The Mallen Girl

by Catherine Cookson

  She closed her eyes, then opened them sharply to find him standing in front of her, his hand coming out to take her arm.

  ‘Come on, come on, sit down. Get out of your stays.’

  Really! Really! Why did she submit to it?

  She submitted to being led to the couch and plonked down as if she were a wilful child; and there he was standing in front of her grinning; then turning abruptly away he said, ‘Let’s have a drink, I’m parched.’

  He pulled the tasselled cord to the side of the fireplace and a moment later, when Brooks entered, he said, ‘Get us a drink, Brooks. Bring the decanter.’

  ‘No spirits for me, thank you.’ Her voice was merely a stiff whisper, and he said, ‘Oh aye.’ Then turning to Brooks again, he added, ‘Put some wine on the tray, a port.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘How you gettin’ on with him now?’ Harry jerked his head toward the door, and Miss Brigmore jerked her chin upwards as she asked, ‘Getting on with whom?’

  ‘Brooks, of course; you know who I mean, don’t play dumb, Brooks. You’ve never hit it off, now have you? No. Anyway, I was thinkin’ about him recently. He’s gettin’ past it; I’ll pension him off soon. And while I’m on about him I’d better tell you something else. It won’t come as such a shock to you as it might have done because, as I understand it, he baited you in your den.’

  ‘Baited me in my…what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Willy. You know I do, don’t you? Now mind…’ He now came and sat on the couch, not beside her but in the further corner away from her, and he leaned his head against the back of it before he said, ‘I can’t say I was over the moon at his proposal, not that I’ve got anything against him, he’s a good lad is Willy, but at the same time I’d somehow set me sights high for our Katie. I thought she had an’ all, and I’m positive that she would have made a go of it with Ferrier if Matilda hadn’t gone when she did. But it was something in her going that changed our Katie. She’s tried to explain it to me, but I’m not one for delving into the cobwebs of the mind. She says now she wants to live out her mother’s life, do the things she knew her mother wanted to do deep within her, make things better for people like her mother used to be when she was young. Well, that was all very well, and worthy, but I put my side of it to her and told her what’s being done in the town. I pointed out to her there was an Education Act gone through these last few years, and a lot of my younger lasses could read. I won’t say they favour the Saturday Review, but I’ve caught them pushing Ella the Outcast into their busts, and Gentleman Jack an’ all. I’ve had a laugh about that one many’s the time.’ He put his head back and laughed now while she continued to stare at him, then he went on, ‘Well, like I told her, Manchester hasn’t just been dug up, there’s dozens of bookshops all over the place if folks want to read, but like all reformers she’s got the idea that they’ve been sitting in the mud just waitin’ for her to come and clean them up, mentally like—I won’t say that some of them don’t want cleaning up otherwise—but that’ll come in time. But being Katie she’s not content to wait, nothing’s being done in the way she thinks it should be…You know, her and our Danny are a pair, but with this difference, she goes in head first and does something about it, while our Danny turns and runs. It’s funny, isn’t it, them both thinking alike, having the same things at heart, and yet it’s the woman, the female, doin’ the pushing. That’s something that’s hard for me to stomach, you know…Oh’—he leaned toward her now and wagged his finger at her—‘you’re not the only one with worries, I’ve had me share these past few months. Anyroad, I found Willy’s intentions more honourable than those of some of the gentlemen I could name, for he said he’d say nothing to her until a year had passed from Matilda going. By that time, too, he hoped for a rise in position.’

  He laughed now, a deep rumbling laugh coming from his belly as he said, ‘He told me as much. Aye, you know, he’s very like myself at his age; the things he says and the things he does was just me at that age. And so I cannot help but like the lad. You understand that?’

  The question had been put to her softly and she answered, ‘Yes, yes, I can understand that.’

  He was looking into the fire as he said, ‘Their concerns have kept me mind off meself these past months. You know, it’s funny, but sometimes I didn’t see Matilda for two to three weeks at a time, but I knew she was here waitin’, and the minute I came in at the door she would say, “Oh, there you are, lad. Well, how is it?” and with that I would know I was home, because it’s a woman that makes a place a home, not furniture and folderols.’ He allowed his gaze to travel slowly from one side to the other of the fireplace, then said, ‘I’ve told you, I think, that I like this place better than me house in Manchester, aye, much better; yet that’s become more like home recently because they’re all there, you see, Katie, John, Dan. And then there’s Florrie. Huh!’ He jerked his chin. ‘Florrie…Florrie’s always there, she’s so big and bouncin’, she’s there when she’s not there, if you know what I mean.’

  He turned his head and looked at her, and she at him, and she replied stiffly, ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’

  Now he was leaning toward her again, his voice a humorous murmur now. ‘She’s another one you didn’t cotton on to, isn’t she?’

  ‘I suppose you could say so; I didn’t find her company compatible.’

  ‘Eeh!’ He shook his head at her while laughing loudly again. ‘That’s putting it mildly. By! You have a nice way of expressing yourself. But then you always had. That’s your business, isn’t it, to express yourself nicely? Aw’—he turned round—‘here’s the drink.’

  After Brooks had placed the tray on a side table and Harry had poured out a glass of port and for himself a good measure of whisky, he handed her the wine, then held his glass toward her as he said, ‘Here’s to a better understanding, eh, all round?’

  She did not reply to the toast but inclined her head slightly toward him; then when he was seated again he almost catapulted her from the couch with his next remark.

  ‘You know, Brigie, it’s hard to believe, in fact it’s almost impossible to believe you’ve been married in a way—being a man’s mistress for over ten years is just the same as…oh God! don’t choke yourself.’ He took the glass from her hand. ‘I…I haven’t said anything out of place. What I mean is, I meant no offence, I was just leading up to something I was meanin’ to tell you…Oh blast!’ The exclamation was muttered as the door opened and John entered.

  Miss Brigmore had risen from the couch. She did not look at Harry but walked behind it, her hand over her mouth as she tried to restrain her coughing.

  As she passed John he looked toward his father, and Harry said, ‘The wine, it went down the wrong way. Aw, I’m off to change.’ Yet he didn’t move but brought a look of surprise to John’s face and caused Miss Brigmore’s chin to jerk upwards and her coughing to increase with his remark, ‘There’s a lot to be said for the Florrie Talbots of this world. You take my word for it, lad.’

  When Miss Brigmore reached the nursery floor she did not pause on her way to her room, nor cast a glance toward the schoolroom from where were coming very unladylike peals of laughter, among which she recognised Barbara’s; but the sound bore out Mr Harry Bensham’s remark that Barbara would be unaffected by John’s news.

  Reaching her own room, she stood leaning with her back against the door, her hands joined tightly together at the nape of her neck. He had dared to say that to her. It was impossible to believe…Married in a way, a man’s mistress! She had never been Thomas’ mistress, she had been his wife in all but a marriage ceremony, she had been his wife, a true wife. Laws! What did laws know about relationships?

  With a swift movement she turned and buried her face in the crook of her arm against the door and she cried as she hadn’t done in years.

  When the door was thrust open she stumbled backwards gasping; then, her eyes blinded with tears, she looked into Barbara’s startled face.

  ‘W
hat…what is it, Brigie? Oh! Brigie.’ Barbara’s arms were around her, leading her to a chair, sitting her down; then she was on her knees, her arms still about her waist, still saying, ‘Oh! Brigie, Brigie; what is it?’ And all of a sudden she was sitting back on her heels and, her fingers moving rapidly, saying, ‘Oh! Brigie, don’t take it like that; John wasn’t meant for me, nor I for John. You must have known it for a long time. Brigie, Brigie darling.’ She brought herself upwards and took Miss Brigmore’s wet face between her palms and, her own eyes soft and pleading now, she gazed into the face of the woman who had been mother to her all her life, and she said, ‘It’s no good, Brigie, you’ve got to face up to it; there’s only one for me, ever, and that’s Michael. If I don’t have Michael I don’t want anyone. I’ll end my life like you, an old ma—’ Her fingers stopped tapping, her head drooped quickly and she said, verbally, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that; you…you could never be an old maid. And if I end my days like you, it…it will be an honour. But I could never really be like you, I know that, I’m too selfish, too headstrong. But I also know that I will be a different person altogether once…once I marry Michael. He’ll make me different, he’ll make me good. I don’t expect you to understand my…my need for him, but…but I need him so much. You…you wouldn’t know how I feel, not having experienced…’

  ‘Be quiet! Be quiet!’

  ‘But Brigie…’

  ‘Be quiet, girl! Say no more.’

  It was too much, it was too much. Within the last few days she had been told that she was too old to experience emotions, she had been reminded only a few moments ago that in the ordinary way she had been stamped as a whore, and now here was Barbara trying to explain to her that because she had never been married she was unable to understand the needs of the body.

  But when all was said and done she was still Miss Brigmore.

  Drying her face she turned to Barbara now and said, ‘Leave me for a while; I’m going to wash and change. I’ll see you downstairs in a short while.’

  ‘Don’t be vexed with me, Brigie.’

  ‘I’m not vexed, dear.’

  ‘But you’re very disappointed.’

  ‘Disappointed, yes, but not very.’ She did not add that this was not the reason for her distress; but it was just as well as let her think it was.

  ‘She’s…she’s quite a nice girl and I think very suited to John.’

  ‘Yes…yes, I’m sure what you say is quite true.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t hurt you wilfully, don’t you, Brigie?’

  ‘Yes, yes, dear, I do.’

  In this moment Barbara meant what she said for all the old feeling of affection had rushed back into her as she had witnessed Brigie crying so passionately. She had never thought to see old Brigie give way like this, and all because John hadn’t chosen her. For her part, she was relieved that the obstacle of John had been taken from her path. Of course he had never been much of an obstacle for she had always known he had paid her attention because he was kind at heart, and it hadn’t been hard for him to be nice to her because she was pretty, beautiful.

  She was glad she was aware of her beauty; it was some small compensation for the silent mountain inside her, the mountain she yelled at, screamed at, hated, and which answered her by buzzing in her ears, and tapping with a hammer on the inside of her skull.

  It was a happy weekend, at least for some members of the household. As John explained to Miss Brigmore, they couldn’t have a formal engagement party until his mother had been dead a year and Jenny understood that, but when they should have it her father insisted that it be a big affair. John also said that he thought they could be married a year from now; that would leave eighteen months for respect, as his father put it. What did she think of that?

  She thought it met the demands of decency

  She’d had little or no private conversation with Katie during their stay, for Katie seemed to avoid being left alone with her.

  Nor did Mr Bensham show any sign of attempting to continue the conversation so mercifully terminated by John; but she felt he was talking at her when, just before their departure on the Sunday, he complained irritably about the long and tedious journey ahead of them and, in his inimitable fashion said, ‘We want our heads lookin’ at, travelling all this way for little more than a day in between. I’ll get rid of the place, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll get rid of it.’

  There were only Dan and herself within earshot when he made this remark, and she could hear him saying at some future date, ‘Well, I did warn you, didn’t I? Anyway, Florrie would never be comfortable here, she’s more at home in forty-seven.’

  Different members of the family had over the weekend talked of forty-seven, referring to it as home; it was as if they had been brought up there, and not in this house.

  No, it wouldn’t come as any surprise to her when he told her he was getting rid of the place, and she told herself she wouldn’t mind if he made his final decision tomorrow because she was tired of it all, tired of them all. One way and another they had drained her dry; what was left of her she would take to the cottage and quietly let it shrivel into old age. Mary had been right after all.

  Four

  Sarah Waite covered the round mould of freshly made butter on the wooden platter with a muslin cloth, which she then carried out of the dairy, across the yard into the farm kitchen.

  As she entered the door Constance turned from the long narrow delph rack fronting the wall opposite the fireplace and said, ‘We simply must get rid of some of this stuff or it’ll go bad on us. Daisy has just taken as much as she can carry over home, and I said I know who wouldn’t turn their noses up at a ham shank or the remainder of the veal pie.’

  ‘Lily and Bill.’

  ‘You’ve named them.’ Constance smiled over her shoulder. ‘Lily and Bill; cooking was never one of Lily’s assets, was it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t, although Ma’s shown her enough times. But as she said to her on the very morning of the wedding: “You’re on your own now, and I can tell you one thing that men don’t like and that’s burnt water.”’

  As they laughed together Constance brought from the pantry a ham bone, still with a large quantity of meat on it, and half of an enormous veal pie, the last of a dozen that had graced Lily Waite’s wedding table the previous Saturday, and she said, ‘I’ll put one of the rice loaves in too; you can tell Lily to tell him she’s baked it.’

  Again they laughed together.

  Sarah now sat down on a wooden chair and placed her elbows on the corner of the table and, cupping her chin in her hands, she said dreamily, ‘’Twas a lovely wedding though, wasn’t it? Do you know, Mam, I’m still dancing.’

  Neither she nor Constance could have told you now whether her ‘mam’ was meant to convey the title ma’am or was taking familiar licence and using the word in a parental way; true it was that she addressed as Da and Ma Harry and Daisy Waite, who were actually her uncle and aunt, so perhaps if Constance had been asked she might have pointed out that the term after all was one that a maid naturally used to a mistress; yet the relationship between the two was not that of mistress and maid but rather one of mother and daughter, and Constance was well aware of this. She smiled down on the girl now as she said, ‘I wonder you had any legs left, you were never off the floor for one minute.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t, was I?’ Sarah’s round face shone with the memory, her eyes sparkled and her lips fell apart and, her voice still with a faraway quality to it, she said, ‘And I could have gone on and on. Fancy dancing till five o’clock in the morning and then not going to bed until it was light. Oh, it was a wonderful wedding. As me Da said, she had waited long enough to bring Bill up to scratch, but even he must have thought it was worth it with the do you gave them. Da said they were talking about it in the market in Hexham; Mr Randall met him and said, “I hear you had some do up at Wolfbur, danced over the hills with the bride and bridegroom in the small hours.” Isn’t it funny how people add things on, be
cause we set them off in the cart themselves from the yard afore twelve, didn’t we?’

  ‘Oh yes, well before twelve; but that’s people, especially in the market.’

  ‘Did you like dancing when you were young, Mam?’

  Did she like dancing when she was young? To Sarah at seventeen, she must appear old. And had she liked dancing? She’d never had much opportunity to dance. The first time she had really danced was on this very farm in the barn at the harvest supper when Bob Armstrong had whirled her round the rough floor and laughed into her face and told her with his eyes that she was desirable. She was a young widow then and intoxicated with her freedom; if she hadn’t been so she would have married him straightaway. Yes, yes, she would have married him straightaway. And another man she had danced with had looked into her face and told her that she was still desirable. His grip hadn’t been so close as Bob Armstrong’s, he had held her more as a gentleman should, and it had pleased her more, because by this time she was weary of her widowhood and her freedom and craved to belong to someone again before it was too late; but already it was too late. She should have known that men when they are reaching middle age clutch backwards to youth in order to revitalise their masculinity and that women who have reached her age are already considered old and should expect to be spurned. Yet in this case the cavalier attitude had been dealt with justly, for he, in his turn, had been spurned. Why otherwise should he have left the country once again?

  Constance knew that she’d never again see Pat Ferrier, and she also knew that she would carry bitterness against him in her heart until she died.