Then of a sudden they both turned their heads and looked up towards the ceiling as the sound of a door closing came to them, and when she rose quickly to her elbow she looked at him and he at her, and now he said, ‘All right, my dear, and thank you.’
She slipped from the bed and made for the dressing-room door, but as she turned and looked backwards she saw he was lying on his side staring towards her. Swiftly she went into the room now, then through into the closet, and there, sitting down, she bent forward and dropped her face into her hands. Her whole body was shivering while her mind was chattering at her. Another minute or so and I would have. The pity of it, the pity of it. And him the master. ’Tisn’t right. If only I could. But no, no, ’twouldn’t be right. And as I said, I couldn’t hold me head up. And he knows about Simon. Well, if he’s twigged, how many more? His wife? Oh yes, his wife. But what’s going to happen now? How can I go on knowing what he wants, and he’s so nice, so kind? I do like him. Yes, I do, I do.
She got to her feet now, her mind saying harshly, ‘Get to bed! For God’s sake! get to bed.’
She had to go out of the closet door to get to her room, and she had just stepped into the passage when she came face to face with Ada Tennant. Ada was holding a candlestick; she held it above her head and peered at Tilly. She had a coat on over her nightdress and Tilly, remembering her position, said sternly, ‘Where have you been?’
‘Just down to kitchen, I was hungry. Me belly grumbles in the night. I’ve just had a shive.’
Ada now turned her gaze on Tilly. Tilly wasn’t wearing anything over her nightdress and she dared to say, ‘You’ve been with the master? You’ve had to see to the master all this time?’ and Tilly said rapidly, ‘No, no, of course not. I’ve just been to the closet.’
‘Oh. Oh aye. Thought I heard him talkin’ as I passed goin’ down. Must have been dreamin’.’ She now turned away and went towards the end of the corridor and the stairs leading to the attic, and Tilly went into her room where, almost throwing herself into bed, she lay stiffly staring up into the darkness. It only needed Ada Tennant to put two and two together, and as simple as she was, she wasn’t past doing that, and it would be all over the place that she was serving the master in more ways than one. Swinging herself about, she turned on to her stomach and tried to squash the thought that had sprung into her mind: she wished she could serve him in more ways than one, and except for the fact that she might be landed with a bairn she would, yes, she would, because where would this feeling for Simon ever get her?
Gone now was the idea that if she followed such a course she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up again.
Five
Routine can become tedious, but often it signifies a time of peace. From the night of the bed incident a new relationship came to life between Mark and Tilly. No reference was made to the incident, nor did his manner towards her alter in any way. But on her part, she had found difficulty for days afterwards in being her natural self. Soon, however, she took the cue from him and life went on smoothly, too smoothly.
Then one morning the smoothness was ruffled. Like the surface of the sea before a storm, all had been calm, but following the slight ruffle came a wind, and it churned up the waves so fiercely that at one point Tilly thought she would drown.
She was entering the kitchen when Peg came hurrying towards her, saying, ‘Steve, the lad, is at the back door askin’ for you, Tilly.’
Endeavouring to hide her impatience, she said, ‘Thanks, Peg. I’ll see to him,’ and went down to the kitchen, past Biddy who turned her bent back from the stove, raised her eyebrows and shook her head but said nothing.
Steve had grown within the last year or so. He was now almost eighteen but he looked older; it was his solemn countenance that went a long way towards putting at least two years on him. He greeted her as usual: ‘Hello, Tilly.’
‘Hello, Steve,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
He did not answer her question but asked, ‘Can I talk to you like, away from here?’
She turned for a moment and looked back into the kitchen, then said, ‘Well, I’m on duty; but I can give you five minutes or so.’
She was surprised when he closed his eyes for a moment as he tossed his head upwards; then he was walking by her side and through the archway, and into the shelter of the high stone wall which had been bordered at one time by a rough hedge, but now the land was all cleared and showed a neat path and low-trimmed box hedges.
She was again surprised by his manner when he stopped abruptly and said, ‘I’ve come to ask you something.’
She didn’t say, ‘Well, what is it?’ she just waited a while, looking into his face; and so he went on, ‘I feel I’ve got to speak out and get me say in afore he gets over his pretended sorrow and comes lookin’ for you.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know what I’m talkin’ about.’
‘I don’t, Steve.’ She shook her head impatiently.
‘Well, first of all I don’t care what they say about you and . . . and him . . . ’ He pointed in the direction of the top of the wall and the house beyond.
‘What do you mean?’ Her chin came into her neck now as she felt her body stretching upwards.
‘Aw’ – he lowered his head and shook it – ‘you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t know what you mean, Steve McGrath.’
‘Well, you should do if you’ve got your wits about you. Ask yourself, which lass of your standin’ is taken into a big house like that and put in charge and runnin’ it like a mistress? They say you don’t get chances like that for doin’ nowt.’
‘Well, I got my chance for doing nowt.’ Her voice was loud, and, realising this, she turned her head first to one side, then to the other, and pressed her fingers over her lips for a moment.
‘You mean there’s nothin’?’ His tone was contrite now.
‘I don’t see why I should bother even to answer you.’
‘Aw, I’m sorry.’ He looked to the side, then kicked at a pebble on the path. ‘It’s the village; they seem to have nobody to talk about but you. It’s funny.’
‘I don’t think it’s funny.’
‘You know what I mean. Well, anyway’ – he now drew himself up and said, ‘I’ll come to the point, I’ve been beatin’ about the bush for as long as I can remember. I . . . I want to marry you, Tilly. I . . . I want to know if I can start courtin’ you? I’ll soon be on the face workin’ an’ I’ll earn enough to keep us . . . ’
She was looking at the ground. She, however, did not kick at a pebble but remained perfectly still for a moment with one lifted palm outwards before her face. It was this action which had stopped him talking.
There was a long silence before he said softly, ‘I’ll wait as long as you like.’
‘It’s no use, Steve. I . . . I don’t think of you in that way.’
‘’Cos I’m a year younger?’
‘No, it’s got nothing to do with that, I . . . I just think of you . . . well, as a brother.’
‘I don’t want you to think of me as a brother, I never have.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’
‘Well, of course, I know, and . . . and I’ve tried to put you off. You can’t say I haven’t.’
‘You won’t put me off, Tilly, not until you go and marry somebody else.’
‘Steve’ – she put her hand gently on his arm now – ‘please don’t wait for me ’cos it can never be, not . . . not with you. As much as I like you, it can’t be, Steve.’
He lowered his head now as he said, ‘Things happen; you might be glad of me one day.’
‘I’ll . . . I’ll always be glad of you, of your friendship, Steve, but . . . but not as anything else.’
She watched his face crumple as if he were going to cry, and what he said now startled her.
‘I killed our Hal for you, Tilly.’
‘Don’t say that!’ The hoarse whisper came from deep in her throat, and she
repeated again, ‘Don’t say it. I told you to go and help him . . . oh my God! Anyway, if you did it you didn’t do it for me, you did it because you hated him.’
His head came up with a jerk as he said, ‘I hated him because of what he did to you, and what I did to him I did for you. What’s more, they know that I did it, at least me ma does. But she won’t give me away because she’d lose another one, an’ me pay packet an’ all.’
The bitter irony of his words saddened her, and for a moment she wanted to put her arms about him and hold him and tell him how grateful she was for what he had done because inside she was grateful, but she knew what the result of that would be, so she said, ‘Oh, Steve, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I would do anything for you, but . . . but that. Try to look upon me as a friend, Steve. There’s good lasses about. Katie, you know, she’s always talkin’ about you, she likes you a lot, she’s a nice lass . . . ’
‘Aw. Shut up Tilly! it’s like tellin’ a thirsty bloke to chew sand.’
There was silence again between them until she said, ‘I’ve got to go, Steve, I’m . . . I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll wait.’
‘Please, please, Steve, don’t, it’s useless.’
‘Aye well, I can’t feel worse off than I am now, but I thought I’d get the first one in afore the farmer comes gallopin’ over.’
She stared at him, her brows meeting. ‘What do you mean, the farmer comes galloping over? I’ve never seen Si . . . Mr Bentwood for months. And what makes you think he’ll come galloping over here?’ Her voice was stiff, as was her face now.
‘Well, he’s a widower now, isn’t he?’
‘What!’
He stared at her. ‘You didn’t know that she, his wife, was dead?’
Her mouth opened to let in a long draught of air and she shook her head slowly before saying, ‘When?’
‘Four . . . no , six weeks gone. And you didn’t know?’
‘Well, why should I?’ She was finding it difficult to speak now. ‘We get no-one . . . no-one from the village here.’
‘But surely somebody in the house?’
She looked away to the side as she thought, Yes, surely somebody in the house. The master, he was bound to know that the farmer’s wife had died. Yet why should he? Then there was Mr Burgess, he knew all the gossip of the countryside, he surely would have spoken of it. Her gaze flicked from side to side as if searching for an answer; then she said, ‘I’ve . . . I’ve got to go. Goodbye, Steve. I’m . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Tilly.’
She refused to answer the plea in his voice and, turning hurriedly away, went through the arch and over the courtyard and into the kitchen; and there met Phyllis who was coming through the green-baize door and who in a loud whisper said, ‘I . . . I was just comin’ for you; there’s company.’
‘Company? Who?’
‘Mr Rosier has just been shown up.’
His feelings were such that Mark would have welcomed the company of any man that morning, with the exception of the one who now stood before him.
‘Well, how do I find you?’
‘You find me very well.’ Mark did not look towards Mr Burgess and say, ‘Give the gentleman a seat,’ but Mr Burgess, of his own accord, proffered the visitor a chair before he himself left the room.
‘I should have called before but I have been busy.’
It was now more than a year since the mine disaster, and so whatever had prompted Rosier’s presence here today wasn’t out of compassion or sympathy . . . But why ask the road he knew?
‘How are things?’
‘As you see’ – Mark waved his hand in an arc which encompassed the room – ‘most comfortable. Everything I need.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Rosier now patted his knee; then jerking his small body up from the chair, he flicked his coat-tails to the side before saying, ‘I was never much use at small talk – don’t believe in it anyway – I think you know why I’m here today.’
Mark remained quiet, just staring at the man.
‘It’s like this, Sopwith, there’s not a damn thing been done to your pit since the water took over. Now if you leave it like that much longer it will be too late to save anything.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I’d given the impression I wanted to save anything.’
‘Don’t be a fool, man.’ Rosier screwed his buttocks hard on the chair now, and both his face and his voice showed impatience as he said, ‘And don’t let’s spar. And I’m not going to talk light because you’re no invalid. Let’s speak man to man, you’re in a hell of a mess.’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘You heard what I said all right, you’re in a hell of a mess. You haven’t got the money to put that place in order and, as it is, nobody but a fool would take it on.’
‘I would never have classed you in that category, Rosier.’
‘Ah, don’t fiddle-faddle, you know what I mean. The place needs money spent on it, even when it’s pumped dry, and that’ll take the devil of a lot of doing. But you know, you’ve always been behind the times. Now you’ve got to admit that. Why, you’re one of the few pits that’s been running solely on horses for years. You thought you could go it alone. All pits are joining up their waggonways, some going straight to the ports. Look what’s happening across the river. Seghill has become dissatisfied with the Cramlington waggonway and is building its own line to Howdon.’
‘Go on. Go on.’
‘Aye, I’m going on. Now, as I proposed to you when I last spoke about sharing, the waggon way between us would have been of great benefit, we could have joined up with the main line going to the river . . . ’
‘Great benefit to whom?’
‘Now don’t take that lord almighty tack, Sopwith. If you had taken my offer on a fifty-fifty basis we would have both benefited, now your place is hardly worth the ground it stands on.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Because I’m a man who takes risks, a gambler at heart, I suppose.’
‘And you’re willing to gamble on something that’s not worth the ground it stands on? Oh, who do you think you’re talking to, Rosier? Now—’ He put his hand up to check a further flow from the visitor, saying, ‘Wait! That mine has been in our family for generations, before rolley ways or waggon ways were thought of, when the ponies and horses carried the coal on their backs, and it’s going to remain in our family. Dry or wet, working or still, it’s going to remain there. Have I made myself clear?’
Rosier was on his feet now wagging his bullet head from side to side. ‘You’re a bloody fool, Sopwith,’ he said. ‘That’s what you are. You’re sinking. All about you you’re sinking, your house, your land. It might as well have been flooded with the pit for all the use it’s going to be to you when you haven’t got the money to keep it going. I can promise you twenty-five per cent of what I’ll get out of that hole in a couple of years’ time, enough to keep you safe here for the rest of your days.’
Mark reached out and grabbed at the bell rope to the side of the fireplace; then his hand releasing that, he picked up the bell on the side table and rang it violently.
Before Pike’s stiff legs were halfway up the stairs, Mr Burgess had entered the room.
‘Kindly show this gentleman out, Burgess.’
Mr Burgess lowered his head and stood aside for the visitor to leave, but Rosier remained standing staring at Mark, and what he said now was, ‘Your days are done; you and your kind’s time has passed. Things are happening out there. Iron is coming into its own; steam is giving horses a kick in the arse, you’ll see. You’ll see. You and your horses carrying the coal out on your wooden tracks! God! you’re as dead as last century.’
When he turned he almost knocked Mr Burgess over; in fact, if it hadn’t been for the support of the door the man would have fallen.
Pike was at the top of the stairs to meet the visitor, but he, too, was thrust aside.
Tilly held her breath for a moment as she watched Mr Pike support himself aga
inst the balustrade; then she hurried towards the bedroom.
Mr Burgess was leaning over the chair as she entered the room and he was saying, ‘Are you all right, sir?’ and for answer Mark said, ‘No, I’m not all right, Burgess; who could be all right after that?’
Burgess straightened up and, his voice quiet now, he said, ‘Pigs are supposed to be intelligent, sir, and one can believe this, but on no account will they ever be capable of fitting into civilised society.’
‘Oh, Burgess!’ Mark put his head down for a moment; then looking up at Tilly, he said, ‘Bring me a glass of something, not milk or soup.’
She smiled at him before hurrying to the dressing room.
A few minutes later, after he had sipped at the glass of brandy she had brought him, he looked from her to Mr Burgess and said quietly, ‘He’s right you know, he’s right in one way, I belong to the last century.’
‘Nonsense!’
He smiled at Burgess; then said to Tilly, ‘I don’t suppose we’ll have another visit from him, but leave word, Trotter, that he has not to be admitted to this house again, on any account.’
‘Yes, sir.’
She left the room, went downstairs, and gave the order to Mr Pike, who said, ‘Well, that’s good news, for nothing would please me better than to show that gentleman the door before he got over the step.’
Returning upstairs again, she went immediately into the dressing room and there she waited until she heard Burgess take his leave. There was something she wanted to ask the master, at least there were two things she wanted to ask him; the first one was if she could have this afternoon off. When she thought of what this might lead to she put her hand to her breast as if to still the quickened beating of her heart. She knew why Simon hadn’t come to see her since his wife had died, for the simple reason it wouldn’t be proper and no matter how forthright he might appear she knew he cared about people’s opinion of him. But there was nothing to stop her visiting him to offer her condolences. Oh, she tossed her head at the thought – she was acting like a hypocrite, thinking like a hypocrite. She was glad she was dead. She was, she was. No. No. She mustn’t think like that. Well, what other way could she think? Simon was now free and she loved Simon . . . and he loved her. She had known this for years, even perhaps before he knew it.
Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 40
