They looked at each other a moment more before bursting into laughter.

  Chapter 11

  Mabel Gray was sitting in Ruth Heath’s kitchen, Constance’s letter in her hand, but she was experiencing a curious feeling of deflation without really knowing why. When she had received her grand-daughter’s amazing news that morning she had been beside herself, and it being a Saturday had hardly been able to contain her impatience until she was due to visit Ruth after lunch. But in the event, the telling of Constance saving her employer’s son’s life and her rise to under-nanny and all that entailed had been something of an anti-climax. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Matt and Tilly and Rebecca had been there when she arrived. Although everyone had oohed and ahhed – everyone except Tilly, that was – somehow she’d sensed their heart wasn’t in it. She hadn’t made mention of the most extraordinary thing of all either, the seventy pounds, not with the men being in the middle of another strike and money so tight.

  Perhaps Ruth sensed how she was feeling because now Matt’s mother leaned across the kitchen table and squeezed her arm as she said, ‘You must be proud, lass, of what your Constance did. And they must think a bit of her to give her such an opportunity. Travelling, you say, and to Italy an’ all. Who’d have thought it? Matt had a notion he’d like to take off to foreign parts when he was a lad, isn’t that right, Matt?’

  Tilly had been bending forward looking at a picture Rebecca had drawn on her slate as Ruth had spoken. As she straightened she made a little sound in her throat which could have meant anything, but which caused Matt to look daggers at her. Answering his mother, he said flatly, ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Oh aye, full of it you were for a while. Your da picked up a picture book from one of the mining galas about Egypt and lost civilisations, moth-eaten old thing it was even then, but you pored over that book until it fell to pieces. Made up your mind you were going to be an explorer.’

  Tilly made the sound again. ‘Didn’t get very far, did you?’

  The bitterness in Matt’s voice when he said, ‘No, more’s the pity,’ was embarrassing, and when the back door opened in the next moment and Andrew and Olive and their brood walked in, Mabel heaved a silent sigh of relief.

  There was no disguising the fact that Matt and Tilly couldn’t stand the sight of each other these days, and Matt had no time for the bairn – Ruth had told her that.Which was a shame because Rebecca was a nice little thing and the very image of her mam. Although Tilly brought the bairn round to see her grandparents and the others every Saturday afternoon, Matt rarely accompanied them, but then with there being no football due to the weather, she supposed he hadn’t got an excuse not to come today.

  Ruth, her voice overloud, was urging her to tell her news to the newcomers, and when she did their reaction was warm and genuine. But it was too late. She felt all at sixes and sevens now. She’d get back to their Molly’s when she could. Their Pearl was bringing the new baby round – she could use her granddaughter as her excuse and she was longing to see her great-grandson anyway.

  When, after a decent interval, she got up to go she was surprised when Matt stood up too. ‘I’ll see you along the back lane, Mrs Gray. It’s frozen solid out there and there’s places it’s treacherous.’

  They didn’t speak until they were out of the backyard. Then Matt took her arm as they began walking over the icy ridges and glassy puddles, and said quietly, ‘When you write back to Constance, tell her I’m pleased for her, would you, Mrs Gray? And glad she wasn’t hurt too badly, of course.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that, Matt, although between the two of us I think she was hurt more than she’s let on to me or she’d have written sooner. And it’s funny Florence didn’t let me know. Still, all’s well that ends well and it looks like she’s landed on her feet, sure enough. She’s always made light of slaving away in that kitchen but I know she wouldn’t have chosen that sort of work if—’ Mabel stopped abruptly, aware that she’d said too much.

  ‘But . . .’ Matt’s brow wrinkled. ‘She wanted to go into service, didn’t she? You said—’

  ‘Aye, I know what I said, lad, but to tell you the truth there was a reason she had to leave.’

  ‘A reason?’ Matt stopped walking, turning Mabel round to look at him. ‘What reason?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nowt, lad. It’s done with now.’

  ‘What reason, Mrs Gray?’

  ‘There was a man who was bothering her, that’s all.’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘Oh, don’t look like that, lad. Nowt happened. But he was the type who wouldn’t have given up and he’d frightened her. We thought it was best for her to get away.’

  ‘Who was it? What’s his name?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Matt, but I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Mrs Gray—’

  ‘No, Matt, I can’t.’ Her tone was final. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘So he still lives in the village?’

  Mabel pulled her arm loose and began walking again so he was forced to do the same. Her head down, she said quietly, ‘We dealt with it as we saw fit, and as I said, it’s done with.’

  She had said a man. Not a lad, a man. Matt felt sick.

  ‘So that was why she went so suddenly without saying goodbye to anyone and why you’ve never said where she is?’

  ‘It was for the best, lad, believe me. He’d scared her half to death and I think he’d got it in him to be a nasty piece of work. She was best out of it.’

  Names were flying round his head and being dismissed with equal speed. ‘You should have told me. I’d have sorted him out.’

  ‘We didn’t even tell her granda, lad. Like I said, I reckon he could be violent, and you never know with a man like that. Least said, soonest mended.’

  If she came out with one more platitude, he’d scream. Constance had been forced to leave, she had been frightened and intimidated by some swine, and he hadn’t known. He’d just continued on his merry way and all the time— ‘If you tell me his name -’

  ‘ – there’ll be hell to pay,’ Mabel finished for him. ‘And what good would that do? It’s in the past now and best left there. And it’s done the lass a good turn in the long run. She wouldn’t be where she is now if she’d stayed in Sacriston. She’ll get to see a bit of the world, experience all sorts of things any other lass would give her eye-teeth for. It’s a grand place where she is, Matt, and even if she came back here tomorrow, what is there for her? She’s outgrown us,’ Mabel finished, a touch of sadness in her voice now.

  They had reached the end of the lane and a few desultory flakes of snow were being blown in the arctic wind. Mabel shivered. ‘You get back to your mam’s, lad. I’ll be fine from here, and I’ll be sure to give Constance your best wishes when I write.’

  She turned after patting his arm and Matt watched the small stout figure clothed in black until it disappeared round the corner and was lost to view.

  Constance. Oh, Constance, Constance. He leaned against the wall of the last house in the terrace, his hands in his pockets and his cap pulled low over his eyes. If only he’d had the gumption to follow his heart all those years ago, who knows what might have happened? That afternoon in her grandma’s kitchen, something had passed between him and Constance, something indefinable, but she had been so young and he’d been hooked up with Tilly, and then like a will-o’-the-wisp she’d taken
herself out of his life. And maybe she hadn’t felt like he felt anyway.

  He took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair before pulling it on again.

  Excuses. Excuses, excuses, excuses, damn it. He was good at those. Why hadn’t he thrown Tilly out on the street the day she’d told him she was expecting a baby? He’d known it wasn’t his, and not just because they’d only come together the once, on the wedding night. The ‘upset tummy’ she’d had for weeks and which she maintained had been brought on by nerves after his treatment of her, the subtle but distinct change in her figure when she was in her nightdress, the fact she hadn’t gone running to her mother with tales of his cruelty in ignoring her very existence day after day, all spoke of one thing. She’d been in the family way when she’d walked up the aisle and she had known it. And now she had to maintain the illusion of togetherness.

  No one believed the premature baby story. Rebecca had been a plump and bonny seven-pounder, nothing like the scrawny little scrap Andrew’s Toby had been when he’d been born six weeks early. No, everyone had known but of course they’d all assumed the baby was his, that they’d jumped the wedding night a mite early as more than one engaged couple did. Nothing had been said directly to him or Tilly, but he could imagine the conversations that had gone on behind closed doors. ‘They’re not the first and they won’t be the last.’ ‘Well, what can you expect when the sap’s running high and they know they’re going to be wed shortly?’ ‘At least he did the decent thing and married the lass, but then who wouldn’t jump at the chance of marrying a bonny lass like he’s got?’ And so on and so forth.

  Oh aye, he’d walked round for weeks after Rebecca’s birth knowing what folk were thinking and hearing the edge to their words of congratulation. And Tilly, no matter how he’d ranted and raved in that first couple of days after she’d told him she was expecting, she’d looked him straight in the face, her eyes never flinching from his, and maintained the baby was his. She’d even had the gall to say the ‘premature’ birth was a result of the mental suffering he’d inflicted on her since the wedding night. He hadn’t touched her since that night and nor would he. She had his name but he was damn sure she wouldn’t have any other part of him. Just to look at her now made him sick.

  Many was the time he’d wonder what his brothers would say if he told them he’d only had her the once. But they wouldn’t believe him. No one would believe him. Why would any man be such a fool as to work and provide for a bairn that wasn’t his and a wife that was little better than a whore, just to save face? They’d say he was barmy, a candidate for the asylum, and they’d be right. But although his guts writhed every time he walked into the house, he’d rather be sliced open and have them spill out on the ground than anyone suspect the truth.

  He heaved himself off the wall and began walking slowly back towards his mother’s backyard. Who was this bloke who’d had Constance so scared she’d taken off and left everything and everyone dear to her? And Mabel, she’d worshipped the ground the lass walked on. Why hadn’t she made a stand rather than lose her? It didn’t make sense, but then women’s logic was beyond him at the best of times. How had Tilly thought she had a chance of fooling him that he was the first and the father of Rebecca? But perhaps she hadn’t cared, once the ring was on her finger. He had been the simpleton she’d fastened on when she’d decided she wanted a meal-ticket for life, and in truth she’d known him better than he’d known himself. She’d banked on the fact that he’d keep quiet rather than be known as the buffoon who’d let himself be duped. Aye, she’d had his measure, all right.

  ‘Da, I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Rebecca came running towards him when he was halfway down the lane, and when she nearly went headlong on a piece of ice he caught hold of her arm, his voice harsh when he said, ‘What’s your mam doing, letting you out here without your hat and coat? You’ll freeze to death or break your neck.’

  Subdued now, the child answered, ‘I slipped out to wait for you without Mam knowing. If I’d got my coat she’d have twigged.’

  As Matt looked down at the small head he sighed inwardly. Rebecca was a miniature replica of her mother, and if Tilly loved anyone she loved her daughter. He, on the other hand, had never made any secret of the fact he had little time for Rebecca, but such are the quirks of nature that the child adored him and would escape her mother’s presence whenever she could. More gently now, he said, ‘Look, it’s beginning to snow and here’s you in your clean Saturday pinny with your hair in a ribbon and you’re going to get wet. Come on out of it.’

  When a small hand crept into his as they walked along he didn’t remove it but it held no joy for him. If Tilly hadn’t fallen for a bairn he doubted she would have gone through with marrying him; they’d had one row after another in the weeks leading up to the wedding day – most of which, he had to admit, had been down to him. Looking back, he could see she had known he didn’t love her, even before he’d fully realised it himself, but she’d stuck with him because she’d needed a patsy to pin the label of da on for her child.

  Times he’d searched Rebecca’s face for a clue as to who had fathered her, but she was Tilly to a T, it was as simple as that. Outwardly, that was. In nature she had none of her mother’s brashness. Although she was as bright as a button the child was shy, reflective even. His mam always described her as having an old head on young shoulders and she was right.

  When they reached the backyard Matt braced himself for entering the house. The family get-togethers he had once loved he now loathed and avoided whenever he could; they brought the strain of living a lie to the fore, and oft-times he sensed his family’s sympathies were all with Tilly. She was bonny and amiable and kept the house clean and himself and the child well fed; his own mother had said that to him a few months ago when she’d asked him what was wrong between his wife and himself. Whereas he was seen as a morose individual who didn’t know on which side his bread was buttered; his mother had said that an’ all when he’d told her to mind her own business.

  ‘I’ve done a picture for you on my slate.’

  Rebecca brought him back to himself and he looked down at her as he opened the back door and they stepped into the scullery. ‘Oh aye?’ he said without any real interest.

  ‘It’s of a bird flying in the sky, flying high above the rooftops and all the people far below.’ Her fingers were still resting in his and her small face was solemn. ‘And there’s another bird, a little one, with it. They – they’re together.’

  For a moment, a brief moment, the gnawing loneliness that was always with him these days lifted. His fingers closing more tightly round Rebecca’s, he said softly, ‘Come and show me, hinny.’ And he opened the kitchen door.

  Chapter 12

  In the five years that had passed since Constance had been promoted to under-nanny her life had changed beyond recognition. Sir Henry and Lady Isabella had been as good as their word and she had travelled with the family to Italy each summer to stay at Lady Isabella’s father’s country estate on the eastern shore of Lake Garda. The Morosini family also had magnificent townhouses in Florence and Rome, but Lady Isabella preferred the beauty and tranquillity of the Garda estate where the children could run wild in a way they were never allowed to do in England, and where each day she seemed to increase in strength and vitality.

  On Constance’s first trip, the vibrant colours of Italy had dazzled her: the azure sky, cobalt sea, golden sunshine day after magical day, silver olive trees and green vines, and white marble. The villa itself was a splendid sixteenth-century fairytale castle of a place, built in pinkish terracotta bricks with turrets and spires which perfectly complemented the richness of its interior decoration. The villa was shaded by huge chestnut trees, and a terrace which ran the length of the three-storey building overlooked the lake and a shallow harbour for fishing boats.

  All the children’s meals were eaten al fresco on the terrace, and over the summer Gwendoline and Edmond turned nut brown, although Charl
otte, already beginning to think like a little lady, wore a big straw hat to shade her complexion and carried a parasol when she was outside.

  For the rest of her life Constance was to look back at those wonderful summers as an awakening of a part of her she hadn’t been aware existed but which changed her irrevocably. Sir Henry and Lady Isabella liked to expose the children to culture and history, so although a great deal of the time was spent swimming and fishing in the lake and sailing in the company of Roberto, the Morosinis’ boatman, other days were devoted to visiting churches and cathedrals, art galleries, and ancient buildings and amphitheatres. One evening Edmond was left in the care of the Morosini bevy of servants and Constance accompanied Charlotte and Gwendoline and Nanny Price, along with members of the family, to Verona for a performance of Romeo and Juliet. Constance had had no idea what to expect, but when they reached the Piazza dei Signori and the production began, she was entranced. Italy itself entranced her. Each time they had to leave to return to England she felt like crying along with the children.

  Her new life hadn’t been all plain sailing at first though. Sir Henry had made her position as one of the upper servants very clear to Mr Howard and Mrs Craggs, but that didn’t mean they had to like the fact that a mere kitchenmaid was now one of their elite circle. Surprisingly it was Nanny Price – with whom Constance had expected to be at odds – who proved to be her greatest ally, along with Florence, who bathed in the reflected glow of Constance’s act of heroism, being ‘family’. The fact that Constance had, in one fell swoop, taken Edmond off the nanny’s hands, was the main cause of her favour with Enid Price at first, but then due to Constance’s willingness to learn and her unassuming manner, the older woman began to treat her kindly for herself. Eventually Estelle Upton, Lady Isabella’s personal maid, and Sidney Black, the valet, included Constance in their conversation at mealtimes in Mr Howard’s room, but the house steward, along with Mrs Craggs and Mr Rowan, stubbornly refused to do more than acknowledge her presence. She hadn’t come up the hard way, Mr Howard was heard to mutter to Mrs Craggs and the butler. She hadn’t earned her stripes, and he, for one, didn’t agree with elevating a mere slip of a girl to such dizzy heights.