‘A knife?’
‘Aye, yes, sir.’
‘A knife.’ He chewed on his lip a moment. Then he said, ‘Somebody must have been there after you, somebody who hated him even more than you did.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have you any idea?’
She lowered her eyes. ‘His . . . his brother, he came last night. I asked him to go and find him because . . . because I couldn’t have his death on me conscience and . . . and I thought he might die in the night. He, Steve . . . he promised to go and . . . and . . . ’
‘Well, it seems evident that he did go and all I can say is he’s done you a very good turn.’
‘But if they were to find out he’d . . . he’d swing.’
‘Very likely’ – his voice was cool sounding – ‘but we shall see what transpires. And, Trotter.’ He reached out and gripped her hand and, pulling her nearer to him, he looked up into her face as he said, ‘You’re rid of him. That’s one fear less in your life. And it’s been your chief fear, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir. But now I’m afeared for Steve.’
‘Well, why should they suspect him? Only you and I know about this matter, so who’s to accuse the brother of killing him? Now come.’ He shook her hand. ‘You won’t be implicated in any way.’
‘I . . . I don’t know so much, sir. Steve said that Hal had threatened to beat him up if he came and warned me. And anyway, the mother locked Steve up in the attic, and when he went out, Hal McGrath, they would know he was goin’ lookin’ for me.’
‘Well, let them say what they like; you’ve never been away from my side for a week and I’d swear to this on all the Bibles in Christendom. Forget that you visited Mr Burgess, forget that you’ve ever left me for a moment. Your friends downstairs will forget it too if it comes to the push.’ His voice trailed away and his eyes held hers, and when with a break in her voice she said, ‘I’d die if anything should happen to Steve through me.’ his grip tightened on her fingers and, his words coming from deep in his throat, he said, ‘And I should die, Tilly Trotter, if anything should happen to you.’
As they stared at each other her mind started to gallop. Oh, no! No! No! Not that door. She didn’t want that kind of door to open. But yet, hadn’t she known it had been pushing ajar for a long time now?
No-one came to the Manor enquiring for Miss Matilda Trotter to ask her questions about her movements on a certain day because at the inquest it was brought out that the man, after leaving his ship, had spent most of the evening in a tavern on the waterfront and had left there at a very late hour. His parents admitted that he had arrived home in the early hours of the morning and yes, he was under the influence of drink. But although they insisted that he had slept the drink off before he left the house the next day, the coroner took little account of this. But what he did take into account was that there had been no sign of a struggle. There were bruises on the man’s back where he must have hit the boulders as he fell before rolling on to his face and his knife. Why he should have a knife in his hand would remain a mystery; but the knife was his own and his parents had confirmed this. A verdict of accidental death was returned.
On the day of the inquest the village waited. What would the McGraths do? They wouldn’t take this lying down, would they? Would Big McGrath go to the Manor and haul that Trotter piece out? because if she hadn’t actually done it she had certainly put her curse on Hal. And that last night of his life he had come through the village shouting her name. The whole village had heard him.
But Big McGrath did nothing because his wife said, ‘No! no more,’ because if he opened his mouth against that one now he would lose another son.
McGrath had gaped at his wife as if she had lost her senses when she said simply, ‘Stevie did it. Anyway, Hal would have swung in any case because he meant to do for that accursed bitch.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Big McGrath had said, ‘not Stevie; he wouldn’t have the guts.’
‘He had the guts, although he nearly threw them up in the gorge in the middle of the night – that’s where I found him.’
‘But why . . . why his brother?’ He spoke now as if he had been unaware of the animosity between his sons.
‘Two reasons,’ said his wife. ‘Hal has knocked him from dog to devil since he was a bairn. The other, he’s caught, like Hal himsel’ was, in the traps of that witch. An’ that, I would say, was the main reason.’
‘God Almighty! And we’re to sit here and do nowt?’
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘But God and the devil have a way of fighting things out. Bide your time. Bide your time and join your prayers to all the others who have suffered at her hands an’ her day will come. You’ll see, her day will come. God speed it and grant I’ll be there.’
Four
Summer came and it brought the children for a full week. The house once again rang with laughter and the big event at that time was the master racing them along the broad drive in his new acquisition, an iron-rimmed wheelchair. The only fly in the ointment of that particular week for Mark, and definitely for Tilly, was the presence of Mrs Forefoot-Meadows, accompanied this time by her maid, Miss Phillips, who could have been twin to Miss Mabel Price.
After they departed the house once again fell into its familiar pattern, and the master became morose and seemingly more demanding as the days went on. There were times when nothing was right. These came generally after his failure to adjust to the wooden stump and false foot for his left leg. The apparatus was leather-capped, as was the smaller artificial foot to adjust to the right ankle. Yet he had more success with the leg that extended to the knee than with the foot attached to his ankle; the bones here were so sensitive that the slightest pressure caused the water to spring to his eyes and his nails to dig into whatever he was holding at the time, which more often than not was Tilly’s arm.
Always he apologised for this; and one time he unbuttoned the cuff of her sleeve and, pushing it up, he looked at the blue marks his nails had caused. For a moment she imagined he was going to put his lips to them, and so she had pulled her arm away, saying, ‘’Tis nothing, sir. ’Tis nothing.’
There was no fear in her life now. The village could have been on another planet. It was so long ago since she had passed through it, she had even forgotten what it looked like. And those about her bore her no resentment, much the reverse. She was given respect and her wishes were adhered to in every possible way. Yet she was not happy, for deep inside her she knew that sooner or later a question would be put to her, and if she said ‘No’, what then? And should she say ‘Yes’ . . . But she couldn’t say ‘Yes’. She couldn’t give herself to somebody she didn’t love. Yet she had a feeling for him, a strong feeling but different from that she still carried for Simon.
At times when she couldn’t imagine herself living any kind of life but that which she was living now she would ask herself why not, because this present way of living would lead nowhere. She knew what happened to serving girls who gave in to masters. Oh yes, she knew that well enough. Yet she no longer felt a serving girl, and that was strange. Well, not so strange, she told herself, because it wasn’t every servant girl who could discuss books. And then again he wasn’t like an ordinary master. There were times when she felt she knew him better than any wife would know her husband, certainly better than his own wife did, for she knew she had spent more time with him in one month than his wife had spent with him in years, at least in the years after she had taken to her couch. So what was going to come of it? She didn’t know. Then one night the opportunity was given to her to find out.
It was two days before Christmas, 1840. The house was warm and there was a gaiety prevailing in it, even without the children being present. Bunches of holly were hanging here and there. There was a mistletoe bough hanging in the hall where a huge fire was blazing in the iron basket on the great open hearth. The drawing room was ablaze with light. All the lamps were lit in the house because the master was expecting company. Mr John Tolman and his
lady, Mr Stanley Fieldman and his lady, and Mr Albert Cragg and his lady were coming to dinner.
Mark was dressed in a new blue velvet dinner jacket and a cream silk shirt and cravat. Mr Burgess had trimmed his hair to just above the top of his collar. A few minutes before he was ready to be carried downstairs by Fred Leyburn and John Hillman he said to Tilly, ‘Well! and how do I look? The caterpillar emerging from the chrysalis. But a very late emergence, therefore a very old butterfly.’
She smiled widely at him, saying, ‘You look very handsome, sir.’
‘Thank you, Trotter. And you, you look very . . . very charming. Grey suits you, but . . . but I would take that apron off.’
She looked down at the small dainty lawn apron hemmed by a tiny frill that had taken her hours to sew, and she said, ‘You don’t like it, sir?’
‘It’s all right in its place but not for tonight. You are acting in the role of housekeeper, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you know what is expected of you?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m to take the ladies into . . . madam’s room’ – she had paused before uttering the word madam – ‘and assist them off with their cloaks, and . . . and wait in the dressing room in case they call me. And to be on hand during the evening should . . . they need to come upstairs.’
‘You have been well primed. Who told you of this procedure? I just meant you to help them off with their cloaks when they came up . . . ’
‘I understand it’s what Mrs Lucas used to do, sir.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I shall leave that part to you. Now tell Leyburn that I am ready . . . ’
Ten minutes later he was ensconced in the wheelchair in the drawing room, and when the butler came in to tend the fire, he said, ‘Everything in order, Pike?’
‘Yes, sir. I think the table is as you wish it, and cook has carried out your orders as regards the main course. The turkey is a fine bird, sir, together with the braised tongue.’
‘Good. Good.’
‘And Miss Trotter wrote out a menu for the cook to cover the rest of the meal: Soup for the first course, sir, then crimped cod and oyster sauce, followed by pork cutlets in tomato sauce; then, as I said, the turkey and tongue, sir. This will be followed by cheesecake and nesselrobe pudding, and, of course, the cheeses; we have a very fine ripe Stilton, sir.’
‘Sounds excellent, Pike, excellent.’ Mark had turned the chair towards the fire; he could not let the old man see that he was amused. Now that he knew Trotter was in favour, Pike never missed an opportunity to sing her praises, if unobtrusively. And it was quite some time ago, off his own bat, that Pike had appended the miss to Trotter. It was what Trotter had once referred to as crawling, yet there were times when he felt sorry for the man, for he had aged visibly since most of the old staff were dismissed and he had elected to stay on, and his legs seemed hardly able to carry him. What would happen to him should he retire him now he didn’t know, for he had known no other home but this house since he was a boy. Oh! why concern himself about such things at this moment. Tonight he was entertaining friends for the first time in more than two years, and there would be women at his table.
It was odd when he came to think about it but it wasn’t he who had suggested the get-together; it was Cragg on his last visit who had said, ‘Isn’t it about time you had some company?’ and he had gladly fallen in with the suggestion.
When he heard the carriages draw up outside he wheeled himself into the hall, there to welcome his guests. ‘Delighted to see you, delighted to see you. Hello, Joan. Hello, my dear Olive. Why Bernice, such a long time since we last met.’
‘Wonderful to see you, Mark.’
‘You’re looking so well, Mark.’
‘My dear Mark, how lovely to be here again.’
‘Will you come this way, madam?’
After a moment the ladies turned and followed the tall, slim, grey-clad figure. Their silken skirts making sounds like the ebbing waves on a beach, they swept up the staircase, across the gallery and into the wide corridor where Tilly, after opening the door leading into what was once Eileen’s sitting room, stood aside and allowed them to enter.
The room was softly lit by the light from two pink-shaded oil lamps and a glowing fire, and it showed up the gold embroidery on the chaise longue, and the deep rose velvet upholstery of the Louis-Seize. Added light was given by the candelabra arranged at each end of the long dressing table, and between them lay the powder boxes and toilet water ready to hand.
One after the other she helped the three women off with their cloaks, and one after the other she hung the velvet and fur-trimmed garments in the wardrobe, conscious all the while that the women were eyeing her, one of them through the long cheval mirror, another from where she sat in front of the dressing table; the third, a very stout madam, stood looking at her without any pretext whatsoever.
Tilly wetted her lips, swallowed her spittle, then said, ‘If the ladies should require me I shall be in the adjoining room.’
Had she said the right thing or the wrong thing, for now all three of them were looking at her directly? And then she did the unforgivable, she forgot her place to such an extent that she didn’t bend her knee. Of late, she had been out of the habit of doing so, and when she did remember it was too late, she was already entering the dressing room.
Closing the door behind her, she stood with her back to it and let out a long-drawn breath, then closed her eyes tightly, and as she stood thus the muted voices came to her, words indistinguishable at first, but then snatches here and there.
‘I told you, didn’t I?’
‘It was evident, Albert said.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘You were right, Bernice.’
‘Nonsense!’
‘Not after Myton; he would never stoop. Educating her? . . . Nonsense!’
‘Stanley says it’s impossible to educate the peasantry.’
‘Queer stories.’
‘Odd looking altogether . . . shapeless.’
One of them laughed, a high laugh; then a voice said, ‘Well, what are we here for?’ and another answered, in a quite ordinary tone, ‘What indeed! Let us go down.’
‘Girl!’
She paused a moment, then turned and opened the door. The three women were standing close together, that is as close as their billowing skirts would allow, and it was the stout one who, with a lazy gesture, waved her hand towards the door. Following the silent command, Tilly opened it and stood aside, and they all three floated past her, leaving behind them a beautiful smell of perfume.
After closing this door, too, she stood with her back to it. And now she asked herself why she should feel so angry, was it because they had been talking about her? Yet when she tried to recall the disjointed sentences she found she was unable to do so. But the impression remained strong and disturbing: they had been talking about her, and she imagined that if she were not the main reason, she was certainly part of the reason why they were here tonight.
‘Aw, don’t be daft.’ She pulled herself from the door and went to sit down on a chair, but stopped herself as she thought, No, it wouldn’t be right, not in this room; and so, going out, she went into the master’s room and there, sitting down, she asked herself why it was one instinctively disliked some people. Those three, for instance, she felt she hated them. It was the way they had looked at her, as if she were of no more account than an animal. Less, for the class were known to care for their horses and their hounds. Biddy was saying the other day that there were good gentry and bad. In some of their houses you were in luck, in others you were like muck. Biddy came out with some funny sayings. Which reminded her, she’d better get downstairs.
A few minutes later she was in the kitchen.
Here there was bustle and excitement: Mr Pike and Phyllis were serving in the dining room, but waiting on them were Peg and Katie, and running back and forward in the kitchen was Ada Tennant and young Fanny, while supervising them all was Biddy.
&nbs
p; ‘How’s it going?’ She was standing by Biddy’s side.
‘All right from this end, lass. Everything was done to a turn. But my God! that puddin’, it has me worried. I only hope it tastes as good as all the stuff that’s gone into it. The cheesecake’s all right and the rest, but oh’ – she glanced at Tilly – ‘this is more up my street, not fancy puddings,’ and she continued stacking the small sausages round the base of the bird. Lastly, she poured a glazed sauce over its breastbone, and standing back, she looked at it with her head on one side as she said, ‘We could get through that quite nicely worsels, eh Tilly?’ Then, ‘There now, Peg; put the cover on, and in you go with it. Steady! Don’t spill the juice. And you, Katie, get the vegetables in.’
She now went up the kitchen and took from the round oven the silver vegetable dishes, saying, ‘They’re not that hot, you can handle them. There you are.’ She placed four on a tray that was large enough to cause Katie to have to spread her arms wide in order to carry it.
Returning to the table, she said, ‘Once the main course is in I always think it’s easy going after that.’
‘You’ll be glad to get off your legs.’
‘Aye, I will. It’s been a long day, but an important one.’ She nodded at Tilly. ‘You see, I’ve never cooked a dinner like this for the gentry afore, not for a proper do. It’s different sending bits and pieces upstairs. Everything had to be right for this, hadn’t it?’
‘And you got it right. I knew you would.’
‘You look tired, lass. Anything wrong?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘What are they like, the ladies?’
Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 38
