They now fell against each other and during the seconds they remained so, Biddy knew a happiness that she hadn’t experienced for some time.
When they were sitting straight again, Riah said thoughtfully, ‘You know, when our Davey came back and told me what happened I couldn’t believe me ears. I mean, to be lifted out of the laundry and into a position like that. But it was right what our Davey said.’
‘What did he say, Ma?’
‘Well’—Riah plucked at some blades of grass before going on—‘He said, in a way he wasn’t surprised because things always happened to you; you made them happen, and always would.’ She smiled now as she added, ‘He said he’d never be surprised at anything you did. And he had Jean doubled up in the kitchen when he said, if the King came riding through The Heights and said, “Where is Miss Bridget Millican? I want to take her up to London,” he said you wouldn’t turn a hair, you’d say, “Thank you very much, sir. Just wait a tick till I get me bundle an’ I’ll be with you.” It isn’t often our Davey’s funny or cracks a joke, but that Sunday I laughed more than I’d laughed for a long time. Except just now about that bathing business.’
Biddy was looking into the stream to where the children were splashing each other and her voice was quiet and serious sounding now as she said. ‘He’s not right, Ma, I mean about me not turning a hair, because I get very frightened at times. And it’s odd, but when I do it makes me do things as if I wasn’t frightened. You know what I mean, Ma?’ She turned and looked at Riah, and Riah, answering truthfully, said, ‘No, not really, lass; I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly all you mean. But…but oh, I’ll tell you this, I am glad you’re out of the laundry. I did feel guilty for pushing you in there, because I knew you were worth something better than that. But I felt you had to start somewhere, and…well, you knew how I was fixed.’
There was silence between them for a moment until Biddy asked tentatively, ‘Are you very lonely, Ma?’
‘At times. Yes I am at times.’
Impulsively now, Biddy screwed round on the grass and said, ‘Why don’t you let Tol come and see you again?’
‘He has been.’
‘He has?’ Biddy’s voice was high.
But Riah’s tone was flat as she answered, ‘Yes, he has.’
‘And…everything’s going to be all right?’
Riah now began pulling the grass up by handfuls as she said, ‘Not as you mean it.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, it’s very…well, sort of complicated. I’ll…I’ll tell you the whole of it someday, but…well, I can’t marry him, or anybody else.’
‘He asked you to marry him?’
‘Yes, he did.’ Riah brought her head forward to emphasise her words.
‘But what’s stopping you, Ma?’
‘A number of things, which would take a lot of explaining. So…so don’t ask me any more. Don’t probe. Everything’s all right. I’ve got a good home, a beautiful home, and I might as well tell you I love the house and I never thought to see the day when I’d own a place like it. Never. Never. What’s more, you’re all set to rise in the world. And that’s all I’m gona say for the present, so don’t keep on, just let things settle.’
‘Will he be coming back, I meaning calling…Tol?’
‘That’s up to him.’
‘Oh, Ma, why can’t you have him? He could do so much here about the place. And it would be lovely, and…’
‘I’ll say two things more and then we won’t talk about it for a long, long time. He wouldn’t come here, that’s one thing. The other thing is, I wouldn’t go there, not to his place. Now that’s my last word on the subject at present. Come on.’ She jumped up from the green. ‘Let’s go back and get some tea…Come on, you two. Stop messing about and come on if you want anything to eat.’ She turned away now and walked up the meadow; and Biddy stood looking after her, oblivious of the children sitting now on the bank chatting up at her. She couldn’t imagine her mother turning away the love of a man like Tol just because she wanted to live in this big house. Her mother had changed.
For a little while they had been sitting on the bank here and during that moment when they held each other, her mother was the woman she had known during the first months in this place. But during the last few minutes she had reverted back to the other person, still her ma, but not the tender loving creature she seemed to remember from years ago; no, she was someone who was so changed that she was now weighing up the house and its possessions against the love and comfort and companionship of a man, and of such a one as Tol. And the odd thing about it was, she knew her mother loved Tol. Yet, as she had already learned, there were all kinds of love, some outweighing others. And the house had outweighed Tol.
The sun had gone from the afternoon…
An hour later she had taken two slim volumes from the library, slim, because she wanted to put them in the pockets of her petticoat, pockets that she had made for this very purpose. Now she was ready to go, and she was giving herself plenty of time because the day was hot and she didn’t want to hurry.
They all set her to the gate, but when Riah held her close for a moment the joy of the previous embrace was lacking. Johnny and Maggie insisted on walking a little way along the road with her. Unlike herself and Davey they both seemed to have stood still with the years and she looked upon them as young children, although Johnny was now fourteen and Maggie thirteen. Then Johnny demonstrated his age when, out of earshot of his mother, he said quietly, ‘Biddy, do you think you could speak for me to be set on with our Davey?’
Immediately she turned on him, saying angrily now, ‘No, I can’t. And you’re not going there. Who’s going to look after the garden here? And Ma’s lonely enough without you going. Now get that out of your head. And you don’t know what it’s like up there. There’s no positions like assistant lady’s maid down in the stables, I can tell you that; you’re knocked from dog to devil. Our Davey had to go through it. It’s a wonder he stayed. If he hadn’t been mad on horses he wouldn’t.’
‘I’m fourteen, Biddy.’
‘Aye, you might be’—her voice softened now—‘but wait a while.’
‘I’m not gona stay here forever.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you are. But stay put for the time being, and don’t upset me ma any more than she’s been upset lately.’
‘She should have married Tol; he wants her.’
She actually stopped and looked down on her sister now, and Maggie, from the wisdom of her thirteen years, said, ‘We’re not blind, Biddy. We know what’s going on.’
‘All right.’ She drew in a deep breath, before adding, ‘If you know what’s going on, then have a little patience and a little thought for Ma. She’s not happy at all.’
‘Neither are we. We never see anybody from one week’s end to the other.’
Biddy stared at Maggie. She was small and slight for her years, but she was pretty. Her eyes were green and her hair was brown and her skin was clear. She understood how she felt about not seeing anyone, because she herself, at times, felt lonely up in the west wing, not that she ever wished herself back in the laundry, but she did wish she could see a few more people, people that she could talk to. The only talking that Miss Hobson did was to instruct her into what a lady’s maid did and did not do. She missed the company of Jean at night; she missed the chatter; and so she knew how her sister felt; and her brother also. Her voice much softer now, she said, ‘Hang on a little longer. You never know, things might change.’
‘Pigs might fly.’
She gently cuffed her brother’s ears as she said, ‘Go on, Mam’s waiting. She’ll be wondering what we’re talking about. Try to be content. Go on with you.’
‘Ta-ra,’ they said. And she answered, ‘Ta-ra.’
As she made her way along the road she felt disturbed, not only about her mother now, but about the two youngsters. Maggie would have to stay put, but Johnny, being a lad and lively, would, if he took it into his head, go off at any
time. There were always young lads running away to sea or joining the army.
Having enough time at her disposal, she did not keep to the main road but went out of her way to take the side road leading to the little fall.
The little fall was just what it said, a sheet of water tumbling over rocks not more than eight feet high. At different times during the past summers she had taken Sunday walks here and sat on the bank below the fall. She had never taken the others with her on these walks, it had been too far anyway for the young ones’ legs, and Davey, even in those days, saw little beauty in nature, except the sight of horses galloping across fields.
She now took off her hat and short grey coat that her mother had made her to go with her best dress; then taking one of the books from her petticoat pocket, she told herself that she would have five minutes. She hadn’t got to be in till seven and she could tell the time from where the sun was. She looked down on the book for a moment before opening it. It was the last one that the master had dealt with. It was a translation from the French and although it was plainly written, there were lots of things she couldn’t understand about it but which she wished she could, because one or two phrases had caught her eye and stirred her mind. She told herself she would have to start at the beginning of it again, although the master had taken her almost halfway through it. She flicked at the pages, glancing here and there, reading a line or a sentence, for her mind wasn’t really on it; she was disturbed about conditions back home and about feelings that were new and strange and exciting inside herself. She could, in a way, translate these feelings, and in defence of them, she told herself that it wasn’t because she hadn’t a lad that she was feeling this way, although it would have been nice to have somebody of her own age to talk to, a lad, that is. Yet, where would she find one whom she could talk to about the things that interested her? The lads nearest to her were in the stables, and not one of them could read except Davey, and their Davey was the last person who would talk books.
Would she always be like this, on her own, and end up like Miss Hobson, a spinster lady? Oh no, she wouldn’t like to be a spinster lady. She sighed, then looked down at the book and began to read. It was about this rich man in France called Helvetius.
She could never pronounce that name right for the master. What she understood about him was that although he was rich, he wanted the poor people to have land and, of all things, to work less hours. He seemed a very good man, as wise as Voltaire. Yet, as the master had pointed out, Voltaire had different ideas altogether from Helvetius.
She became engrossed in her reading. The sun was hot on her neck. She seemed to be back in the library, the table strewn with books and papers, and she could hear his voice crying, ‘You are not in England now, you are in France, and Frenchmen don’t speak like Englishmen, or women.’ She seemed to be in a half-dream world until something intruded into it. She still continued to read, but the words came slow, until they finally stopped. And then she was afraid to turn round, and when she did, she jerked, not only her head but her body, and brought her knees up under her as if about to rise. But when she saw who it was that was standing looking at her, she let out a long slow breath, and when he said, ‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ she made no reply.
It was Mr Laurence, and he was leading his horse, and the reason why she hadn’t heard him was, they were on the grass and not on the bridlepath. By way of explanation he said, ‘My horse has cast a shoe; I was keeping him off the rough road as much as possible…Don’t get up. Don’t get up.’ He put his hand out to stop her, and then when the horse lowered its head and began to munch the grass, he let go of the reins and walked towards her. And he looked down on her for a moment before turning his gaze on to the fall.
‘It’s a beautiful little spot, isn’t it?’ he said softly.
‘Yes. Yes…sir.’ She had almost forgotten the ‘sir’.
‘Do you often come here?’
‘Not often now, sir, but when I was at home I used to take the opportunity whenever I could.’
‘It’s a good place to read.’ He nodded down to her book. And now she put her hand on it as if to cover it. Then remembering that he was for her reading, she dropped her hand to the side and said, ‘Yes, yes, it is a good place to read, sir.’
‘What are you reading?’
She was hesitant in showing him the book, and he said, ‘Poems?’
‘No, sir, it’s French philosophy. Well, I mean, it’s translated.’
‘French philosophy.’ She watched his eyes grow bright; she watched his lips fall together and his head move from side to side; and then he said, ‘You know, Biddy. That is your name, isn’t it…Biddy?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, you know, Biddy, you are a remarkable person.’
‘I don’t feel remarkable, sir, anything but.’ She turned her head from him now and looked into the tumbling water before she added in an ordinary tone as if speaking to one of her own kind, ‘I only know one thing, wherever I seem to land there’s always a disturbance.’
‘That’s the same name for being remarkable, being a disturber. May I?’ He pointed to the bank, and her mouth fell into a slight gape as she stammered, ‘Ye…yes, sir, yes.’ And at that he glanced back at the horse to see if it was still munching, then sat down on the edge of the bank, his legs dangling over it.
Holding out his hand, he indicated that he wanted to see the book, and when she handed it to him he looked at it for a number of minutes before he said, ‘Helvetius. My God!’ Then as if apologising, he added, ‘What I mean is, I’ve merely touched on this man and his theories. You know—’ he turned and looked fully into her face now as he said, ‘you were very fortunate to come under the care of Mr Miller. I didn’t know him. I saw him at odd times and I think I spoke to him twice, but now I wish, I wish dearly, that I had been braver and gone to visit him, although, I understand, he didn’t welcome visitors.’
‘I think he would have welcomed you, sir. He welcomed anyone with an open mind, or, like myself and my brothers and sisters who had minds that needed opening. But I must say’—she pulled a little face at herself now—‘he had to use force at times to get through.’ She laughed openly now as she went on. ‘He once said that he was competing with a hammer and chisel and that he was losing.’
He laughed with her as he put in, ‘Not a bit of it, he was joking. By the way, do you still read Shelley?’ There was a twist to the corner of his mouth as he asked the question, and she nodded at him before she answered, ‘Yes, sir.’ Then the smile going from her own face, she said, ‘Shelley wasn’t a bad man, was he, sir?’
‘Shelley bad? No, of course not. What makes you ask that?’
‘Well, it was’—again she stumbled—‘well, the reaction of the staff the night I said his piece of poetry. They said it was—’ She couldn’t utter the word dirty, but added, ‘Not quite right.’
‘What do you yourself think about his poetry?’
‘I…I think it’s beautiful. There are bits that I apply to different things, like the water there,’ she pointed to the fall, and he asked, ‘What is that?’
‘Oh, just a few lines, sir.’
‘Go on, tell me. Say them.’
‘They will sound silly when I say them, sir. It isn’t like reading them.’
‘Leave me to be the judge of that. Let me hear them.’
She wetted her lips, wiped the perspiration from each side of her mouth with her middle finger, then said,
‘My soul is an enchanted boat,
Which, like a sleeping swan, doth float
Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing;
And thine doth like an angel sit
Beside the helm conducting it.’
Her head dropped slightly as she finished. There was silence between them until he murmured, ‘That was beautifully said. Never be afraid to quote aloud…Do you know anything about Shelley?’
‘Nothing much, sir.’ She was glancing at him now.
‘Well,
he died just a short while ago. Oh, what would it be? Seventeen years gone, and he was only thirty.’
The master had told her this, but she pretended that it was news to her and said, ‘Really! Poor soul.’
‘No, not poor soul, Biddy, pure soul. Do you know where those lines are from?’
‘Well, I know in my mind, sir, but I can never pronounce the name.’
‘Prometheus. I can hardly get my tongue round it either.’
‘Do you like poetry, sir?’
‘Some…some, not all.’
Again there was silence between them. And now they were looking at each other straight in the eyes when he broke the silence by asking, ‘What do you want to do with your life, Biddy?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Marry? Have children?’
Her gaze slanted downwards before she answered, ‘Yes, I suppose so, sir. But…but there’s a problem there.’ Again they were silent, until she turned her head and looked at the sun; then, slowly rising to her feet, she said, ‘I’ve got to be on my way, sir, or else I’ll be late in.’
He looked up at her but made no attempt to rise, but said, ‘Yes. Yes, I understand. And I must apologise for intruding into your solitude.’
‘Oh, no sir, no.’ Her face was unsmiling as she looked down on him. ‘I…I never get the chance to talk to anyone like this. And…and this is a time I’ll always remember.’ He didn’t move but held her gaze for a moment longer; then he said, ‘I also, Biddy. I also shall remember this time.’
The Black Velvet Gown Page 31