Off the Rails

by Beryl Kingston

  Two minutes later they were running down the back stairs towards the kitchen garden and the sunshine.

  Milly was very impressed by the Great Park and the girls enjoyed themselves showing her round. It was three times as big as the park at Foster Manor, with a huge kitchen garden and an ornamental garden that was full of bright flowers and fountains, and stables and a dairy with its own herd of milking cows and fields full of sheep and a lake so big it had a wooded island in the middle of it and a wonderful wilderness where wild flowers grew in abundance. There were also several grassy knolls which would be the ideal places for listening to stories.

  ‘I tell ’ee what,’ she said. ‘Let’s go up there and sit under that great tree and I’ll tell you a story. How would that be?’

  ‘We won’t have to read it, will we?’ Maria asked and her face was anxious.

  ‘No,’ Milly told her, gently. ‘I’m going to read it. All you’ve got to do is sit alongside of me and listen. ’Tis a fine old story.’ And she took her muchthumbed book of fairy tales from her pocket and opened it at ‘Sleeping Beauty’.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she read, ‘there lived a king and a queen who lacked but one thing to make them entirely happy. The king was young, handsome and wealthy; the queen had a nature as good and gentle as her face was beautiful.’

  ‘Like Mamma,’ Maria said.

  ‘And they adored one another, having married for love – which among kings and queens is not always the rule. Moreover they reigned over a kingdom at peace, and their people were devoted to them. What more, then, could they possibly want?’

  They were caught, hooked in by the old easy magic of the tale, their eyes wide.

  ‘Go on,’ Maria urged and then, remembering her manners, she added, ‘if you please.’

  So they sat in the shade and absorbed the story and were happy. And when it was finished and Milly had closed the book and put it back in her pocket, they stayed where they were.

  ‘You ain’t a bit like our other governesses,’ Arabella said at last.

  ‘Course not,’ Milly said. ‘On account of we’re all different. And I’m more different than most.’

  ‘They used to hit us with the ruler,’ Maria confided. ‘When we couldn’t read.’

  Which accounts for a lot, Milly understood. ‘I don’t hit anyone,’ she said, smiling at the child, ‘ever, and certainly not a little girl. The idea!’

  ‘Not ever?’ Maria wanted to know.

  ‘Not ever.’

  ‘They never read us stories,’ Arabella told her.

  ‘Like as not, ‘Milly said. ‘I wager they didn’t play Bears either.’

  Her pupils were so surprised they spoke with one voice, their blue eyes wide. ‘Bears?’

  ‘I’ll show you this afternoon,’ Milly said, ‘when you’ve shown me how to use that abacus. How’s that for a bargain?’ Much cheerful nodding. ‘But now we must be getting back to the house or we shall be late for your lunch.’

  They scampered happily back to the house and after a little while, to Milly’s delight, Maria held her hand.

  That afternoon she coaxed them to demonstrate how it was possible to add up using their abacus and then she played Bears with them for over an hour ‘because you’ve been such good girls’.

  ‘Shall we take another walk tomorrow?’ Arabella asked when their schoolday was over.

  ‘Oh, I think so, don’t you?’ Milly said.

  ‘And read another story?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘Thanks to Mr Perrault’s fairy stories, I think I can be said to have won them over,’ she wrote to her mother after dinner that night. She was trying to be modest about it but, really, it was a triumph.

  As the weeks passed by, Jane Cartwright read all her daughter’s lovely long letters twice and greedily. She was still miserable with the loss of her and seeing her writing so firm and clear on the page brought her close and made the pain of being apart less acute. When she’d read them through a second time, she passed them across the dinner table to Nathaniel, who read them attentively too, and said he was glad she was doing so well. But after he’d read the fifth letter, he set it to one side and looked at her seriously across the table.

  ‘I think you should read my letter now,’ he said and held it out to her.

  It was from George Hudson with instructions that Mr Cartwright was to travel to Leeds at his earliest convenience where he was to meet up with the chairman of the old Leeds and Derby Railway, ‘which we have now taken over’, and receive instructions for the continuance of the new line.

  Jane tried not to show how disappointed she was. ‘How long are you like to be away?’ she asked.

  ‘That I couldn’t say,’ he told her, ‘but how would it be if you were to accompany me?’

  ‘To Leeds?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘All that way?’

  ‘’Tis nowhere near as far as Whitby,’ he laughed. ‘Not by a long chalk and you managed that safely enough as I recall.’

  ‘But what about the children?’

  ‘Audrey will look after them,’ he said, and when she still hesitated, he decided to urge her a little. ‘Come with me, my dearest. I cannot promise you sea and sand but Leeds is a fair place. ’Tis my home town when all’s said and done. I should like to show you round for I know you would like it and here’s the chance come for us.’

  So she agreed, feeling greatly daring, and they travelled by stagecoach two days later on a misty autumn morning, while Milly was walking her two pupils in Longfield Great Park, with a basket full of breadcrumbs to tempt the ducks on the lake and her book of fairy stories in her pocket.

  Their walks had now become an established part of their day and one they all enjoyed – almost as much as playing Bears, which they did every afternoon, after they’d done their sums and their sketching. That afternoon was going to be particularly special because Uncle Felix was coming to ride with the hunt and he always came early enough to play Bears too – when he wasn’t talking to Miss Smith, which he did far too much, in Miss Arabella’s opinion. But when they got back to the house it was obvious that some great change had occurred for there were servants rushing about everywhere in a state of obvious agitation.

  Arabella knew what it was at once. ‘Papa’s come home,’ she said. ‘Now we’re for it.’ Her pretty face was set in its old supercilious expression and Maria looked as though she was going to burst into tears.

  ‘He’ll give us a spection,’ she told Milly, fearfully. ‘’Tis what he does when he comes home. He gives you a spection.’

  ‘And he’ll not find us wanting,’ Milly said, trying to reassure her. ‘He’ll be pleased with you. You’ll see.’

  But Maria wasn’t comforted and drooped away to the nursery for her meal as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her thin little shoulders.

  They’re afraid of him, Milly thought, as she watched them climbing the stairs. Poor little things. Well, I’m not. I’m the equal of any bully no matter how much he roars.

  But as she was to find out that afternoon, Sir Percival wasn’t the sort of man who roared to get his own way. He simply expected unquestioning obedience and invariably got it. He made an entrance into the schoolroom just as Milly and her pupils had settled themselves round the table and the two girls sprang to their feet at once and stood perfectly still, looking down at their slippers as if they were afraid to meet his eye. Milly stood respectfully too, but she faced up to him boldly.

  ‘Miss Smith,’ he said, looking at her sternly, ‘I understand from Mr Garnforth that these gels have been walkin’ in the grounds every mornin’. I must say I find that hard to believe. Is he correct?’

  The icy menace of the man made Milly’s heart judder but she stood her ground. ‘Perfectly correct, Sir Percival,’ she said. ‘That is where they have their reading lessons.’

  ‘Indeed?’ he said and he made the word sound sarcastic and threatening.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Readi
n’ lessons?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He looked at her with open disbelief. ‘Then perhaps you will be so kind as to provide them with a readin’ book,’ he said, ‘so that I may ascertain what progress they are makin’.’

  Maria was turning pale before their eyes and Arabella was wiping her hands on her skirt. You’re a nasty bully, Milly thought, but I’ve got your measure and I’ll not let you bully these girls, not if I can help it. She pulled her book of fairy stories from her pocket, turned her back on her employer, set it on the table and opened it at ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Begin at the beginning,’ she said to Arabella, smiling at her. ‘She may sit down to read, may she not, Sir Percival?’

  He waved a white hand at them to signify that she might. So Arabella sat down and took the book in her hand and began to read. She was already beginning to recognize words and to be able to piece them together but, as Milly knew, she was word perfect with this story because she knew it by heart.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she read, ‘there lived a king and a queen who lacked but one thing to make them entirely happy. The king was young, handsome and wealthy; the queen had a nature as good and gentle as her face was beautiful; and they adored one another, having married for love – which among kings and queens is not always the rule.’ Then she paused and looked at Milly to see whether she’d read enough.

  ‘Well done,’ Milly applauded. ‘You read that very well. Wouldn’t you say so, Sir Percival?’

  ‘Commendable,’ he said, but it didn’t sound like praise. ‘How of the younger one?’

  ‘Pass the book to your sister, Arabella,’ Milly said, as if reading aloud were perfectly natural to both of them. ‘Start here, Maria. ’Tis when the baby has been born. You remember, don’t you?’ And she read by way of prompting her nervous pupil, ‘Strangers meeting in the street fell upon each other’s neck, exclaiming …’

  ‘Our queen has a daughter!’ Maria remembered with superb fluency. ‘Yes, yes – our queen has a daughter. Long live the little princess!’

  ‘Well, well!’ her father said. ‘Very commendable. Al fresco tuition appears to have achieved somewhat.’ And he patted both girls on the head, very awkwardly, as if they were wild animals that might bite him if he got too close, and left them.

  Maria was so relieved she got an attack of the giggles.

  ‘Oh hush!’ Arabella said. ‘He’ll hear you and come back.’

  ‘I think he’s gone,’ Milly told her. ‘There’s no sound of him.’

  But Arabella was anxious. ‘He could be outside the door,’ she said. ‘You never know with Papa.’

  ‘Try to giggle quietly,’ Milly said, ‘and I’ll go and see.’ She tiptoed to the door as quietly as she could, inched it open and put out her head – to find herself almost nose to nose with Felix. It was the most extraordinary moment. They were so close to one another she could feel the warmth of his breath on her forehead and he was looking at her in such an extraordinary way, almost as if he was going to kiss her. It was like being caught in a spell. Then he took a step backwards and laughed and the spell was broken.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he said.

  ‘Looking out for Sir Percival.’

  ‘I passed him on the stairs,’ he told her and strode into the room. ‘Boo-ba-doo gels!’

  They fell on him, both talking at once. ‘We’ve been spected.’ ‘And we read to him. Can you imagine that, Uncle Felix?’ ‘We didn’t make one mistake.’

  ‘Time for Bears,’ he said, dropping to his hands and knees. ‘Who’s first?’

  Lizzie Hudson was playing Bears with her children that afternoon too. So she wasn’t pleased when the game was interrupted by the arrival of her husband. And he wasn’t pleased at all.

  ‘What are you doing rolling about on the floor?’ he said. ‘Get up, for pity’s sake, and show a little decorum.’

  ‘’Tis only a game, George,’ Lizzie tried, ‘and they do enjoy it so.’

  ‘You haven’t got time for games,’ he said sternly. ‘We’ve an important meeting to attend. I need you ready and dressed in half an hour.’

  Lizzie scrambled to her feet, brushing the creases out of her gown. ‘What meeting is it, George?’ she asked.

  ‘Tory Party,’ he said, as he opened the door. ‘Best bib and tucker and wear your pearls. We’re going to win t’next election. I’ve got it all planned. That fool Meek’s too slow.’ And he was gone.

  ‘Bears ’gain, Mama?’ John said hopefully.

  She bent to kiss his pretty face. ‘Later if you’re good,’ she said and went to deck herself in her finery. The orange and red, she thought, as she climbed the stairs, wi’ the headpiece. That should suit.

  It was a very noisy dinner and seemed to involve a great deal of drinking and shouting. At one point several of the gentlemen banged on the table with their knives and sang an interminable song, very loudly. It quite made her head ache. But George was in his element, booming and shouting and making jokes she couldn’t understand. Eventually they seemed to have come to some decision because they were all nodding and clapping and George stood up and made a short speech.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you have made a momentous decision here this evening. Nowt but good will come of it. Of that you can be assured. I will run this campaign for you and Sir John Lowther according to the best possible principles and according to the best possible principles we will prevail. By this time next year York will have a Tory Member of Parliament.’ He paused to give them time to cheer and thump the table and then went on, his voice throbbing with deliberate emotion and his eyes moist with induced tears and brandy. ‘Moreoever, I tell ’ee this. The highest gratification I can receive is to promote our glorious cause and to work to bring it about. My politics, gentlemen, as you all know, are simple and straightforward. You could say they are politics in a little room.’ He paused to ensure that he had their full attention, standing before them with his face rose-red with drink and his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat pocket in the manner of an orator. ‘They consist, gentlemen, in a sincere love of the king and the constitution and a desire to hand it down unsullied to my children.’ His audience were enraptured and cheered him until they were hoarse.

  Lizzie turned her orange-feathered head to admire him. Such a good man, she thought. A wonderful man. I wish Jane could have been here to hear him.

  On their way home in the carriage the wonderful man fell asleep and woke when the horses stopped to complain that he’d had ‘a reet skinful’ and felt ‘reet sick’.

  ‘You work too hard, that’s how ’tis,’ Lizzie sympathized. ‘Tek my arm.’

  But he shook away her proffered arm and staggered off without her, blundering heavily up the stairs to their bedroom where he fell diagonally across the bed and slept again, snoring loudly.

  As there was no room for both of them, Lizzie tiptoed quietly away to the blue room and slept there. Which was perhaps just as well, for later in the night her much admired husband woke and was sick all over the carpet and the armchair.

  16

  DESPITE HER MISGIVINGS, Jane Cartwright was very taken with Leeds. She liked the old Talbot Inn and the fine shops in Briggate and was intrigued by the way the ancient Moot Hall stood right in the middle of the road as if it were a sentinel. On her second afternoon she discovered the linen drapers and bought so much of their fine cloth that she could barely carry it all back to the Talbot Inn.

  ‘New clothes for the children,’ she explained to Nathaniel when he got back from his meeting, ‘and Christmas presents for my Milly. Not long till Christmas now. I wonder how long a holiday they’ll give her. After all, it’s not as though she’s a servant.’

  As it turned out, she was given the full twelve days and arrived home on Christmas Eve, on the four o’clock stage from Middlesbrough, laden with parcels, and with a handsome young escort to help her carry them. Jane had been waiting for nearly half an hour in the coach yard with the children beside her, all warmly wrapped up in their new coats and
their new mufflers with new button boots on their feet and new beaver hats on their heads, and as soon as they saw her they rushed towards her with their arms outstretched to hug and kiss her. And the escort put down his parcels and strode towards their mother with his arms outstretched.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Smith,’ he said. ‘How good it is to see you. You haven’t changed a bit. I would have known you anywhere.’

  It took her a second to recognize him and then it was with a shock of such pleasure it brought a flush to her cheeks. She put her arms round his elegant neck and kissed him like the son he was. ‘Felix,’ she said, ‘my dear boy.’

  ‘Who,’ Nat said to Milly very suspiciously, ‘is that?’

  ‘That’s Felix,’ big sister Milly told him, ‘and he’s bought us a hamper full of good things.’

  He wasn’t placated. That was his mama the young man was hugging and he and Papa were the only ones allowed to do that – except for the girls, of course. ‘Why?’

  Milly was no help to him at all. ‘Why not?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got a new coat,’ Mary told her, holding out the skirt for her inspection. ‘An’ a new muffler. An’ gubs an’ boots an’ a hat.’

  ‘Very pretty.’

  ‘Her name’s not Mrs Smith,’ Nat said, scowling at this unnecessary young man.

  ‘It’s going to snow,’ Jane said, squinting up at the sky which was colourless with cold. ‘Home I think and as quick as we can.’

  The snow began to fall as they approached Bootham Bar and by the time they reached Shelton House their coats were flecked with it and it was curtaining around them so thickly they could barely see where they were going. Nathaniel was waiting at the door for them and rushed them inside, all talking at once – except for Nat, who was still scowling – and then settled them by the fire in the parlour, with a glass of hot punch to warm the adults and a glass of Mrs Cadwallader’s nice hot lemonade for the children and Spot sitting at their feet and the shutters closed against the weather.