‘Goodbye, sir.’
‘Goodbye, Biddy.’
He watched her walk across the sward to the bridle path. And she knew he was watching her, and not until she was out of his sight did she seem to draw breath. Then she closed her eyes, for she knew in that past short time she had met the lad, the only one that would suit her, and that this being so, her future was writ in large letters. She would end up like Miss Hobson.
Eight
It was the first week in December and the day following her birthday that Biddy overheard a conversation that was to affect her future and also explained the real reason why her mother had refused Tol, and the reason gave birth to resentment.
It should happen that madam had caught a chill. Over the past months, she had been attended at odd times by Doctor Pritchard, and on these occasions Miss Hobson had waited on the doctor. But when the doctor arrived this particular morning, Jessie Hobson was downstairs in conference with the housekeeper, and so it was Biddy who showed him into the room; and recognising her, he said, ‘Well, well; so this is where you are, girl?’ And she had answered simply, ‘Yes, Doctor.’
She followed the same procedure as Miss Hobson: she brought in a bowl of warm water and fresh towels; then returned into the adjoining room, which was both closet and linen room. And it was from there that she heard the doctor say, ‘Well, well; so you’ve got the Millican girl at your beck and call now, madam.’
And the reply that came made Biddy close her eyes for a moment as the voice said, ‘I don’t know about beck and call: servants don’t scurry as they used to do in my young days; things have changed out of all recognition; they not only take their time, but they speak before they are spoken to.’
‘Oh, well, as you are employing an heiress, in a way that’s to be expected. Now let me have a look at your chest.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, let me have a look at your chest.’
‘No. About an heiress. What did you mean?’
‘Oh, that was an exaggeration, but only in a way. Now breathe in.’
‘I’ll not breathe in. Take that thing away. What do you mean by an heiress, an exaggeration?’
‘Well, it’s common knowledge that Miller left the house to his housekeeper or mistress or whatever she was, but on condition that if she remarries she has to move out and it reverts to the girl, lock stock and barrel. In any case it’ll come to her when the mother dies, and not to the boy. That was specified.’
‘Is this a fact?’
‘Of course it’s a fact. I was there when the will was read out.’
The result of the imparting of this information had caused Biddy to lean back against the linen rack, her eyes like saucers, her mouth open. Her mother had never told her, had never let on. That’s why she wouldn’t leave to marry Tol, because if she did the house would come to her. What was more, she had imagined that if her mother were to die the house would pass, naturally, to Davey. The eldest son always got everything. Oh, her ma had been devious. That was the word, devious. She’d rather stay in the house and give up Tol than let her have it. Yet how would she herself have been able to keep up the house? But that wasn’t the point. Her mother had kept it from her that the house would be hers one day. And she hadn’t given it a thought that the doctor or solicitor would blab.
‘Girl!’ The voice brought her upright and into the bedroom, and there was the old lady looking at her steadily for a moment before saying, ‘Show the doctor out.’
She showed the doctor out as far as the double doors, and he said no word to her, nor she to him, he did not even thank her for holding the heavy door open for him.
She had hardly got back into the room before the voice came at her again, ‘You, girl!’
When she reached the foot of the bed she said, ‘Yes, madam?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about this property you’re coming into?’
Should she say she didn’t know? If she did, this would put her mother in a bad light. What she said was, ‘I didn’t think it would be of any interest to you, madam. In any case from what I gather it won’t be mine for many a long year.’
‘Nevertheless, if your mother was to die tomorrow it would be yours, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, madam.’
‘And then you’d walk out of here, wouldn’t you?’
‘That would depend, madam.’
‘On what?’
‘I’m…I’m not quite sure…circumstances, money to keep the house up.’
‘Yes, yes, a house needs money to survive. But you could sell the house. It would bring a decent sum that place. I remember it well…Was your mother his mistress?’
‘No, she was not, madam.’
‘Be careful. Be careful. Don’t use that tone to me.’
She cast her eyes downwards and she was aware that her face had turned scarlet, and the voice came at her, saying, ‘Don’t show any temper here, miss, or you’ll soon find out your mistake. Where’s Hobson?’
She was about to answer, ‘With the housekeeper, madam,’ when the door opened and in walked the younger daughter of the house, and the old lady exclaimed in an entirely different tone, ‘Ah Lucy, my dear, when did you get in?’
‘About half an hour ago, Grandmama.’
The girl came to the bed, leant over and kissed her grandmother; then she straightened up and looked at Biddy, and for a moment Biddy thought she was going to smile at her. She stared at the girl. She had only been away at the boarding school a matter of months, yet she seemed completely changed. She was much taller, and her manner was quieter. She couldn’t imagine that this was the same person who had helped to string her up to the clothes horse on that awful Sunday. On her first visit home from the school she had looked surly; now, her expression was different, as was her manner, she had lost her boisterousness. That school was certainly having an effect, and for the better, if she knew anything.
‘Well, well, now. Sit down and tell me, tell me all your news. How are things at this school? I hear nothing these days. May gallivanting, Stephen up in London, Laurence in Oxford, Paul in Newcastle. By the way, Laurence should be here tomorrow.’
‘I’m afraid he’ll not, Grandmama; I’ve just heard he’s changed his plans.’
‘What?’ The wigged head was lifted from the bed. ‘What did you say? Since when?’
‘Mother received a letter this morning, so I hear. He’s…he’s going straight on to France to his friend’s for the holiday and may not be back.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned. He can’t do that. Do you hear, Lucy? He can’t do that.’
‘Grandmama—’ Lucy Gullmington took the wrinkled hand and patted it as she said, ‘Laurence, fortunately for him, is a free agent, he can do what he likes.’
‘What are you talking about, free agent? Doing what he likes. He’s to come home for the holidays. You go down and tell your mother to write immediately and say I forbid him to go to France.’
‘He’s already gone, Grandmama.’
‘My God!’ The head flopped back on the pillow. Then the eyes were turned on her granddaughter and the voice was quiet now as she said, ‘He’s gone to France before, but he’s always come home first.’
‘He likely wants to avoid May, Grandmama.’
‘How do you know anything about May?’
‘We all know, Grandmama, although I don’t think he need worry so much now as I understand she’s being escorted by a title.’
‘Titles are two a penny and they’ve got no money…And you, girl—’ The old lady suddenly paused for breath as, now pointing towards Biddy, she gabbled, ‘get about your business and close your ears to anything you hear in this room—you understand?—or it will be worse for you.’
Biddy retreated to the toilet room and through it into the box-like room that served as her bedroom, and there she sat on the bed for a moment. The news had saddened her: she wouldn’t now see Mr Laurence until the Easter vacation. Since that magical afternoon by the fall she had seen him
a number of times, but always in the house, and he had spoken to her but once. That was one time when madam had gone for her harshly in his presence; and when afterwards he met her in the corridor he had stopped her and said, ‘Don’t mind her tongue, it is her only pastime. And you know, I think, in a way, she is rather fond of you. She only bawls at those she’s fond of; to the people that she doesn’t like, her manner is polite and cool.’ He had smiled at her and she had said not a word, but as he turned away she had said to herself, Why couldn’t you say something?
She knew that she had been looking forward to his being here for Christmas. She had been reading hard, sometimes well into the night with the aid of candle ends—and there were plenty of them to be had on this floor—and always towards one purpose, to astound him again perhaps with her knowledge. She was once more reading Candide. She liked the idea of the innocent man, young yet who had a fund of reason in his head. She loved to follow his adventures through the army, through shipwreck, all in search of a new world. Of course, she realised it was all fairy tale, yet at the same time threaded with common sense. And she longed to discuss it with someone, as Candide himself did, and learn through discussion.
Had she hoped that she might talk with Mr Laurence again? But where could this have taken place? Certainly not inside the house, and apparently not outside either, because she had stopped by the fall on every leave day, even when it was raining and blustery, but no-one had even passed by.
When the door burst open and Miss Hobson demanded, ‘What do you think you’re doing, girl, sitting there?’ she answered, ‘I…I was feeling a bit sick.’ And to this Miss Hobson replied, ‘You’ll be sicker before the day’s out. Madam’s in a right tear, and if I know anything, it won’t fade with the light. Master Laurence is not coming home for the holidays. I think it’s very bad of him. He knows how she looks forward to his company more than that of any of the others. But I know what it is, it’s that Miss May. She follows him about like a lapdog, hanging on his arm shamefully, and he’s not for her. I know he’s not. I’ve heard him say as much to madam. Madam’s for it, left, right, and centre…What’s the matter with you? You’re not sickening for anything are you?’ Jessie Hobson leant towards Biddy and Biddy, answering perkily now, said, ‘Sickening? Me? Of course not. What would I be sickening for?’
‘Well, you look peaky. By the way, what did the doctor say?’
Yes. What did the doctor say? She had forgotten about that. That was another thing. Oh, she was fed up. For two pins she would walk out, go straight home and say to her mother, ‘Well now, so this is to be my house when you die, or if you should marry. Why didn’t you tell me?’ But she couldn’t do that…she wouldn’t let on she knew anything about it. She’d play the same game as her mother, but for different reasons.
She answered Jessie by saying, ‘I don’t know. He never opened his mouth to me.’ It was a colloquial answer. She would have to watch herself, she was dropping back more and more into them these days. What she should have said was, I don’t know. He didn’t inform me.
Oh, anyway, what did it matter—learning or anything else?—for she was mad, mad, stark staring mad. She must be to harbour the thoughts that came into her head.
Christmas passed and Biddy wasn’t sorry, for she felt she was the only one in the house who hadn’t in some way enjoyed herself. She hadn’t gone to the servants’ party. When she had mentioned it to Jessie Hobson, Jessie had said, ‘You won’t be going this year, Biddy; and neither am I. Anyway, I don’t have to tell you that there is a feeling against you downstairs, and it isn’t because it’s you with your funny ways, it would have been against anybody who had risen from a place like the laundry to the top floor.’
To this Biddy had answered, ‘It doesn’t matter; I don’t want to go.’
She had a brief word with Jean. Things were still apparently the same in the laundry. But in spite of this Jean was happy because Davey was continuing to show an interest in her.
She had not even stood in line with the rest of the staff for her Christmas present, because, as Jessie had pointed out to her, hers was a different household. She would get her present from madam.
And she did get a present from madam, and the quality of it had surprised her, and had caused her to express her pleasure quite verbally which had seemed to please the old lady, and for once, she hadn’t been barked at for talking. The present was a small silk shoulder shawl, with a yellow pattern on it and handworked lace around the edge. Of course, it had been used before, but what did it matter? And she also received six lawn handkerchiefs of good quality; and she knew these hadn’t been used before because they hadn’t any initial on.
On her leave day before Christmas her mother had said, ‘What’s wrong with you? There’s something on your mind. Is there some trouble up there?’ And she had answered, ‘Not more than usual.’ And Riah had said, ‘What do you mean by that?’ And she had replied, ‘Oh, I always seem to be in hot water. I was having a word with our Davey in the yard before I came away and Mr Froggett, the butler, happened to be passing and said he would report me. I said I was only talking to my brother, and he went for me for daring to answer him back. Who does he think he is anyway?’
The encounter with the butler hadn’t really disturbed her because it wasn’t the first time that one or other of the upper staff had tried to get at her, but she found this as good an excuse to give to her mother as any other for her attitude, for she had found it impossible to be natural.
Before leaving to return to The Heights she had walked from room to room, and she had looked at the furniture with different eyes. In the drawing room there were two small writing desks in reddish wood. The master had called them bonheur-du-jours. She realised they were beautiful. There were sets of small tables, and chests of drawers inlaid with different woods. And she had thought, If I live long enough, all these will be mine. She hadn’t said to herself, when my mother dies, because she didn’t want her to die. All she wanted for her was to be happy, and for the old feeling she’d had for her to come back.
But at the moment she couldn’t find it in her heart to love her. And she had wondered if their Davey knew about the real circumstances, because if he didn’t he would be under the impression that one day it would all be his. And this did seem to be the real state of affairs because he no longer minded coming into the house, which attitude, she thought, didn’t say much for his character, after all the fuss he had made and what he had done to the master. She often pondered on that situation, and would ask herself what in the name of goodness would make a man love anybody like their Davey, even when he had been bonny. It was odd, and she had to admit, not quite right. Still, she didn’t blame the master, she blamed their Davey for being mad about the pony he couldn’t have.
Life was strange. She had thought she was very knowledgeable, but the more she read and the more she tried to learn, the more she knew how ignorant she was. And just lately she had read words to this effect that one of the philosophers in Greece had said years and years ago. There were so many things she didn’t understand and she kept wishing she had someone to talk to.
Nine
It had been a bitter winter and now it was a cold Easter. All the family were home for the Easter holidays. There were lots of comings and goings and a great deal of bustle down below. A big party had been held for Miss May’s twenty-first birthday, and this had been preceded by a dispute in madam’s drawing room when May declared that she was going to become engaged to Lord Milton’s son, and her grandmother had screamed at her, ‘He’s an imbecile, like his father. There’s insanity in the family.’
Then later, madam had gone for Mr Laurence, again calling him pigheaded and a fool.
Mr Laurence hadn’t come upstairs for over a week after this, and when he did, he mostly talked politics and about the bills in Parliament. Day after day, they would appear to her to be like two strangers discussing a subject on which they had opposite opinions. It was mostly to do with the contention of how long a
child should work in the factories. Some of them, it seemed, had been known to work eighteen hours at a stretch when the regulated factory hours had been thirteen to fifteen hours a day. But that was all past, madam had defended, while Mr Laurence had said, only in some cases were children known to be working from five in the morning till six at night, and dropping on their feet. Well, she had thought after listening to this, did he not know that the laundry workers in this very house started at five in the morning and went on till six at night, sometimes seven? Had she not almost dropped on her feet when she had first come here? Funny that people couldn’t see what was under their noses. As for the bill he was talking about that had been passed in thirty-one, which prohibited children from doing night work and only thirteen hours a day at most, what about when she and Miss Hobson had to get up and attend to madam in the middle of the night because she wanted a hot drink or her pillow straightening, or some such?
And Mr Laurence had reasoned that the factory owners were taking little heed of the bill, for children were still being exploited. You had to go no further than Newcastle, he said, to see them ragged, verminous, and hungry. As for London, once you passed through some quarters there, you were never the same again, that is, if you possessed a conscience.
And madam had again told him he should go in for Parliament.
During the three weeks of his vacation that he had so far spent at home he had spoken to her no more than the greeting of the day: ‘Good morning, Biddy. Good evening, Biddy.’ That was all. And she wondered at it. It was as if she had done something wrong. She looked back to the day by the fall. Had she been forward? Yes, perhaps she had. He being a gentleman, he had spoken to her kindly and she had taken advantage.
The Black Velvet Gown Page 32