If Eliot was sorry, Kate was even sorrier. She stood at the window with tears in her eyes and watched the carriages draw away, so that the picture wobbled and spun giddily, as if washed away by the rain. The tears continued to run unchecked down her face till she was sobbing uncontrollably into her sodden handkerchief. Oh, but she would miss Amelia, she surely would. No one could have asked for a better mistress, nor a kinder lady with a sweeter nature.
And yet the night before Amelia had properly been laid to rest, Kate had made love to her grieving husband. How could she have been so heartless, so cruel? What had she been thinking of? That was the trouble, of course. She hadn’t been thinking at all, she’d been acting purely on her senses. As had he. Now they must both live with their guilt.
Kate knew she’d been dazzled and astonished by his sudden need for her, wanting only to please him, to show him how much she cared. She’d felt unworthy of his love, grateful almost that he even noticed she existed. But of course it hadn’t been her that he was loving at all, only his dead wife.
And if, because of a silly family squabble, the wagging tongues of Kendal could so destroy a lovely, innocent lady who had done no wrong, save to take a wee boy to her heart and believe in a good and faithful husband, what would they say if they discovered what had taken place that night? In a way, Kate had justified their maliciousness by making the gossip come true. Their cruelty, lack of charity, and holier-than-thou attitude towards the sanctity of marriage would be as nothing compared to how they would react if they learned that a servant, a girl from Poor House Lane, had pretensions to become the mistress, or even, in her secret dreams, the wife, of Eliot Tyson.
He was right. She should leave. Were it not for Callum belonging here, in this home, with the man who had adopted him, Kate would pack their bags and go before ever the family returned from the funeral. As it was, she was trapped, by her love for him, and by the shamefulness of her behaviour.
It was a relief when the day was finally over and all visitors and mourners, save for the two aunts, had finally left. Kate kept her mind firmly away from her troubled thoughts by working extra hard. In the days following, as well as minding Callum, she helped Fanny clean and tidy and restore order to the house. The housemaid had withdrawn into one of her sulks again, for no reason Kate could think of; barely uttering a word despite their working together changing bed linen and laying bedroom fires, dusting and polishing, not to mention acres of carpet needing to be beaten and swept after all the food that had been trodden in. Kate assumed she too was grieving for the mistress, and made no comment.
Fortunately, there was little time to be morbid, as operations were directed by Aunt Vera with the precision of a military operation.
‘Don’t you gels imagine for one minute that you can start slacking, simply because your poor dear mistress has sadly departed this life. Standards must still be maintained.’
‘Yes, Miss Vera,’ said Fanny, bobbing a curtsey.
‘Miss Tyson to you. Though you can address my sister as Miss Cissie, to avoid confusion.’
‘Thank you Miss, er – um Miss Tyson, ma’am.’
The two maiden ladies swooped upon the task of clearing Amelia’s room with relish, urging Fanny and Kate to help sort her gowns, day clothes, footwear, even her nightgowns and underthings into different piles. Those which could be distributed amongst the cousins and other family members; those which might be used by carefully selected, needy individuals. The remainder were gathered into an indiscriminate heap to be taken along to the Union Workhouse. Kate grimaced at the thought but selected a few useful items for Millie, and secreted these away in her room. She meant to go and see her friend soon. She hadn’t seen her in months, not since Amelia had fallen ill. She would take these few items, and the knitted baby clothes.
Lucy arrived one morning with her three children and nanny in tow with the prime purpose of picking over the primary items of Amelia’s wardrobe. She gathered together large Hessian sacks full of garments, shoes and pretty stoles and purses, even a selection of Amelia’s favourite books and jewellery, calling for Dennis to bring the carriage to take her home.
The greedy madam, thought Kate, but prudently kept these thoughts to herself.
Later, in the kitchen, the servant’s were agog over the visit. ‘I doubt there’s anything left worth the pinching,’ Mrs Petty muttered. ‘You’d have thought they’d’ve given us first refusal, being part of the household like and after all the years of service I gave the mistress.’
‘I always fancied that long blue velvet skirt meself,’ said Fanny. ‘Ooh, and I would’ve loved that taupe costume for me going-away outfit,’ casting a coy glance in Dennis’s direction. No date had yet been fixed for their wedding and Fanny was getting anxious.
Kate said nothing, thinking it was all somewhat unsavoury to be sieving through a person’s belongings before they were cold in their grave, though who was she to talk? Hadn’t she helped herself already to Amelia’s most valuable possession?
‘Dennis says that Madam Lucy looked like the proverbial cat who’d swallowed a pint of cream. Relishing the fact that she’d seen off her rival good and proper, and picked over the spoils.’
‘They say as how Mr Charles isn’t doing too well at that new job of his,’ said Askew, unexpectedly taking the pipe from his mouth to join in with this conversation. ‘No one expects it to last.’
They all looked at him in surprise, as if they’d quite forgotten that he could talk, let alone have an opinion worth noting. ‘Bless my soul,’ said Mrs Petty, if that’s the way the land lies, I’d say that Master Charles will be back in harness at Tyson’s afore the month is out, mark my words. The master won’t stand by and see his own brother go under.’
She was proved to be absolutely correct in her surmise, as was Askew. By the end of October, Charles paid a visit to his brother and a new deal was struck behind the closed doors of his study. Tyson’s Shoe Manufactory bought out Charles Tyson’s leather dressing business, complete with its considerable debts.
‘We’ll just have to hope we don’t all live to regret the master’s kind generosity,’ Askew said again, excelling himself in his chatter on yet another evening of below-stairs gossip. No one responded, but there were a good many thoughtful expressions.
Millie didn’t seem to be at all herself when Kate finally got around to calling, but oddly withdrawn and sullen. She kept Kate standing at the door for so long, barring the entrance with arms folded about herself, that Kate had to ask if she was ever going to be let in. ‘I feel a bit of a lemon standing here. Don’t I even get a cuppa?’
They sat in the all-too-familiar, overcrowded little room that seemed to smell of stale urine and mice more strongly then ever. There was the usual gaggle of emaciated, lethargic children scattered upon the bed with its odd assortment of ragged covers and old coats, as well as on the clippy rugs on the earth floor. How many more children had Millie produced in the last eighteen months or so, she wondered? There was also a heap of leather pieces by the chair, as if she’d interrupted her in the middle of her work, which Kate made a mental note to ask about later. Best not to charge in with questions, she decided, but come to it gently. Kate felt like an alien being, or worse, like a lady-bountiful come to visit ‘the poor’. Millie confirmed this impression with her first words.
‘I’m surprised you’d sink so low as to call in here now you’ve got so high-and-mighty.’
‘What a thing to say! Course I haven’t gone all high-and-mighty, and you’re still me friend, I hope.’
‘You’ve not brought Master Callum, I notice.’
‘No, he’s out with El . . . with his papa, fishing.’
Millie rolled her eyes. ‘Papa is it now, not Dad? And fishing, at three?’
‘He’s four, actually.’
‘Oh, actually, is he indeed? My word, isn’t he going to be the little toff? Still, what would I know of such goings on?’ She gave a half shrug and, looking at the skinny shoulders, Kate thought she’
d shrunk even more.
‘I was wondering how things were with you, that’s all.’ When Millie didn’t respond, Kate tried again, keeping her voice resolutely bright and cheerful. ‘So, how are things then? I see ye’ve added to yer family since I was last here.’
‘I had the twins last year, aye,’ Millie said, with no inflection of joy in her tone.
‘And ye’ve another on the way I see, so isn’t it a blessing that I called? Look what I’ve fetched for you and the babbies.’ Holding out the parcel of clothes she’d so painstakingly knitted for the baby that never was, as well as a few items which Callum had grown out of, which she thought might be suitable for Millie’s brood. Neither the Tyrolean jacket, nor the tartan kilt, were amongst them.
Millie didn’t even bother to unwrap the parcel. She just sat pleating the hem of her grubby blouse with her stumpy fingers. It was Kate who, with a click of impatience, pulled back the paper. ‘See, some warm little jackets, and knitted trousers. Won’t they be fine come the winter?’
‘It’s very generous of you, I’m sure.’ The voice remained cold, distant. Abandoning the blouse, she began to chew on her fingernails instead.
‘’Tis not at all generous. This is me, your old friend, Kate, remember? When have I ever had anything worth the giving? I didn’t when I lived here with you, and I still don’t. The only thing I ever gave away that was of value, was our Callum, and I wish to God I’d never had to do that. Aren’t these from the mistress, who recently passed away, much to our sorrow, and in case you didn’t notice.’ There was a defensive note in her tone now, a brittleness to her response, clearly adding herself to the list of those who mourned Amelia’s passing.
‘I – I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’ Millie went back to pleating the shabby blouse, every now and then combing her fingers through greasy strands of hair and glancing across at the door every five seconds, as if she half expected it to open and reveal yet another unexpected visitor.
‘She was a fine woman, so she was. I’ll not find a better mistress in a long day’s march.’ Kate suddenly realised that these weren’t just words or false sentiment, that she truly meant what she said, and her throat tightened with emotion. Oh, but she would miss her, she surely would.
And suddenly it was as if Amelia were there beside her, a voice whispering in her ear, what are you doing here, Kate? Didn’t I warn you to stay away? I don’t belong here any more, in this place which I once thought of as home, Kate thought.
It seemed that her life had changed so radically since those days, not only in physical comforts but in attitudes too. Once she would have hated the ruling classes, no matter what. She’d never have thought to take their part or defend them, and now here she was not only speaking up for her late mistress and mourning her, but sleeping with the master. At least, she’d slept with him once and would again, given half a chance. Now there was something she’d never dare tell Millie. Kate found she was blushing, simply at the memory of that night, let alone the hopes and dreams she’d foolishly entertained of repeating it, at least until they’d been so firmly dashed by his apology.
She considered her friend with shrewd speculation, brow furrowed in thought. ‘So, are ye going to tell me how y’are, or what’s eating into you to make you look so much like a wet fortnight, or shall I go?’ Kate suddenly glanced about her, at the familiar muddle, the muck and the mess that she’d used to spend her entire day cleaning up. Something was wrong. Something missing. And then it came to her what it was. ‘Where’s Ma? Oh no!’
‘Aye, she died last back end. Took away by a racking cough.’
‘Oh Millie, I’m so sorry. You’ll miss her sorely.’
‘I will, Kate. I do.’ And Millie stopped plaiting the hem of her blouse, stopped chewing on her fingernails to look pleadingly up at her old friend as if seeing her for the first time and marvelling at the sight of her, eyes filling with tears. ‘By, but it’s good to see you love, I - I . . .’ She couldn’t finish the sentence before emotion choked her, and then the two friends were holding each other tight, both weeping and sobbing on to each other’s shoulders, Millie for her lost mother-in-law who had cared for her as if she were her own, and Kate for her own sense of loss and tortured emotions.
The tears had been mopped up, a pot of tea brewed and Millie had even consented to accept a slice of the cherry cake which Mrs Petty had kindly sent; largely because the children’s eyes had nearly popped out of their heads at sight of it, and it would have been far too cruel to deny them this pleasure despite Millie’s objection to charity.
They’d chatted about Clem, about the hope they still entertained for him to get a decent job, or of them finding a better place to live. Now, Kate was asking more pertinent questions about the pieces of half stitched leather she’d seen on the mat. ‘You’re working for Swainson, right?’
Millie’s face seemed to fold in upon itself, the eyes becoming dark hollows of livid fury. ‘I do it because I must. Our Clem gets nowt, not with his missing arm, even though he lost it at a decent job, working in a factory. No boss gives a damn about workers’ accidents. Why should they? All that matters is their profit, and Swainson is another such.’
‘I did warn you, Millie, but I can see that you’ve really no choice, not with all these babbies. But watch Swainson doesn’t ask for more. I don’t trust the bastard as far as I can throw a ball of cotton wool.’
It was as if she’d unlocked a sluice gate. Millie opened her mouth, still full of cherry cake, and began to howl. The whole sorry tale came pouring forth. How he’d forced himself upon her, used and abused her, and how she was forced to submit or else starve for want of work. And the worst of it was that she didn’t have the first idea whether the twins were really Clem’s bairns or Swainson’s, let alone this one she was carrying now. Millie sobbed as if her heart would break, so upset that she started vomiting and it took some time to calm her down. More tea had to be made as Kate sat with her arm cuddled about her friend, holding her tight until the storm of weeping was spent and, exhausted, she finally subsided into hiccupping sobs. Seeing that their mother had stopped crying at last, the watching children crept closer, a couple of them climbing on to her knee, hollow-eyed with fear.
‘There, there, love, I’m fine. Don’t fret our Susie, yer mam’s just a mite poorly today. It’s helped a bit just talking about it all and getting it off me chest like. It’d all built up inside, now ma isn’t here to help any more. She knew what he were up to but never said nowt, not to Clem, nor even to me, never chastised me once. She’d just clean me up, mend whatever he’d ripped or broken and make tea till I’d stopped shivering and got a hold of meself again. Oh, but it’s terrible hard without her. He’s gone worse now he knows there’s no one here at all during t’day. He comes at all times and stays for hours, making me do all sorts o’ mucky things to him.’
‘Oh Millie, you must tell him to stay away. There must be other ways you can earn a living.’
‘Oh aye, there is, and you know what they’d be. And happen I will go on t’streets, in the end. At least I’d get paid for what I do then.’
‘Don’t say such terrible things. I can’t bear to hear you talk like that. So help me, I’ll see his head on a platter afore he touches you again.’
Millie looked suddenly panic-stricken. ‘Nay, don’t you get involved, Kate love. You’ve escaped. I’m that jealous of you but at t’same time, I don’t want you back here, suffering same as we do. Tha’s got away and Ma were right to tell you to stay away. Say nowt. I’ll sort it, one way or another.’
‘There must be something I can do, and Jaysus, I’ll find it, so I will. And before you say it, don’t ye fret yerself, I’ll make sure that whatever it is I decide to do, it won’t reflect back on you and yours in any way.’
Promises that were easily made, but Kate hadn’t the first idea how she was going to keep them.
Chapter Seventeen
Aunt Vera and Aunt Cissie made it their task that winter to stay and support Eliot in
what they judged to be his ‘hour of need’. Their first task each day was to speak to Mrs Petty and ensure that something suitable was to be served for dear Eliot when he returned home from business, (they never referred to it as the factory – far too common). The next was to ensure that the maids were properly aware of their duties for the day, and woe betide them if the linen closet should become untidy, or the brass fender tarnished.
Much of their day was spent in sewing for the needy. When they were not thus engaged, Vera kept herself busy with her innumerable committees, at the church, the hospital, or various charitable institutions within the town, and Cissie would often go off fishing or walking her pointers. Fortunately she’d brought only two with her, known as Napoleon and Josephine, although the pair created mayhem enough, digging up Askew’s newly planted leeks, and leaving dog hairs all over the drawing room sofas, not to mention unsightly scratch marks on the kitchen door in their efforts to beg food off an obstinately unhelpful Mrs Petty.
Following a frugal lunch, the aunts would permit themselves a short nap, generally taken in the drawing-room, ensconced in matching wing chairs with their heads thrown back or nodding in time to their accompanying snores.
After this short respite, they would wake refreshed and set about the main business of the day: paying calls. They kept a diary of the ladies they had called upon most recently, those amongst their near neighbours who merited more frequent attention, and invitations which must be issued, counting out the cards they would need for that particular afternoon with punctilious care before ever they set off. They prided themselves on not being in the least judgemental, although anyone who had not attended poor dear Amelia’s funeral were likely to find themselves cold-shouldered, even if those who had cut her so cruelly at the end of her life, were not.
Nevertheless, they were careful to confine their conversation on these occasions to more general matters, such as their charity work and the church, and avoid any mention of the ‘domestic situation’ at Tyson Lodge.
The Girl From Poorhouse Lane Page 20
