Miss Martha Mary Crawford

by Catherine Cookson (Catherine Marchant)

‘Don’t keep saying our Nancy and our Roland in that fashion.’ She could not help herself from adding now, ‘You yourself would be the first to check anyone for using such colloquial terms. You knew that she was contemplating marrying Mr Robson.’

  ‘But you were going to stop it.’

  ‘It wasn’t in my power to stop it. If anyone’s it was Roland’s, so I telegraphed him. When he arrived he gave me his news and I responded with mine, I told him that under the circumstances I wouldn’t stay here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not!’ Martha put her hand up to her mouth, realising that she had yelled; then leaning across the table, she said grimly, ‘Because I don’t intend to be a non-paid servant to a school marm, because she intends to turn this house into a private school. And I’m sure she had been given to understand that I would do all the dirty work, assisted no doubt by yourself and Nancy.’

  ‘Roland would never have said that about me! I’ve got my position in the bookshop now.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, you have.’ She nodded slowly at her sister, then ended, ‘Well, he would have had Nancy and me in mind for the unpleasant dirty work, but I’m afraid he’s made a mistake about us both.’

  ‘But you can’t leave, what about Aunt Sophie?’

  ‘Aunt Sophie is not my responsibility, she is Roland’s.’

  ‘You would leave Aunt Sophie?’ Mildred’s tone was full of indignation.

  ‘Yes, yes, I would leave Aunt Sophie, but with less worry now because I can see that you’d be quite willing to stay on and no doubt you will help with the night nursing which, as you know, Aunt Sophie has been requiring more and more of late.’

  ‘You are being nasty now.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m being nasty now, Mildred; and, as I see it, it’s not before time. Oh—’ she cocked her ear to one side—‘if I’m not mistaken, they have just come into the hall. You’d better go and meet them and offer your congratulations.’

  Mildred, her mouth grim, stood wagging her head for a moment at Martha before swinging about and going out of the kitchen.

  As the door banged after her, Peg came out of the pan room and her presence startled Martha; she had thought her to be in the yard, and when Peg grinned at her and said, ‘That was telling her, miss. By! you’ve given them all shocks one after another, an’ not afore time,’ she looked down at the table where her hands were splayed tight against its whitewood surface, and she thought, Yes, one after the other, and she couldn’t believe that it was herself that was doing it.

  She had changed, everything about her had changed, since the day she had met her father’s mistress there had come alive in her a new being, which had grown rapidly, and during the last few days it had thrust itself out through her skin, her innocent skin, her gullible girlish skin, and it was the kind of being she should take pride in, but she didn’t, for in this moment she mourned for the girl she had once been, the girl who had loved her father, and this house, and whose only need was a husband. She now closed her eyes on the thought that even the girl she once had been had needed a husband.

  PART FOUR

  THE RIVER DECIDES

  One

  It had rained heavily all night, and now in the early morning it was still raining heavily.

  Mildred was in a very bad temper. She had informed Martha late last night that she didn’t like her prospective sister-in-law; in fact, she went as far as to say if she could hate anyone it would be Miss Eva Harkness. And she had asked what she herself was going to do. Where would she live if she couldn’t live here? Everybody had gone mad, marriage mad.

  Martha had refrained from making any comment even when Mildred had ended, ‘I’m not putting up with it; I’ll do something about it.’

  And now dressed against the storm, she stood in the hall dragging on her gloves and looking towards the window against which the rain was beating and said, ‘And if this keeps on I won’t be able to get back tonight; and I hate staying at the Armstrongs’.’

  ‘They’re very nice people; he is a very intelligent man.’

  ‘You know nothing about him. I’m with him all day, he’s an old dotard.’

  ‘Really! Well, I don’t see him like that. And I shall shortly be very pleased to accept the hospitality of the old dotard and his wife.’

  ‘You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t go and stay there!’

  ‘Why not? You lodge there.’

  ‘That’s different; I merely take advantage of them when the weather is bad.’

  ‘Take advantage of them? If that is how you view their kindness I would, if I were you, look out for more suitable lodgings. But for myself, I shall be pleased to stay with them.’

  ‘Oh!’ Mildred tossed her head with annoyance. ‘You’re so…so’—she stopped, lost for words.

  ‘Go on, say it.’

  ‘I can’t…I can’t find words to fit you at this moment, but one thing I will say, and I agree with Roland about it, you’ll never have a clear conscience as long as you live if you leave Aunt Sophie with no-one to look after her. I think you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  They were glaring at each other now through the dim light of the hall, then Martha said thickly, ‘I think you’d better go, Mildred, before I say something I will regret. But this I will say, if you’re so concerned about Aunt Sophie you stay at home and look after her. As I see it now, it’s your turn to take on some of the odious duties of this household, duties that I’ve shouldered for years, so don’t imagine that either you or Roland will work on my conscience to make me stay. You and Roland between you, and, of course, his lady wife, should be able to manage Aunt Sophie.’

  Mildred now pulled open the door but before she stepped over the threshold she turned once again and, thrusting her face out towards Martha, she hissed through tight lips, ‘And him in there!’ She actually jerked her thumb in the direction of the study. ‘You want to mind what you’re about; he’s dangerous, he’s a philanderer; I know.’ She now gave one definite bounce of her head before turning and running down the steps.

  Martha did not stay to watch her progress but closed the door quickly against the driving rain; then she went hastily towards the stairs. She didn’t ascend them right away, but stood gripping the knob of the balustrade as she wished, for a moment, that she was Dilly or Peg and could cry out aloud, ‘Damn them!’ for they were both using one telling weapon against her: her conscience with regard to Aunt Sophie.

  And there was no doubt about it, no matter how she protested that she wouldn’t be troubled about leaving Aunt Sophie, she knew she was merely putting up a thin defence, and that once away from the house, her conscience would beat that defence down, so much so that when Aunt Sophie finally died her sorrow would be nothing compared to her feeling of guilt. Heavily now, she walked up the stairs and made her way towards Sophie’s room.

  It was strange but it seemed at times that Aunt Sophie had second sight for only last night she had said, ‘The house is uneasy, Martha Mary; everybody is at sixes and sevens, all except you. You’ll never be at sixes and sevens.’ And first thing this morning when she had taken her her early cup of tea she had found her sitting on the side of the bed half dressed in her shift, corsets, and drawers, and no amount of persuading would make her take them off, and like that she had got back into bed again.

  When she had left the room she had thought this was one of the occasions when it would be prudent to lock the door on the outside, yet at the same time she imagined the scene should Aunt Sophie appear in the dining room as she had done recently on the stairs. How would Miss Eva Harkness view the apparition?

  Apparently Roland had taken her for a brief visit to Aunt Sophie last night. She did not see Miss Harkness after the visit but she had seen Roland, and he had looked at her as if he would take pleasure in killing her.

  Aunt Sophie was lying very much as she had left her an hour earlier. She appeared very quiet and in one of her near rational periods. ‘It’s raining again, Martha Mary,’ she said.


  ‘Yes, and it looks set in for the day.’

  ‘I think it will be set in for a long time, Martha Mary. The river’s rising rapidly.’

  ‘Is it?’ She went to the window. The river always rose with heavy rains, but now she could see the dull leaden grey of its waters were covering the bank, and it was running fast. Here and there dark objects were whirling on its surface, likely branches of trees washed down from the hills, but the very fact that they were still flowing straight down meant that there was no blockage up at the bridge.

  The footbridge further up the river wasn’t very high and when the river was really in flood the debris mounted there until the water spread it out over the fields. She turned to the bed, saying, ‘It hasn’t risen very much; it’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not worrying, Martha Mary; the river never worries me; I like the river. Do you know something? I’ve always imagined myself floating down on it, floating away, away, down on it. I sometimes long to get up and walk down to the river and do just that, float away and away…’

  Martha went quickly to the wash-hand stand in order to shut out the pathetic face with the faded blue eyes that held that strange depth of appeal; always they had held that look of appeal. She stood pouring some water from a jug into the washbasin. Her throat was tight, and her heart was crying, ‘Oh Aunt Sophie! Aunt Sophie! What am I doing?’ while at the same time her head was saying, ‘Don’t weaken; it’s your life, or hers.’

  When she took the bowl and towels to the bed and placed them on a side table Sophie raised herself on the pillows and said, ‘I can wash myself this morning, Martha Mary; I feel very well this morning, as if—’ she looked about the room, then towards the window—‘as if it were a beautiful day, and it isn’t, is it? But that’s how I feel, as if it were a beautiful day and I was going on an excursion. Father used to take me on excursions when I was a girl. I wish I had remained a girl, Martha Mary.’

  ‘Wash your hands, Aunt Sophie.’

  ‘Yes, Martha Mary. You know something, Martha Mary?’

  ‘What, Aunt Sophie?’

  ‘It’s a dreadful thing for a man to leave a girl, a young girl in a church, in front of all those people, waiting, waiting. If he had been kind he would have done it before, even the day before would have done, and then there might have been some hope for her. Don’t you think so Martha Mary?’

  Martha stared down into the upturned face. Her Aunt Sophie was sane; she was talking sanely. She’d had her bright periods before, but never, never had she admitted in them that she was anything but a married woman. Now the eyes that looked back into hers were showing an intelligence, an awareness of herself that she hadn’t seen there before. Perhaps it had been there all the time and none of them had realised it. But she should have known, she who had spent so much of her time in this room, she should have realised that the poor creature had to have a shield, and the shield had been the phantasy she presented to them. Yet she also knew that there were times when Sophie had been far from normal; these were the periods following her bouts of fits when she was so bad that afterwards when she had seemed normal no-one had accepted that this could be so.

  ‘Oh! Aunt Sophie.’ She leant over and drew the trembling wasted frame into her arms and her tears flowed as she said, ‘Yes, it was a terrible cruel thing to do to you. Oh, my dear, my dear.’

  ‘There, there.’ It was Aunt Sophie actually comforting her now. ‘Don’t cry. Aw, Martha Mary don’t cry. That I should make you cry, you above anyone. You’ve been my daughter Martha Mary; even in my bad spells you gave me the love of a daughter, and I’ve had very bad spells, haven’t I?…Martha Mary.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Sophie.’ Martha turned her head away as she wiped her eyes.

  ‘Don’t let such a thing happen to you.’

  She blinked now and looked down into the upturned face, but she made no answer, she only shook her head as Sophie went on, ‘You have such a lovely face, my dear, and one day some man will take it, in his hands. But make sure they’re honest hands, won’t you, Martha Mary?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Aunt Sophie.’ Her throat was so tight she felt she would choke. She looked towards the floor. The hands were downstairs, the hands that she wanted to touch her face, even if he saw it only as the face of his housekeeper. And she had known all along that should he repeat his proposal she would accept it on his terms for she needed to be near him. She needed comfort; but now even comfort would have to wait, wouldn’t it, for she could not leave this poor creature. Roland had won.

  ‘You’re a fool. Do you know that? A fool.’ Harry was sitting on the side of the couch with a blanket around him, and he pushed it roughly under one buttock, then gave a small groan before continuing, ‘But you’re a nice fool, a compassionate one. I knew from the beginning you wouldn’t leave her. You know, with good nursing she could last a year, perhaps two. But as I’ve told you, her heart is pretty weak and if she were to have a bad bout of fits it could give out.’

  ‘Long or short, I can’t leave her. I’m very sorry.’

  ‘So am I, for your sake, for you need to get away from her. And let me be honest, for my own too; I’m a very impatient individual. I like things cut and dried. Anyway, I’ve never had your answer from the other day, but now it would seem there’s plenty of time…Your brother will be delighted.’

  His tone was flat, his words clipped. His attitude to the situation was defeating; it appeared to her that he wasn’t much troubled by her decision, and so she answered dully, ‘Yes, he will.’

  ‘You’ll stand up to his lady wife, won’t you? And don’t let her make a drudge of you.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll stand up to her.’

  ‘He was in here a minute ago looking for you. Have you seen him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘From the glimpse I got of him he looked in a bit of a tear; I don’t think things are running as smoothly as he expected, perhaps it’s the servant shortage.’ He now smiled wryly up at her.

  ‘That and other things. She was introduced to Aunt Sophie last night.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, Aunt Sophie seems to be the root of the matter.’

  When the door jerked open they both looked towards it to see Roland standing there.

  ‘I’d like to speak to you for a moment, if you can spare the time.’

  Martha, looking down at Harry, now said, ‘I won’t be a moment, I must see to your dressing,’ then she turned and went slowly towards the door where Roland still stood holding it wide.

  When she had passed him she walked towards the entrance of the hall, and there she turned and asked, ‘Where would you like me to go?’

  He gave her no answer except a look of utter impatience, then marched into the drawing room, and she followed him.

  After she had closed the door she did not move from it because he was standing only a few paces from her.

  His voice now little more than a growl, he said, ‘You’ll be pleased to know that Eva is cutting her visit short and is returning home today. Your attitude and the treatment she has had since she arrived has become unbearable to her.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘Don’t use that sarcastic tone to me, I won’t stand it.’

  ‘Then there are two of us who don’t intend to stand it.’ Her voice had risen.

  He now glared at her for a while before saying, ‘I’m taking her home, it’s as little as I can do. I shan’t be able to return until tomorrow, or the next day. Is it too much to ask that you stay on until I get back?’

  She could have said to him at this point, ‘I’m not leaving, not as long as Aunt Sophie is alive,’ but she could not at the moment bring herself to give him this satisfaction, so what she said was, ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Even if your friend goes?’ There was a deep sneer in his tone.

  She felt a warmth spreading over her face, but she made herself remain calm as she replied, ‘Yes, even if my friend should go, which is very likely, because as soon as the rain eases Doctor Pippin will be calling fo
r him.’

  For a moment longer they stared at each other, then he flounced past her and out of the room. She remained standing for a moment before she returned to the study and there, with her hands gripping the horsehair head of the couch, she made a small sound that could have been the forerunner of laughter or tears as she said, ‘It’s funny, it’s really funny, but…but she’s going, he’s taking her home today, now. She…she cannot abide my presence any longer.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘Do you think she will change her mind?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt it.’

  ‘I do, too’—he nodded at her now—‘because she’s a desperate woman.’

  ‘Desperate? In what way?’

  He did not answer her immediately but when he did the warmth again returned to her face for he said, ‘For marriage. Some women become desperate about marriage when they reach their late twenties.’

  She busied herself now at a side table and her tone was prim as she said, ‘If that is the case, then I would feel inclined to be sorry for her.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t waste your sympathy; the only thing you should be sorry for is that she’s set her sights on your brother because, and I’m not going to say pardon me for saying it, but he’s a very immature young man and, to my mind, not yet ready for the responsibilities of marriage…You didn’t tell him that you were staying?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought not, or he’d have induced her to stay in spite of your annoying ways.’

  If he had meant this to cause her to smile he was disappointed for she remained silent, and she did not speak until after she had renewed the dressing on his forehead and he had remarked on an impatient note, ‘Listen to that rain, it seems to be getting heavier.’

  ‘The river’s rising.’

  ‘The river? Is it?…Does it flood here, you’re lying very low?’