Rory's Fortune

by Catherine Cookson

  He stood on one side of the grave and looked across to where the missis, her head bowed, her hand across her mouth, was crying silently, while by her side Mary Ann Morley Cornwallis cried loudly for all to hear. Crocodile tears and make-game moans, thought Rory. What did she really care about the master being gone?

  And what do you care, boy, about me being gone?

  It was as if the master’s voice were coming up out of the grave itself, forcing its way through the clods of earth that were dropping onto the coffin lid.

  They were leading the missis away from the grave now and the people were following, but he still stood looking down into the hole. It was weird, frightening; it was as if the master had spoken to him and was still speaking to him from out of his coffin. ‘You know right from wrong, boy. You’ve seen the evidence of it in the past few days. Think carefully. The blue baccy will bring you money and with money you can buy almost anything, but one thing you can’t buy, the thing that a man needs most—peace of mind.’

  He saw the three coaches moving off towards the gates and he made no move to follow them, but cutting between the gravestones, he left the churchyard by a side gate and within a short time he was up on the fell lands, walking fast one minute, running the next.

  He knew now what he had to do, and he knew he had to do it at once.

  Half a mile east of the village the burn ran into the Don, and the Don filled up from the river Tyne, and at high tide it ran fast. But even if they weren’t washed down to the sea and just sank straight to the bottom, they’d be buried in deep, black, slimy mud and you might dig until you were pink-eyed and never find one, if it were as large as a brick never mind the size of a pea.

  When he reached the top of the hill he looked towards the village and saw the black cabs lined up outside the wheelwright’s shop. They were back then, and everybody would be inside eating and having a drink of spirits, which was usual at such times.

  He crossed the top of the hill and dropped down the other side to the main road, but he had scarcely gone a dozen steps along it when he heard his name called. ‘Rory! Rory!’

  When he looked back, he saw Lily. She was running fast and holding up her skirts.

  Panting, she came up to him but couldn’t speak for a moment; then she gasped, ‘I…I looked for you. You weren’t behind. And…and then I saw you goin’ up the hill. Where…where you goin’?’

  ‘To the river.’

  ‘The river? What for?’

  Could he tell her? No, no, he doubted if she would believe him. She would think he had gone barmy.

  ‘You all right, Rory?’

  ‘Aye, I’m all right.’

  ‘Well, what d’you want to go to the Don for, and now when you should be back in the house givin’ a hand?’

  ‘I…I’ve got to do something.’

  ‘At the Don?’

  ‘Aye, at the Don.’

  She stared at his face, then said quietly, ‘Then I’ll come along of you.’

  He looked at her for a long moment before turning away and walking on, and he made no protest when she walked by his side. They were nearing the burn when she spoke, and then she asked softly, ‘You in trouble, Rory?’

  ‘Not now,’ he said, ‘leastways I won’t be in a short while.’ He was looking ahead when he asked, ‘Did you get your new frock?’

  ‘Aye, Rory.’

  ‘Have you seen Frank Jackson, I mean on his own?’

  ‘He…he called in yesterday.’

  ‘An’…an’ you wore your new frock?’

  ‘Aye. Aye, Rory; me ma made me.’

  ‘But you’ll still keep your promise?’

  ‘Yes, Rory, I’ll still keep me promise. When he asks me I’ll say no.’

  They walked on now, past a farm, then another until, going over a hill, they saw the church of St Paul’s and the few whitewashed cottages that bordered the river. Between the cottages and them stood the little stone bridge on the lonely stretch of road that connected East Jarrow to Jarrow proper.

  Standing in the middle of the bridge, close to the parapet, Rory looked about him. He could see no-one but an old man approaching in the distance. He looked over the bridge and down into the water. The tide was running high. He put his hand inside his coat, opened the buttons of his shirt, then drew out the linen bag. Having laid it on top of the narrow parapet, he stared at it for a full minute before he looked at Lily and said, ‘Will you promise on God’s oath that you’ll not tell anybody about what I’m goin’ to do…not anybody, not a livin’ soul?’

  Lily stared lovingly back into his eyes. ‘I’ll promise anythin’ you want me to, Rory.’

  Somehow this wasn’t enough for him. She was promising out of affection; he wanted something stronger but he couldn’t put a name to it. He wanted to say to her, ‘Swear an oath!’ but what he said was, ‘If you tell anybody, anybody at all, you’ll get me into trouble, awful trouble.’

  ‘I’d never get you into trouble, Rory, you know that. Nohow I wouldn’t. I’ve no need to swear to it.’

  Yes, he knew that, Lily would never get him into trouble.

  He opened the bag and slowly, one by one, drew out the small round paper-wrapped objects and, unwrapping one, he put it on his palm and held it out for her to see.

  After staring at it she said to him, ‘Is it a bead?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘It’s a piece of glass, hard glass.’

  ‘Glass?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Now lifting the stone from the paper and holding it between his finger and thumb, he extended his arm and opened his fingers. The gem made no impression when it hit the choppy surface. One second it was falling, and in a split second it was gone.

  One after another he unwrapped the stones, and each time he looked at Lily before going through the process of dropping them into the water, until there was only one left…the big stone, the bonny stone with the pinky-red lights in it.

  Lily was staring at him. He could see the stone set in a brooch pinned to the front of her frock. He could see the money from the stone buying her a new dress; and not one, oh no. This kind of stone would, he knew, buy her dozens of new dresses. His voice thick, like that of a fully grown man, he said to her, ‘What’ll you think of me in years to come if I can never earn more than ten shilling a week?’

  Her answer came on a warm smile. ‘Same as I do now, Rory.’

  He held the stone for a moment longer, but he did not take it between his finger and thumb; instead he held out his arm, his palm upwards, and slowly tilting it he watched the ruby fall through the air and enter the water. Unlike the other stones, however, it seemed to rest for a second on the surface and its lights flashed a myriad farewell at him. Had he been a fool?

  He turned his head and looked at Lily. Ten shillings a week for the rest of his life. That’s all he’d ever be able to offer her, and she’d be hard pushed to make that spin out as the years went on. And he had just thrown a fortune into the river! Never again would such luck come his way.

  ‘Feel better now, Rory?’

  Slowly he smiled at her. He had just thought that never again would he be lucky; but he was lucky at this moment for he had Lily and she was different from all other lasses. He thought of that cheeky monkey who had tried to pull the bedclothes off him.

  Then suddenly, in the middle of the Don bridge, and with an old man passing them, Lily leant forward and kissed him. Smack on the mouth she kissed him. He couldn’t remember ever being kissed before, except by his ma when he was leaving home to go into the wheelwright’s shop, and by their Edna and Mabel, and that once by Mrs Cornwallis. But this was different.

  He gaped at Lily. Her face was pink. She looked bonny, really bonny. Her eyes were soft brown and her lips red. Fancy anybody calling her plain …

  When the old man laughed, Lily turned and, lifting up her skirts, ran off the bridge and along the road.

  Rory stood for a moment wa
tching her until the old man cried at him, ‘What you standin’ there like a stook for, lad? Go on, man, an’ put a stop to her gallop.’

  And on a laugh he leapt off the bridge and raced after her, to put a stop to her gallop; and when he reached her he caught her hand, but didn’t stop running. Like this they ran until they reached the fells, and there, panting and laughing, they slowed down to a walk, their hands swinging between them, not speaking, just looking at each other every now and then.

  And this is how they walked until they came in sight of the village. Then the magic slid away and he let go of her hand and, walking sedately, he said, ‘We’ll have a fight on our hands against your da.’

  To this she answered, ‘I’m ready for it if you are, Rory.’

  He looked at her and said, ‘No-one was ever more ready than me, Lily.’

  They had stopped and he just might have been bold enough to kiss her, but at that moment Sammy came dashing along the road towards them, crying, ‘Eeh, our Rory! Where’ve you been? The missis ’as been calling for you everywhere.’

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘No, no, I don’t think so, only the cabs’ve gone an’ most of the folk. But…but Mr Morley Cornwallis and his missis and their Bernie are in the room sittin’ waitin’ for summit, and the missis won’t let them get started afore you come, an’ there’s another man there.’

  ‘Not the man who was here yesterday?’

  ‘Oh no. This one was at the funeral. He comes from Shields way, I think. He’s the one ’twas here t’other day, after you went away. You know, I told you.’

  As Rory hurried down the village street with Lily on one side of him and Sammy trotting at the other, he literally wiped the happiness of the last hour from his face by passing his hand around it two or three times. He mustn’t go in looking as if he were glad about something. ’Twasn’t fitting. And he shouldn’t feel glad about anything a day like this and the master not yet cold in his grave. Why were they waiting for him? He could have understood if he had been wanted in the shop, but it was closed the day, naturally.

  At the foot of the stairs he said to Sammy, ‘You stay there.’ He didn’t say that to Lily for she had a right to come up, her family apparently being already present.

  He had his cap in his hand when he entered the room, and he felt his colour rising again when all eyes were turned on him. There, sitting round the table that was laden with foodstuffs, were Morley Cornwallis and his wife, and their Bernie, Mrs Beeney from the shop, old Peter Tollett, Benny Croft, the missis and the strange man.

  ‘Come in, boy,’ said Mrs Cornwallis, ‘and take a seat.’ She pointed to the only vacant seat in the room, which was the master’s chair standing by the fireplace. He walked up to it but hesitated to sit down, until she nodded at him, saying, ‘Be seated.’

  Lily was now standing behind her parents and her mother was saying to her, ‘Where do you think you’ve been?’ and she gulped before she answered ‘In…in the house, Ma. I…I went straight home.’

  The strange man, now tapping the tips of his fingers on the table, said in a thin, high voice, ‘Seeing that we’re all here at last we can now proceed with the business, of which I’m sure you’re all anxious to learn.’ He paused and swept the whole company with a fierce glance, directed over the top of his spectacles and from under bushy brows, before he finished, ‘Concerning the ins and outs of the deceased’s wishes.’

  No-one spoke, but everyone present with the exception of Mrs Cornwallis and Rory moved in their seats.

  The man now drew from a long envelope a thick sheet of paper which was folded in half; then again surveying the company from over his glasses he began to read: ‘I, John William Cornwallis, have requested that the solicitor, Mr Francis Armitage, of Armitage, Rutland and Coles, come to me to take down my last statement.

  ‘Although my back be broken, I am still of sound mind on this day, Tuesday, the twenty-eighth of October, eighteen hundred and fifty-one, and I wish him or his clerk to take down my words as I say them.

  ‘Being in dire trouble I do not think I have long to live and want my wishes carried out as follows:

  ‘I leave to my wife, Rose Cornwallis, who has been a good wife and more to me, I leave to her the business of the wheelwright’s shop and the debts owing to it, together with what is in the purse, which place she knows of. The sum in it at present stands at two hundred and fifty sovereigns and thirty-four half-sovereigns. I also leave to her in trust the sum that is held in the bank in Newcastle which amount is known to her and need not be mentioned.

  ‘To her good friend, Emily Beeney, I leave the sum of ten pounds. This, and the next two amounts I will state, will come out of the shop profits and the money due to me from Sam Kirkup, which is twenty-four pounds for waggon as complete, and from Septimus Tyler nine pounds ten shillings for cart as complete, and from Emily Brace ten shillings for a poss stick, and eighty feet of soft paling for pigsties at a penny a foot, which amounts to six shillings and eightpence. These articles on top of four other bills she has unpaid come to seven pounds fifteen. But I doubt she will pay speedily though she is not short of money—may ask for debt to be paid off in pig meat.

  ‘Now to Peter Tollett who has worked faithfully for me, and my father before me, I leave ten sovereigns and the promise that he will be paid the sum of five shillings a week when he retires, that is should he consent to stay on in the shop for another three years, by which time the boy, Rodney McAlister, shall have completed his apprenticeship, and during that period instruct him in everything that will help him towards becoming a first-class craftsman in our trade. Should he not comply with my wish then his pension will stand as we arranged at two shillings a week.

  ‘To Benny Croft I leave the sum of five pounds and the promise that should he, too, stay and help in the shop and not wander about as he does every year, he will, when his time comes, be given the same pension as stated above.’

  At this point the solicitor again surveyed the company over his spectacles. Taking a sip from his glass, which was half full of whisky, he straightened his shoulders, wrinkled his nose, then said, ‘Remember I am quoting the deceased’s own words,’ and, turning the page of the folded paper, he now read: ‘I am come to the point very near to my heart. It concerns the boy, my apprentice, Rodney McAlister. To him I leave the sum of twenty pounds to do what he likes. It is in payment for a service he has rendered me, and I say to him, now that I am no longer here I have, since shortly after he came into my employ, looked upon him as a son, as has my wife, and had it not been that he was firmly established with his own family we would have taken him legally as our son. Both my wife and myself are of the opinion that he has a regard for us, so, therefore, I am saying to him this: If he will promise when his time is up to stay with the shop and take its concerns on his shoulders and, as much as lies within his power, look after my wife as a son would and stay with her in this house, I propose to do towards him as follows…on the death of my wife he is to have the house and business of the wheelwright’s shop and the freehold land on which it stands, together with the cottage which I promised him for his people, and which they can remain in as long as he stays in my wife’s service. Should he be taken away by death, his family are free to stay in the cottage until such time as both father and mother are dead.

  ‘Further, at my wife’s death I leave the monies in the Newcastle Bank in his trust, and bid him use the interest only every year to help three poor families in that they eat and be housed well. Although he could have access to the capital I ask him not to use this unless in dire need. By the time he hears my words read he will understand why I make this request.

  ‘I have no more to say except perhaps to remind you, boy, of my words when we last parted. There is nobody in the world all black and nobody all white. Look after my wife and be a son to her. God bless you both.

  ‘Signed this day, Tuesday, the twenty-eighth of October, eighteen hundred and fifty-one.

  ‘Witnessed by Septimus Georg
e Roberts, Physician, and Michael Westbury, Clerk.’

  The solicitor now took his spectacles off and wiped them. He did not cast a glance around the table as he did so, but kept it fixed on the polishing of the lens. Not until he had cleaned them to his satisfaction did he replace them. Then he looked at Rory, as everyone else in the room was doing, and Rory, sitting well back in the chair now, for he needed support, gaped at them.

  He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t been able to believe his ears for the last three or four minutes. His eyes met those of the missis; her glance was soft and tear-filled. He wanted to get up, go to her and say, ‘I would have looked after you as best I could without anything.’ But he couldn’t for, as he put it to himself, he was all tosticated.

  His gaze was snapped away from Mrs Cornwallis’s by a long-drawn-out snort of indignation, and not one, but two. Both Morley Cornwallis and his wife were on their feet and Morley, walking up by the side of the table, gripped the back of each chair in his passage until he stood in front of Rory, and through gritted teeth said, ‘You’ve wormed your way in all right, boy, haven’t you? But it’s not goin’ to work.’

  ‘Who are you to say what’s goin’ to work and what isn’t?’ Mrs Cornwallis was on her feet now. ‘I’ll thank you, Morley, to see to your own affairs.’

  ‘Rosie!’ Morley Cornwallis was wagging his finger at her. ‘Now ’tisn’t fair. John and me were kin, and we too are kin.’ He pointed at her. ‘And he never mentioned me.’

  ‘We’re not kin, Morley, not that it matters. An’ you were only second cousin to him, and not even that if it was worked out properly. You’ve no claim whatever on him, never had.’

  ‘We’ve more claim than him.’ It was Mary Ann Cornwallis now putting her spoke in as she thrust out her arm towards Rory.

  Mrs Cornwallis, now facing the enraged woman, said quietly, ‘Think back. What have you ever done for us, Mary Ann, now what? The only thing you’ve done is give advice, an’ not good advice either. And you, Morley, have never put a penn’orth of business our way. You’ve diverted it to Jarrow or Primrose and as far away as Felling rather than let John have it. Oh, we’ve known…Well now, as the saying goes, as you sow so shall ye reap. This boy here’s done more for John in a few days than both of you in a lifetime. There’s John’s will.’ She pointed now to the paper that the solicitor was folding up and putting back into the envelope. ‘It’s legal, it stays. And the boy stays.’