‘Yes, but hung. I could understand in a way them gibbeting that Mr Joblin for murdering the mine manager, but for stealing sheep they could have been transported.’
When she looked at him he was smiling, and she stopped her rubbing and sighed; then folding the cloth into a square, she said, ‘When are you expecting your sister back?’
‘I’m not sure, a week, perhaps a fortnight. The only thing I’m sure of is that she’ll be back.’
She looked up at him. His eyes were waiting for her, and he added, ‘Life’s not easy. It seems that few people can do what they wish.’
As she stared back at him, the words came into her mouth, but stuck there, for how could she say, ‘You’ve got a week, perhaps a fortnight to do what you wish. Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you come round here now and take me in your arms? It would be some sort of compensation to both of us.’ But she couldn’t say that, the risk would be too great. She guessed though that he knew what she wished, it must be written all over her face. Yet he wouldn’t take the risk either, for he, like herself, knew that their arms had only to entwine, and that would be that, for they were both starved of the same thing. And she was also aware that the ensuing result was in both their minds, perhaps more so in hers, because what if she was to have another bairn? And she fell easily. Oh yes, she fell easily.
‘I’d better be on me way now, Riah.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Is there anything you want doing, outside I mean?’
‘No. No, thank you. The boys are managin’ fine.’
‘Yes, it’s amazing the difference they’ve made in that garden, them bits of lads. Well, I’ll be off then.’ He still stood, and she said, ‘Yes. Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight, Riah.’
He picked up his cap from the knob of the chair and went towards the door, and there he turned, and again he said, ‘Goodnight, Riah.’ And she answered once more, ‘Goodnight, Tol.’
Going to the fireplace, she put the towel back on the rod, then fumed its ends into a corkscrew as she muttered bitterly, ‘Why has he to come?’ And after a moment she released her hold on the towel and watched it unscrew itself, and with it the tenseness went out of her body; then leaning her head against the wooden mantel, she muttered, ‘That’s that. That’s final. He’ll never have a better chance and he didn’t take it. So that’s final. I’ll think no more of him.’
The four children were seated at the table in the library, the two boys at one side, the two girls at the other. Percival Miller sat at the top end and, holding his hand to his head, he said, ‘Your accents are atrocious. Do you know that? Atrocious.’
They gazed at him in silence, until Johnny caused a diversion. Aiming to be a peacemaker, he said, ‘Do you want us to read from me book?’
‘Oh, my God!’ The master now gave Johnny his full attention. ‘By “us”, I suppose you mean “me”, boy? And tell me, where was your tongue when you said, uss?’
Johnny looked for help across to Biddy, and Biddy, hoping to be unobserved, sat back in her chair and under cover of rubbing her nose with her forefinger, pointed to her mouth; and Johnny, quick to take her advice, said brightly, ‘In me mouth, sir.’
‘Which part of your mouth? And perhaps your sister will help you to answer this too. When you said, uss, where was your tongue?’
Johnny remained silent, his round bright eyes staring at the man who appeared like God to him; and after a moment, Percival Miller slowly turned his gaze on Biddy, saying, ‘Well, you’ve done your excavation, and where, tell me, was your tongue when you said, uss?’
Her head gave him an almost imperceivable wag as she said, ‘Sticking to me bottom teeth, sir.’
‘Yes, exactly. Sticking to your bottom teeth and pushing your jaw out. All of you say, uss.’
So they all said, ‘Uss,’ their faces showing different forms of contortion and so causing the word to emerge in different ways. After the fifth attempt their pronunciations still varied widely, and it was Biddy as usual who came in for censure and caused another diversion, because after she had been asked to pronounce the word by herself, he bawled at her, ‘It is not “arse”, you happen to be sitting on that.’
An explosion of laughter brought the other three bodies wagging; even Davey had his head bent over the table and his hand pressed tightly across his mouth; and more surprising still, their master had a deep twinkle in his eye, as he said, ‘Your exaggeration of “us” will, I have no doubt in the years to come, cause more comment than the raw pronunciation of these, your brothers and sister. You are well set, madam, to becoming a Mrs Malaprop, I think. We must go into that later.’ Now his voice rose and with it his hand and he brought his ruler down on the table close to the fingers of Maggie’s left hand, while her right one jerked away from her face as he cried, ‘Leave your nose alone, girl! Doesn’t your mother give you a handkerchief? That is a disgusting habit of yours.’
As the tears spurted to the child’s eyes, he continued, ‘None of that now. None of that.’ Then after a moment of staring at her bowed head, he said, ‘Anyway, your primitiveness has given me a further lead. Tomorrow you will learn what Lord Chesterfield thinks of people who pick their noses. Now to return to fundamentals. Johnny and Maggie, you will do these sums,’ and he passed them a piece of paper. ‘You may make use of the abacus. And you two’—nodding to Biddy and Davey—‘you will render me speechless with admiration while listening to your reading.’
And so it went on for the next hour, until it was time for them to get back to their work, when he dismissed Johnny and the two girls; but to Davey he said, ‘I want to talk to you. Stay where you are.’
When they were alone together, he did not immediately begin to talk but, leaning back in his chair, his hands covering the large knobs on the arms, he stared at the boy, whose eyes were cast down and head was slightly bent forward.
The sun from a mullioned window had turned the boy’s hair almost to silver and Percival Miller gazed on it for some minutes before he said softly, ‘You are not a dullard, David, so why don’t you try harder at your lessons?’
Davey raised his head and his eyes were still cast down as he said, ‘They…they don’t interest me, sir. I…I mean I don’t seem inclined that way.’
‘What way are you inclined?’ Percival Miller was now sitting on the edge of his seat, his forearms on the table, his hands joined tightly together, and he entreated the boy, ‘Tell me. Tell me.’
Davey now turned his gaze fully and frankly on his master as he said, ‘I’ve told you, sir, I…I just want to be with horses, drive horses, or something like that.’
Their faces were only a few inches from each other.
It was some seconds before Davey blinked and, as if coming out of a trance, he drew his head back on his shoulders and straightened up; and as he did so, his master caught his hand and said, ‘If I promised to buy you a horse…well, say a pony, will you promise to pay attention to your work, and…?’
‘You’d get me a pony, sir? Really?’ The boy’s face became alight. ‘For me own? Really mine?’
‘Yes, yes, really yours.’
‘Oh sir! Yes, yes, I’ll try. Oh yes I will, I’ll try. I’ll pay attention. An’…an’—’ His mouth opened and closed twice before he brought out, ‘There’s the remains of an old trap beyond the summerhouse, sir. A dog cart it was, sir. I could fix it, I’m sure I could. I could fix it. Yes, sir.’ He was nodding his head now, his face showing his joy. ‘Yes, sir, I’ll try. Oh, yes, I’ll try.’
They were both standing now and Percival Miller still retained the boy’s hand; and now he laid his other hand on top of it and said, ‘That is a promise?’
‘Yes, sir. I promise. Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you, thank you very much.’ And Davey withdrew his hand from the warm grasp and backed three steps away before turning and, almost at a run, leaving the library.
Bursting into the kitchen, he startled Riah by shouting, ‘Ma! Ma! What do you think?’
She dried
her hands of blood from a hare that she was cutting up, and her face too was bright as she looked at her son and said, ‘I don’t know. Tell me. Tell me.’
‘The master, he’s…he’s gona get me a horse…a pony. He’s promised. That’s if I stick into me lessons. An’ I will, Ma. I will. But just think—a pony, Ma.’
She pulled a chair towards him and sat down, and she said quietly, ‘He really said that?’
‘Yes, yes, he did.’
Her face became serious as she put her hand up and gripped the boy’s arm, saying, ‘Well, I hope you appreciate the sacrifice he’ll be making, because, you know, he’s got very little money. And you know what happens on quarter day with his books and baccy and beer.’
‘Yes, Ma, I know.’ And Davey’s face lost some of its brightness as he said, ‘Do you think he’ll have to go without all those?’
‘Yes, I can’t see any other way he can do it. And you know, if it wasn’t for what you grow in the garden and the fruit, and the eggs we’re getting from the hens now, and such like we would not live as we do. He’s hard put to pay me the four shillings a week that he does, so Davey’—she gripped both his arms now—‘you’ll have to do as you promised and stick in because that’ll please him more than enough. All he thinks about is learnin’.’
‘I will, Ma. I will.’
‘Go on then, get on with your work.’ And after the boy ran out of the kitchen door she stood and watched him flying across the yard as if he had wings to his feet, and she felt troubled, for deep within her she knew that her son, unlike her elder daughter, hadn’t it in him to pay more attention to learning than he was already doing.
Davey was one of those who would always work better with his hands than with his brain. And she returned to chopping up the hare, thinking it was a great pity the master was so set on education that he could think of nothing else.
Eight
The man seemed to be a changed being. Yesterday he had actually played ball with the children in the yard there. She couldn’t believe her eyes. And then for the past week he had been coming into the kitchen to talk to her. He had sat in the chair and their conversation had ranged over all things. He treated her as an equal. Yesterday, they had even discussed how strange it was, this thing called coincidence. Had it been a coincidence that she had arrived at Rowan Cottage, hoping to look after another man’s wife? Had it been coincidence that Tol and Fanny had come across her? Had it been coincidence that she had come here with her four children? Didn’t she think life was planned? And when she had agreed with him, saying, ‘Yes, God has strange ways of working,’ only then had he contradicted her and very sharply, saying that God had nothing to do with it. There was a power, yes, that shaped their lives but it had nothing to do with a God who was supposed to be a person sitting up there in the clouds on a throne.
He had gone on and on about this, and she had become a little shocked, but had made herself remember that he wasn’t as other men. Being learned like he was, he was bound to think differently. And that he did think differently, she had been made aware before this, because she had heard him arguing with Parson Weeks. But Parson Weeks, although dominant when it came to churchgoing, was a tolerant man. Likely, because he enjoyed his ale.
And then last evening, when the children were all standing round the pump getting the grime off themselves, he had come through the kitchen and stood at the door watching them. And when he had muttered, ‘Beautiful. Beautiful,’ she had felt so sad for him. Here was a man who, behind all his odd ways, was starved of a family. He would have made a wonderful father. In that moment she had felt drawn to him. She had wanted to put her arms about him and bring his head to her breast, as a mother might…or perhaps not as a mother might. And this had jerked her mind back to Tol.
She had seen Tol twice during the last week and his manner hadn’t changed; in fact, she thought, if anything, it had become a little cool. He hadn’t stayed to chat with her, and in a way she had been thankful for this. So, she had made up her mind about Tol, and she faced the fact that if he had cared for her enough, he would have made it known when he had the opportunity. He liked her. Oh yes, she knew that, but liking and loving were two different things…
It was later that evening when the children had gone to bed and she was clearing up for the night and preparing for the following morning by setting the table for breakfast, that the kitchen door opened and her master appeared. He began with an apology. Standing a few feet from her, he asked, ‘Am I intruding?’
‘Not at all, sir. Not at all. Would you like to sit down?’ She felt he wanted to talk, but he refused the offer of the seat and walked to the fire and, looking down into it, he said, ‘I think we understand each other, Riah, don’t we?’ And after a moment’s hesitation she said softly, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’re an intelligent woman. Even from your background you must know the ways of the world and that what appears right to some people is vastly wrong to others.’
Again she said softly, ‘Yes, sir.’
Another silence followed before he turned to her and said, ‘Well then, come along upstairs, I want to give you something.’
After a moment’s hesitation she followed him as he led the way up into the attic once again. And when he opened the wardrobe door and took down the black velvet gown her mouth fell into a gape, for now, holding it with both hands, he put it up in front of her, saying, ‘As I told you, this was my mother’s favourite gown, and I love it because I loved her. In some ways you remind me of her, you’re the same build and’—he paused—‘you have the same kind heart, an understanding of human nature and its strange twists, turns and foibles…There take it, it is yours.’
As he let loose of the garment, it fell over her joined hands, and the softness and the weight of it seemed to flow through her, and when he said, ‘Go down and put it on. Then come into the drawing room; and we shall drink to this occasion,’ she was unable to utter a word, and it was he who took the lamp and led the way down the stairs…
In her bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the gown now lying across the foot of it. Her heart was thumping against her ribs as if she was a young girl about to go to her first man. And she chastised herself saying, ‘Well, you knew what was coming; and face it, woman, you need him as much as he needs you.’ Then her eyes travelled to the door and across the corridor to the children’s rooms. What would they think? Well, they needn’t know. Oh, Biddy with that uncanny way of hers would be bound to sense something. She was like a weathercock, that one, where emotions were concerned. Well, what did it matter? In a way, their livelihood as well as her own depended on her pleasing this man, and it would be no hardship. No, it wouldn’t.
She rose abruptly to her feet and, stripping off her workaday clothes, she sponged her face and hands, telling herself that she needn’t worry about being clean as, fortunately, she’d had a wash down last night. But when the time came for her to step into the gown she held it up in front of her and as if it were embodying its previous owner, she said, ‘I’ll be as kind to your son as you were.’
The gown, she found, was a little tight under the arms and around the waist, but, nevertheless, she managed to fasten the myriad hooks that went down each side of the gown from the oxter to the hips. She found this kind of fastening very strange, but it left the back and front of the gown plain, and when she swung the little mirror on the dressing table backwards and forwards she was amazed at what it revealed. She moved the lamp to get a better view and couldn’t believe that this dress had so transformed her. She took a comb through her hair, softening it above the ears, bringing a quiff down on to her brow and, finally, pinning the bun at the back lower down on her neck. This done, she looked at her hands. They were red, the nails were broken. Then her gaze travelled to her feet. She was wearing house slippers, but there was a small heel on them. Anyway, the dress covered them almost to the toes. It dipped slightly at the back and trailed on the floor, which indicated that his mother had been an
inch or so taller than herself.
Now she was ready to go. She picked up the lamp, but with one hand on the door handle she gripped it and closed her eyes tightly, and the words that came into her mind were, Goodbye Tol…
He was sitting in a chair to the side of the fire when she entered the drawing room, and he stood up immediately but did not move towards her. His mouth slightly open, he gazed at her as she walked slowly up the room. She had put the lamp on the table before he moved and, now taking her hand, he courteously led her to the seat at the other side of the fireplace. But still he didn’t speak. Then he turned from her and, going to a side table, he lifted a bottle and poured two glasses of wine, and as he handed one to her he said, ‘The last of the cellar, but none of it before has been drunk on such an occasion and to such a beautiful woman.’
She was hot from her brow to her feet. When he held up his glass, she did likewise and sipped at the wine. It tasted like whisky, only better. Now he was seated opposite to her, but on the edge of his chair, and, leaning towards her, he said, ‘I think this is the strangest night of my life, Riah. You are my mother sitting there as she once sat, but you are many things besides. There are so many different ways of loving, different kinds of love. Do you know that, Riah?’ She found no need to answer and he went on, ‘I have only ever loved one woman and that was my mother. But it wouldn’t be hard, I think, to love you. Why are we made like this, Riah? So complex that we are given the faculty to love yet we are afraid of exercising it, and we dissipate it in other ways that very rarely bring us joy. We didn’t ask to be made as we are. Do you understand me, Riah?’
She did and she didn’t; and she again had the feeling he wasn’t needing an answer, he just wanted to talk; and so once more she sipped from her glass, and he went on, ‘I can’t imagine what my life was like before you and the children came into it. I look back to those long years spent with Fanny shuffling here and there, garrulous, slovenly, yet, in a way, a friend…well, the only one I had. And then one night she comes and tells me she is leaving. It seemed the end of my life, my way of life. When she told me there was a woman and four children to take her place, I fought her. I thought, Oh no. It was as if the gods were laughing at me and throwing me back into my early years when I longed for children, and longed to be a father figure, but without having to resort to a woman to bear them. But what I dreaded has turned out to be a wonderful experience. You have given me life again. Do you know that, Riah? With your generous warm heart and your understanding, you have given me life again, and a family.’
The Black Velvet Gown Page 12