Forever Yours

by Rita Bradshaw

  Still not really knowing what to say, Constance knelt down by the basket and began to stroke the cat, who purred loudly. ‘She’s lovely and the kittens are adorable.’

  ‘She’s as gentle as a lamb and I’m letting her keep her babies. The two like her are Marmalade and Honey, and the brown one’s Treacle. The one with the four white paws is Biscuit and the dark brown one is Chocolate.’

  ‘What have you named her? The mother cat?’

  ‘Sweetheart. It might be a silly name for a cat, but that’s what she is.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s silly.’ Constance had a lump in her throat as she looked at Polly’s little face which was lit with love as she gazed at her cat.

  ‘Sit yourself down.’ Polly suddenly seemed to remember her manners. ‘I’ll just get the bread out and then I’ll make a cup of tea. Or perhaps you’d prefer a cold drink?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely.’

  As she sat at the kitchen table watching Polly bustling about, Constance told herself that her suspicions had to be unfounded. Polly wouldn’t be like this if she’d had anything to do with Vincent’s death, surely?

  Once they were sitting with a cup of tea and a plate of buttered teacakes each, Constance smiled into the plain little face which didn’t look so plain any more. ‘I had to come,’ she said simply. ‘I’d heard you were going to be turned out of here and I wanted to make sure you were all right.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, lass, but you needn’t have worried. I’ve got meself a nice little place in Lanchester. It’s only three miles or so from here but the cottage is set up high and overlooks the river and it’s got a bonny garden. Me and Sweetheart and her bairns’ll be as snug as bugs in rugs there.’

  ‘So this cottage is going to be sold?’

  ‘Oh aye. Vincent’s cousin – he’s the one who inherited everything – wanted shot of it but he hasn’t even been to see it. It’s all been done through solicitors. He’s been pleasant enough, mind. Said I could stay for a bit till I got meself sorted. I go next week, and the same day he’s arranged for the furniture to be taken away. A family’s moving in shortly; the man is the under-manager at Charlaw Colliery, the other side of Fulforth Wood. He’s got plans to build rooms on and all sorts.’

  Constance nodded. ‘I’m glad you’re going to be all right. I was worried you might be struggling. You know, money wise.’

  Polly gave her another straight look. ‘If it had been left to Vincent, I would have been – but let’s just say things turned round after his death. My wages were late coming but when they did it was by way of a lump sum.’

  Hastily, Constance said, ‘You don’t have to explain, Polly. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘I know that, lass. And it was nice of you to be concerned. Your grannie was like that – I was fond of her.’ Polly took a sip of her tea. ‘I was sad when she passed on.’

  Constance cleared her throat. It was now or never. ‘Polly, I just said I didn’t mean to pry and yet I’m probably doing just that. I – I don’t know if you’ve heard but I’m walking out with Matt Heath. We’ve known each other years – in fact, he saved my life when I was just a baby.’

  Polly stared at her but said nothing.

  Highly embarrassed now, Constance went on, ‘On the night that Vincent disappeared he came to see me – Vincent, that is.’ She wasn’t putting this very well. ‘He – well, he threatened me. He said some terrible things. He told me he’d killed my parents and my granda too, and I believe he did.’

  ‘He killed his mam an’ all.’

  ‘What?’ Now it was Constance’s turn to stare.

  Polly nodded. ‘He did. ’Course, I’d got no proof but he poisoned her, his own mam.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh aye, I’m sure, lass.’

  Constance sat back in her seat. Polly had taken the wind out of her sails and for a moment she couldn’t continue. Pulling herself together, she finished her tea before she said, ‘Matt came to see me that night as well, and he said . . . Well, he said . . .’

  ‘That he saw me?’

  Constance nodded.

  ‘I wondered if he knew who I was – afterwards, I mean. Then when the body was found, I half-expected him to say something.’

  ‘He didn’t. He wouldn’t. What I mean is—’

  ‘Aye, I get your drift, lass.’ Polly’s voice was soft. ‘He’s a nice man. You’re well suited. And now you’re here because you want to know if you’ve put two and two together and made ten, or whether I pushed Vincent over the edge of the quarry.’

  Hearing it put so bluntly and with such composure robbed Constance of any reply. The clock ticked on the kitchen mantelpiece over the range and in the basket the kittens mewed and wriggled as they nuzzled up to their mother’s teats. Sunlight was streaming in the kitchen window and falling on the bowl of wild flowers in the middle of the table. Everything was serene and terribly normal, and yet they were discussing murder.

  ‘The way I see it, lass, is that what happened that night is between me and God, and only me and God – so I can’t answer your question except to say my conscience is clear and I sleep easy at nights. For the first time in thirty years I sleep easy.’

  Constance blinked. It was and it wasn’t an answer, but she couldn’t press Polly any further. Gently, she murmured, ‘I hope you’ll have a wonderful life in your cottage overlooking the river, Polly. A long and happy life.’

  ‘Oh, I will, lass. I will. Me bairns too.’ Polly glanced across at the cats. ‘This is where my life begins.’

  Chapter 26

  It was a winter wedding and very quiet, but nonetheless special to Constance and Matt because of it. Only close family were invited, the exception to this being Polly, who looked a different woman from the little mouse the villagers had been used to seeing scuttling in and out of the shops from time to time. When word had got around that the weighman must have left his housekeeper a bit, after all – for how else would she be able to set herself up in a little place of her own? – folk, in the main, had been glad for her, although there had been those who’d murmured that her inheritance had been for services of a more intimate nature than cleaning the house and cooking McKenzie’s meals.

  This scandal was put firmly in the shade come autumn, however, when Matt Heath announced he was marrying Constance Shelton the day before Christmas Eve.

  The news caused the village to buzz with a mixture of outrage and shock, and this was further enhanced when Tilly’s parents – furious that their son-in-law was slighting their daughter’s memory by marrying again after only a year – put in their two penn’orth. Matt had been a poor husband and father, they announced to anyone who’d listen – and there were plenty – and their bonny lass had been a saint, an angel, and this was her reward. To be replaced before she was cold in her grave. Matt Heath was an ungrateful swine and he hadn’t deserved her, and now he was spitting on her memory.

  The upshot of this was that Rebecca went to see her maternal grandparents and gave them a piece of her mind, along with a few home truths, which caused them to warn her to never darken their door again. When Matt went round to try to pour oil on troubled waters, they showed him the door, and Tilly’s mother continued to shout abuse after him at the top of her voice as he walked down the street, for all the world like a dockside fishwife.

  This sad state of affairs had one positive outcome. Rebecca decided she didn’t want to stay among folk who were speaking ill of her father and that she was going to leave with Matt and Constance when they got married and moved away. On hearing this, Larry promptly announced that he would follow her wherever she went. He’d get a job in the nearest mine and take lodgings. He further cemented his intentions by saying that once he’d got enough put by, he wanted them to get wed.

  In October, Constance and Matt had found the perfect property close to the coast at Seaham, some fifteen miles from Sacriston. Bramble Farm was a little larger than a smallholding but not as big as a working farm, although the exist
ing owners liked to call it such. Besides a very substantial five-bedroomed house, the estate boasted two small two-bedroomed cottages and five acres of land. The cottages were in a state of disrepair, having not been occupied for some years since the owners had sold most of their land and stock to the farm adjoining theirs, at which time they had dismissed their farm labourers. But, Constance and Matt agreed, the cottages were sound and could soon be made habitable. And so they had bought the property and once the owners had moved out at the beginning of November, workmen had moved in.

  When restoration of the first cottage had been completed, they’d taken Rebecca and Larry across to the property to view it one day, and Matt had put a proposal to the young couple. He would need help with the smallholding and Constance would need assistance in running the guesthouse. He and Constance had discussed the matter and their suggestion was that Larry occupied one of the cottages and received a wage for working on the smallholding with Matt, and Rebecca lived in the far mhouse with her father and Constance but also received a wage for her labours. Matt’s parents would occupy the remaining cottage. If, after a year, Rebecca and Larry’s feelings for each other remained as strong, they could marry on Rebecca’s eighteenth birthday. Rebecca could then join Larry in the cottage. If, on the other hand, either one of them had changed their mind, Larry had received experience of a life different to the one he’d been born into, and would have been housed in comfort for a year and paid well to boot. The pair of them were still very young, Matt had added. Hence the condition of the year’s deferment. He wanted Rebecca, and Larry too, to be very, very sure of what they were doing.

  Rebecca had been ecstatic and Larry’s grin had stretched from ear to ear. Constance had no doubt that come Rebecca’s eighteenth she would be decked in white and walking down the aisle.

  But this was her wedding day. She glanced at Matt sitting by the side of her and his eyes were waiting for her, their hands joined under the table. They’d decided to hold the small wedding breakfast at the Queen’s Head Hotel in the village after the short service at St Bede’s which Father Duffy had conducted, but once the meal and speeches were finished a coach was taking them to Hartlepool for two weeks’ honeymoon. Once Christmas was over Rebecca and Larry, along with Matt’s parents and Jake, were moving to the smallholding where they’d be waiting for them on their return from honeymoon. Appleby Cottage was up for sale and Constance had recently accepted an offer. It was the end of an era.

  ‘You’re breathtakingly beautiful, Mrs Heath.’ Matt’s voice was low and the look in his eyes brought a flush of colour to her cheeks. She was glad he thought she looked like a bride.

  In view of all the controversy surrounding their marriage she had felt it prudent to forgo a big elaborate wedding dress with a train and veils. Instead she had chosen a simple but exquisitely cut white dress with a matching flared jacket trimmed with antique lace and seed pearls; her hat a sweeping affair, again in white and reflecting the trim on the jacket. In truth the slim-fitting style suited her figure to perfection and she had never looked lovelier.

  ‘And you’re very handsome, Mr Heath,’ she whispered back, longing for the moment they would be alone together. She felt no apprehension about the wedding night, just an intense desire to belong to him, body, soul and spirit.

  The meal was good, the champagne flowed and the company was merry, Andrew and his family and George’s wife and her lads embracing her into the family as though she had always been part of it. Which they all felt she had in a way since the night Matt had caught her in his arms when he had been but a lad of nine years of age and she a little scrap of nothing.

  It was just after two o’clock when one of the hotel staff came to say the coach which the hotel in Hartlepool had arranged to collect them was waiting outside.

  In the midst of all the goodbyes, Matt took Polly aside and held her hands firmly between his. Constance had told him of her visit to Vincent’s housekeeper and the conversation which had transpired, but he had known in his heart before then that Polly had taken matters into her own hands that winter’s night. It was stretching the bounds of coincidence too far to imagine anything else. And whatever her reasons, in doing what she had she’d saved him from having to deal with the master weighman. He might not have gone as far as Polly had, but he wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night until he’d used his fists on that scum, and who knows what the consequences would have been. For sure, Vincent would have been a dangerous enemy wherever they had moved to, if he had still been breathing.

  He looked down into the small face that had shed its cowering, browbeaten look and had taken on a lightness that was remarkable. Softly, he murmured, ‘Thank you, lass. I’m forever in your debt and our door’ll always be wide open to you – I hope you know that. We won’t lose touch and whatever happens in the future we’ll be there for you. Remember that.’

  Polly’s smile was shaky. It was the first time in her life she had been touched by a man other than Vincent, and certainly the first time one had looked at her with such warmth and affection. ‘I said to Constance once that you were well suited and you are,’ she replied. ‘I know you’ll both be very happy.’ She didn’t allude to the hidden message behind his words. That was in the past and she was living in the present and looking forward to her future. Each day was a joy now.

  ‘Aye, we’ll be happy, lass. I’ll make sure of that.’ He glanced across the room to where Constance, radiant and dewy-eyed, was hugging Rebecca and Larry. ‘But I want you to know that you have a friend – two friends – for life, lass. All right?’

  Polly nodded. He was a nice man, a lovely man, but she still didn’t like being held by him, and when he bent forward and brushed his lips to her cheek as he said, ‘Goodbye, Polly,’ it was all she could do not to shrink away. But soon she could get back to her cottage and her family. They’d be waiting for her, lined up on the sitting-room windowsill. Whenever she left the house, just to go shopping, she had such a welcome when she returned.

  And then Constance was standing in front of her, and when she hugged her, murmuring, ‘Bless you, Polly. Bless you,’ she could return the embrace without fear.

  When Constance and Matt emerged from the hotel in the midst of their noisy, laughing guests there was a small crowd gathered to watch their departure in the grand coach and horses, grander than anything Sacriston had seen for a long time. There were no smiles or well-wishes from the villagers, not for these two upstarts who had flouted all convention and added insult to injury by moving away. Molly hugged her niece and so did Beryl, who had made the journey from Kimblesworth with her husband; they had all partaken of a fine meal and not a little champagne, and were feeling on top of the world. It was Molly who whispered in Constance’s ear: ‘Your grandma would have been so proud of you the day, lass, so proud, and I’m sure she’s looking down on you and smiling.’

  The tears spilling over, Constance hugged her aunty hard but could voice no words, her heart was too full. And then they were in the carriage, leaning out of the window as it began to pull away. Neither of them noticed the disapproving faces of the village women. Instead it was the beaming smiles from Polly and the others they carried away with them. Rebecca, hand in hand with Larry, crying happy tears. Ruth, with her husband leaning heavily on his stick, calling out, ‘Bless you, me bairns. Bless you.’ Beryl and Molly with Ivy, who was now in a wheelchair, and Florence who’d made the journey from Yorkshire, waving and shouting, and the rest of their guests adding to the general bedlam.

  Constance didn’t know if she was laughing or crying when she sank back on to the thickly upholstered seat once they had left Durham Street behind them; maybe it was a mixture of both. She only knew she had never been so happy in the whole of her life as Matt took her in his arms and kissed her until she was trembling and aching for more. He only had to touch her hand or look at her in a certain way and her knees turned to jelly, and now he was her husband. Her husband. It had really happened. Until this minute she realised a part of
her had been unable to believe he would actually be hers.

  That Matt had felt the same was evident when he traced her lips with one finger, a note of wonder in his voice when he murmured, ‘At last you’re mine, my wife . . . Oh, Constance, Constance, have you any idea of how I feel about you?’

  ‘If it’s only a fraction of what I feel for you I’ll be satisfied.’ She snuggled up to him and he drew the thick fur rug the carriageman had wrapped round their knees up to her chin. Her wedding outfit, although exquisite, was no match for the icy December chill. It hadn’t snowed for two weeks but the frosts had been thick and relentless, and the countryside was clothed in a frozen glinting sparkle which looked picturesque but which numbed noses and fingers in seconds.

  Constance, warm and cosy in her husband’s arms and a little light-headed with what she liked to think was excitement but which was probably more due to her first taste of champagne, looked at the winter wonderland outside the carriage window as her eyelids grew heavy. Two weeks in which they would be alone together without anyone or anything to claim their time except each other. It was heaven and she couldn’t ask for more. And then they would go home to their farmhouse and start their new life with Rebecca and Larry and Matt’s parents, and Jake. Dear, dear Jake. But each night it would be just the two of them again, wrapped in each other’s arms. It was all she had ever wanted, all she’d ever dreamed of, a life with Matt. To be his wife down through the years, to be at his side and enfolded in his arms at night. To be the one he shared his highs and his lows with; to know when he laughed and when he cried, and to be there when he reached out for her. It would only be death that parted them and then not for long: a love like theirs had to last into eternity.