At ten minutes past two, Mrs Manfred came to fetch her. ‘Oh, Miss Grady!’ she chided. ‘When will you ever learn to curb that impetuous tongue of yours? Lunch is finished and you are to go without . . . again. ’ She made a clicking noise with her tongue and shook her head, a sad expression on her loving face. ‘Here,’ she said in a soft voice, sneaking her fingers into the pocket of her dark dress and taking from it a white lace handkerchief. Thrusting it into Emma’s hand, she explained how it contained one of Cook’s gingerbreads. ‘Oh, but there’s no time to eat it now, child!’ she cautioned, as Emma began to unwrap it. ‘Master is back from dispensing harsh justice with his own kind in the courts, so now, no doubt, he seeks to do the same with you.’ At this, Mrs Manfred drew herself up sharply, as she suddenly thought of what the sweep had said when he’d come to clean the chimneys. It seemed the whole of Blackburn was deep in talk of how this very morning Caleb Crowther, along with other Justices of the Peace, must have been in a mood more foul than usual. A harmless rascal had been brought before them, whose misfortune it was to be crippled, and whose greater misfortune it was to have been apprehended in the act of unlawfully acquiring a loaf of bread from a baker’s basket, during the process of which the portly baker suffered a slight seizure. The Court took a very serious view of the whole business and, as a result, the offender was sentenced to transportation on a convict-ship to the other side of the world.
‘Quickly, child!’ Mrs Manfred was quite suddenly overcome with a deep sense of urgency and panic. ‘Don’t keep him waiting. You’ll only make matters worse.’ Seeing Emma start towards her, she turned about and hurried out of the room, adding, ‘They’re all in your papa’s room. You’re to join them there.’ She gave no answer when Emma demanded to know why they should congregate in her papa’s sick-room, ‘disturbing him so.’
When Emma was ushered into the downstairs room, it was to find not only her papa – who appeared to be somewhat uncomfortable in the dome-backed chair, supported in a half-sitting position by the use of several feather bolsters – but also her Uncle Caleb, her Aunt Agnes and a small nervous man with a mop of sandy-coloured hair and eyes of almost the same hue. Emma knew him at once to be Mr Gregory Denton, manager at one of the two mills owned by the family. Her papa had a great deal of respect for Mr Denton, for he was an amiable and forthright character, a good son to his elderly, cantankerous mother and a first-rate mill-manager. His sense of fairness, his business acumen, and his utter devotion to his work, went without question. Even Caleb Crowther had been obliged to recognize the worthiness of Gregory Denton – talents made even more remarkable because of his age, which was not yet twenty-eight.
‘Come in . . . Come in, child!’ Agnes Crowther dislodged one of her hands from the other – thus abandoning her customary posture of prayer – and waving her left hand in a dismissive gesture to Mrs Manfred, she instructed her, ‘Be good enough to close the door behind you on your way out.’ However, she appeared somewhat exasperated when her husband in turn addressed her.
‘You will not be required either, thank you, Agnes. I’m quite certain your brother and I can conclude whatever business is at hand without you. Would you be so kind as to escort Mr Denton to the drawing-room, where I’ll join him later.’ He glanced at the inconspicuous little fellow, telling him, ‘I shall be obliged if you would wait a while longer. There is a further matter to be discussed which you will possibly need to be made aware of at some point.’
‘Of course, Mr Crowther, sir . . . I shall be pleased to wait.’ Pausing only to respectfully acknowledge the man he came to see, he wished Thadius Grady well, adding, ‘It’s been an excellent month, sir . . . I hope the figures cheered you.’
‘They did indeed, Gregory. I’m most grateful for your constant loyalty . . . as I know is Mr Crowther here.’ Thadius Grady’s weakened voice betrayed his sapping health as he abandoned his effort to lift his hand to point at his brother-in-law.
‘Indeed. Indeed,’ rejoined Caleb Crowther, growing impatient; whereupon, both his wife and their visitor left the room.
‘Now then, Thadius.’ Satisfied that the door was securely closed, Caleb Crowther shifted his piercing gaze from it to the gentler face of his brother-in-law, as he continued, ‘To the business of . . . your daughter.’ For the briefest of moments, he seemed almost embarrassed and to Emma, whose eyes were fixed intently upon him, his hesitation on referring to her as her papa’s daughter seemed strange. Yet, she gave it little thought, for in truth, she considered her uncle to be altogether a curious man.
The next moment Emma found herself the centre of attention and concern on her face must have betrayed itself because her papa immediately attempted to put her at ease. ‘Emma . . . there is nothing for you to be afraid of,’ he assured her. But Emma sensed little conviction in his voice. What she did sense, however, was that her papa was slipping away from her. She took a step forward and would have come to his side were it not for his telling her at that point, ‘Be still, child, and listen to what your Uncle Caleb has suggested. When you have given me your views on what he has to say . . . then, I will gladly give you mine. I know no more of your uncle’s plans for you than you do, as I prefer we are told them at one and the same time.’
Although Emma was prepared for the worst, what Caleb Crowther had to say still came as a shock to her. It appeared that her uncle and aunt did not consider her worthy enough to be given the same opportunities as Martha. In Caleb Crowther’s words, ‘To send Emma to school would be a futile and expensive gesture, for, in no time at all, she will have found a way to bring shame and scandal down on our heads.’ He also explained how much more embarrassing such a thing would be for him , being ‘an upholder of the Law, and consequently a very eminent figure, expected at all times to set an example.’ What he proposed instead was that Emma should be sent to work in the Wharf Mill, where she would no doubt be of some use in a clerical position, assisting the manager, Mr Denton, and ‘where she might learn discipline and respect.’
If the plans for her future had come as a shock to Emma, they appeared to have left her papa totally horrified. All the time his brother-in-law had been talking, Thadius Grady had made no comment. But, Emma had noticed how grim his expression had become and how his eyes had darkened with anger. She was sure this anger must have been caused by her behaviour and she had let him down so badly. She was mortified when he looked directly into her shamed face and, in a trembling voice, instructed her, ‘Leave us, Emma.’ Then, seeing her hesitate, he raised his voice, ‘At once!’ Even when he was taken by a fit of coughing and she started to approach him, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and ordered, ‘Go!’ Reluctantly, Emma left the room. She sat dejectedly on the stairs outside, her head in her hands and her heart an unbearable weight within her.
It was here that Mrs Manfred found her. ‘Aw, child . . . don’t take on so,’ she said, not really aware of what had taken place in Thadius Grady’s room. She comforted Emma and would have led her away, but all of a sudden, there was a burst of activity. First, Caleb Crowther emerged from the room and swept past Emma and Mrs Manfred with a black and furious expression on his face. Within minutes of him disappearing into the drawing-room, Gregory Denton rushed out from it, cap in hand and looking eager to depart. Seeing this, Emma broke away from Mrs Manfred’s consoling embrace, to return to her papa.
Shaking her head in exasperation, Mrs Manfred quickly closed the front door behind Mr Denton, after which she rushed after Emma, her intention being to ensure that all was well.
Emma was shocked to find her papa in a state of great anxiety. In his hand was the tiny watch that she had seen earlier in Caleb Crowther’s pocket. Emma made no mention of that particular fact, but, somehow, she guessed her papa already knew, for, when she was settled on her knees before him, he told her in an urgent voice, ‘This watch is yours . . . it was your mama’s before you and now it’s yours. I recently entrusted it to Caleb, in order that he would get it inscribed. I feared it lost. No matter . .
. I have it now.’ He paused a moment, before gazing down on her with great tenderness.
‘Emma.’
‘Yes, Papa?’
‘Come closer . . . I have something very precious to give into your keeping.’ He took the watch out of its case and held it up between his finger and thumb. ‘Read the inscription, child,’ he urged, placing it in her hands, with the back of it facing her. Inscribed at the top, in gilded lettering, were the words: For Mary , Christmas, 1840. Beneath that was a new inscription reading, To Emma, 1860.
‘Oh, Papa!’ She could hardly believe her eyes.
‘Open the back,’ he now told her. ‘Press the button at the base.’ As she did this, she saw, nestled into the tiny cavity, a lock of hair, still golden as the brightest ray of sunshine and so small that the softest breath of wind might blow it away forever. ‘You see that, Emma? . . . That’s a part of your mama. Her hair was so lovely.’ He smiled at the memory and Emma thought the smile almost ethereal. He continued, ‘Golden, it was, like a summer’s day. You have a touch of it in your hair, Emma, now and then when the light plays tricks with it, and you have the same deep, undisciplined curls.’
Emma continued to gaze on that tiny piece of her mama . . . of herself . . . and all kinds of emotions took hold of her. ‘Am I to keep this, Papa?’ she asked, thinking that she had never been given anything more precious.
‘I hope you will, Emma,’ came the reply, ‘because, small as it is, it holds a precious memory of a day shortly after we were married. It was a beautiful day in the month of June, and everything was smelling sweet and fresh after a week of rain.’ After a long, thoughtful pause, he continued, ‘I pray you will find a love of your own one day, child, for love is a wonderful thing . . . though it can often bring its own heartache.’ The years rolled away in his mind and the tears brimmed in his eyes. Mary had been his only love, yet she had brought him so much pain with the joy. It hurt him to recall how, even when Emma was only a few months old, her mama had felt compelled to seek the company of other men. It was the flaw in her nature and a sad thing.
‘Enough, Papa.’ Emma could see he was emotionally exhausted. ‘You must rest.’
‘You’ll take care of the watch, Emma? You’ll cherish it?’
‘Of course, Papa . . . always.’
‘Good.’ Taking a deep sigh, he touched her hand with his own. ‘Fetch Mrs Manfred to me. I must speak with her.’ No sooner had the words left his lips, than Mrs Manfred stepped forward. ‘Forgive me, sir,’ she said, her voice subdued by the emotional scene she had just witnessed, ‘I came to see if you and Miss Grady were all right.’
‘ I will be safe from harm’s reach, when the Good Lord sees fit to call me,’ he murmured, obviously relieved at her presence, ‘but Miss Grady must be protected.’ He began to grow agitated. ‘I must see Holford, before it is altogether too late!’
‘Mr Holford? The solicitor, sir?’
‘Yes, yes. Send Thomas on a fast horse! Quickly . . . he must be fetched at once!’
‘What is it, Papa?’ Emma asked, when Mrs Manfred had departed with haste. ‘Why must I be protected? From what?’
‘From them !’ Emma could hardly hear his whisper. ‘I’ve given too much into their keeping . . . too trusting. Have to make amends.’
‘Please don’t fret yourself, Papa.’ Emma wasn’t really listening, as she was too troubled by his cadaverous appearance and his erratic breathing. Suddenly, she sensed someone behind her. On turning, she saw that it was Caleb Crowther and, standing beside him, white-faced and fidgeting, was Mrs Manfred. ‘Oh, Manny . . . did you do as Papa asked? He seems so agitated!’
Before Mrs Manfred could reply, Caleb Crowther stepped forward. ‘No, she did not!’ he said. ‘It was just as well that I discovered her errand, for it would only serve to aggravate your papa’s health even further. Whatever business he wishes to discuss with Mr Holford must wait, at least until he is stronger.’
Emma was obliged to agree with him. ‘Quickly, Manny. Help me get him into bed,’ she pleaded, beginning to link her arm beneath that of her papa’s.
‘Of course!’ rejoined Caleb Crowther, as Mrs Manfred hurried to help. ‘You two see to that, while I summon Mrs Crowther.’ At this, without any further regard for their efforts, he went swiftly from the room.
Only once in those desperate few moments did Thadius Grady open his eyes, and that was to beg of Mrs Manfred, ‘I must speak with Holford! My daughter’s future depends on it!’
‘We have to appease him, Manny,’ Emma told her. ‘For whatever reason, you must send Thomas to fetch Mr Holford straightaway.’
Mrs Manfred went at once, careful to avoid crossing Caleb Crowther’s path. Within a few minutes, Thomas had departed on one of the hunting horses. ‘I’ll have the fellow back here in no time at all!’ he had assured the concerned housekeeper. ‘Mrs Crowther’s sendin’ me in the same direction . . . I’m ter tell the doctor to make his way along.’
In the meantime, Agnes Crowther despatched Emma from the sick-room. ‘The doctor will be here shortly.’ she told the protesting Emma. ‘You’re only disturbing your papa by being here.’ Instructed to ‘run and fetch Mrs Manfred. Tell her to bring more blankets and fresh hot tea,’ Emma went at once. But wild horses would not have torn her away had she known that never again was she to see her papa alive!
The next half an hour was one of the worst nightmares Emma would ever suffer in her eventful life. Time and again she begged to be allowed in to see her papa so that she could comfort him and give him strength. She knew that he was in pain for, every once in a while, he would cry out. Then he would call out her name in a fitful voice – wanting her, needing her.
‘Let me go to him!’ she pleaded to Agnes Crowther. ‘I must be with him.’
‘No, child! . . . you’ll do more harm than good!’ retorted her aunt.
At one moment, the grim face of Caleb Crowther appeared from the door of the sick-room. ‘Be sensible, Emma Grady! Your papa needs to be kept calm until the doctor arrives,’ he remonstrated, shutting the door in her face and turning the key from the inside. At this, Emma made such a commotion by throwing herself at the door and crying out for her papa, that Agnes Crowther, who was always nearby, grasped her by the arm and dragged her upstairs.
‘You’re hysterical!’ she snapped, ‘and better in your room, until the doctor has gone!’ That said, she locked the door and hurried away, leaving Emma banging her fist on the door and pleading to be allowed down.
‘I promise I’ll be still and quiet,’ she cried, ‘only, don’t keep us apart. Please! Don’t keep me from him!’ She was fearful for her papa. Some deep instinct warned her that she should be with him, for he was helpless and needed her now more than ever.
Emma’s cries echoed throughout the house. The servants heard her and cried with her, Mrs Manfred silently cursed all the devils that had delivered Emma and her papa into the clutches of people such as these; even Agnes Crowther was made nervous by the pitiful cries coming from Emma’s room. However, they made no impact at all on Caleb Crowther, as he stared down on Thadius Grady.
‘Caleb . . . Please.’ Thadius knew that he was sinking fast. ‘Bring her to me, I beg you!’ Emma’s desperate cries were tearing him apart. ‘Have you no heart, man?’ he pleaded. If only his limbs had an ounce of strength in them, he would crawl from this bed and go to his darling child. But, God help him, he was as helpless as a new-born babe!
‘No, Thadius!’ Caleb Crowther’s face was a picture of dark and evil cunning as his eyes bore into the poor sick man before him, whose only dying prayer was that he could hold his beloved child close once more and make amends before he left this world. ‘I can’t let you talk to Emma, for I’m of the mind that you want to confess to her who her real papa is.’ He shook his head slowly, as Thadius protested that this was not the case. Even when Thadius began to cry like a child, there was not an ounce of compassion in Caleb Crowther’s body, ‘Nor can I allow you to talk to Holford. Have you the intention t
o change your will, Thadius? Do you regret the terms already laid down?’ The sneering smile on his face was terrifying to witness, and Mrs Manfred, who had been stocking a supply of blankets in the large walk-in cupboard and was, as yet, unseen, was so horror-struck that she began to tremble uncontrollably and retreated deeper into the safety of the cupboard.
The next moment there came a flurry of movement from outside, and a low drone of conversation which grew louder as the sound of footsteps came ever nearer. Thadius, his voice now weakened to a whisper, began calling, ‘Emma! Emma!’ He would have dragged himself from the bed, with every ounce of strength left in him, but, although his mind was strong, his poor wasted limbs were not.
From her hiding-place within the cupboard, Mrs Manfred heard Thadius Grady’s desperate cries, and her heart bled. When he suddenly grew silent and an eerie quietness ensued, she feared the worst. Her feet felt as though they were pinned to the floor; her legs were like water; and her heart was beating so fast within her breast that she thought Caleb Crowther must surely hear it. Gradually she crept to the door and dared to peep round. What she saw was the body of Thadius Grady hanging lifeless across the bed and Caleb Crowther standing over it, a pillow still clutched in his hands so tightly that the knuckles on his fists were sharp and white.
Quickly, Caleb Crowther swung the lifeless form of Thadius Grady back into the bed, placing the pillow beneath his head and arranging him in a natural position. Then, with an equally swift movement, he went to the door and unlocked it, only just having time to get to the window before the door opened and Agnes Crowther entered with the doctor, who at once hurried to the bed.
Outcast Page 5
