Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Catherine Cookson

  Mark said nothing to this; instead, he asked, ‘Were many killed?’

  ‘No, no; only a girl.’

  ‘A girl?’ The word brought him up in the bed supporting himself on his stiffened arms and he turned towards the doctor and said, ‘She died then, Trotter? Aw, no! No!’

  ‘No, it wasn’t the girl Trotter, it was a small child, Pringle. Her father died almost in the same area three years ago, you remember?’

  Yes, yes, he remembered. And so it was the small girl who had died, a child he had pulled out of the water. It was all coming back now like pictures shown by a magic lantern. Trotter, she had held him and comforted him. During all that time he had not seen her face but he could see her plainly in his mind’s eye.

  ‘The girl, Trotter, what happened to her? Was she all right?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t all right, and she still isn’t. She got pneumonia.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘The hospital, the House hospital in Shields.’

  He lay back on his pillows again. The workhouse hospital. He knew what that was like. And she had pneumonia. Pneumonia needed care. She had come through that dreadful ordeal in the black hole only to die under the rough care that one would receive in the workhouse hospital.

  ‘Nurse.’ Doctor Kemp was calling, and when the nurse entered the room the atmosphere became chilly indeed.

  It was when the examination was over, the bandages changed, and Nurse Bailey was handing the dish of bloodstained wrappings through the half opened doorway to Amy Stiles that Mark said in an undertone, ‘I would prefer a man to look after me.’

  ‘You have a man at nights, Simes is with you then, but you require a nurse. And I have great faith in Nurse Bailey, so be a good fellow and be civil to her.’

  Just before the doctor left, Mark said, ‘The mine, how is it?’ and Doctor Kemp busied himself with his bag for some seconds before he answered. ‘There’s plenty of time to go into that,’ he said; ‘you get your strength back and then you can deal with those matters. Now be a good fellow.’ He nodded towards him as if to a small boy, then went out, followed by the nurse, and Mark, lying back exhausted, said half aloud, ‘Well, that’s the end of that then. The end of so many things.’ Then presently he added, ‘Pity I didn’t let Rosier carry half the weight after all.’

  Two

  When Tilly saw the tall figure of Biddy Drew marching up the narrow ward she half rose from the stool by the side of her bed before sinking back on to it again, but when Biddy stood over her her hands were extended out to greet her.

  ‘Aw, Mrs Drew, it’s good to see you.’

  ‘An’ you, lass, an’ you.’

  Their joined hands wagged up and down for a moment. Then straightening herself, Biddy looked about the ward, sniffed hard, and shook her head before she exclaimed, ‘My God! lass, Katie said it was bad, the smell’s worse than our middens.’

  ‘You get used to it.’

  When Biddy went to sit down on the side of the bed Tilly hissed quietly, ‘You’re not allowed to sit on the bed, Mrs Drew, they . . . they don’t like it.’

  ‘Well, like it or not, lass, I’m gettin’ off me legs for a minute;’ and so saying, she sat down.

  Tilly, smiling weakly at her, moved her head as she said, ‘Oh, ’tis good to see you.’

  ‘I would have come afore this but I’ve been hard pushed. Still, Katie an’ Sam have kept me posted as to how you’re going on. By! you were thin afore, lass, but you’d make a good clothes prop now.’

  ‘Yes, I would, wouldn’t I . . . How are things?’

  ‘Not much better, lass, I’m sorry to say, except that Sam’s been set on in a candle factory. But what he’s gettin’ there won’t keep him in shoe leather. ’Tis a bad time of the year for work for anybody, the winter.’ She now leant forward and gripped Tilly’s wrist as she said, ‘I want to thank you, lass, for lettin’ us have what was in your bundle. It saw us through a couple of weeks, it was a godsend. And I’ll repay you sometime, I will, I promise you I will.’

  ‘You’ve repaid me already, Mrs Drew; you gave me a home when I needed one badly.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s what I’ve come about the day. When are you coming back to it?’

  ‘Well, they told me I can only stay in the ward another two or three days and then I’ve got to go into the House.’

  ‘You’re goin’ into no house, except me own. The House indeed!’ She tossed her head. ‘I’ve heard about the House, an my God! this is bad enough.’

  ‘Most of them are old people.’

  ‘I can see that, lass.’

  ‘Anyway, I suppose I should be grateful they pulled me round. By the way, how did you get here? Did you walk all that way?’

  ‘Well, I set out to walk, lass, but I was lucky, there was a cart passin’ takin’ stuff into the market. It was from the Manor. One of the gardeners was driving it and he gave me a lift. All talk he was about the goin’s on there.’

  ‘Did . . . did he say how the master was?’

  ‘Oh aye, he talked about little else. Turned out a real tartar, he was saying, going a bit off his head he thinks.’

  ‘The master going off his head? No!’

  ‘Well, that’s what he said. Anyway, he’s making himself felt, feet or no.’

  At this Tilly bowed her head and bit on her lip, she couldn’t bear to think of him without feet. She had lain at nights thinking about what he must have gone through when they cut them off and her thoughts had made her vomit.

  ‘Sacked the nurse he did last week.’ Biddy was laughing now. ‘Threw something at her, the gardener said. There’s war on in the house because everything’s upside down. He has the footman looking after him and by all accounts he’s not having a pleasant time of it either. Swears like a trooper, he says, and was never known to swear afore. Well, it seems that he’s rousing them, and by what you told me afore, lass, it’ll do some of them good . . . Have you had anybody else to see you?’

  ‘Yes; Steve came. You know the boy, Steve McGrath. And . . . and Simon, Mr Bentwood you know, the farmer, he’s been every week.’ She turned her head away and after a moment Biddy said quietly, ‘And what does he propose to do for you, lass?’

  She looked quickly up at the older woman and she saw that there was nothing that Biddy didn’t guess at; then lowering her eyes again, she said, ‘He . . . he wants to get me a room, or . . . or some place in Shields.’

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘What do you mean, Mrs Drew, what then?’

  ‘You know what I mean, lass. Some farmers are still rich enough to afford a kept woman on the side, is that what you intend to be?’

  ‘Oh no! No!’ Tilly shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t, Mrs Drew.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, lass. Well, what you’ve got to do is, as soon as the doctor passes you clear of this ward, an’ you say that’s in a day or so, well then you’ve got to make your way back home. You can get the carrier cart from the market, that’s if you can’t get word to any of us to come an’ fetch you. It’ll take you beyond the village, not a mile from our door. Do you think you’ll be able to manage that?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Drew, yes. And thank you. The journey can’t come soon enough for me.’

  They looked hard at each other, then gripped hands.

  Three days later Tilly made the journey from the workhouse back to the pit row. She caught the carrier cart from the market place, but when she alighted at the turnpike road she felt that her legs wouldn’t carry her as far as the house.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon and there was a slight flurry of snow falling. Before she was halfway there she’d had to stop several times and rest with her back against a tree or a stone wall or a gate leading into a field; and when eventually she arrived frozen and looking on the point of collapse, Biddy dragged off her outer clothes and her boots and chafed her frozen limbs all the while ordering those about her to put a hot brick in the bed, to put on the bone soup that was to be their evening meal
to heat, and Tilly took all the ministrations without uttering a word.

  Within half an hour she was tucked up warmly on the shaky-down. And there she lay for the next few days. The day following her getting up, she was sitting before the fire when a knock came on the door, and when Biddy opened it there stood a young woman warmly dressed who said, ‘I’m from the Manor, I’m Phyllis Coates, the master sent me an’ . . . an’ Mr Leyburn.’ She jerked her head to the side, indicating a man standing by the side of a coach. ‘Could I have a word please with Tilly, Tilly Trotter?’

  ‘Come in.’ Biddy’s voice was quiet. She was asking herself why she hadn’t heard the coach coming up to the door. But then there was a thin hard-caked layer of snow on the ground. She looked towards the coachman before shutting the door; then she walked slowly towards the fire where the visitor was bending over Tilly.

  ‘Hello, Tilly. How are you?’

  ‘Oh, fine, fine, Phyllis. ’Tis nice to see you. It was good of you to call.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t come on me own.’ She turned to where Biddy was pushing a wooden chair towards her and said, ‘Ta . . . thanks;’ then sitting down, she began rapidly, ‘’Tisn’t me at all that should be here, ’tis Mrs Lucas, but . . . but she couldn’t come. She made an excuse, the snow, but the master had given orders that she was to come and ask you to go and visit him.’

  ‘Visit him?’ The repeated words were a mere whisper.

  ‘Yes’ – Phyllis nodded – ‘that was the order that came down from upstairs. It wasn’t given to Simes, it was given to Pike and he told Mrs Lucas. But you don’t look up to goin’ for a drive, I’ll say that straightaway.’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m all right, Phyllis, just a bit wobbly on me legs.’ Tilly now watched Phyllis glance round the room, and her glance which took in Fanny, Jimmy, and Arthur, who were sitting close to one side of the dull fire, showed that she found the stark poverty distasteful.

  ‘The master’s kept in touch about your condition through Doctor Kemp, and . . . and he ordered Mrs Lucas to send you stuff from the kitchen. Of course you know I’m upstairs most of the time, and she said she did, but I’ve got me doubts . . . did she?’

  ‘No, Phyllis, no, I’ve received nothing from the Manor.’

  ‘Eeh! the old bitch.’ Phyllis now turned and glanced at Biddy, saying, ‘It’s the housekeeper, she always had it in for Tilly here. But now she won’t be able to do much ’cos the master wants to see her. Do you think she’s fit to travel?’

  Biddy seemed to consider for a moment. She looked down into Tilly’s upturned face; then, as if making a decision, she said, ‘We’ll wrap you up, lass; you’ll be riding all the way, you can’t come to much harm. Come on, get on your feet.’

  Tilly got on her feet, and Biddy bundled her into her coat and hat, and over her shoulders she placed her own shawl. A minute later when Tilly went to follow Phyllis out of the door she turned and, putting out her hand, she placed it on Biddy’s chest, and Biddy, putting her own hand over it, said below her breath, ‘Take whatever comes, lass, grab it with both hands; he’s not just takin’ the trouble to send for you to say it’s a cold day.’

  Tilly was not a little puzzled by Biddy’s advice. Hadn’t she warned her against accepting a room from Simon? Of course she couldn’t mean the master was offering her anything like that, that was silly, but why had she said take what comes and grab it with both hands? Perhaps she was referring to money. But she hadn’t done anything to be rewarded with money. Anyway, she’d know when she saw him, she’d know why he wanted to see her when she got there . . .

  As she was helped up the steps and through the lobby into the big hall there arose from some place within her, that was almost forgotten, a thread of laughter, merry laughter, sardonic laughter. She had been almost thrown out of the back door last year and here she was arriving in a coach. And being shown in through the front door! But her reception, she noted immediately, was anything but pleasant, because Mr Pike, who had always been civil to her, looked at her now with a face lacking even the slightest warmth. As for Mrs Lucas, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, well, as Katie would have said, vinegar was sweet.

  That there was little semblance left of the Tilly Trotter who had once worked in this house was evident when she came to a stop in the middle of the hall and, slowly pulling the shawl from around her shoulders, handed it to Mr Pike.

  That the man was amazed by her brazen gesture she was well aware, and the thread of laughter widened in her as she stared at him for a moment ignoring the fact that Mrs Lucas was waiting and that Phyllis was looking at her open-mouthed. Yet as she looked at the butler, whose existence in comparison with those people living in the rows was one of high luxury, she found herself thinking the most odd thought. He wasn’t alive. None of them here were alive, for they really knew nothing about life, not life as it was lived by those who grovelled in the bowels of the earth. That occupation made you savour life, life on the surface of the earth. Even if you only had skimmed milk and a crust and a few taties for your diet, you relished life in a way that these people knew nothing about.

  Although her legs were wobbling beneath her long faded skirt, there came into her a strength that made her walk steadily towards Mrs Lucas and say, ‘I understand the master wishes to see me?’

  Mrs Lucas opened her mouth, then closed it again, turned and floated up the staircase without having to resort to holding the banister, as Tilly found she herself had to do before she was halfway to the landing.

  Then they were crossing the gallery and going down the wide west corridor. Presently Mrs Lucas paused, cast one glance in Tilly’s direction before knocking on a door, then opened it and stood aside while Tilly passed her. She had not announced her in one way or the other but she stood long enough to hear her master, who was sitting in the long basket chair in front of a blazing fire, exclaim loudly, ‘Hello, Trotter. Well! hello.’

  It was, as she said to them all in the kitchen a few minutes later, as if he were greeting an equal. She had never heard the likes of it, and it didn’t portend good. Mark her words, it didn’t portend good.

  ‘Sit down. Sit down. Take off your coat. Simes, take Trotter’s coat and hat. Sit down. Sit down.’

  Just as she knew that she herself had changed during the past year, so she now recognised that the master had also changed, but within a shorter time, for his voice and manner now were different from those she had recognised in the dark; but then she told herself, he must have been changing since the time the mistress left him. In any case, there was one thing certain, he had changed.

  After she was seated in the big chair opposite to him, he looked at her for a full minute before turning to the footman and saying, ‘Leave us. Oh and by the way, tell Mrs Lucas to have tea sent up, a good tea, sandwiches, cake . . . ’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When the door had closed on the footman, Mark leant forward and asked quietly, ‘How are you, Trotter?’

  ‘Quite well, sir.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look quite well. You were thin before, you’re like a rake now.’

  She laughed gently, then said, ‘So I’m told, sir. Mrs Drew says she’ll never be short of a clothes prop.’

  He smiled widely, then said, ‘You’re staying with the Drews?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A bit crowded, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, ’tis a bit crowded. But they’re good people; I’m happy there.’

  She drew in a long breath then looked towards the fire, and she remained silent waiting for him to speak again. When he did it was to ask her a question. ‘Did you ever think we’d see daylight, Trotter?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Nor me either.’ And now his voice became a mutter as he ended, ‘And I’ve wished more than once since that I hadn’t.’

  ‘Aw no, sir, no! don’t say that.’

  He turned his face towards her now and, his mouth smiling, he said, ‘Can you remember all that transpired down there, Trotter?’ />
  ‘Now I can, but at first when . . . when I was in hospital I couldn’t call anything to mind except the blackness.’

  ‘Yes, I think that was the hardest to bear, the blackness. You know the mine’s finished, Trotter, flooded out?’

  ‘So they tell me, sir.’

  ‘And you know something else, Trotter?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I’m not sorry.’ Again he looked towards the fire when he went on speaking: ‘I must have been only half conscious most of the time but I remember you vividly. You talked to me like a mother.’ His eyes came towards her again. ‘You held me when I was yelling my head off, and God! how I yelled. That pain. Anyway, there’s one thing certain, Trotter, I’ll never own a mine again.’

  ‘Oh. When the water goes down, sir, you could start it up.’

  ‘Not me, Trotter, not me. I knew nothing about mines until I spent those days, and it was days, wasn’t it? . . . Three and a half days we were together down there. Well, that gave me a lifetime of experience of what men go through. No’ – he shook his head slowly – ‘I’m finished with mining. Let somebody else have it on their conscience but not me. I’m not strong enough to stand that kind of thing, I’ve got a weak stomach.’ He laughed; then his face falling into lines that made him look almost like an old man, he sat staring at her, and she was so troubled by the sadness in his countenance that she wanted to extend her hand towards him, just as she had done in the darkness. But that would never do. No, that would never do.

  ‘I sent for you, Trotter, for one or two reasons. First, because I wanted to see you and thank you for bringing me through that awful time.’

  ‘Oh, sir, I didn’t do . . . ’

  ‘Be quiet. Be quiet. I know what you did. But the other thing was, I wondered if you would be well enough to come to us over the holidays. I’m hoping to have the children here to see me. It might only be for two or three days but if you could . . . ’