The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl)

by Catherine Cookson

  Aggie was standing next to Ben, and whatever movement he made she checked with the pressure of her elbow; then, her head wobbling on her fat shoulders, she said, ‘Well, now, sir, put like that, could I refuse your request? I ask you. But it’s up to the lady in question. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  Millie warned herself to remain cool and to keep looking at this wonderful man and not to take any notice of the look on Ben’s face, and to resist jumping forward and throwing her arms about Mrs Aggie, who recognised the direction in which her heart was now pointing and had been for some time.

  ‘That would be very nice. I shall be pleased to take tea with your aunt, Mr Thompson.’

  She took no notice when Ben swung round and left the room; but went on to say, ‘I shall have to change. Would you mind waiting?’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all. I’m sure I shall be amply entertained by Mrs Winkowski here during your absence.’

  She inclined her head slightly towards him, then walked from the room, forcing herself not to run.

  She didn’t, until she reached the stairs, and then she bounded up these and into the bedroom. And there, once the door was closed, she leant back against it and cupped her face in both hands. Her lips were pressed tightly together for a moment until they sprang apart and, her mouth opening wide, she drew in a long gasping breath before flying now to the wardrobe.

  Pulling open the doors, she gazed at the clothes hanging there. Then she almost snatched a dark green skirt and short coat from a hanger; grabbed up a pair of brown buttoned boots from the bottom of the wardrobe, and these she dropped on to the floor before throwing the suit on to the bed. Finally from the top drawer of the old chest she took a white blouse. Then she almost jumped out of her working clothes.

  She now tipped some cold water from a ewer into a basin and washed her face and hands; then, telling herself she wouldn’t have time to undo her plaits, she arranged them on the top of her head. Anyway, her bonnet would hide most of her hair, and so she simply and hastily combed down a tiny fringe of hair on to her brow and two curling strands on to her cheeks.

  When she was dressed, complete with a brown velour coat covering her suit, she took from one of the two drawers to the side of the dressing table’s cracked mirror a handkerchief, and, from the second drawer, a pair of gloves. Lastly, she picked up a bead bag, and, bending, she surveyed herself bit by bit in the upper half of the mirror.

  She did not pass any opinion on her reflection, yet when she was about to open the door she stopped and her eyes travelled down the green suit that was showing between her open coat. And she asked herself if she had chosen rightly. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

  She made herself walk down the stairs, across the hall and into the kitchen, where Bernard immediately rose to his feet. And he gazed at her for a moment before he said, ‘I’m…I’m glad you’ve dressed warmly; there’s a bitter wind blowing. I hope you don’t mind walking as far as the ostler’s where I’ve left the horse and trap?’

  ‘Not at all. I like walking.’

  ‘And what time may I expect you to bring her back?’ Aggie was asking now.

  As he paused before answering her, there came the sound of the bell ringing again, but neither Aggie nor Millie took any notice of it. They were looking at Bernard who, taking out his watch, said, ‘It is now just on two o’clock. It is a good half hour’s drive to the cottage as it’s beyond the outskirts. Let us say I will return her to you just after six o’clock. How does that suit you?’

  ‘Well, it’ll be dark soon after then but she’ll be safe with you, I trust.’ Aggie was stepping towards Millie now, her hands outstretched as she added, ‘We’ll button that coat up,’ when the door opened and Ben entered, followed by Millie’s father. And if Ben had brought in a bucket of iced water and thrown it over them both the effect could not have been more deadening.

  The sight of the man caused a groan inside Aggie which said, Oh, God! No! Just when things were goin’ well for her.

  As for Millie, she wanted to close her eyes to shut out the sight of him. The only thing she could be thankful for at this moment was that he didn’t seem to be in any stage of drunkenness.

  She was asking herself what she could say. Could she say to Bernard, ‘This is my father’? But the man forestalled her, having to do so by introducing himself.

  He had taken in immediately that she was dressed for the road, as was the gentleman, and although the words ‘Aye, aye’ jumped to mind, he didn’t express them. What he said was, ‘Well, well, daughter! I see you’re ready for out. And is this gentleman your escort?’

  Bernard looked from the man to Millie, and back to the man again, and he said, ‘Yes, I’m about to have that pleasure.’

  ‘Well, well! And where are you takin’ her?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’ Aggie was stepping forward now. ‘Get out of the road; they’re about to leave.’

  She now turned to Bernard, saying, ‘I’d like to point out, sir, that this man isn’t welcome here. And…’ Before she could say anything further, George Forester exclaimed loudly, ‘I have business here. As long as my daughter’s here nobody can stop me seein’ her. I made that plain to you before, missis. And since I’ve come to give her a birthday present, I’m givin’ it to her.’ And with this, he put his hand inside his breast pocket and pulled out a small box. It was unwrapped but it was unmistakably a ring box. And pushing past Aggie, he thrust the box out towards Millie.

  Sick at heart now, Millie glanced from Aggie to Bernard, and then to Ben, whose expression, even if she had been asked, she couldn’t have described.

  Slowly she took the box from the extended hand, saying, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, open it.’

  And still slowly, she lifted the lid and looked down on the gold ring with the three stones set at an angle across it; the middle one was red, the other two looked like pieces of pale glass.

  ‘Put it on.’

  ‘I…I will some other time.’

  ‘No, now. I want to see it on you.’

  She looked helplessly from one face to the other, but no-one moved. And so she took the ring from the box, then hesitated on which finger to put it. When she tried it on the first finger of her left hand it slipped off, but when she put it on the middle finger of her right hand it stayed. Grabbing her hand, he said, ‘Now, look at that! And that’s no cheap ket, I’m tellin’ you. And always remember that I gave it to you.’ He now turned and looked at the others, saying, ‘Seein’ I’m not wanted, I’ll make me way out the way I came in; but I’ll be back,’ then turning back to Millie, he addressed his last words to her: ‘did you hear that? I’ll be back. And by the way’—he pointed to the ring—‘that’s only the beginning. You take my word for it.’ Then hunching his coat over his shoulders, he pushed past Aggie and Bernard to the door, already being held open by Ben, who then followed him out.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, you’ve had to put up with him. I’m very…’

  ‘Oh, please, don’t worry. But—’ He was looking at Millie now as he said, ‘I understood your father was dead?’

  Her head slightly bowed as she answered, ‘Yes, I thought so, too. We all thought so. But he’s very much alive, and it’s awful of me to say, unfortunately. But…but that’s how I feel about him.’ And she tried to pull the ring from her finger, but it stuck against her knuckle. ‘I’ll have to get some soap to ease it off,’ she said to Aggie.

  ‘Don’t. Don’t do that; let me have a look at it.’ Bernard Thompson lifted her hand and looked at the ring; then moved it gently around her finger and back again. And he stared at it for some time before he said, ‘It’s a beautiful ring.’

  ‘It’ll be an imitation, sir. That’s all he could afford.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think it’s an imitation. I’m no authority on jewellery, but this one looks genuine. I should leave it on. And it enhances your hand. Anyway, shall we go?’

  Instead of answ
ering him directly, she walked over to Aggie and, bending, she kissed her on the cheek. And they stared at each other for a moment before, straightening up, Millie walked towards the door, whilst he, taking Aggie’s none-too-clean outstretched hand, said softly, ‘It will be good for her to have a change, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do indeed, sir. I do indeed,’ she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

  Why, Millie wondered, had she to stop halfway across the yard when she met up with Ben and say, ‘I won’t be all that long.’ It was something in his face that drew the words from her.

  Ben merely looked at her hard for a moment before he turned and walked towards the barn.

  ‘He’s…he’s very protective of you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he is; he always has been.’

  They were outside the gate now, picking their way along the ridges of dried mud. He had his hand on her elbow, guiding her, not only because of the roughness of the road but in order to avoid the numerous unsightly children who were milling about. When a small boy, one of a crowd of about a dozen, cried, ‘Hello, Millie,’ and the others took it up, almost in a chant, crying, ‘Hello, Millie,’ she forced herself to smile at them and lift her hand in a wave.

  ‘You are well known.’

  ‘I should be; they’re among my best customers,’ she said and curtly, for she felt his words to be unnecessary.

  When he laughed softly she turned and looked at him. He was smiling at her and she smiled back, thinking, he understands, he really does. He doesn’t look down on them or on Mrs Aggie, or Ben.

  Ten minutes later, seated in the trap, he jerked the horse into a trot, and she said, ‘It’s a very smart outfit.’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘Yes. I like horses. We had one called Laddie. The name was misleading: I think he must have been in his late twenties when Mrs Aggie bought him because we found him dead on his bed one morning. She said it was because she had overfed him. But she was as distressed by his going as I was.’

  ‘Did you drive the horse?’

  ‘Yes; but he wasn’t a horse, he was really a pony.’

  ‘Well, you can drive this outfit whenever you like.’ She did not respond to his suggestion, for some reason feeling that the offer suggested more than the words implied.

  They were going through a district that was new to her. It wasn’t as poor as The Courts but it was certainly full of low-class dwellings interspersed between mills, and she said, ‘I have never been this way before. Mrs Aggie had certain routes she kept to but she was never as far out as this.’

  ‘This is the Hulme district,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry, we’ll soon be out of it.’

  ‘Oh, it doesn’t worry me.’ She turned her head now and looked along the warren of streets going off this main one. Two up, two down, the backyards leading into narrow alleys, piled high here and there with rubbish. She imagined the insides of the houses to be really no different from The Courts, except that they were terraced instead of going upwards.

  They crossed a main road, one that was thick with traffic of all types of vehicles from barrows and handcarts, through the cheap straw-floored hired cabs, to carriages and chaises.

  ‘Now it will get better,’ he said; ‘we are approaching the residences.’

  The first residences were still terraced houses, but all neatly curtained and brass-knobbed. These led to the detached houses, each set in a small patch of garden, and gave way to larger ones still, each with two entrances, one double-gated, the other single and holding a board which read ‘Tradesmen’ in large painted letters. Beyond these residences was open country with here and there a stretch of woodland; and, passing one, she exclaimed, ‘That puts me in mind of the Quintons. Do you ever hear of them?’

  ‘Not much; I very rarely go that way. I sometimes see William, that is, Mr Quinton, in the town, and he gives me news of the children. And he always asks after you.’ He inclined his head downwards. ‘They missed you very much, you know; and the children were quite unmanageable after you left.’

  Recalling why she left she did not go on to further the conversation in that direction, or to say Mr Quinton had said he would bring the children to see her, but that he never did. What she said was, ‘Your house is quite a way from the town?’

  ‘We’re almost there, another few minutes,’ and it seemed almost instantly he was saying, ‘Here we are.’

  He drew the horse to a stop, jumped down from the trap and opened two small iron gates; then he mounted the trap again, turned the horse and trotted it up a short drive and round a curve. And there she saw his house. Or was it a cottage? Or was it a palace? As she sat staring at it, he held out his arm towards her, saying, ‘The outside is pretty but the inside is much prettier.’

  She stood on the gravel drive looking at the leaded windows gleaming in the sunshine, and the thick root of the creeper climbing up the wall by the side of the porch. When he took her hand as if to run her into the house, the appearance of a young man round the corner stopped him, and he called to him, ‘See to him, Geoff. I’ll want him again about half past five.’

  And now he was pulling her through the doorway and into a hall, and he was actually untying her bonnet; but when he went to unloosen the buttons of her coat she smacked his hand gently, laughing and saying, ‘Please!’ which made him stand back from her, his teeth nipping his lower lip. And then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I’m so excited. You’re here at last. I’ve always imagined you being here…well, since I got the place.’

  Her coat and bonnet off, she stood gazing about her. It was a small hall, about the same size as the one in the Quintons’ house, not more than fifteen feet wide and perhaps twenty feet long, but it was beautifully furnished. At the moment she couldn’t distinguish one colour from another, only that there was a maze of rose and gold from the floor coverings and the draped curtains at the small arched windows. The staircase rose from the end of the hall, and she could see that this, too, shone with colour. And now he was leading her towards a door, and when he pushed it open Millie saw a tiny doll-like woman rise from a satin-blue upholstered chair, and she was crying, ‘Oh, my dear! My dear. I didn’t hear the carriage. Oh, how nice to see you! My dear boy. Is this the young lady?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Chrissie, this is the young lady.’

  Millie found her hands taken between two tiny white ones, which were so soft she felt they would melt within her firm grasp. They hardly seemed real, not quite human. Nothing about this little person seemed real; certainly not her voice, which was like a high thin musical note and sang as she said, ‘Tea’s all ready. It’s been ready this hour. I love my tea. Don’t you like tea, Miss…Miss…?’

  ‘Millie, Aunt Chrissie.’

  ‘Millie. Oh that is a sweet name. Of course, Millie. But, as I said, don’t you like tea?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I enjoy tea very much.’

  ‘Shall I ring for Fanny?’

  ‘Aunt Chrissie, sit yourself down and behave yourself and stop your chattering or you’ll frighten Millie away.’

  ‘Oh’—the tone of her voice sank—‘I wouldn’t frighten you away, would I?’

  ‘No, I’m sure you wouldn’t, ma’am.’

  ‘She called me ma’am.’ Her laughter made a tinkling sound. ‘I am not a ma’am or a missis, I am merely Miss Christine Lavor. But dear Bernard here has always called me Aunt Chrissie. The others—’ She turned now and looked up into Bernard’s face as she added, ‘You remember, Bernard, the others always called me Lavy. I never liked that. That was, of course, with the exception of your dear mama, not Berenice’s mother, no, your mother…’

  ‘Aunt Chrissie, you will be entirely confusing Millie. She is not acquainted as yet with the family history. Now will you hold your tongue and let us be seated?’

  ‘Oh my!’ The slight figure now tripped up the room, saying, ‘I was playing patience; I must move the cards. I don’t want to disarrange them, it was a good hand. I’ve had it out twice today. Do you play patience, Miss M
illie?’

  ‘I haven’t done so yet—’ She paused before saying, ‘Miss Christine,’ which she noted brought an appreciative smile from Bernard, but passed as though unnoticed by Miss Lavor, who was now carefully moving the tray on which her patience cards were set out.

  Bernard now led Millie to another blue brocade chair, and when she was seated he put his hand out and pulled on a bell pull to the side of the open fireplace. And Millie noticed that here again, even in the bell pull, the pattern of rose and gold was carried through, because on a long strip of rose velvet was placed another of gold braid, ending in a gold and rose tassel.

  She looked about the room. It seemed that everything that was made of material had been chosen to fit in with its partner: the carpet with the curtains; the curtains with the upholstery on the chair; the voluminous ladies’ dresses in the two paintings, one at each side of the fireplace wall. The whole had really taken her breath away. She felt that she would like to be alone in this room just to savour the colours and finger the material and pass her hand over the patina on the furniture. It wasn’t a large room, not much bigger, she thought, than the kitchen back in that place she had just left; and the thought led her to ask herself if that was her home, a place that she had loved and in a way still loved. But this was different. 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.