The Black Velvet Gown

by Catherine Cookson

  Tol Briston stood in the kitchen looking across the table to where Riah was expertly dissecting a rabbit. She had split it down the middle with a chopper and was now snipping off the limbs, and he watched her hands for a few moments before saying, ‘You’re settled in then?’

  She lifted her eyes to him and then smiled as she said, ‘Yes, thanks be to God. I really can’t believe it because this time yesterday I was at the bottom of despair.’

  His eyes were again concentrated on her hands as he said, ‘It isn’t much of a job, as jobs go, I mean what he offers, but you won’t find him any trouble. You’ll be your own boss, so to speak, as long as you keep the children out of his way. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘Oh, I will. I will.’ She nodded at him. ‘Mrs Briggs has told me.’

  He lifted his eyes to her face now as he said, ‘I’ll…I’ll drop your milk in every day an’ a load of wood once a month. He…he doesn’t buy much coal. But I meself, I find I like a wood fire better than a coal one. But you bein’ from a mining village, I…I suppose you’re used to coal.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’ve been used to coal. But…but I’ll manage with wood all right. Oh yes, I’ll manage, never fear.’ Her smile was wide, her eyes were bright.

  ‘That’s good then,’ he said.

  He watched her now salt each piece of rabbit before dropping it into a brown earthenware dish, and when she put the lid on the dish he said, ‘You’ll miss an onion and a turnip and such for it.’

  ‘What?’ She brought her head up quickly towards him, then nodded: ‘Oh, yes, yes. But Davey is going to get a patch ready, and come next spring we should have vegetables.’

  ‘You feel settled then?’

  Her hands became still on the table and she stared at him as she said, her voice a little above a whisper, ‘I hope so. Oh, I hope so.’ A slow smile spread over his face, and he nodded his head twice before saying, ‘That’s good. It’s good when one feels settled. And…and if you want any help any time just ask.’

  ‘I will. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Seeing we’re your nearest neighbours, you…you must meet me sister.’

  ‘Your…your sister?’

  ‘Yes, I live with me sister.’

  ‘I would like that.’

  The door opened at the far end of the kitchen and Fanny entered. She was dressed for the road, and her voice was quiet and held a note of sadness as she said, ‘I never thought he’d be so touched at me goin’. He’s given me that…Look.’ She held out her hand. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? ’Tis a brooch. ’Twas his mother’s.’ There were tears in her eyes now and she swallowed deeply before repeating, ‘Never thought he’d be so touched. An’ to give me that. Why, ’tis worth somethin’. Look, Tol.’

  He picked up the brooch that was made up of three ivy leaves, their stems twisted, and in the centre of each leaf was a small stone. He looked at her a long time before he said, ‘I think it’s gold. Fanny. And the stones, they could be good ones. You’ll have to guard that.’

  ‘I will, I will, Tol. I will. An’ to think he’s given it to me when he could have sold it for good money likely. But gold or no, good stones or no, I’ll not sell it.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, don’t sell it. You mustn’t do that.’ There was a shocked note in Tol’s voice.

  The old woman shook her head, then turned to Riah, saying, ‘Well, I’m off, lass. It’s all yours now, but Tol here will tell me how you go on. An’ afore the bad weather sets in he might drop me over for a day to visit you.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Riah came round the table and took Fanny’s hand, saying, ‘I’ll…I’ll never be able to thank you for what you’ve done for me and my family. If…if I owned anythin’ as precious as that brooch at this minute I’d give it to you. Such is my gratitude to you.’

  ‘’Twas nothin’. ’Twas nothin’. If I’ve done you a good turn, you’ve done me one an’ all. And don’t forget what I told you about the rabbit.’ Her tone had changed now to its usual matter of factness, and, pointing to the oven, she said, ‘Put it in the bottom an’ leave it for the night; it’ll be as tender as a day-old chick the morning: and let him have it round about twelve o’clock. And don’t forget what I told you about the suet pudding. He likes it crusty on top, the harder the better, and plenty of dripping in the gravy. Well, I showed you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you very much.’

  She made for the door now that Tol was holding open for her; yet seeming reluctant to go, she turned again and, looking at Riah, she said, ‘And don’t forget, six o’clock for his cheese and bread, and the fruit cut up in a dish, and the molasses on it, not sugar mind, the molasses. An’ keep the bairns out of his way.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  There was a tightness in Riah’s throat: she could sense the feelings of the old woman who, in spite of her desire to be free of the burden of work and the travelling at her age, was reluctant to leave, perhaps not the house, but its master.

  She stood alone in the yard and watched the cart being driven from it and on to the gravel, then down the drive. When it was out of sight she still remained standing. And when she eventually turned about she did not go immediately towards the kitchen door, but her eyes went from the one building to the other that hemmed in the yard on two sides; then she looked along the length of the back part of the house. Like the front, it too looked higgledy-piggledy, yet there rose in her the most odd desire, and she only just stopped herself from throwing out her arms in a wide gesture of embrace as, her thoughts tumbling over one another, she spoke to it, saying, ‘I’ll take care of you. I’ll bring you back to what you were. I’ll make you shine, and him comfortable. Oh, yes, I’ll make him comfortable. And the work here will be like giving each of the bairns a trade.’ And she almost skipped towards the kitchen door now and inside began preparing her new master’s evening meal…

  It was half an hour later when, balancing the tray against her waist with one hand, she tapped on the library door. She did it softly at first; then when she received no command to enter she knocked more firmly, and when this brought a kind of smothered grunt, she opened the door and entered the room.

  She saw that he was sitting before another cluttered desk, one forearm resting on it, his body leaning over it, and he continued to write while she stood wavering as to where she should place the tray.

  He did not alter his position or raise his head, but his hand, still holding the pen, jerked outwards and pointed to the corner of the table as he said, ‘Put it there.’

  Slowly, she placed the tray on the top of a bundle of papers and books; but seeing that its position was uneven and that the bowl of fruit might slide, she tentatively put her hand under the tray with the intention of moving the papers when his voice came at her, saying, ‘Don’t touch those; just leave it.’

  She did as she was bid, but could not help but put her hand out to arrest the progress of the sliding bowl, and this caused him to sigh. Quickly now, he put down his pen, leant back in his chair, then still without looking at her he said, ‘Are you settled in?’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Fanny has told you everything?’

  ‘Yes, yes, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  Once he began to write, she turned and made for the door; and she had just opened it when he said, ‘I…I hope you understand I don’t want to be troubled by your children.’

  There was a space of a second before she said, ‘I understand, sir. You won’t be troubled.’

  Again he said, ‘Good.’ And she went out and closed the door. But there she stood for a moment and drew in a sharp breath before hurrying across the hall, through the kitchen and the door that led into the east wing of the house, where she had set Biddy and Maggie the task of dusting and cleaning two of the bedrooms which entailed putting the mattresses out to air in the sun and brushing the threadbare carpets.

  When she came upon them, they were both sitting on the edge of a bed, and to begin with she laughingly said, ‘I
’ve caught you then, have I, dodging the column?’

  ‘Eeh, I’m tired, Ma.’ She looked at her six-year-old daughter. Then putting her hand on the child’s dark brown hair she stroked it back from the sweating brow, saying, ‘Yes, I bet you are, hinny, but’—she looked about her—‘I can see you’ve done a good job. I suppose you’ve done all the work while Biddy there’s been sitting watching you.’ At this they all laughed softly together, and Biddy said seriously, ‘Ma. I wonder how long it is since this house had a clean out? It’ll take ages to get all the muck out of this carpet.’ She stamped her foot on it. ‘And look, there’s cobwebs hanging in the corners. We couldn’t reach them. You’ll have to have a brush, a long brush to get at them.’

  ‘All in good time.’ Riah pushed them apart and sat down between them; then putting her arms about them, she looked first at one and then the other as she said, ‘Do you think you’re going to like it here?’

  ‘Oh, aye, Ma.’ Biddy nodded her head while young Maggie just smiled.

  ‘Well now.’ Riah’s face became serious, as was her voice as she spoke slowly but distinctly, saying, ‘All right then. And I think so too. But there’s one thing that you must remember, both of you. Now listen. You’ve got to keep out of the master’s way. Whenever you see him coming, scoot! It seems that he can’t stand bairns. So remember.’ She stopped and, again looking from one to the other, she asked, ‘What have you got to remember?’

  ‘To keep out of his way.’

  Riah now turned her glance from Biddy to Maggie, and the little girl said, ‘To keep out of the master’s way, Ma.’

  ‘Will you do that?’

  They both nodded, and with this she said, ‘Well, come on. You can finish for the day. It’s been a day and a half, hasn’t it? And you Biddy, go to the garden and tell the boys to come in. But tell them to do it quietly. And you can tell them what I’ve just told you. Everything depends upon them keeping out of the master’s way.’

  ‘I’ll tell them, Ma.’

  When Biddy made to run from her, Riah thrust out her hand and grabbed the collar of her dress, saying, ‘And don’t scamper. Learn to walk.’

  When Biddy walked away but not without first sighing, Maggie, looking up at her mother, said, ‘Will we never be able to scamper again, Ma?’ And Riah, pressing the child to her side, laughed down on her as she answered, ‘Yes, of course you will. Every now and again we’ll go out into the fields and we’ll all scamper and have a bit carry on. What about that, eh?’

  And as she walked her youngest daughter from the room she thought, Yes, they’ll have to scamper; and I’ll have to arrange a time when they can be free and play a bit, because all bairns should play a bit.

  Four

  It was the week before Christmas. For days now the ground had been frozen hard and the boys couldn’t do anything outside. This morning, they were over in the stables, limewashing the walls. They had been there for the past three hours and Riah was about to take them a drink of hot broth. She had on her old coat and a woollen head shawl, and now she tucked a tin bowl into each of her pockets, picked up the lidded can and, opening the kitchen door, she went out. The sharpness of the air caught at her breath, and she was glad when she entered the stable for in comparison it felt warm. The two boys turned from their task and Johnny said, ‘Ma, I’m near froze.’

  ‘You should wear your mittens,’ she said, and the boy replied, ‘They get all messed up and sticky.’

  ‘Well, that’s your lookout. Come and have this drop of broth.’

  After laying down his brush, Davey came and stood by the manger where his mother had laid the bowls, and he smiled at her and asked, ‘How does it look?’ She turned to the wall. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Good. And it smells fresh.’

  ‘But not the fresh smell of horses. An’ you know what, Ma?’

  ‘No. What?’ Riah watched her son take a drink of the hot broth before he answered: ‘I wish the master had a horse an’ trap; anyway, just a horse. It would be lovely if he had a horse.’

  ‘That’s a hope; he can barely manage to feed us, never mind a horse.’

  ‘Funny that, I think, Ma, a gentleman an’ no money.’

  ‘Well, he’s got some, as I’ve told you, but it’s very little, and it takes him all his time to eke it out.’

  Davey laughed now and he poked his face towards her, saying, ‘He didn’t eke it out yesterday, did he, Ma?’

  She pulled a prim face at him, trying to suppress her smile as she said, ‘No, perhaps not. Anyway, come on, finish your broth, I’ve got to get back. I’ve got work to do, I can’t play about.’

  ‘Oh, Ma.’ Johnny looked up at her, his dark eyes twinkling as he said, ‘I’d rather play about in the house.’

  She cuffed his ear gently, saying, ‘Yes, I know you would, you lazy lump.’ And although she looked tenderly down on her younger son she knew that there was some truth in her last words, for if Johnny could get out of working he would. He still wanted to play as if he was a bairn, but he’d had his eighth birthday last month. Yet wasn’t he still a bairn? Weren’t they all bairns? Except perhaps Davey. She let her eyes linger on her other son. He was dressed in his oldest clothes, the cap was covering his fair hair and there was dirt on his cheeks, but nothing could hide his beauty, nor dull the brightness of his blue eyes. He was so good to look on, and during the last months he seemed to have put on inches. His body was slim and straight, and at times the sight of him pained her and she couldn’t imagine he had come out of her and Seth. She was on her way out when Johnny’s words stopped her, for in a loud whisper he called to her, ‘I saw the master this morning, Ma.’

  Swinging round, her expression dark, she demanded, ‘Now I’ve told you. Where were you?’

  It was Davey who answered, saying, ‘It’s all right, Ma, it’s all right. We were crossing the yard and nosey here turned towards the house’—he pushed his brother—‘and he said he saw the master watchin’ us from the drawing room window as we cleaned the steps.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘No. I told nosey here to keep on with his work and not turn round.’

  She took a step towards Johnny as she said, ‘You’re sure you saw him at the drawing room window that early on?’

  ‘Aye, Ma. And he wasn’t dressed like, not for the day, he had his robe on.’

  She stared at the boys for a moment; then muttering, ‘Well, well,’ she turned about and went hurrying out across the yard and into the kitchen again. And there she slowly took off her head shawl and coat, thinking as she did so. It must have been around nine, and hardly light enough for him to see anything.

  She was smiling to herself as she now poured herself out some broth: he must be looking at the children on the sly; and on top of what happened yesterday.

  It was only the second trip he had made to the city since she had come into the house, and it was, she knew, to visit his solicitor and collect his allowance. His return had brought a number of surprises because, whereas the first time he had returned Tol had had to help him down from the cart and into the house, this time he had got down himself, and after thanking Tol he had turned about and walked to the front door. Not that he had returned sober, he’d had a small load on that had affected his walking slightly, but nevertheless he hadn’t been drunk. And he was hardly in the house when he had rung the bell for her. It was the drawing room bell, and he had been sitting before the fire, his hands extended to the flames, when she entered the room. But he hadn’t turned to her until she stood to the side of the fireplace and said, ‘You rang, sir?’ And then it was some seconds before he said, ‘I did, I did, Maria, I did ring for you. It is very cold out today.’

  ‘Yes, sir, it is very cold,’ she had replied.

  ‘Newcastle is packed with people. I was glad to get home.’

  ‘I’m…I’m sure you were, sir,’ she said.

  ‘The shops in the city are very gay, Maria.’

  ‘Are they, sir?’

  ‘Yes, yes indeed, they ar
e.’ He still wasn’t looking at her. He still had his hands extended to the fire. Then he went on, ‘They made me wish I was a rich man, or a highwayman.’ Now he slanted his gaze towards her and for the first time in their acquaintance she saw that there was a twinkle in his eye, and she returned it with a smile, saying, ‘I don’t think you’d make a very good highwayman, sir.’

  ‘No, perhaps not.’ He straightened up now and, resting his hands on his knees, he ended, ‘I don’t think I’d make a very good anything. In fact I know it. I’m proof of it, aren’t I?’ He turned his gaze fully towards her now, and she looked at him but didn’t answer. Men got maudlin when they had drink in them; he would never have talked like this if he had been sober; in fact, it was the longest conversation they’d ever had. The first time she had seen him on his return from Newcastle he had tried to do a dance in the hall, but he hadn’t spoken to her, and the next morning he had gone down to the river and plunged in. He had often gone into the river earlier on, and even on the hottest days the water was inclined to be cold, as she herself knew for when she had taken the bairns down she sat on the bank and dangled her feet in the water.

  Then he had surprised her by handing her two sovereigns, saying brusquely, ‘Take these. They are to get extra for the table and such during the holidays. Spend it sparingly because there’s no more where that came from.’ And with a slight touch of humour he added, ‘You’d better hold it tight in your fist because I might ask for it back tomorrow, you never know, because by then the spirit will have evaporated and I shall be back to normal. But…but as I am not yet normal—’ He turned about and grabbed at a long coloured paper bag that was lying on the couch to his hand and, thrusting it towards her, he said, ‘For your brood. Only mind’—he now wagged his finger at her—‘don’t take it as a breakthrough; I don’t want to see them. Keep them out of my way. You understand?’