Outcast

by Josephine Cox

  ‘Ooh, you’re right, Miss Grady,’ the girl agreed, as she hurried away in the direction of the kitchen, ‘an’ she’s been in such a sour mood lately. Oh, but Mrs Manfred will give me what for an’ all, when she claps eyes on me!’ said the little maid, shaking her head from side to side and growing more agitated by the minute. When Emma assured her that she herself was on her way to see Mrs Manfred to tell her to go immediately to the mistress in the drawing-room, the girl gave a great noisy sigh of relief. ‘I’ll be away an’ tidy meself up, Miss Grady,’ she said. ‘Mek meself more presentable afore I come to do the breakfast things . . . oh, but I did ’ave a bad night, I’m telling yer . . . a tirrible night!’ Then she scurried away, all the while muttering to herself, ‘Be quick, Amy, be quick!’

  Emma watched until the figure had gone from her sight. Amy’s not much younger than me, she thought, and already she’s learned to be afraid. Why! She’s dictated to by more people than I am! The thought was a sobering one – as was the belief that the little maid was a true survivor and would come to no real harm. Emma hoped the very same could be applied to herself, because, in spite of her determined spirit, she could not rid herself of the feeling that there may well be rough times ahead.

  Just over an hour later, Emma and Mrs Manfred emerged from the house. The older woman was dressed in a navy straw boater, dark dress and fitted calf-length coat which left the full hem of her skirt peeking out, while Emma looked lovely in a royal-blue full-length coat over a paler blue dress. Her hair was brushed up and covered by a small plain bonnet of the same deep blue as her coat She carried a black drawstring purse and wore black, small-heeled shoes with a cross-over bar at the ankle.

  ‘How pretty you look, Miss Grady,’ Mrs Manfred declared on first seeing her.

  ‘By! Mrs Denton won’t be able to resist you, Emma!’ Gregory Denton remarked as he ushered both ladies into the carriage. Hiring this conveyance had set him right back on his savings, but he didn’t begrudge it, for he intended to do everything in style to impress Emma, knowing, however, that his mother would never approve of such extravagance.

  When the little party was safely aboard and comfortable, he gave the driver instructions to ‘make for Montague Street, if you please.’ Then he settled back in his seat opposite the two women. He gave Mrs Manfred a small nervous smile, and he looked at Emma, his face blushing a dark shade of pink at her very closeness, with the fawning eyes of a man either in great pain or extreme love – or both!

  The carriage went from Breckleton to Blackburn by way of Preston New Road. The journey was not too long, only some four miles in all and, the main road being pleasantly free of traffic, it hardly seemed even that distance. Emma found herself under close and embarrassing scrutiny all the way. She could feel Gregory’s eyes on her, and she knew that his adoring gaze had not left her face for an instant. Now and then, to reassure both Gregory and herself, she looked up to warmly smile at him. But this only seemed to make matters worse as, bit by bit, he edged forward in his seat, until, by the time they turned into the steep and cobbled Montague Street, he was clinging so precariously to the very edge of his seat that when the carriage swung in from Preston New Road, he slithered to the floor. For a long, excruciatingly embarrassing moment Gregory Denton seemed perfectly surprised to find himself on his knees before Mrs Manfred, with his right hand actually clutching the top of her leg.

  When, completely taken aback, Mrs Manfred declared, ‘Mr Denton! Do get up!’ Emma was struck by the absurdity of it all and, in spite of her every effort not to, she collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Manfred, I do apologize!’ Gregory Denton was mortified. But, for Emma, the whole incident was delightful. Somehow in laughing at poor Gregory, and in seeing the shocked, indignant expression on Mrs Manfred’s face, she felt less nervous of the encounter she herself was about to endure. Surely the woman who gave birth to such a gentle and apologetic creature as Gregory couldn’t possibly be the awful creature that people claimed she was. This thought gave Emma a great deal of comfort.

  The carriage was brought to a halt and the passengers disembarked. Emma and Mrs Manfred waited while Gregory paid the driver and asked him to return to collect the ladies upon the hour.

  Oh, Lord! thought Emma, as she stood before the gate, her gaze taking in how regimental and neat the small front garden was and how sparklingly bright the lace curtains were. There was no going back now!

  In a moment, Gregory had inserted his key into the front door lock. Pushing the door open to reveal a long narrow corridor with an open stairway at the end and two doors along the right wall, he shepherded Emma and Mrs Manfred inside. He then closed the door, plunging them all into semi-darkness, since the only incoming light was through the half-circle of stained glass above the door.

  Still Emma was determined not to feel too apprehensive and was succeeding in keeping herself calm until, with the best intentions in the world, Gregory said in a low, trembling voice into her ear, ‘Emma, don’t be nervous. And, please . . . do be careful not to upset her, because she can be very touchy.’ Whereupon Emma’s brave resolve instantly crumbled, leaving her so apprehensive that she was annoyed to discover herself actually trembling.

  ‘It’s cold in here, isn’t it?’ she asked, looking from one to the other for reassurance.

  ‘You’re right, dear,’ Mrs Manfred quickly agreed, ‘it is a bit chilly to the bones.’

  ‘Yes, well . . . Mother can’t abide it being too warm,’ explained Gregory, propelling them towards the first door on the right, ‘she says it meks a body soft to be too warm,’ he finished lamely. Now, turning the brass door knob, he inched open the door saying, ‘If you’ll just mek yourself comfortable in here, I’ll bring a pot of tea. Then, I’d best go upstairs and see whether she’s ready to receive visitors.’

  ‘Upstairs?’ asked Emma with some surprise.

  ‘Is your mother ill?’ rejoined Mrs Manfred, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and wondering how in God’s name would Emma fare in this house.

  ‘Oh no! No, indeed, she’s not ill, ,’ replied Gregory, with a forced laugh, ‘just a little off colour, I dare say. There are days when she doesn’t set foot downstairs, you see, but, she’s not ill, or bed ridden. Oh no!’ He seemed most anxious that Emma especially should believe that. ‘It’s just, well . . . the old ones do have their funny little whims and fancies, don’t they!’

  Mrs Manfred merely nodded, thinking to herself how one of Mrs Denton’s ‘whims and fancies’ was no doubt the pleasure she got from being waited on hand and foot by a doting son!

  ‘It’s all right, Gregory,’ Emma felt the need to reassure him, for she could see how desperate he was that all should go well on this first meeting between his mother and his prospective wife. ‘Mrs Manfred and I would love a cup of tea. Then you go and talk to your mother, like you said.’ She cast an appealing glance in Mrs Manfred’s direction, ‘That’s all right isn’t it, Manny? We’ll be content supping our tea until Mrs Denton’s ready to receive us.’ When back came the grudging reply ‘Yes, of course,’ Gregory was visibly relieved, and a moment later had gone to put on the kettle. Emma would have much preferred to busy herself in making the tea, but she thought the offer might offend Gregory.

  It was fifteen minutes later when Emma and Mrs Manfred were ushered up the enclosed and darkened stairs. On reaching the landing, Emma was reminded by the anxious Gregory, ‘Remember, Emma, you mustn’t be nervous. Her bark really is worse than her bite, you know.’ The look on his face, and the pleading tone of his voice was enough to make Emma want to turn round and flee. But, bracing herself, she stiffened her back, brushed down her dress, patted her bonnet and, in a deliberate voice told him, ‘I’m quite ready, Gregory, and not a bit nervous.’ Oh, if only that were true, she thought, making sure that Mrs Manfred was not far behind as they all trooped alongside the polished carved balustrade towards the main front room.

  If Emma had been expecting to be confronted by some sort of ogre w
hen she entered that bedroom, then she was not disappointed! The very first thing that struck her was the size of the room which was surprisingly large and, judging by its dimensions, must span the entire width of the house. Situated at the front and facing east, it was well positioned to enjoy the best of the early morning sunshine. To Emma, the room was in stark contrast to what she had already seen of the rest of the house, which was unpleasantly cramped and gloomy. But, even though the sun brightened it up, the huge and oppressive articles of furniture cast their own dark shadows, sadly negating the effect of the light coming through the wide bay windows.

  To Emma’s right, and taking up a greater part of the green distempered wall, was a long cumbersome chest of drawers, made in dark wood and some three feet deep from front to back. It contained six drawers, each with two enormous wooden knobs at either end. On top of the dresser was a solitary wooden-framed photograph of a man, woman and young boy standing between them. The humble-featured man had a long drooping moustache and his fair colouring was echoed in the face of the boy. The woman had a sour, impatient expression on her face and, by the way in which she thrust herself in front of the other two, she totally dominated the picture. Emma could see that the small boy was Gregory, and she assumed that the man and woman were his parents. He was later to confirm this and to tell Emma how the whole experience of having that picture taken had been not only a long, laborious and frightening procedure, but that it had cost his father no less than three days’ takings in his butcher’s shop. He remembered quite clearly though, how his parents had argued the issue, but, as always, his father had given in to his mother’s insistence, and, ever since, the picture had pride of place on that dresser.

  Along the wall to the left was a tall, broad wardrobe in the same dark wood and design as the dresser, and beside it stood an iron-legged washstand, the lower shelf of which was packed from end to end with all manner of toiletries. The centre of the floor was covered by a large, patterned rag-peg carpet, with the highly polished floorboards visible around the edges. To one side of the window was a small rush-seated stand-chair which held a bulbous circular snuff-tin and a brass candle-holder containing a half-used candle. Directly beneath the window was the largest bed Emma had ever seen. Made of brass, it was most decorative. It had two corner-posts at either end; halfway down each of these was a large petalled flower in fine beaten brass, each one touching another to form a garland right across. On the top of each post was a tall, ceramic, floral acorn, each one polished to a brilliant shine. The bedcover was of the same rag-peg design as the carpet which Emma now stood on, and, sitting bolt upright beneath it, with her back stiff, yet slightly stooped, was Doreen Denton – the formidable sight of whom turned Emma’s stomach over in a series of somersaults. Physically, she was small and, with her pretty lace-coloured nightgown, tiny frilled white cap and large green-speckled eyes, at a distance she might have appeared to be no more than a child.

  In truth, her presence was overpowering. Emma could feel her influence from every corner of the room. Then, when those large, all-seeing eyes came to rest their probing gaze on her, Emma wished herself a thousand miles away.

  ‘Here!’ The voice was thin yet charged with such authority that one dared not disobey. ‘Don’t stand dithering there! Come here. ’

  When the voice pierced the air, it also seemed to pierce something in Gregory Denton, for he was now fidgeting uncomfortably and nervously winding his hands together. ‘Emma . . . she just wants to see you more closely,’ he said softly, beginning to step forward, ‘it’s all right.’

  ‘You were not asked to speak, Gregory!’ came the sharp retort from the bed. ‘Nor were you asked to stay. Kindly leave! And you can take that other woman with you.’

  ‘But this is Mrs Manfred, Mother . . . the lady sent by Emma’s aunt, to speak on her behalf,’ he spluttered.

  ‘Take her with you, I said. If she’s here to speak on Miss Grady’s behalf, then there’s no need, is there, for the young lady herself is here? She can speak on her own behalf. And, if this . . . Mrs Manfred is here to speak on behalf of Miss Grady’s aunt, then I don’t want to hear. If Mrs Crowther has something to say, or to ask, then she must come here and speak on her own behalf!’ With this, she swung her eyes round to Mrs Manfred, asking, ‘Unless of course the woman’s struck down badly! Is that the case?’ When Mrs Manfred gave the somewhat impatient and indignant answer that, yes, Mrs Crowther had been poorly on getting from her bed that very morning, there was a painfully long silence before, with a sharp clap of her hands, the older woman told her, ‘I can’t say as I altogether believe such a convenient excuse, but, very well . . . Take yourself downstairs with Gregory, and I’ll let you know whether to come back up.’ Before Mrs Manfred could voice the protest which was already registering on her face, Gregory Denton had moved forward to assure her quietly, ‘It’s best we do as she says. Emma’s all right, Mrs Manfred. Please . . . let them get to know each other.’

  When the door had closed behind them, Emma thought she hadn’t felt so alone since her papa had been taken from her – except, of course, when she had forced herself to tell Marlow that they had no future together.

  ‘Now then,’ the voice piped up, ‘fetch yourself closer.’

  Emma was moved by the urge to take off her bonnet, and quickly doing so, she came forward to stand beside the bed. She was aware of her fingers nervously twisting the bonnet in her hands, and she could see the old lady watching with irritation; but, for the life of her, she couldn’t keep still! Then, in a sharp angry voice, came the instruction to ‘Put that blessed thing down!’ But when Emma felt the bonnet being wrenched from her hand and flung on to the bed, her fighting spirit came to the fore. Bad-tempered old thing! she thought. I won’t let you get the better of me, because I intend to start as I mean to go on. Reaching forward, she retrieved the bonnet, held it perfectly still in her hands, and, looking directly into that sour, wizened face, she said in a firm voice, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Denton.’

  After curiously regarding Emma far a long time, the older woman’s expression grew darker. ‘I can’t say I’m pleased to meet you !’ She began looking Emma up and down, noting the blue outfit, of a kind not worn or afforded by the likes of folk round these quarters. She saw how Emma’s rich auburn hair shone in the sunlight, and searching those strong and defiant eyes she saw how beautiful Emma was. Now she was even more suspicious than she had been when Gregory had first told her the news. Gregory, her Gregory, her unattractive son, whom she loathed to share with another woman. Any woman! Yet, there was something strange here. Something not quite right that she hadn’t fathomed out. Now, she bluntly asked the questions which had presented themselves to her.

  ‘What do you want with my lad? You, a young woman from a far better background, whose uncle is a man of the Law, and who should know better than to think you could fit in with the likes of us? What do you want with my Gregory, eh? Is there some’at wrong with you, that you’re not telling?’ Of a sudden, she was bolt upright in the bed, her eyes enormous and her hands thrown up in alarm. ‘That’s it!’ she said with astonishment. ‘You’re with child! I’m right, aren’t I, eh? You’re with another man’s child and the Justice thinks to rid himself of you . . . palm you on to my Gregory!’ Her voice had risen with every word, until she was shrieking at the top of her voice. Before Emma could assure her that such suspicions were totally unfounded, the door had burst open to admit both Gregory and Mrs Manfred.

  ‘What’s all the shouting?’ Gregory demanded, ‘We could hear you downstairs!’ One look at the woman in the bed told him she was indulging in one of her tantrums, and coming to put a protective arm about Emma’s shoulders, he led her away towards the door and Mrs Manfred. When, in a high-pitched and hysterical voice, his mother told him, ‘You’re being used, you bloody fool! The girl’s with child! Ask her! Go on! Let her deny it if she can!’ He was stopped in his tracks. Bringing his gaze to Emma, he saw her smile and shake her head. It was enough.


  ‘Emma is a good and lovely creature,’ he told the agitated woman, ‘I love her, and I’m deeply grateful that she’s agreed to be my wife.’

  ‘You’re being used, I tell you!’ insisted Doreen Denton, struggling to get from the bed. ‘You’ll not fetch her into this house, I say!’

  Emma felt Gregory’s hands fall from her shoulders. She watched as he slowly turned, went to the bed, and looking directly into his mother’s eyes told her in a tone of voice which neither Doreen Denton nor Emma had heard him use before, ‘Emma and I are to be wed in a fortnight’s time, and I shall be bringing her here to live with me. But, only for as long as it takes for us to buy our own home. That’s now my intention, and that’s the way of things . . . whether you approve, or whether you don’t.’ When he had finished speaking, the silence in the room was painful to Emma. She might have stepped forward to diffuse the situation, but was stopped when Mrs Manfred’s hand gripped her arm. Seeing the fire in Gregory’s face, and having heard how lovingly and fiercely he had defended her, something warm stirred within her.

  But Emma had also seen the venom in old Mrs Denton’s eyes as the old woman had stared across the room at her. There had been such loathing in her voice hitherto, that when she now spoke in a completely different tone, Emma was totally shocked.

  ‘It seems I’ve been too harsh on you, Miss Grady . . . Emma. If my son loves you enough to fight for you in such a way that I never would have believed, then you must be everything he says you are.’ Now, she switched her attention to Mrs Manfred, who also was puzzled and surprised by this sudden change of attitude. ‘Mrs . . . Manfred, isn’t it?’ When there came a nod of confirmation, she went on, ‘Thank you for having the courtesy to come along. You can go back to Mrs Crowther and tell her that I am in full approval of the marriage between Miss Grady and my son. She will be made welcome in his house.’