Brigie was delighted to see her, her pleasure was evident. But not so Harry’s. His reception of her appeared cool, so much so that, immediately they were alone, she asked Brigie, ‘Is anything wrong, I…I mean with Mr Bensham?’ She always gave him his title.
‘No, no. Why do you ask?’
‘I felt he wasn’t quite well.’
‘You think he doesn’t look so well as the last time you saw him?’
There was no anxiety in Brigie’s voice.
‘Perhaps it’s just my imagination.’ A short time later Brigie chastised Harry for his reception of Barbara. ‘She noticed,’ she said, ‘you made it very evident.’
‘Aye, well, I can’t help it; I’ve got me doubts about that young madam still. Oh I know’—he jerked his head at her—‘she’s the sun that shines in your sky, she could cut your throat an’ you wouldn’t stay her hand. You said, mind, you would tell me if you twigged anything. Well, have you?’
‘There is nothing to worry about, I can assure you. She has just confirmed what Dan said in his letter. She’s only been twice in the city since we last saw her, and the second time was yesterday when she went for a fitting and to buy a suitable coat for the funeral. The previous time was when Dan took her to the Theatre Royal. So you see your suspicions are most unjust.’
‘Aye, well, I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but I wouldn’t have our Dan hurt for all the world. He’s been good to her. By God, he has! An’ I’m going to say it again whether it vexes you or pleases you that the men are few an’ far between who’d have taken her on in the state she was in, and after what she had done to that lass…’
‘Harry!’
‘Oh aye, you can feel hurt, but me memory’s long an’ you wouldn’t have got me doing what he did, no, by God, you wouldn’t! And what you want to consider an’ all is that he saved you some heart scald, because if he hadn’t taken her off your hands God knows what she would have got up to. There’s a deep well in her, say what you like.’ At this he rose and stamped down the room.
‘Where are you going?’
He turned towards her from the door. ‘I’m going for a walk. You’re always yarping on about walking doing you good; well, I want a bit of good done to me at this minute.’
‘Harry.’ She went swiftly towards him. ‘Please, please, don’t be annoyed. I promised you, and you can believe me, that if I suspected there was anything untoward happening I…I would tell you, but I can assure you there’s not.’
‘Aye, you can assure me, but can you be sure? If that fellow was round there once he’d come again, an’ he wouldn’t waste his time. No man wastes his time if he feels compelled to go looking out a woman like he did.’ His tone changed, his expression changed, and he said quietly now, ‘I’m worried, Brigie, very worried inside. It wouldn’t matter if our Dan didn’t worship the ground she walks on, but he’s besotted by her, an’ I don’t want to see him hurt ’cos I’m very fond of our Dan. And Dan’s the only one who’s given me anything, I mean worthwhile. John there, he’s good in the works, nobody better, but he hasn’t proved himself otherwise. Perhaps it’s not his fault, I don’t know. And our Katie, God help her, look what she’s thrown up. Aye’—he shook his head—‘look what she’s thrown up. But Dan, he’s given me three fine grandsons.’
‘She played some part in it you know.’
‘Aye, I know. I’m not belittling her in that way, but it’s funny—now I’ve got to tell you this—when I saw her the day I had the most strange feeling. An’ you know me, I’m not given to fancies, never have been. Feet flat on the earth Harry Bensham, that’s me, that’s how I’ve got where I am the day, no fancies. Yet when I looked into her face, into her eyes, I had the kind of feeling she drew a blind down over them an she was hiding something. I can’t explain it, but I sensed something.’
‘Harry. Harry.’ She put up her hand and touched his red-veined cheek. ‘This is prejudice, you know it is prejudice. And if you sense something in her she senses something in you, you know you can’t hide your feelings. And it’s going to be very awkward if you continue to adopt this cool manner towards her because Dan has persuaded her to stay on for a few days.’
‘Aw, well’—he jerked his head to the side—‘she can stay as long as she likes, you know that. I’m glad to hear she wants to stay, an’ I’ll write our Dan and tell him to give himself a holiday, and this’ll be a chance to bring the bairns over.’ He nodded at her now, smiling. ‘I’d like that, aye, I’d like that, I’d like to see them running about here. You know, she’s never brought them, she’s never allowed them to come. I suppose I’ve held that against her an’ all. I’ll go down right now and I’ll write to our Dan.’
‘Do that,’ she said. ‘Do that.’ When she was alone she remained standing where she was and she repeated to herself, ‘No man wastes his time if he feels compelled to go looking out a woman like he did.’
They buried Mary on the Monday. She had no living relatives left to attend her funeral. Brigie and Barbara were the only two women present, the rest were the older male members of the staff, those who had known her over the years.
A high tea was served in the servants’ hall for the staff mourners. Brigie, Barbara and Harry had their ordinary tea in the drawing room.
The butler was still present in the room when Harry said, ‘What are we going to do about the cottage?’
‘What do you mean, what are we going to do?’ asked Brigie.
‘Well, it’s no use to us. I can’t see the use in keeping it; it isn’t in the grounds, a mile along the road and on the other side an’ all. It’s no use to us.’
‘It’s eating no bread, as Mary herself would have said. Poor Mary,’ Brigie added softly, shaking her head. ‘I’ll miss her so; indeed I will. It seems that she’s been with me every day of my life.’
‘Aye, well, her time had come, like it’ll come to all of us. But about the cottage eating no bread. I don’t know so much. It’ll need keeping up; inside and out it’ll need keeping up. If a place is not tended it moulds. Anyway it’s full of old rubbish.’
‘It is not full of old rubbish.’ There was indignation in Brigie’s tone now. ‘The furniture is made up of good, solid pieces. It’s only the floor coverings and the drapes that need renewing.’
‘The place looks cluttered to me, always has done.’
‘Because you have always compared it with this.’
‘No, that’s not the reason at all, too many falderals about it. And Mary was like that an’ all; she went around like a bundle of duds.’
‘Oh, Harry.’ Her Miss Brigmore tone told him that she was shocked, but it did not seem to affect him for he flapped his hand at her as he said, ‘Aw, I meant no disrespect, but when you’re dead you’re dead and you can’t be hurt one way or t’other. I consider it’s a lot of nonsense all this speaking well of the dead. Not that anyone would speak bad of her. But in the main when folks die they suddenly become angels; the blackest rascals are given white gowns, folks speak about them in whispers. Speak no ill of the dead, they say. Well, for my part, I would say speak no ill of the livin’ and we’d all be better off.’
‘Yes, indeed, indeed, I agree with you.’ She was nodding at him now. ‘Speak no ill of the living. Oh yes, I agree with you.’
He stared at her, his face half turned away, his eyes slanted. He knew he had tripped himself up. He drank deeply from his cup and as if to please her and to show he was aiming to practise what he preached, he turned to Barbara and said, ‘I’m glad you’re staying on, lass, and I’m looking forward to having the bairns here.’
‘Thank you.’ She inclined her head slowly. ‘I’m sure they’ll love it, it will all be so new to them, so large. You’ll likely have trouble with them scampering about, especially Ben.’
‘It won’t trouble me, lass, it’ll put me in mind of when I had mine all young. By, aye, it’ll be something to see them scampering about! How is that young Foggety piece coping?’
‘Oh…oh, very well.’
> ‘No more smacked backsides?’
‘No. I…I don’t think there’s been any need for her to resort to such treatment.’
‘Well, that says something for her. I’ll be interested to see how she handles the tribe here. She has something that lass. Aye’—he rose from the chair nodding to himself—‘she has something. If she had been in my mill I’d ’ve picked her out. Oh’—he turned and with a half smile looked down on Brigie—‘not in that way. No, not in that way. But I would have put her in charge you know, ’cos I think she has the makings of a natural-born manager.’
Barbara made no comment on this. She watched her father-in-law go down the room and out into the hall, leaving the door open behind him. It was an irritating habit he had of never closing a door. He was an irritating man in many ways. She wondered how Brigie, the precise, pedantic individual, had tolerated him all these years, and she was amazed that she had any feelings for the rough, bumptious, coarse individual.
At this point she reminded herself that she was forgetting it was the rough, bumptious, coarse individual who had provided her with the niceties of life and that without his help both she and Brigie would have fared little better than the woman they had buried today. Years ago she had liked him, why didn’t she like him now?
She knew why she didn’t like him now, she didn’t like him because he saw through her. He had always been able to see through her, and his kindness to her all those years ago was not because he liked her but because he liked and wanted to please Brigie.
‘I’m going to the cottage tomorrow to tidy up. And he’s right, you know.’ Brigie nodded now at Barbara. ‘There is a lot of stuff that could be dispensed with. But I still maintain there are some good, serviceable pieces. You…you wouldn’t care to come with me?’
‘No, if you don’t mind, no.’
‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Will you have another cup of tea?’ Brigie lifted the silver teapot and Barbara answered, ‘Yes, please, I would like another.’
As Brigie refilled the cup she said, ‘It’ll be like old times having the children in the nursery.’
Barbara nodded her head. ‘Yes, I suppose it will.’
‘He’s looking forward to them coming so much, it means a lot to him.’
‘I can see that. I’m…I’m very sorry I’ve deprived him of the pleasures all these years.’
‘Oh, he understood, he understood. But…but from now on it would be nice if you could bring them now and again.’
‘I’ll do that.’
When Brigie’s hand came out and caught hold of her arm in a tender grip she stilled the wave of shame that threatened to envelop her. The means justified the end; she knew she would sink to any form of duplicity in order to be alone with Michael.
It was strange but her life seemed to have revolved a full circle, for tomorrow or the next day or the next they’d meet in the vicinity of where it all began so long ago, and they’d come together as they should have done when they were young. And that was all that mattered—nothing else.
Five
The day was fine. Brigie went to the cottage about noon to decide on the furniture she meant to dispose of, but before leaving the Hall she asked Barbara what she was going to do, and Barbara had replied that she might take a walk around the grounds, or might go up to the nursery and supervise the preparations for the children coming, she hadn’t really made up her mind. The best thing would be to do both.
When Brigie asked Harry what he intended to do, he said he intended to walk over to the farm and see what they were up to. Then, if she kept her nose clean, he would call at the cottage and escort her back home in case she was attacked on the road. Or failing that, he would help her to carry the rubbishy furniture back to the house.
Brigie laughed and left the house in a happy mood because Harry was in a happy mood.
Shortly afterwards Barbara came down from the nursery, took a light coat from her room, and went for a walk through the gardens. She had known the gardens well, and nothing had been altered that she could see over the past nine years or so.
When she finally emerged from the park she crossed the coach road and walked over the open ground that led to the foothills. These she skirted and took the road Dan had taken on the black winter’s night he had spent searching for her, and eventually she came to the broken gate. Here she stopped and looked about her and a memory stirred in her. She gazed toward the hills where they slowly mounted upwards like a chain of heads, and to where, beyond one of them, was the mouth of the lead mine in which she had lain down and prepared to die, and would have died but for Dan. Dan. Dan. She forbade herself to think of Dan.
Carefully stepping over the rotten wood of the gate that was embedded in the grass she took the narrow brush-bordered path to the right of her.
When she came to the shell of the house and the tumbledown barn there was no figure standing outside to welcome her. She looked towards the barn and sniffed disdainfully at the smell of decay, then stood gazing about her. The place was eerie, frightening. The flags of the courtyard were almost obliterated by grass and beyond there was a dense wall of tangled gorse, bramble and bracken. She remembered she had once come here with Brigie and Mary to pick blackberries and later their cottage had been filled with the pungent smell of boiling blackberries and they’d had jelly for tea for weeks afterwards.
A crackling in the undergrowth startled her, and when the crackling became a crashing sound she stared fearfully towards the hedge. When there emerged from an unseen path a sheep followed by a sizable lamb, she drew in a deep breath, put her hand over her mouth, and laughed softly.
The sheep was as surprised by the sight of her as she by it and it turned tail and scampered away along the path towards the gate.
After she had waited half an hour she looked at her watch. She could wait another half-hour, there was plenty of time, dinner wasn’t until three. But her legs were tired with standing. She moved towards the house and sat down on a pile of broken masonry that was almost covered with weeds.
When she next looked at her watch it said twenty past one. She was sighing deeply and rising to her feet when she saw him. His approach had been silent. She remained still for a moment, then she was running towards him, and he to her.
‘Darling. Oh Barbara, Barbara. Darling, darling.’ He was smothering her face with his lips and she was gasping and talking at the same time.
‘I’d almost given up hope, but I said there’d be tomorrow and I’d come again, and again…Oh Michael, Michael, it was only Friday, but it seemed years. What did they say, I mean, where are you supposed to be?’
‘Oh’—he shook his head—‘oh, I’m on a round. I’m calling in at Hewitt’s, the blacksmith’s you know. No questions, you see I’m working.’ He pressed her away from him in order that she should see his working clothes, corded jacket, moleskin trousers and black gaiters.
‘Then you’ll soon have to go back. Come and sit down.’
When she went to draw him towards a grassy patch he said softly, ‘No, not here, in the barn.’
‘Barn?’ She raised her eyebrows at him.
‘Come.’ His arm about her, he led her through the gap and to the extreme corner of the barn above which the roof still held, and there he pointed down to the floor and she stared at the carpet of dry grass that covered about three square yards of it. Then she looked at him and he said, ‘I came yesterday and gathered it.’
She gazed at him and he at her and she whispered, ‘Oh Michael, Michael,’ before pressing herself against him.
Without a word he gently drew the pins from her hat. Next he took off her outer coat, and then his own, after which, his arms about her, he drew her onto the bed he had made in preparation for what they both desired and longed for, and had dreamt of since they were young.
There were no words spoken, the only sound in the barn was their unintelligible murmurings.
It was half past two when they rose from the floor, and gently now he hooked and butt
oned her clothes and helped her into her coat, smoothed her hair, then handed her her hat.
When he led her to the opening she stopped and leant against the rotten stanchion and gazed up into the sky. There was a look of peace on her face that had never been there before. She said softly, ‘I want one thing more.’
‘What is that, my love?’
‘To die, to die right now at this moment.’
‘Don’t say that.’ His arms were about her again. ‘If you died I would die. I know I couldn’t go on without you, not now, not now.’
They stood in silence looking into each other’s eyes; he then said, ‘You couldn’t be as happy as I am but…but you are happy, aren’t you?’
‘Oh Michael, Michael, I have no words to tell you, and if I tried I would spoil it. It was the most wonderful, wonderful happening of my life.’ Again they gazed at each other.
She did not see the incongruity of the situation. She did not think in this moment that she had just done what she had scorned her Aunt Constance for doing, and that once she hadn’t failed to throw this fact in Michael’s face. Nor did she wonder if the oddity of the situation had struck him. The past was forgotten, nothing mattered to her now, only that she’d had him at last, and he her, and she knew that she would do anything, even leave her sons should he raise his finger. But regretfully she knew also that that price would not be asked of her because he had a daughter.
He said now, ‘When are you going back?’
The Mallen Litter Page 14
