Perhaps she had ill judged the moment, for Aunt Chloe bristled at once.
‘There is little praiseworthy in that! The overlooker is only a step or two above the ordinary mill hand. You might as well know, Emma, that Arnold Sutcliffe was a thoroughly unprincipled man, quite lacking the common decencies. But he got his just deserts, for the girl he married was no better than a slut.’
Emma was astonished by her aunt’s venom. ‘What makes you say that he was unprincipled?’
‘Because he was!’
‘But you must have a specific reason for such a charge. Was it something he did at the mill?’
Chloe, tight-lipped, gave Emma a severe glare. ‘You came here to help, you said, and you’ve done nothing but hinder. If you can’t work without chattering, then for mercy’s sake leave me to get on in peace.’
It was apparent to Emma that her aunt would say no more on the subject. When all the fruit was picked over and ready to go into the preserving pan and the loaf sugar crushed and weighed out, she left the kitchen with relief and went upstairs to prepare the respirator for Cathy’s next inhalation of creosote.
* * *
It was less easy to think of a plausible reason for a private chat with Aunt Jane, but Emma was more than ever determined upon it since her conversation with Aunt Chloe. In the event, however, an opportunity was presented the following morning. When the jars of blackcurrant jelly had been covered with little squares of tissue paper glazed with egg-white to make a perfect seal, and carefully labelled with the date, she suggested taking one to Aunt Jane.
Chloe sniffed. ‘If you wish, but it won’t last her long! If I know anything, she’ll gobble it up by the spoonful.’
The Eades’ residence was fifteen minutes’ walk from Bracklegarth Hall and only a stone’s throw from the centre of the village. It might have been an imposing house, rising as it did well above the roofs of its neighbours, but for the vulgarity of a profusion of architectural features which seemed to vie with each other in ugly conglomeration.
Emma was shown into the parlour, a small gloomy room with dark green flock wallpaper and numerous ill-assorted prints in heavy gilt frames. Her aunt was seated in her favourite bentwood rocking-chair, crocheting an antimacassar. On the table beside her was wedged a workbox, a bowl of red cherries and a silver dish of liquorice Pontefract cakes.
‘Emma! How nice to see you. Do have some of these cherries, they’re quite delicious.’ So saying, she picked up a small handful. ‘We will count them to see whom you are to marry – tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor – oh, but there is no doctor on that list, I fear, so it will be pointless in your case.’
Exasperated, Emma kissed her aunt’s plump cheek and sat down, protesting mildly, ‘Really, Aunt Jane, you must refrain from coupling Bernard’s name with mine. He is very agreeable and I like him well, but I haven’t the slightest intention of becoming his wife.’
‘Oh, my dear, how can you say that? Bernard is so hoping, you know, it is his fondest wish. And you would have to go a long way to find a more suitable match. He is steady and reliable, sober and industrious; and these things, you can depend upon it, are most important in a husband.’
‘I am sure you are right. Nevertheless, Bernard is not for me. Kindly remember that, aunt, and do not embarrass me any more.’
But even as she spoke, Emma knew it was of no avail. Jane had set her heart upon the match, and would not give up so easily. Emma took the pot of blackcurrant jelly from her basket and put it on a chenille-covered table.
‘Aunt Chloe sent you this, with her love. She made it yesterday.’
Conveying two Pontefract cakes to her mouth, Jane chewed as she nodded her thanks. ‘Chloe is a fool to bother with making preserves when she has a perfectly good cook in Mrs Hoad. I wish mine was half as competent. But, there, she is always trying to prove to Randolph how invaluable she is to him.’
It was an aspect of Aunt Chloe that had never occurred to Emma. She pondered it for a moment, then said tentatively, ‘I have gained the impression that of the three Hardaker brothers, the only one with whom Aunt Chloe felt any closeness was my father.’
‘Don’t forget that he was Chloe’s twin. I think it almost broke her heart when Hugh married your mother.’
‘But why? Surely if she loved her brother, she would want him to be happy.’
Jane laughed mirthlessly, and absently ate some cherries. ‘Life is not so simple, my dear. Make no mistake, your mother was as jealous of Chloe as Chloe was of her. I suspect it rather pleased Hugh to be at the centre of their rivalry. Of course, it would have been different if Chloe herself had married, but that wasn’t to be.’
‘Was there never anyone?’ asked Emma, curious. ‘Sometimes, it’s hard to be sure, but sometimes I get a feeling that Aunt Chloe altogether dislikes men,’
‘Indeed you are right, but it wasn’t always so. Years ago there was one man she was very sweet on. It was quite unsuitable, of course, your grandfather would never have countenanced such a match, but that didn’t stop Chloe from hoping and dreaming. Then suddenly he married the girl who’d been her best friend at the school they both attended at Raxley Bridge. She was merely a farmer’s daughter, so there wasn’t the same social barrier to overcome in her case, but that didn’t make it any easier for Chloe to bear.’
Fascinated by this revelation, Emma enquired, ‘Do I know them?’
‘No, they were both dead before you were born.’ Jane hesitated an instant, sucking her lips. ‘But you do know their only child.’
‘Oh? Who is that?’
‘Why, the young man there is all this fuss about, Matthew Sutcliffe!’
Chuckling inwardly, Jane saw the look of astonishment on her niece’s face. That had given the girl something to think about! And it wouldn’t do any harm to take Chloe down a few rungs in Emma’s estimation. That sister of hers was a mite too fond of censuring other people and extolling herself as a paragon of virtue.
‘Chloe was almost demented at the time,’ Jane continued with relish. ‘I witnessed it all, you see, because we shared a bedroom in those days. All the fondness she’d felt for Arnold Sutcliffe turned into malice, and she couldn’t find anything sufficiently obnoxious to say about him – about them both. Naturally, that didn’t last long. Chloe soon got over her disappointment.’
But was she over it, Emma wondered, recalling the bitter denunciation of Arnold Sutcliffe and the girl who became his wife. She had suspected there was more to it than Aunt Chloe would admit, but she had never guessed at such an unlikely explanation. Ardent passion seemed totally out of character with the Aunt Chloe she knew. But striking through her bewilderment Emma felt a small, warm glow. It now seemed probable that Aunt Chloe had given her a distorted picture of Matthew’s father, and she found the idea strangely comforting. Her mind went speeding on to the logical inference: if Arnold Sutcliffe was not the despicable creature described by Aunt Chloe, but instead an honest and decent man, then was it true what his son believed, that he, not papa, had invented the Hardaker Condensing Engine?
She decided to ask Jane the same question she had put to Chloe the day before.
‘What sort of person was Arnold Sutcliffe? How did he seem to you?’
Aunt Jane tucked back a few stray wisps of hair under her lace day cap. ‘I scarcely knew the man. As a youth he was particularly handsome, I recall, but I never once spoke with him in those days. Later on, I met him on one or two occasions when I happened to go down to the mill for some reason. I believe he was considered very able at his job. Unlike his successor,’ she added significantly.
‘Surely you aren’t referring to Mr Pudsey, the present overlooker?’
‘No, not Pudsey, there was someone in between – Holroyd, his name was, Wilfred Holroyd. I’d have forgotten the man long ago but for the trouble concerning him. Due to his negligence, several days’ output was completely ruined and your father dismissed him on the spot. After that, no other mill owner round here would employ him, and he left th
e district.’ Emma tried to restrain her flying thoughts, fearful they would rush her pell-mell to a false conclusion. But, irresistibly, an idea took shape in her mind. It must be so! She was too cautious to voice it to Aunt Jane, so she said, obliquely, ‘Do you think there is the slightest possibility that Matthew Sutcliffe was wrongly accused of attacking papa?’
Jane sat bolt upright in her rocking-chair. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘It was what he said at his trial, wasn’t it? And he still insists that he is innocent.’
‘Still? And how, pray, did such a thing come to your ears?’
Emma felt trapped. But immediately a way out offered itself which did not involve too great a falsehood.
‘He mentioned it at the dinner party the other evening. We were talking, and —’
‘Yes, I observed you talking to him,’ Jane said with a frown, ‘but I had no idea it was on that subject. Upon my soul it was most unwise of you, Emma! It is one thing to meet Mr Sutcliffe socially – your uncles both feel that his wealth and position require that we should, though for my part I take leave to differ – but it is quite another matter to join the man in any discussion of that dreadful event. I most earnestly hope you will never again be so foolish.’
‘But Aunt Jane, if there is the smallest chance that what he says is true, then —’
‘True?’ she interrupted. ‘The Assize Court decided what was true. It is not for us, or anyone else, to question the court’s verdict. Now dismiss the thought from your mind and please do not refer to it again.’
‘But Aunt Jane—’
‘Do not argue with me, Emma! I mean what I say. You are to remain silent.’
Behind them the door opened and Paget came walking into the parlour. He stood there slightly rocking on his heels, regarding his niece benevolently.
‘And what is it, my dear child, upon which you are so solemnly adjured to remain silent?’
Despite the protest of her aunt’s raised hand and the angry glare she directed at her husband, Emma seized this as permission to voice the forbidden subject.
‘I was questioning whether there might be the remotest chance that Mr Sutcliffe was an innocent man. There were no actual witnesses to the attack on my father, so his guilt was a matter of conjecture. Could there possibly have been an error?’
In the sudden silence, Emma could feel a throbbing pulse of tension. Her uncle and aunt exchanged apprehensive glances; but what message passed between them, if any, she could not know. It seemed to Emma as though they were separated by a thick glass pane, clearly visible to one another, yet somehow unable to communicate properly.
At length Paget cleared his throat, and began jauntily, ‘Well, I must be off! I have some notes to write up. But you must listen to what your aunt says, Emma. She has an older and a wiser head than yours, you know. Ah, I see you have brought us a jar of preserve. A nice thought, most kind!’
When he left them, endeavouring to close the door smoothly but not succeeding, Aunt Jane braced her square Hardaker shoulders with the vigour of one facing a formidable task. But to Emma’s surprise what she said was merely social small talk.
‘It grows warmer each day, I declare! Still, do we not deserve some sunshine after that dreadful start to the summer?’
Emma sat through fifteen minutes of idle conversation before she felt able to excuse herself, saying she did not like to leave Cathy for too long.
‘Poor little Cathy!’ Jane gave a weighty sigh. ‘But there, she is receiving the very best of care with Bernard attending her.’
‘Oh yes, I’m certain of it. He is a first class doctor.’
Scooping up another handful of cherries from the bowl, Jane regarded her niece thoughtfully.
‘When the time comes and that poor sweet angel is taken from us, you will be lonely, Emma. You will have to set about making a new life for yourself. But the solution is readily to hand, my dear. Do not, I beg you, dismiss it without the most careful consideration. Ask yourself, where would you find another man as eminently suitable as Bernard Mottram?’
Chapter Eight
Emma carried doubt and indecision to bed with her that night, but by morning she had made up her mind. The letter, already mentally drafted a dozen times over, was soon completed.
Dear Mr Sutcliffe, she wrote, I have come upon some information which I think may be what you are seeking, I hesitate to commit such a matter to paper, but if we could arrange to meet I will relate it to you. Perhaps an apparently chance encounter would be best, and to that end I shall be at the library at the Mechanics’ Institute this afternoon for about half-an-hour from three o’clock. Kindly give your reply to the messenger. Yours truly, Emma Hardaker.
She read it through carefully, then added as a postcript,
You will not know the Mechanics’ Institute, it being new since you went away. Turn by the Methodist Chapel, and it is a few yards along Nelson Street.
She made her way downstairs and went out by the back door and crossed the stable yard. It was a grey, humid morning, with a fine rain falling soundlessly. Seth had just fetched a pail of water from the pump, and Emma followed him into Kirstie’s stall.
‘Are you busy, Seth?’
‘Aye, I am an’ all, Miss Emma! Laid up wi’ the sciatica again, is Joseph, and I’ve got all his work to do as well.’
‘Oh dear! Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ She turned away, absently stroking the mare’s smooth neck. There was no one else to send, no one she could trust.
‘What was it, miss?’ the boy asked, ‘Does tha want me to do summat for ‘ee?’
‘I was hoping you would deliver a letter.’ She coloured slightly. ‘To Mr Sutcliffe, over at Oakroyd House. But as you’re so busy it will have to wait.’
Seth looked at her, guessing she wanted it kept secret from her uncle and aunt. He liked to oblige Miss Emma, she was always kind and considerate.
‘Tha won’t be a’going riding in this weather, so Kirstie’ll need to be exercised like. I’ll ride her over to Oakroyd House t’first minute I can, and not a soul will be any t’wiser.’
The colour in Emma’s cheeks deepened. After witnessing her meeting with Matthew up on the moor the other day, Seth clearly had his own notion concerning the kind of letter he would be carrying. Well, it couldn’t be helped.
‘If you are really sure?’ she said uncertainly.
‘Aye, that’s all reet, miss.’
Two hours later Nelly brought her a message that Seth wanted a word with her. He was waiting outside the back door; it was raining heavily now and his sacking cape was sodden, the cap in his hand dripping water. Glancing around to check that he was unobserved, he slid a letter from inside his jacket and handed it to Emma.
‘Gennleman gi’ me this for ‘ee, miss.’
‘Oh, thank you, Seth! I’m so grateful to you.’
The lad grinned at her cheerfully. ‘Twas a reet pleasure, miss. Gennleman gi’ me a shillun, too!’
Emma hurried back upstairs and along the corridor to her own room. Once there, the door safely closed, she opened the letter and read, I am eager to hear your news and will be at the appointed place at the time you suggest. Rely on my discretion. Gratefully yours, Matthew Sutcliffe.
She was seized by excitement, and at once chided herself for her folly. What she had to impart was probably of trivial significance and Matthew would be unimpressed. But in her heart Emma felt sure it was deeply significant and she could picture his astonishment and pleasure when she told him.
By afternoon the rainclouds had vanished and the sun shone again. When Emma arrived at the library carrying the two novels she was returning, Matthew was already there. He broke off his conversation with the clerk and came to her at once, saying in a dear, carrying voice, ‘Miss Hardaker! What a pleasant surprise! I have just discovered this splendid library and intend to become a borrower. There seems to be an excellent range of works on all manner of subjects, do you not agree?’
‘Yes, yes indeed, Mr Sutcliffe
.’
‘And such a fine building to house the books.’ While speaking he was moving towards the window, and Emma followed him.
She said in a whisper, ‘I am so glad you were able to come. I will tell you what I have discovered as briefly as possible.’
‘No, not here,’ he whispered back. Then, raising his voice, he continued, ‘When you have made your selection, perhaps I could escort you part of the way home, I believe our routes are in much the same direction.’
She agreed to this plan and in little more than five minutes they emerged from the Institute together. Matthew could see that Emma was uneasy, and he said reassuringly, ‘Our being in company is perfectly innocent to any observer. We both carry library books, and we shall be keeping to the main thoroughfare. Now, what is it you have to tell me?’
It wasn’t merely the fact of being seen together that caused Emma’s anxiety, however. Now the moment had come to apprise him of her discovery, she felt suddenly aware of the enormity of what she was doing. That she, Hugh Hardaker’s daughter, should be taking sides with Matthew Sutcliffe in an attempt to prove his innocence!
‘It was something my Aunt Jane told me,’ she began in a breathless little rush. ‘She mentioned that after your father’s death there was another overlooker appointed at the mill, and I gather that this man was most unsatisfactory. He was summarily dismissed by my father after allowing a large quantity of cloth to be ruined due to his gross negligence. Apparently there was a good deal of unpleasantness.’
‘Yes, I knew about that,’ said Matthew with a nod. ‘His name was Wilf Holroyd, I recall.’
The Other Cathy Page 9