The Rag Nymph

by Catherine Cookson

  This was like stepping into a fairy-tale world. One could live a different life altogether in a room like this, in a house like this ... and with people like this. Yes, even with this dainty little chattering lady.

  Bernard might be related to those in The Grange, but those people lived a different kind of life from

  that which was led in this house. It could even be better than her experience at the Quintons' house.

  Oh, yes; because there she had just been a servant ... and here she would be...

  'You are far away.' Bernard's hands were resting, one on each side of her chair; his face was hanging above hers: 'What were you thinking?' he asked.

  She looked back into his eyes, her own soft and unable to hide her feelings, and she said, 'I was thinking that this is a beautiful room and that I have, for this afternoon, stepped into fairyland.'

  The smile went from his face, and his voice came deep from within his throat as he said, 'You could live in fairyland, my dear, if you so wish.'

  'Oh, here's Fanny with the tea. Have you rolled the bread and butter, Fanny? I always like it rolled.'

  'Yes, Miss Chrissie, I've rolled it.'

  The woman who was speaking and who was now placing a heavily laden tray on a side table, straightened her back and looked towards Millie; and in a quite cheery voice, she said, 'Afternoon, miss.'

  'Good afternoon.'

  'Will you get me that table, Mr Bernard, the one near the window with the pull-out leaf?'

  'Yes, Fanny. Yes.' As if he were a small boy, Bernard hurried towards where the spindle-legged table stood and brought it to the maid. And Millie told herself that this woman was a maid and she had spoken like that to Bernard as a mother might have done. Oh, the atmosphere in this house! And the woman herself, she was far from young. She must be well into her fifties and she looked so cheery, so bright.

  The tea was set out, the rolled brown bread passed round, followed by minute scones filled with a fruit preserve, and the whole covered with the chatter from this little lady. And if Millie hadn't liked her from the moment she saw her, she endeared herself now when, laughing her tinkling laugh, but rather ruefully, she said, 'I talk too much. I chatter too much. Everyone says I do. But then, you see, I haven't always had people to talk to, and when the opportunity arises I make up for lost time. But since I have found dear Bernard, or Bernard has found me.

  I can talk to my heart's content. And it's so nice to find someone who remembers the books that I once read and we can discuss them. But I can't always remember them ... Do you want this last piece of brown bread, Miss Millie?'

  'No, thank you. I've had a wonderful tea.'

  'Then you won't object to my having it?'

  For answer, Millie merely smiled, then glanced at Bernard; and he smiled back at her. It was an appreciative smile as if he were thanking her for something.

  The tea over, he now got to his feet and, standing before Millie, he said, 'Inspection time. I want to show you the house. It won't take very long because,

  -compared to the usual residence, it is but a doll's house. But I would like you to see it and tell me what you think about my choice.'

  'Shall I come along, or shall I stay here?'

  'You stay here, Aunt Chrissie, and finish that game of patience, and see if you can beat yourself. You've never worked out three games in a row

  yet, have you?'

  'No; just two. But I will one day, I will.'

  They were in the hall now, where he not only took her elbow but her arm, and, drawing her to a halt, he said, 'That's Aunt Chrissie.

  What do you think?' 'I... I think she's sweet, most unusual.'

  'Yes. Yes.' But there was no smile on his face as he said further, 'Yes, she's most unusual. I'll tell you all about her later, when we're upstairs. But now come and see Fanny's kitchen. By the way, Fanny has been her maid for forty-two years. She has never left her, no matter where she's been. She's devoted to her.'

  'She seems a very nice person, very warm.'

  'She is, and a very understanding woman.'

  He pushed open an oak door, and then they were in the kitchen. It was a long room with whitewashed walls, and at the far end was a large window, not lead-lined or mullioned, but with three long clear panes; on a side wall was a fireplace with an open grate and with an oven to each side of it; on the opposite wall was a delfrack holding what she saw at a glance must be a complete dinner service. To the side of this was a glass-fronted cupboard full of tea china.

  Her heart swelled and she could see herself in this kitchen, at this table, which had a white scrubbed top but mahogany legs; she could see herself baking here morning after morning, and afterwards sitting in that easy basket-chair to the side of that oven and putting her feet on that brass and steel fender. Of course, that would be when Bernard wasn't here, because then she would be in the drawing-room.

  'You have that faraway look in your eyes again.

  Were you looking at them out there?' He pointed to the window through which could be seen the maid talking to the man whom Bernard had called Geoff, and he said, 'They get on well together. As Fanny has been Aunt Chrissie's woman, Geoff has been my man for years. He'll turn his hand to anything.'

  She hadn't noticed them; she had been taken up with the kitchen; and her comment was: 'You're both very lucky.'

  'Yes.' He nodded. 'I've always been lucky. Sometimes, I'm rather fearful that my luck might turn; it seems too good to be true. My most recent experience of it was when my godfather left me a half-share in the mill. You couldn't know what that did for me. And then, of course, he also left me quite a sum of money, which enabled me to buy this house. Anyway, we'll go into more details as time goes on. But there's another room here downstairs, in fact, two.'

  One room turned out to be a small book-lined study, the other was unfurnished, and about this he said in an aside, 'Could be a ladies' toilet room.'

  Then they were upstairs. There were four bedrooms on the first floor, and a steep staircase that led from the landing to two attics. These, he later informed her, were Fanny's domain. Geoff had a room above the stables. And, he had added, all very comfortable.

  When he opened the door of the first bedroom she just glanced in, and he said, 'That is a guest room.' Of the second one, he again just opened the door and said, 'We won't disturb Aunt Chrissie's privacy; but you can see it is like a doll's house.

  She loves dolls and stuffed animals. But I insisted that they don't wander all over the house, and she's very good in that way.'

  The third bedroom was a single room, and this time he just partly opened the door and said, 'So far, this is my abode.' But he pushed open wide the door of the fourth room, saying, 'This is the best bedroom. I... I keep it select.'

  When she stood in the doorway hesitating, he said, 'It's all right, my dear. I ... I just want to see if you appreciate it as much as you do the drawing-room.'

  'It's a beautiful room.' Her voice was low. She did not mean to pretend any demureness, but she found that she couldn't raise her eyes to his until, taking her hand, he said, 'Come and sit by the window; I want to tell you about Aunt Chrissie.' The words were so matter of fact, the tone too, that she allowed him to lead her to the window seat.

  When she sat down at one end, he did not sit close to her but left a space of perhaps three feet between them; and what he said was, 'People can be very cruel. You wouldn't think, just because that little creature downstairs chatters as she does, and merely it would seem because of her manner and inconsistencies and the lack of a good memory, that her relatives would put her away for years.'

  'They put her away? In a...?'

  'Yes. Yes, in a form of asylum. She was lucky, I suppose, for, together, they were able to send her to a private place; just so that they wouldn't have to put up with her. She hadn't previously been badly used; no, she had just been ignored, left. My mother used to take her for a few months every year, until she became ill, when, of course, my father wouldn't put up with her; he woul
dn't allow her even to visit my mother.'

  He paused and sighed here; then went on, 'Well, after I came into the money and part of the mill, a plan began to form in my mind.' He paused and looked away from her for a moment, then back again, and he said, 'It seemed to be not quite complete; and then I suddenly felt Aunt Chrissie could be the key to it. And she's so grateful for a home, and she understands the situation. She's had a tragic life, really. My mother told me that until she was seventeen or eighteen she was perfectly normal; in fact, she was shy; and then she fell in love with a neighbour's son and he with her, but his father would have none of it. You see, Aunt Chrissie was tiny, small; she didn't look as if she would be a good breeder' - he had stressed the word as if with bitterness - 'so he whipped his son away. Following this she developed a nervous illness: where she had been so quiet before, she now chatted about anything and everything. She's much better now than she was, at least in that way. And you know, given the opportunity, she would likely, as well as anyone, have bred a fine family. She still has two sisters, you know. They're both married, and they're both unhappy, although no outsider would guess it. Their marriages were arranged, made in the cradle, so to speak. It's still

  happening.'

  He turned to look outside again; then with a sudden jerk he lifted himself over the space between them, caught her hands and, pressing them tightly and his voice coming as if being dragged from some depth within him, he said, 'Millie, I love you. Oh God, how I love you! You know that, don't you?

  You know I love you.'

  She had to bend her head forward, her brow almost touching his, before she could swallow and mutter, 'Yes, I do, and.., and I love you.'

  'You do? Really, really love me?'

  'Oh yes, and ... and have for a long time.

  Perhaps from when you carried me home; I mean, to the Quintons', that night. I don't know. I don't remember ever not loving you.'

  'That--' He was pressing her hands against his shoulder now and saying, 'That night was the night,

  too, for me; I knew it then. But you were just a child, a girl; I knew I'd have to wait, and it's been hard waiting, Millie.' His lips were near hers, and their gaze was linked with longing; then they were enfolded, their lips pressed close.

  How long they remained like that she didn't know; she was aware only that she really had entered a sort of fairyland and life was stretching away before her in the blue and gold haze of this house.

  When he pulled her to her feet she swayed, and he had to steady her. His face was bright with laughter.

  'Millie! Millie! I'm the happiest man alive. You have no idea. But come along; let's get out of this, at least for the time being.' He drew her towards the door and on to the landing. 'We must have a little decorum, mustn't we?'

  She, too, laughed, but aloud now, saying, 'Oh, yes, sir. Yes; we must have a little decorum.'

  'I'm going to take you home now,' he said; 'it will be safer for you.'

  'Oh Bernard. Bernard.' She leant against him. 'I'll always feel safe with you, always.'

  'My dear, dear, Millie. You've always looked like a golden angel. That's why I had the drapes done in gold. Besides that, you are an angel, so understanding. Come, come; there's a lot to be talked about. And I must talk with your dear Mrs Aggie. She understands the situation already. She knew how I felt.'

  'And she knew how I felt, too.'

  'You think so?'

  'Oh, yes. I might as well confess I've had the miseries for the past month because I didn't see you.'

  'Millie! Millie!' He stood in the hallway cupping her face. 'Look,' he said, 'I don't want you to go, and I want to see you tomorrow and the next day, and the next day and the next day, but ... oh dear!' - he now closed his eyes and tossed his head from one side to the other - 'I've got to be away into Cheshire tomorrow, and I'll likely be kept there for a week. I'm not looking forward to it.'

  'You have business there?'

  'I suppose you could call it business. For the rest of my life you could call it business ... Oh, let me get you away from this house, because if I don't, I won't let you go at all.'

  'I must say goodbye to Miss Chrissie.'

  'Well, make it quick. I'll tell Geoff we're ready.'

  He went out the front door and she went into the drawing-room and approached the table where the little woman was playing patience, and she said, 'I'm leaving now, Miss Chrissie.'

  'Oh, you are, dear? You are? What a pity! I thought you were staying.'

  'No, no.' She laughed. 'Not yet, anyway.'

  'But you will, won't you?'

  'Yes. Yes, I will.'

  'And soon?'

  'Yes' - she paused - 'and soon. Oh yes' - her head was bobbing now - 'yes, and soon.'

  'I'm so glad. It'll be wonderful to have you here.

  You are a very lucky girl, you know, to get a man like Bernard. He's very exceptional is Bernard. And he arranged all this, and so kind.'

  'Yes, he's very kind.'

  'You'll be very happy, dear.'

  'I'm sure I shall. Goodbye for the present, Miss Chrissie.'

  'Goodbye, my dear ... You may kiss me if you like.' She held up her tiny cheek, and when Millie bent down and touched it with her lips, she felt as if she were kissing a large china doll.

  Outside, the trap was waiting. Bernard lifted her bodily into the seat, then took his place and, with a 'Gee up! there,' they were off on the return journey...

  It was almost half an hour later, as they were nearing the livery stable, when she exclaimed, 'Oh, dear me. I've talked as much as your aunt. Wouldn't it be dreadful if you had to live with two of us like that?'

  'Dreadful?' he said. 'It would be wonderful. And it will be wonderful. Oh yes, it will.' He passed the reins to one hand and, reaching out, he gripped hers.

  'As long as I live I'll remember this day, and this drive, for never before have I held reins in my hand and felt like this.'

  It was as he was leading her out of the livery stable yard that a man stepped forward, saying,

  'Hello, there.'

  'Oh! Ben, Ben; what's the matter? Anything wrong with Mrs Aggie?'

  'No, no. Nothing's wrong, but I got to thinking that your escort' - he glanced towards Bernard 'Well, after he had set you home he'd have to walk back on his own. And I doubt if anybody dressed like he is--' He did not say, 'as you are, sir,' but,

  'he is, would get out of that quarter without being stripped, an' not only of his wallet. So I thought I'd relieve you' - he was looking straight at Bernard now - 'of the trouble, and take her home.'

  'I think that was very unnecessary.' Bernard's voice was cool. 'I'm quite able to take care of myself. And this walking stick' -

  he lifted up the walking

  stick that he had taken from the back of the trap 'is not only part of one's dress, it's a weapon.'

  'Aye, it might be, if you're face on, but not if the blows come from behind, or a dozen or so kids trip you up first. Well, you can walk back if you like, but that's up to you.'

  Millie now turned to Bernard, saying, 'He's ...

  he's right, Bernard, he is. It is dangerous in that part at night. Please don't be offended; he ... he means well.'

  'I don't mean well, I'm being' practical.' Ben had snapped the words out.

  A short silence followed before Bernard said,

  'Goodbye, dear. I'll write.'

  'Yes. Yes, do. Goodbye, and ... and thank you for a wonderful day.'

  'I thank you, too.'

  It was all so formal, so stiff an ending to a beautiful fairy-like day, and all through Ben. Oh, Ben! At times he got on her nerves. At times she wanted to strike out at him; at other times she felt so deeply for him.

  They had gone about a dozen steps when she said, bitterly, 'You do spoil things for me, don't you? You set out to do it.'

  He didn't answer her until they had taken another dozen steps or so, and then he said, 'Well, far better spoil the night for you than spoil his face for him, 'cos you wouldn't have lik
ed to see him with it bashed in, would you? You know what happens down that lane, especially on a Saturday night.'

  Yes, she knew what happened in the lane, and not only on Saturday nights; and the mobs of children and young boys seemed to smell a stranger. Oh, she wished she was miles away, miles away in that lovely house. And she would be soon. Yes, she would be. And she couldn't get in quickly enough to tell Mrs Aggie.

  Once inside the gates, she ran across the yard and into the house. Aggie was sitting in her usual place and she greeted her with, 'Well, you've got back then.'

  'Yes. Yes, I've got back. Did you know that Ben was meeting me?'

  'Aye, yes; he said he would. And I thought it was sensible.'

  'Oh, Mrs Aggie, he makes me mad. He ...

  he's practically spoilt my day. But ... but no, he couldn't.' She now threw off her bonnet and her coat, then flopped down beside Aggie and, gripping her hand, said, 'I'm so happy; I feel I could burst, explode.., go into fragments.'

  'Well, what's made you so happy?'

  'You know.'

  'He's spoken?'

  'Yes.'

  'Ah, lass, lass. I'm glad for you. Oh, I am glad for you. Did he give you a ring?'

  'Ring?' She lifted her hand and looked at the ring her father had put on her finger, and she said, 'Oh, no, no. It... it was all of a sudden, just before we

  came away. We seemed to... not to be able to hold our feelings any longer. And he said he's coming to see you. Oh, Mrs Aggie, you should see that little house. It's a palace, it's paradise, it's beautiful. And he's had it all done out with me in mind, he said.'

  She turned her head away now. 'Oh, I can't believe it, I can't believe it. He's done it out in rose and gold because.., because of my hair and.., well... Oh, Mrs Aggie, he's wonderful. And... and you know, Mrs Aggie, he didn't seem to really mind about him ... I mean, my father. He just mentioned him when

  we left the house, and ... and I couldn't tell him the truth. I will sometime, but I know it wouldn't matter to him.'