‘Ma, he just wanted to see…’
‘I know who he just wanted to see. And he shouldn’t have seen him. You’re an interfering little busybody.’ Riah now gripped Biddy’s shoulders and attempted to shake them, but Biddy, her face flushing red, dragged herself away from her mother’s grip and yelled back at her, ‘I wanted to show him a little kindness and a little gratitude, ’cos you don’t. And he’s dying and he’s lonely, and all he wanted to do was to have a look at our Davey for the last time. But God knows why, because he’s nothing to look at, he’s nothing but a big gormless lout.’
The blow across her face sent her reeling. She stumbled backwards, lost her balance and fell, her head coming in contact with the end of the settle, and she lay huddled for a moment not knowing where she was, only that her mother’s hands were on her, pulling her upwards, and that her voice was rattling in her ears but not with remorse, for she was saying, ‘You’ve been asking for that for a long time; you’re getting too big for your boots. And you say anything like that again about our Davey…’
It seemed that her brother’s name cleared Biddy’s head for, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears raining from her eyes and her breath coming in gasps, she once again pulled herself from her mother’s hold and, going round to the other side of the table she leant on it and, as if in the last few moments she had grown up into a woman, she gazed at her mother before saying thickly, ‘Don’t…don’t you ever hit me again, Ma, for doing nothing wrong, for if you do I’ll…yes I will, I’ll hit you back, because I’m not going to be treated like the others, like numskulls knocked about, so don’t start that on me. You haven’t up till now, so don’t start. As for our Davey, I’ll say it again, and you can do what you like, throw me out, but he is, he is a big lout, brainless. Always was and always will be. Your lovely son, you’ve always loved him better than any of us, and I’ve known it. Johnny and Maggie don’t know it yet, but they soon will ’cos you only live for the odd Sunday. There…there I’m telling you.’
Standing with her back to the fire, Riah wasn’t aware of the heat fanning her hips, for she was feeling dead cold inside. This girl, this…what was she? She was no longer a girl, she had just upbraided her as a woman might. But this child, for she was still her child, was her daughter and when all was said and done she was very proud of her. And oh God, she was right, she hadn’t loved her or any of them like she had loved her firstborn. And she was right, too, about the change in her son. But he was not a lout. No, she wouldn’t have that. He was not a lout. He could read and write and count; he was strong and healthy and holding down a good job, one he would rise in; he was no lout. She could put a future name to her son, he’d be a good working man, but she couldn’t put a name to her daughter. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her. One side of her face was scarlet, the other a deep creamy white. She was beautiful now, as Davey had been beautiful, but would she change too? Yet if she did, she would still have that mind of hers, that character that had made her take a stand and say what she had done. Was there any girl of fourteen alive who would dare to say she would strike her mother back if she raised her hand to her? What she should do now was go round the table and wipe the floor with her. That’s what her own mother would have done to her. But then, she had never been like Biddy, and she doubted if her own mother would have attempted to flail her; with her tongue yes, but not with her hands. She turned from her and took up her usual stance when in despair; she leant her forearm on the high mantelpiece and dropped her head on to it.
The silence began to ring loudly in Biddy’s ears as she stared at her mother through her misted eyes, and she was asking herself now how she had dared to say all that. She wasn’t regretting what she had said about their Davey, oh no, but that she had dared to say she would hit her mother. What had come over her? Is this what learning did for you? If it was, did she wish she had never been taught anything? No, no. Her fist beat a silent tattoo on the table and again she said to herself, Oh no.
The silence was broken by Maggie coming running into the kitchen, crying, ‘Ma! What do you think? There’s been a coach hold-up.’
Slowly Riah turned from the fireplace and she stroked her throat twice with her finger and thumb before she said, ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Sammy Piggot from the village. He was out walking with his big sister and they stopped me and Johnny and they told us; the highwayman took the ladies’ necklaces and rings.’ When her mother made no comment on this, but walked to the cupboard and began to take plates down from the shelf, the girl looked at Biddy, saying brightly now, ‘When I grow up I’m going to have a necklace. I’m going to save up and get one from the tinker. He has lovely necklaces. Would you like a necklace, Biddy?’
Biddy patted her sister’s head twice, then turned about and went out of the room; and Maggie, going up to her mother, said, ‘Ma, has our Biddy got the toothache? Her face is all red.’ And Riah answered, ‘Yes, yes, she has the toothache,’ adding to herself, And I’ve got the heartache. One as painful as his. And I wish I could die of it an’ all and be finished with all this.
Two
Percival died six days later at eight o’clock on the Saturday morning.
‘It’s a strange time to die,’ said Doctor Pritchard, ‘eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. They usually go around three in the morning, for the body is low at that time; or on towards midnight. But eight o’clock is a very odd time.’ He hadn’t had anyone that he could remember dying at eight o’clock in the morning.
His attitude to the death shocked Riah. It was as if he were talking about an ordinary happening, like the coach arriving on time, or them being snowed up at Christmas.
Inside, she felt greatly upset, much more so than she had imagined she would be when he went. She had taken his breakfast in. She had made the porridge thin, almost like gruel, so it would slip down, as he hadn’t been eating at all these last few days. But he hadn’t touched any breakfast. With a weak wave of his hand he had pushed the tray away, directing that she put it on one side; and then he had pointed to the chair. After she had sat down by the bed he had said to her, ‘It’s going to be a fine day, Riah.’ And she had answered, ‘Yes, the air’s nippy, but the sun’s comin’ up.’ And then he had said, ‘You’ll have to make your mind up about something very shortly, Riah. I don’t know how you’ll do it. I…I know how I’d want you to do it, but then I am making no more requests.’ She had looked at him blankly as she had said, ‘I don’t quite follow you.’
‘No,’ he had said, ‘but you soon will. And yet I doubt if you’ll understand me any more then, likely less. Yes, likely less.’ And then his voice halting, he had said, ‘Be kind to Biddy. She needs you, at…at least now. If you let her go she’ll never come back. You…you made a mistake when you struck her.’
Her eyes had widened at this. He must have noticed the mark on Biddy’s face, yet he had never spoken of it, at least not to her, and she wondered if Biddy had told him. But no, the girl was not like that, she wasn’t one to beg sympathy, to create trouble.
He had then gasped for breath before he had managed to say, ‘If things had been different, we would have been different, you and I, Riah. Anyway, that is in the past and something that could never have happened because we weren’t different. Or perhaps we were different, I cannot make out at this stage. Anyway I am not going to say I am sorry that I have, in a way, chained you to me over these past years. You think you have missed out a lot not having had Tol. Well, there’s a large question there. There’s one thing certain: in your sacrifice you can feel a certain satisfaction that you have given your other three children a new start in life, for no-one of them will lose out by what he has learned during these past years.’ Then he had closed his eyes tightly before saying, ‘I am very tired, Riah; the pain has been with me all night, not sharp, sort of damped down, just waiting to escape.’
‘Will you take some more pills?’ she had said.
‘No, thank you, Riah. I am past pills now.’ The
n he had said, ‘Can I see Biddy for a moment?’
‘Yes, yes.’ She had risen quickly and hurried from the room, but went no further from the hall, calling, ‘Biddy! You, Biddy!’
When Biddy came running her mother had pointed towards the door and she went into the room and stood by the bed and there he had taken her hand and, looking at her, had smiled faintly as he said, ‘I don’t know where I’m going, Biddy, as I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, but my spirit must find a place somewhere. Wherever it goes, I would ask the gods to let it watch over you, and to let me continue to indulge in the sin of pride in having stirred your mind to reason and awareness. Promise me something, Biddy, promise me that you will never stop reading; if it is only for five minutes a day you will read. It will prepare you. For what, I don’t know. A governess perhaps or a mistress. Oh yes, you would make a delightful mistress, Biddy! However, learn…remember the lines of wisdom you were taught: you can only learn by recognising your…ignorance.’ As his voice trailed away she had done what she had done once before, she had bent over him and kissed him: and had then run choking from the room. And Riah had resumed her seat; and she too was unable to speak; and when, twenty minutes later, the chiming clock struck eight, he had given a little start. It was, she thought, as if he had jumped off a step, and then he lay still. She had bowed her head and wept as she hadn’t done in many a long day, even as she thought, my God, he would have educated her up to nothing else but some man’s mistress.
Strangely, the funeral was well attended. There was even a representative from The Heights. Mr Gullmington was away but his eldest son Stephen followed the hearse in his carriage. Also, the lady’s maid had come, but she didn’t follow the hearse, because women never did; but she had looked at him before he was screwed down; then she had left; and she hadn’t spoken a word.
Several men from the village came too; and the solicitor and his clerks; and the doctor; and two strange gentlemen who had come all the way from Oxford and who had stayed overnight in Newcastle. One was a learned man with Professor to his name. They were both men in their sixties.
After the funeral she had laid some refreshments and ale in the kitchen for the pallbearers and the men from the village, and better-class meats in the dining room for the solicitor, the doctor, and the parson. Mr Stephen Gullmington had not returned to the house; neither had the two gentlemen from Oxford. There had been another man attended the funeral but he had not returned to the house. This was Tol.
The doctor and the parson both stayed to hear the reading of the will. This was done in the library. Riah had expected the spinster cousin to arrive for the funeral, but the solicitor had told her the lady was indisposed and of such an age that it was impossible for her to travel. However, he had added, what remained was of no concern to her.
This had indicated to Riah that the property and household goods would therefore go to the cousin in America. Anyway, she would soon know, for here she was sitting facing the three men. The solicitor had opened the parchment.
‘This won’t take long,’ he said; then very slowly he began to read the formal opening as in all wills. Riah listened to his voice droning: ‘I Percival Ringmore Miller of Moor House in the County of Durham do hereby…’
She felt tired. She wondered why she was sitting here. She wished he would get on with it because she had such a lot to do. Most of their things were packed yesterday and she had to go into Gateshead Fell first thing in the morning to see the farmer and his wife. The farmer had half promised her a cottage when he learned she had three lively workers, but it would all depend upon how his wife took to her. One part of her was thanking God they would have a place to go to, another was asking Him why He had to separate her from her son, and seemingly finally this time, for with the miles that would now be between them there was little hope of them seeing each other, except at rare intervals.
‘I leave the freehold property of Moor House together with its three acres of land and all contents of the house in trust with my solicitor to Maria Millican until either (1) she remarries or (2) she dies. The property will then pass absolutely to Bridget Millican, the eldest daughter of Maria Millican. On relinquishing the trust through marriage Maria Millican must no longer reside in or on the property.’
Here the solicitor paused and glanced up at the stupefied face of Riah before going on:
‘I am sorry I am unable to leave money with which to maintain the property, but Maria Millican, being an enterprising woman, will no doubt find a way to meet the small expense that it entails. Lastly, no mortgage may be taken out on the property during the continuation of the trust and while Maria Millican remains in residence there.
‘Signed this day, the twenty-sixth of October, eighteen hundred and thirty seven.
Percival Ringmore Miller.’
The three men now stared at Riah, but she had eyes only for the solicitor, and he, who was very rarely surprised by anything he experienced in the legal profession, was almost stunned when the fortunate woman sprang up from her chair and, glaring at him, cried, ‘Even in death he would prevent me leaving here and marrying. It isn’t fair.’
‘Woman’—he himself was on his feet—‘don’t you realise that you are the most fortunate of human beings at this moment. You have been left this splendid house which is not in any way encumbered, and the like of which, if you lived a thousand years, you in your position could never hope to own. But now you can enjoy it and its beautiful furniture and you grumble at the conditions your late master has laid down. Well, all I can say is, he must have had very good reasons for the provisions he made.’
‘Yes, yes, indeed.’ The parson was nodding at her; but the doctor said nothing, he only held his head on one side while he gazed at her, his lips pursed, and it was he now who spoke to her, saying, ‘Did he prevent you from marrying before, Riah?’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘How? You are a free woman.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘No, I don’t. Nor do these gentlemen either.’ He looked first at the solicitor and then at the parson. ‘We would like an explanation.’
Now she surprised them by barking at them, ‘You can like all you can, but you won’t get one, not from me. It was a private matter. And—’ she now poked her head towards the parson, sitting with a most shocked expression, as she cried, ‘I wasn’t his mistress…never!’
‘I am very glad to hear it,’ said the parson, now rising; and the doctor put in, ‘And surprised.’
‘Yes, I thought you would be.’ She bounced her head furiously at him. She had never liked him.
‘Don’t you realise your good fortune, Mrs Millican?’ the solicitor broke in, his voice quiet and serious. And it seemed that all the fight began to seep out of her, and she passed her lips tightly one over the other and licked round them with her tongue before she said, ‘In a way it’s surprising, sir, but the price I’ve got to pay for it is equally surprising.’
‘Well, as I have learned, everything in life must be paid for. In one way or another it has its price, perhaps not immediately on the nail, but somewhere along life’s road it exacts its toll. Now I must take my leave.’ He turned to the doctor, saying, ‘I’d like a word with you, and you, Parson.’ And at that, they all walked out of the room after inclining their heads towards her. And there she was, left in this room which was lined from floor to ceiling with books. And as she slowly gazed around it, it dawned upon her that they were all hers now, all these books, everything in this room, everything in this house, and the two sections on both sides of it, and for the first time the enormity of the gift came as a shock to her and she flopped down on a chair and, her head bent, she asked herself why she had gone off the handle like that. It had been unseemly, to say the least. And in front of the doctor. She had no feeling for either the solicitor or the parson, but she disliked the doctor, because he sensed too much. She had always had the feeling he had his own ideas about the master’s accident, especially after he had tried to quiz h
er about Davey’s going to The Heights. It was as if he already knew the reason. Yet how could he because Davey had kept his mouth shut? She was sure of that; he had been too afraid for his own skin. Oh, why was she thinking like that about Davey? She was getting as bad as Biddy. Biddy. This place would be hers if she herself went into a marriage. But that would never happen because who would she marry? Tol? No, not Tol now. Yet, who knew, that might come about now that she was free. Free, did she say? She was more firmly tied than ever.
Why had he done it, making her pay for his own disability? It was vindictive. He need not have bothered to leave her anything and she could have walked out and made a life for herself. She supposed she could still do it. But if she did that, she knew that Biddy would stay behind. Oh yes, Biddy would stay in this house, simply because he had wished it. And yet how would she manage to keep it going? She would have much less chance than herself. Now that was a problem.
She stood up and walked slowly into the hall. She had things to think about. Of course she could live for a time on what she had saved, but it wouldn’t last forever. The only way she could keep things going would be if the others went out to work: Biddy, and Maggie when she was a year or so older, and that together with what she got from Davey would enable her to manage. That would leave only Johnny here, but between them they could see to the place both inside and out, for there would be no nursing to do and no fancy meals to make.
Now she must go and tell the others…But not all. That bit about Biddy coming into the place if she herself should leave could wait because the girl had enough big ideas in her head, without imagining when she would one day be mistress of this house.
The Black Velvet Gown Page 19