"It's too great for that," he said with the same intensity.
"What did you take me for?" she asked, to change this embarrassing topic.
At last he smiled. "One of these modern young misses, whose emptyheaded prudery is as easily turned as a pair of Liverpool sheets," he said. "I was wrong."
He spoke so engagingly that she laughed aloud. He was quick to join her. And for some odd reason all her animosity vanished and she found herself liking him more than at any time since they had met.
"Mr. Thornton says you do not command your men so much as lead them," she told him. "And it is quite true. Having watched you, I believe you could lead them to anything."
He, too, was glad to change the subject and he came down eager to help her to the top of the bank. When they were in view of the world again she felt greatly relieved. "Aye," he said. "So I could. Would ye know the secret?"
"What?"
"It's that easy a Dame School zany could learn it."
"Ah—there's Mr. Thornton," she cried as Walter came hurrying from the tunnel. "Do tell me," she turned back to Stevenson.
"Care," he answered. "Fellow feeling."
"Oh? In what way?"
Yorky Slen and Bacca emerged, hard on Thornton's heels, bearing the litter between them. "For example," he said, "if any man here is maimed past working, there's a pension for him from me. Or for his wife and children if he's dead. And there's no other navvy working now in England can say as much."
She warmed to him even more. He really was a very good man underneath it all. "You may be sure," she told him, "that, whatever it may cost you, your charity is building a far greater store of treasure in heaven."
But the word seemed to have stung him. "Charity!" he said. "There's no charity in it, ma'am. It's a regular insurance through Lloyd's of London. Fourpence per man per week. I stop it off their wage. I'm no buttermilkhearted philanthropist."
"Oh," she said. The way he put it made the arrangement sound even more virtuous.
Walter was close enough to call now. "Arabella!"
"Slow down!" she called. "All's well!"
But he scrambled up toward them without slackening his pace. "Oh, my darling!" he was saying. "Oh, my dear. I should not have left you!" It was almost as if he wanted her hurt.
"A sprained ankle, that is all dear. It was greatly painful but fortunately it was soon past." She smiled to reassure him that it really was so.
He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Are you sure? How do you know it is not broken?"
"I took the liberty of examining it," Stevenson said, with the greatest casualness, as he took two steps down the bank to help with the litter, which Bacca and Yorky Slen brought at that minute. "Good lads," he said to them.
Arabella saw the handkerchief pause for a fraction of a second as Walter took in Stevenson's words. She could have kicked the man for blurting it out like that, bad ankle or no.
"Oh…" Walter said uncertainly.
"Aye," Stevenson went on, still as unconcerned as before. "A strain. No more."
He arranged the litter where she could stretch herself out upon it. "Put a cold compress on it when ye get home and keep all weight off it for a day or two and it'll carry you to church this Sunday."
At that Walter smiled—to Arabella's relief. He bent to help her down onto the litter.
"I see you've had quite some conversation with my wife," he said, taking up Stevenson's cloak and laying it to cover her feet from view.
"Yes," she said. "We had quite some conversation. Shall we see you at church on Sunday, Mr. Stevenson?"
Yorky Slen and Bacca bent to lift her.
"No!" she called out. "They're too drunk. I don't trust them." The two navvies laughed and would have lifted her if Stevenson had not told them to get agate. "This'll reckon as two runnin's for bonus," he called after them. They slapped each other on the back and danced up the track to their horse and barrow.
Walter took the front, Stevenson the back.
"Shall we?" she repeated. "Church?"
He smiled tolerantly. "Mrs. Stevenson and I have the rent of a pew at Paul Row Wesleyan Providence. I hope you may find the sermons of the Right Honourable and Reverend Mouncey to your taste."
He winked again but this time she looked coldly away. She did not ask him to elaborate his comment on the vicar of Todmorden.
Chapter 19
By the time they reached Pigs Hill, the pain in her ankle had receded to a dull ache and the swelling was completely subsided. How wise Stevenson had been to get it into cold water so quickly. She found that if she walked on her heel and put as little weight as possible on the ball of her foot, there was no discomfort at all—except at the resulting inelegance of her walk.
The house on Pigs Hill was a triumph of ingenuity rather than of elegance. Even so, its first impression was much grander than Arabella had dared to hope. It had a gabled porch crowned by a little wooden spire, and this, coupled with the mansarded gable over the master bedroom, justified its name of Two Gables. Inside, too, it was furnished and appointed on a scale far better than she had anticipated. The three servants, kitchen maid, housemaid, and living-out cook, warned by the advance arrival of the baggage, had hastily spruced and dusted and polished every visible object, knicknack, and surface, and now stood at the hall door in nervous welcome; for, although Walter had engaged them, he had made it clear that their appointment depended on Mrs. Thornton's approval.
"Mrs. Bates, madam."
"Sweeney, ma'm."
"Horsfall, m'm."
They curtseyed in order of their rank. Arabella smiled at each and looked approvingly at their neat dress and the spotless hall. "Mrs. Bates," she said, "as you no doubt have the supper to prepare, I shall speak with you first."
"I have tea all ready to brew for you, madam."
Arabella looked at Walter.
"It would suit me," he said. "I can read our mail."
"Very well. I shall have a quick look over the house and then we shall take
tea in the drawing room, in ten minutes." She took a little notebook from her pocket book and went upstairs with Sweeney.
They began in the maids' rooms, on the second floor, two small, plainly furnished rooms squeezed in below the mansard roof at the back, where they would catch the first of the morning sun. She looked at the sheets and found Horsfall's, the little scullery girl, gray with grime.
"How often does she bath?" she asked Sweeney.
"Bath, m'm?"
"She's to bath every morning, winter and summer. As is everybody in this house."
The maid breathed deeply but said nothing.
Opposite was a large box room, whose floor lay at the bend of the mansard, so that it was not so much low-ceilinged as high-floored. It lay empty except for their own luggage. She counted. "There's a wooden box to come."
"That would be the linen, m'm?"
"Yes," Arabella smiled at her. "I expect you thought the linen cupboard looked empty."
"I hope it's soon, m'm. Else we s'll be trying to wash, dry, press, and air within the one day."
They went down to the first floor. "I think we must carpet these stairs at least up to your landing," she said as she made a note in her little book.
On this floor was an empty, bare-boarded room at the back, an earth closet, a linen cupboard, the master bedroom—below the gable end—and two other rooms furnished as bedrooms. Now she understood why the box room had been so pinched, for the ceiling of the master bedroom was lifted up into the space that the mansard created. She cried out in delight when she saw it, for the effect was very elegant; the walls rose to a normal ceiling height of about ten feet and then sloped inward on all four sides making a total height of fourteen feet. Two oval fastlights were let into the longer outside face and the whole sloping part was decorated with plasterwork mouldings and swags. On the inner face, corresponding to the windows, were cartouches representing Peace and Plenty. Of the decorations on the shorter walls she was
less certain; they demanded much closer inspection. Their titles were, respectively, Sacred Love and Profane Love.
"Why is there no water in the pitcher?" she asked.
"I bring it up hot when you and master retire, m'm."
"Hot?"
"Yes m'm. The new range they've put in has a side boiler with a brass tap. There's hot waiter aplenty all day."
For a moment Arabella felt herself tempted. The luxury of washing in hot water twice a day! But she soon rejected the idea. Hot water was so enervating. "We shall wash and bath in cold," she said. "And you'd better let it stand all day so the sediments may settle."
The maid smiled. "We've no sediments, m'm. It's crystal clear, fresh from Watty Spring every morn."
"Good. That's understood then. You and Horsfall will bath at quarter to six, when you rise. Then you'll scour out the bath and bring it to our bedroom at seven. The master will have his hot shaving water at a quarter past and we shall breakfast at half past."
"Very well, m'm."
The ground floor had a drawing room and parlour at the front and a dining room at the side. The kitchen, in the fourth corner, was down three steps. "I'll see that when I instruct Mrs. Bates," Arabella said. "Then I shall go through all your duties with you."
The other rooms struck her as being rather too plainly furnished. They lacked pictures and plants and other kinds of ornament. Of course, she told herself, it was only natural. One couldn't expect a furnished house to come complete with one's personal ornaments.
"We must start filling these shelves, Sweeney, or you'll die of boredom!"
Sweeney smiled wanly.
"In fact," Arabella continued, as if she were thinking aloud, "it is hard to understand why a house this small, and with only two people to serve, needs three servants." She saw the alarm she hoped for in Sweeney's eyes. "Can you sew?" she asked quickly.
"Yes indeed, m'm," the girl assured her.
"Good."
At tea, she read a letter from her father. It so delighted her that she almost read it aloud to Walter at once. The gist of it was that conjugal relations were permissible if there was a clear intention to beget children. If only someone, her mother or someone, had told her before! What miseries she and Walter would have been spared. And poor Walter! He had been right—or partly right— whereas she had been wholly wrong. She had a lot to make up to him. Well so she would! Tonight. They could go to bed straight after supper. She stole a glance at him. The powerful lust that she had feared—now that it was no longer lust—washed through her, unrestrained. She would read out her father's letter for Walter to hear just before…just before they started. It would be like a licence.
She saw Mrs. Bates and little Horsfall together and went through their duties minutely. Horsfall was to rise at quarter to six, bathe (that was a shock, she could see), and come down to light the open range. This was a splendid new monster of iron and brass, completely fitted out with an oven, side boiler, sliding cheek, revolving shelves, wrought iron bars, and a warming cupboard. Then she was to clean the hearth, fill the boiler and kettle, and go to the spring to draw fresh water. Then there was the kitchen and larder to sweep, the hall to clean, the front steps and kitchen steps to scrub, and the oil lamps to prepare. Then she and Sweeney could take their breakfast, which would be porridge, one slice of bread and dripping, and allowable scraps from the previous day.
Mrs. Bates would have arrived at quarter to seven and would at once make the breakfast rolls and then cook the rest of the breakfast, to be ready at seven thirty. She would serve the breakfast herself and answer the bells and single knocks until luncheon. When the breakfast bell rang, Sweeney would go up to empty the bath and begin the upstairs work. Until then, she would prepare the breakfast room, light the fire—in winter, of course—sweep the hearth, and do the other tasks that Arabella had already described.
After breakfast, when the master had left, they would all assemble in the parlour and she would lead them in a brief prayer before they began (and she used the word without irony) their daily round. Their main prayers for the day would be said before evening dinner, when the master returned. The night, she reminded them, was a time of temptation; it was then that they most needed spiritual cheer. During the day, they had their tasks to keep them from devilment. After her full catechism of their chores, from larkrise to owlhoot, every hour filled as meticulously as the first, none could doubt it. And none could doubt who was—and intended to remain—the mistress of the household.
And in case they did, a little incident occurred to resolve the matter. When Arabella was leaving the kitchen, the butcher's boy called with some meat. She made him unfold it upon the table and show it.
"Is this satisfactory to you, Mrs. Bates?" Arabella asked.
The older woman looked at her, at the meat, and at the boy in bewilderment. "I think so, m'm. Loin o' pork and shin o' beef. It's what's ordered."
The boy nodded to confirm it.
"Then I tell you, this will not do for me. Look—the shin is bruised here along
the bone. And this pipe, running through the loin here, should be removed before the joint is hung." She sniffed close to it. "You see. It is already putrid and the rest is barely hung. Who is your master, boy?"
"Me dad, m'm."
"And does 'me dad' have a name?"
"Roberts, m'm."
"Well, young master Roberts, you're to take these back and get your father to cut the pipe from the loin and supply some unbruised shin. Is his the shop on the corner, by the livery stables?"
"Yes, m'm."
"Then half an hour should suffice. If he wishes to retain the custom of this house, you're to return within half an hour."
The boy picked up the meat and ran; the servants laughed as they heard his handcart go rolling off down the bill.
"'E's not run that fast since th'bull got out from Carr Laithe!" Mrs. Bates said.
But Arabella was not laughing. "Go and fill that coal scuttle, Horsfall," she said. And while the girl was gone, she told the cook that she herself would keep the pantry key and do all the purchasing.
"After all," she said, smiling to sweeten the news, "a mistress must have her tasks and duties, too!"
But Mrs. Bates was not pleased; there was a percentage on dealings with tradesfolk, and money to be made from dripping, candle ends, and so on. Still, at £12 a year, plus £5 for lying out, the job was the best any woman in her row could claim. And she appreciated the way the mistress had sent the girl out before she broke the ill tidings. One couldn't have everything one wanted.
Horsfall looked very worried on her return. "I s'll never 'member it all, m'm," she sighed. "I just know that."
"Then you must look to Mrs. Bates. She is your immediate mistress. You must attend to all her needs. And if you are nimble and diligent, and finish your own work quickly, why I expect it won't be long before Mrs. Bates trusts you with some little cooking tasks and tells you a secret or two. And in that way, you may in time rise to a post in another house where you will be as important as Mrs. Bates is here. Then your £8 a year, which I'm sure seems very handsome now, will seem very little."
The child grinned at such an impossible thought. And Arabella was glad at the self-satisfaction that glowed on the face of the cook. Her whole intention, after breaking the bad news to Mrs. Bates, was to build her up again. A disgruntled
cook was worse than an empty kitchen.
"Eee!" the child said when Arabella had left. "She's 'aard. She is!"
"'Old thy tongue and be thankful fer a firm lady wi' a Christian soul. There's dozens o' places tha'd do worser nor 'ere," the cook told her.
Sweeney waylaid Arabella in the hall. "If ye please mum, and what about followers?"
Here Arabella had her grandmother to thank. Among her own generation, it was the growing custom to forbid followers absolutely and on principle. But her grandmother had warned: "If ye do that, they have followers anyway, because it's against Nature not to and ye've lost all control, and y
e send them off to clandestine assignations, and ye reward their habit of deception. For the better they deceive ye, the more pleased ye are with their seeming obedience."
And so, in her grandmother's words, she said to Sweeney, "You may have followers if they call by invitation, if you first introduce them to the master and me, and if they neither smoke nor drink spirituous liquor while on the premises."
Sweeney, when she joined the others in the kitchen, said they surely had a pearl of a mistress. And they all set about working their one-month-on-approval with a will.
The new master and mistress retired shortly after dinner. Arabella washed behind the screen and came out in her chemise, ready for bed. Walter, who had been waiting for this moment, now pointed to the plaster decorations on the themes of Love.
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