‘Don’t you worry about me, I can see to myself. I’ll be down later on when I’m ready, you get yourself warmed, and food into you an’ made comfortable.’
‘Yes, yes, I will, Mary.’
She went out and down the nursery stairs, and then hesitated before she crossed the landing, debating whether to go down the main staircase and into the office and send for Mrs Kenley to come to her, or to go through the gallery and down the back staircase and to the housekeeper’s room. She decided on the latter course because she knew Mrs Kenley would appreciate this; Mrs Kenley was a very good housekeeper and knew her place, but it was a good thing to recognise her position by an occasional small gesture of this kind. She’d be sorry to part company with Mrs Kenley, for since the day she had chosen her from a number of applicants there had been mutual respect between them, and she herself had enough vanity to hope that wherever Mrs Kenley went after leaving this position, she would remember her with favour and as someone who knew the correct procedure in the maintenance of a large establishment.
She went through the gallery and her steps slowed before she came to the end of it. She loved the gallery. Years ago she had thought it a very romantic place; now she put the name stately to it. The deep windows were set at short intervals along one wall each with its cushioned seat. When she was twenty-four she had likened them to lovers’ seats, but then, when she was twenty-four she had been very young and silly.
No, never silly. She had never been a silly person, she abhorred silly women.
She opened the far doors of the gallery, crossed the small landing, went through a green-baized door and into a passage, from where to the right a flight of stairs led down to the wide corridor from which doors gave off to the housekeeper’s sitting room, the upper staff dining room, the servants’ hall, the butler’s pantry, the doors to the cellars, the door to the kitchen, and at the extreme end, the gunroom.
The stairs leading to the passage were part spiral and before she rounded the curve which would have brought her in sight of the passage below and those in it, she heard Harry Bensham’s voice raised in anger.
She paused with her foot halfway toward another step, withdrew it, and stood undecided for a moment whether to descend or to return the way she had come. But she remained standing where she was when she heard Harry say, ‘Now look here, Brooks! I’ve stood enough of this. You’ve had it coming to you for a long time, but this is the finish. I won’t cut your pension ’cos I’m not a man who goes back on me word, but as soon as this snow clears you can get yourself back to Manchester. You’ve taken advantage of me over the years, more so of late since you’ve got the idea that your Willy’s coming into the family. Well, that isn’t clinched yet, not by a long chalk. And if he was in it already I’d still say this to you, you mind your own bloody business. I’m master in this house and when I give an order I expect it to be carried out the same as I would at the mill, an’ if I was to tell you that hot water had to be carried up to Lily Rossiter’s room I’d expect it to be done, and no backchat or bloody innuendoes.’
From her place around the curve in the stairs Miss Brigmore was not surprised to hear Mr Bensham use the word bloody, but she was definitely surprised that he should use innuendo. It was as she had thought for a long time, there was more in his head than he’d let out. It pleased him to play the rough, ignorant individual. He had also called the butler by his surname. His next words startled her.
‘You and her never got on ’cos you, like all your tribe, you don’t recognise class when it’s under your nose, unless it’s stinkin’ with money. Well now, I’m going to tell you somethin’, and you’re privileged in a way ’cos you’re the first one I’ve voiced it to, an’ it’s this. If I get my way she’s here for life. Now put that in your pipe and smoke it, and give all the others a whiff of it. And I don’t think there’ll be one that won’t welcome it except yourself, because as I’ve known from the first it was a mistake to bring you here, you were never cut out for the job. An’ what’s more I’ll tell you this when you’re on, you haven’t hoodwinked me all those years. You might have been going to have consumption in the first place, but there’s many worse off than you who carried on workin’. Because we ran the streets together when we were nippers, you played on me, at least you thought you did, but I’ve had your measure, an’ what I overheard you saying a few minutes ago proved I’ve been right in me surmise of you all along. Now, now, don’t come back with anything, Brooks, ’cos I won’t listen. As I said, as soon as it’s cleared up you get back to your beginnings. You won’t be badly off, I’ll see to that, or Willy will, that’s if he hasn’t got too big for his boots and doesn’t recognise you. And mind, I’m tellin’ you this, that’s something you’ve got to look out for an’ all.’
Silently but hastily, Miss Brigmore retraced her steps back to the next landing; then quietly she let herself into the gallery again, and after walking a little way down it she stopped near one of the tall windows and lowered herself onto the velvet seat. She was here for life; he was putting her in charge, he was going to keep the place on after all and let her manage it. He had never mentioned Mrs Talbot. It didn’t sound as if he were going to marry. Some of the weight lifted from her heart. Oh, this was kind of him, indeed it was. Oh yes, indeed. Doubtless he had been swayed by pity for her loneliness knowing how devastated she was at the loss of Barbara. He was a kind man; she’d always had proof of that, but now she knew he was also a compassionate man.
She looked out over the frozen landscape, and it did not appear quite so bleak and desolate now. What had Brooks said about her that had brought his master to her defence? Something from her past life doubtless, for there was nothing about it that wasn’t common knowledge.
When she heard a movement outside the far door she rose swiftly to her feet, smoothed the front of her gown, and walked sedately along the gallery. As she neared the door it was opened by Armstrong, and he stood hastily to the side and held it well back in order that she might pass through; and she inclined her head toward him and said, ‘Thank you, Armstrong.’
Emerson, who was crossing the hall, observed her descending the main staircase and he turned sharply about and went toward the drawing-room door, and there he waited until she approached, when he opened it for her.
The servants had always been civil in their manner toward her, but in these two last encounters there had been a subtle change leading to deference. She thought wryly that lightning had no edge on the communications in a servant’s hall.
‘Ah! There you are. Feel warmer?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Come and sit yourself down and drink some of this hot toddy; perhaps it’ll bring some of the colour back into your cheeks, you look as white as a sheet. There you are.’
She had settled herself in the corner of the couch opposite the roaring fire, and before handing her the steaming mug from the tray he pushed a footstool toward her, using his own foot in the process. ‘Put your feet up; you might as well make yourself comfortable for it looks as if you’re set for a few days.’
He now sat down on the couch, not in the far corner from her but in the middle, within arm’s distance of her, and after drinking the steaming sweetened whisky and water, he lay back and exclaimed on a sigh, ‘Ah! That’s better. How about you?’
‘It’s…it’s very warming.’
‘Well, don’t make a meal of it, drink it up. Talkin’ about a meal, I had a word with Mrs Kenley; she thought you might like to start with hare soup, she says you’re fond of that, and then some sweetbreads. For me own choice, I picked a saddle of mutton; to my mind nothin’ beats a saddle of mutton, with plenty of carrots. Then she suggested almond pudding. I’m not one for puddin’s as you know, give me some cheese. But will that be all right?’
‘Yes, yes, indeed.’
‘I thought we’d have it early, say about two o’clock. You know I’m used to having me meal around midday, habit I suppose. I never fell in with this three o’clock business ’
cos around five I like my tea, and when I say tea I mean tea, not just a cup you know, like we have here, but a good spread with muffins, oh aye! toasted muffins in the winter, there’s nothing like them, and a granny loaf, I’m not very fond of your fancy cakes but I like breads, you know, currant or spiced, or with caraway seeds, any kind of bread. But when you have a big tuck-in around three you’ve got no room for anything more till supper, have you?’
‘No, that’s correct.’
He edged himself round on the couch now until he was looking at her squarely, and he repeated softly, ‘That’s correct.’
Then as she looked at him and blinked he waited a moment before saying, ‘Miss Brigmore, do you think we could stop being correct just for the day, as a trial like?’
‘You are laughing at me, Mr Bensham.’
He bent slightly toward her now and, his voice low, he said, ‘No lass, I’m not laughin’ at you, I’m asking something of you. You know, we’ve known each other a long, long time, a lifetime you could say, and you’ve never unbent once, not in my presence anyway. Do you know that? You’ve never even been Brigie to me. You would be Brigie to the bairns, and act like Brigie I suppose, but to me you’ve always acted like Miss Brigmore, and nothing seemed to alter you. I’ve chaffed you about, I’ve even bullied you a bit, but nothing I did could make you unbend. Matilda used to say you weren’t starchy with her, so why couldn’t you treat me in the same way?’
Miss Brigmore drew in a short sharp breath before she said, ‘Because of our respective positions.’
‘Respective positions be damned! Aw’—he tossed his head to one side—‘I’m not going to apologise for swearin’. You’ll hear more than that afore you’ve finished. Anyway, you should be used to it by now, you’ve heard me at it long enough. And I say again, respective positions be damned! I wasn’t a Thomas Mallen…And now-now-now’—his hand came out suddenly and gripped hers—‘don’t stiffen up ’cos I mention his name, ’cos I’m casting no aspersions, because from what I can gather he seemed to be a bloke more sinned against than sinning; bit too generous in all ways I should have said. If he had his fling he paid for it. And I pity any man who goes bankrupt, and I’ve seen a few. I’ve been scared of it meself in me time. So look at it this way, if I can talk about Matilda surely you can bear that he be spoken of, because he was, in a way, your husband. Now’—he lifted up one finger and sternly wagged it at her, and his face was equally stern as he said, ‘I’m goin’ to get something straight, I’ve been wanting to put it straight for a long time. You thought I insulted you once, didn’t you, because I said I couldn’t understand how you’d been his mistress? Well, you didn’t let me finish what I was going to say that time. It was no insult I was handing you, because having come to know you I thought this much, you weren’t the kind of woman to give yourself lightly to anybody, and it wasn’t your fault if you weren’t married to him. He was a widower and I don’t know why he didn’t give you his name. But there it is; that’s your business and I’m not probing into it, now, or at any other time. But what I wanted to say that time, and what you stopped me saying, but what I’m determined to say now, is that I’m not asking you to be me mistress, I’m asking you to be me wife.’
His voice had dropped low in his throat. He was holding her hand; they were staring at each other, and when she didn’t speak he went on, ‘You mightn’t know it but I’ve cared for you for a long time, oh aye, long afore I lost Matilda. Matilda knew it. At least, looking back on the things she said, I think she had a pretty good idea. You see, I’d never met anybody like you in me life afore. Oh, I’d mixed with the up and ups an’ their wives in Manchester, and when I say the up and ups, I mean the up and ups, from the Mayor onward. But what were their women? If they were good-looking they had nowt in their heads, and some of them were no better than well-dressed trollops. It was just to show them what I could do that I bought this place; I intended to bring them here in their cartloads when I first set up. I did bring two parties but somehow it didn’t work out. Matilda, as you know, never had the touch, an’ they looked down their noses at her. By God! They did that, the snots!’ She did not wince, and he went on: ‘It was at that point that I thought, well, I’ll have me bairns so trained that nobody’ll look down their noses at them. And so you came on the scene; an’ you know, it was from then that I began to have a different slant on life, at least what I mean is I saw there was another way to living it. But I knew it was too late for me, I was no longer pliable. I’d been brought up in the rough. And then the Manchester lot, money, money, money; that’s all anybody could think about, or talk about. And it isn’t a bad thing either, I’m not despising it, mind; but I found it had a place, and it was only of value when you could use it to make you and them about you happy. I wanted to talk about these things. I wanted to have things explained to me, then to argue about them, and being me, to deny them while at bottom believing they were right. And I wanted to do all this with you. But you would have none of it, or me. You know, you used to look at me sometimes as if I wasn’t worth three pennorth of copper. And I wasn’t in your eyes, and I resented it. Very likely that’s why I showed you me worst side. Loosen your stays, I used to say, remember? And I could have kicked meself when you went out of the room.
‘Oh, Miss Brigmore’—he nodded at her now, a smile creeping over his face—‘you’ve given me a lot of food for thought. Anyway, there it is, I’ve had me say, or nearly. One thing more. You might not think it’s fittin’ that I should talk like this and Matilda not being gone a year, but Matilda would have been the first one to understand, and if the subject had come up she would have said, “Do it right away, lad; there’s only one thing I don’t want you to do,” she would have said, “and that’s let Florrie get her claws into you.” Oh, she hated Florrie. An’ so did you, didn’t you?’ He bent his face closer toward hers.
‘Oh, Mr Bensham.’
‘Aw! For God sake, lass, drop the Mr Bensham.’ He flung one arm outwards. ‘Me name’s Harry. Can’t you call me Harry? Now look; I can see I’ve startled you; we’ll leave it for a time, we’ll have a meal, eh? And then a game of cards, I like a game of cards. There’s something else I like, an’ I bet this’ll surprise you, I like to be read to. You know, when I used to sit in the bedroom, supposedly reading the paper while you read to Matilda, I used to lap it up. I never had time to read; I’ve never read a book in me life; and that’s not sayin’ I don’t want to, or I don’t like to hear a good story. Sounds as if I’m going into me second childhood, doesn’t it? But no, I think there’s lots of blokes like me; looking back from my age they’re full of regrets at not having learned a little about things. But it’s not too late, is it? Is it?’
He waited, and when her head fell forward and she covered her eyes with one hand, while her voice breaking, she murmured, ‘No, no, it’s n…not too late,’ he hitched himself rapidly toward her, and, putting his arms about her, he said, ‘There, lass. There. Don’t cry. I’m sorry. It must have come as a shock to you. But in any case let me tell you this.’ He dared to put his hand up onto her hair and stroke it. ‘If you can’t see your way clear to becomin’ Mrs Bensham I’d still want you to run this house, take over sort of permanent like, live here. You could let Mary have the cottage. You’d be doing me a favour in that way if nothing else, ’cos I can’t bear coming here and eating alone; sittin’ by meself in this barracks nearly drives me mad. I could sell it. I’ve told meself over and over again that if you turn me down that’s what I’ll do, I’ll sell it, but at bottom I know it would go against the grain, selling it I mean. I would sort of lose prestige; and you know fellows in my position cling like limpets to prestige; self-made men have to have something to show for their efforts, or else what’d be the use of it all? Aw, come on. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ve made you bubble. You’ve never heard that word afore, have you?’ He pushed her gently from him, and putting his hand under her chin, lifted her tear-stained face upwards. ‘Me grandma came from the north-east, Shields way. She
was always using the word. “Stop your bubblin’,” she would say, “else I’ll skelp the hunger off ya.”…I can’t make you laugh, can I?’
Miss Brigmore hastily sought in the pocket of her grey woollen dress for a handkerchief; when she found it she dabbed her eyes and gently blew her nose. Then she looked at the man sitting opposite her. His face was rugged, his hair was grey, his eyes were a clear blue; unlike Thomas’ body, his was flat and, if the flesh of his hands and face were anything to go by, firm. He was a much younger-looking man than Thomas, but he was the antithesis of Thomas. Thomas had been a gentleman, this man was rough; yet he was not coarse, there was a difference; and he had confessed an eagerness for some kind of culture. Yet she knew that nothing she or anyone else could do would put a veneer on him, not at this stage of his life. Yet perhaps she could feed the inward need in him, as he would help fill up the great void in her.
But as yet she could not take in the real import of his offer. He had asked her to marry him…marry him. She would no longer be Miss Brigmore, she would be Mrs Bensham, and she’d be mistress of this house. It all had the quality of a dream. She who had come into this house as a governess thirty-six years ago, and had worked in the nursery for six years before Thomas went bankrupt, but not once during these early years had she been invited to a meal or function downstairs, never had she sat in the dining room until the man sitting opposite to her had invited her to his table. During the ten years or more she had spent in the cottage with Thomas, she had never received a penny in wages and times without number she had pretended loss of appetite in order that Thomas and the girls should have better helpings. She had suffered humiliation and not a little privation in serving the Mallens, and what had been her reward?
The Mallen Girl Page 28
