Tilly sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, then said, ‘Hindsight, Biddy, hindsight; we realise, on looking back, the things we should have done. But I didn’t, did I? So I’ve got to face up to what’s coming.’
‘Drink your tea.’ Biddy’s voice was soft now. ‘And you needn’t bother comin’ down if you don’t want to, I’ve got the dinner all mapped out: vermicelli soup, then rissoles ’n patties; and the main dish is what you ordered, leg of mutton and a curried rabbit ’n boiled rice; an’ there’s plum puddin’ and apple fritters for puddin’, whatever they choose. There’s no Stilton left, just the Bondon cheeses. Anyway, if they get that lot down them they won’t starve. Eeh my! it amazes me where they put it. You would have thought there’d been thirty around the turkey yesterday instead of three of them, and they even scoffed the whole lot of chestnuts. As for the partridges, as I said to Katie, hawks couldn’t have cleaned the bones better. Mind you, I think it’s Master John that gollops the most. By! that lad can stow it away, you’d think he was workin’ double shift instead of lying about all day. Yet of the lot, I think I like him the best, him and his poor stammer. Aw well, I’ll get down. Don’t worry your head about anything, I’ll see it all goes smoothly. She’ll have no need to complain.’
‘Thanks, Biddy. I’ll be down later.’
‘Aye now, that’ll be wise, company is what you need now. Ta-rah, lass. Try not to fret.’ She nodded twice and then went out.
The door had hardly closed when it was opened again and Katie, pushing past her mother, said in a whisper, ‘’Tis Miss Jessie . . . I mean Mrs Cartwright. She wants to see you, Tilly, down in the mornin’ room.’
Tilly rose slowly to her feet before she said, ‘Very well. Thank you, Katie. I’ll be down in a minute.’
After the door was closed she still remained standing. The temporary mistress of the house had sent for her, she should be scurrying to obey the order; but it was years since she had scurried and she had no intention of doing so now.
Slowly she walked to the mirror and smoothed her hair back. She no longer wore a cap, nor yet a uniform; her dress today was the darkest one she had, a plum-coloured corded velvet. It had been Mark’s last Christmas present to her, together with a small brooch designed in the shape of a single spray of lily of the valley, made up of fourteen small diamonds set in gold, which had once belonged to his mother. It was the only piece he had retained from the last case of jewellery that had been brought from the bank and which he had been forced to dispose of two years ago to offset losses from his shares.
It was a full five minutes later when she opened the morning room door without knocking, and this impertinent gesture was not overlooked by the young matron who was sitting in the leather chair to the side of the fireplace.
‘You wished to see me, Mrs Cartwright?’
‘Yes, Trotter, otherwise I wouldn’t have sent for you.’ She stared up at the tall stiff figure. ‘I shall come to the point. I have no need to tell you that your position in this house is an embarrassment.’
‘To whom, Mrs Cartwright?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Trotter, and remember to whom you are speaking.’
‘I do remember, and I wish it could be otherwise because the person who is addressing me as you are doing has no relation whatever to the young lady I once knew.’
Jessie Ann Cartwright’s face became suffused with colour, but even so the redness did not indicate to the full the temper that was raging within her. This menial talking like a lady! the result of old Burgess’ coaching over the years. She had the desire to stand up and slap her face; and yet at the same time she couldn’t explain why she was feeling so vehement towards her one time nurse. It wasn’t only that she had alienated her father away from the rest of his family, even though that was a great part of the reason. No, if they had all been able to return here after their mother died she herself would not have been in such a hurry to marry and get away from the domineering influence of her grandmother. Not that she disliked Cartwright, but marriage was such a trial in more ways than one, and living with her husband’s people was almost as frustrating as life had been under the domination of both her mother and her grandmother.
She swallowed deeply before saying, ‘I have no wish to bandy words with you, Trotter, I merely brought you here to tell you that from now on I shall be taking charge of the house, and I shall thank you to keep to the nursery quarters until after my father’s funeral.’
Tilly stared down into the round almost childish plump face, and she forced herself to keep her voice steady as she replied, ‘I am sorry, Mrs Cartwright, that I won’t be able to comply with your order; I intend to carry out my duties as housekeeper until your father’s will is read, then I shall know his wishes. I may also inform you, Mrs Cartwright, that over the past four years your father tried to persuade me to marry him. I had my own reasons for refusing, but at this moment I am very, very sorry I made such a foolish mistake. However, even if I had been in the position of mistress of this house I should have hoped I would have had the courtesy to hide my feelings whatever they were concerning you.’ Her chin jerked slightly upwards as she ended, ‘If you will excuse me, Mrs Cartwright, I shall go about my duties. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock, as usual.’
Tilly had reached the door when Jessie Ann Cartwright’s voice, in a most unladylike screech, cried, ‘Trotter!’
‘Yes, Mrs Cartwright?’
‘How dare you! How dare you!’
Tilly stared across the room at the small bristling young matron before saying quietly, ‘I dare, Mrs Cartwright. Having played the part of nurse, mother, wife and mistress to your father for twelve years, I dare.’
Jessie Ann Cartwright was actually thrusting her hands under the black lace cap and gripping handsful of her fair hair when the door leading from the morning room into the dining room opened and she turned, startled, to see John entering the room. He came in quietly smiling, saying, ‘Sorry. S . . . s . . . sorry, Jessie Ann, but I just happened to be next door. W . . . well, I was on the point of . . . coming in here when y . . . you started on her. By! I’ll say she can hold her own can Tro . . . Trotter. She had you on the floor there, Jessie Ann.’
‘Shut up you! Of all the fools on this earth, you’re one. Shut up! you gormless idiot.’
John’s countenance, from expressing slight amusement, took on a stiffness and his voice was no longer that of the fool of the family, as he was often called because of his desire to amuse and mostly through his stammer. But his stammer now very pronounced, he said, ‘I s . . . say with Tro . . . Trotter, don’t speak to me like that, Jessie Ann. It’s y . . . you who forget yourself. If I’ve never witnessed the l . . . lack of breeding in an approach to a s . . . servant, then I’ve just heard it n . . . now. You are a li . . . little upstart, Jessie Ann. And why you don’t like Tro . . . Trotter is because she’s a beautiful woman with a pr . . . presence. Yes, that’s what she’s g . . . got, a presence. And you’ll never have a pr . . . presence, Jessie Ann, not because you’re too sm . . . small and p . . . plump, but because you have no dig . . . dig . . . dignity. And now there you have it. I’ve been wanting to say this to you for a lo . . . long time, so don’t think I’ll come and apologise because if you w . . . wait for that you’ll wait a long time.’
And now to Jessie Ann’s amazement she watched her brother who was only two years younger than herself but whom she had always treated as a stupid boy march out of the room.
To say that she was astonished was putting it mildly. John had turned on her. All her life she had used her youngest brother as a whipping block while at the same time feeling that nothing she could do or say to him would change his affection for her. But now he had turned on her, and all through that woman.
Her face crinkled, her eyes screwed up into slits and, turning to the fireplace, she beat her soft white fists against the marble mantelpiece while the tears of frustration and temper ran down her cheeks. Oh, she wished it was tomorrow. Just wait until tomorr
ow; she would then personally see that woman go out of the door. She would. She would.
It said something for the nature of John that he looked for an opportunity to get Tilly alone, but it wasn’t until after dinner when his sister had cornered Luke in the drawing room and was waging a private battle with him, over what he didn’t know and at the moment didn’t care, that when crossing the gallery he espied Tilly leaving her room and making her way towards the nursery staircase. Hurrying after her, he caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs and as he took the lamp from her hand he said, ‘L . . . let me carry it for you, Trotter.’
She offered him no resistance, nor did she speak; but he, having set the lamp down on the old nursery table, looked around the room and said, ‘Hasn’t altered a b . . . bit. C . . . could have been yesterday, don’t you think, Tr . . . Trotter?’
His evident concern for her made it impossible for her to give him any answer, and she bowed her head and swallowed deeply.
Coming close to her, he put his hand on her shoulder as he said, ‘Don’t be upset Tr . . . Trotter, I know how you feel. Jessie Ann is behaving ab . . . ab . . . abominably.’ His mouth had opened wide on the word, and he closed his eyes and wagged his head a number of times before managing to bring out, ‘C . . . c . . . come and sit down. Is it too cold for you?’ He looked towards the empty hearth. ‘There used to be a blazing f . . . f . . . fire there.’
When Tilly sat down in the wooden chair near the table he too took a seat, opposite to her, and said softly, ‘I remember the early days, Trotter. I … I can look back right to the first time I s . . . saw you. You came into the b . . . bedroom and you hung over me. Your face hasn’t altered a bit since then. Was it thef . . . first night or the s . . . second night that Matthew put the fr . . . frog in your bed and you came back and p . . . pushed it down his shirt?’ He now put his head back and laughed. ‘I can hear him screaming yet. He was a de . . . devil, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was a devil.’ She didn’t add ‘Master John’ and she couldn’t say ‘John’, but aiming to stop herself from breaking down she brought the conversation on to a less emotional plane by asking, ‘Are you happy at Cambridge?’
‘Yes and no, Tr . . . Trotter.’ He turned round and looked about him before going on to say, ‘I . . . I’m not one of the booky s . . . sort, you know, Trotter, not intellectual at all. You know wh . . . what I’d like to be? I’d like to be a f . . . f . . . farmer.’
‘Would you really?’ She smiled gently at him.
‘Yes, Trotter. I like the country. C . . . can’t stand the towns. Yet you know, it’s funny, when I go to London to dine with Luke. Oh’ – he pulled a long face at her – ‘L . . . Luke dines very well and in the most unusual places.’ He winked his eye now and she was forced to smile at him. ‘And he stands all the expenses. I’m mostly b . . . broke and everything is so expensive up there. Do you know what a c . . . cabby charges from the Eastern Counties Railway to Le . . . Leicester Square?’
She shook her head at him.
‘Two sh . . . sh . . . shillings and fourpence.’ He bowed his head deeply. ‘You could almost buy a h . . . horse in Newcastle for that.’ Again he had his head back and was laughing. Then looking at her once more, he said, ‘No-one can help liking London, Trotter; there are so m . . . m . . . many marvellous things to s . . . see. Last year Luke took me to the Exhibition of Industry. It was s . . . s . . . simply amazing. All the nations had sent their products: chemicals, machinery, cloth, and . . . art sculpture. It was amazing. Luke is very g . . . good to me, Trotter.’
‘I’m sure he is.’
‘Of course he has the money to do it with because Grandfather left him a tidy sum. But he was very measly to m . . . me, was Grandfather. And you know why, Trotter?’
‘No.’
‘Well—’ His head went down now, his eyes closed tightly and he had to open his mouth wide before he could bring out, ‘Just because he c . . . couldn’t stand to hear me st . . . stammer. He imagined I must be wr . . . wr . . . wrong in the head.’
She put her hand across the table and placed it on top of his as she said, ‘Your head’s in the right place, John, as is your heart, and that’s the main thing.’
‘Thank you, Trotter. You . . . you were always so k . . . kind. That’s why Father l . . . loved you I suppose. And he did love you.’
‘Yes, he loved me.’ Again guiding him from the painful subject, she said, ‘Are you going straight back to Cambridge?’
‘No, Trotter. Although term begins on the thirteenth I’m . . . I’m going up to London with Luke.’ He smiled now as he said, ‘And I’m afraid that Luke will not c . . . continue in mourning because, after all, we . . . we didn’t know F . . . Father very well, did we?’
‘No, you didn’t.’
There followed a slight pause before he said now, ‘L . . . Luke likes the gay life. He goes to the th . . . th . . . theatre regularly, and to exhibitions. But mostly to the theatre, the one called the Adelphi, and another in Covent Garden. Th . . . that’s where the fruit market is. Oh, and so many more. And all the sights you s . . . see there, Trotter, you wouldn’t believe. Newcastle? Well, Newcastle is like a vi . . . village compared with London.’
‘Oh, I can’t believe that.’
‘’Tis, Trotter, ’t . . . ’tis. At the theatre, oh, the ladies! They don’t go to see the pl . . . plays you know, Trotter.’
‘No?’
‘No, they go to outsh . . . shine each other in their dress and jewellery. And the gentlemen are as bad. Oh, the . . . the powder. I feel ve . . . very much the boy from the country because, as you see, I don’t p . . . powder my hair.’ He now grinned widely and ended, ‘I couldn’t afford to p . . . pay the tax, one pound three shillings and sixpence tax, oh no!’
She found herself smiling. He was so likeable, even lovable, different from all the others. Luke was all right, but so taken up with himself and the army; and Jessie Ann, well, there was only one word for Mrs Dolman Cartwright, and that was spiteful. She was a spiteful little vixen. Whoever would have thought she would have turned out as she had done . . . And Matthew, the new master of the estate? She had always felt a little uneasy in Matthew’s company. His manner towards her, although not offensive, had held a quality to which she could put no name. On his visits she had often caught him looking at her with an expression on his face very like that on his father’s when he was angry; and no doubt he was angry at the position she had come to hold in his father’s life and esteem.
The nursery door opened suddenly and they both turned their faces towards it and breathed easier when they saw that the visitor was Luke. Moving towards them, he said, ‘I thought I’d find you here.’ He was nodding at his brother now and he added, ‘The sparks are flying downstairs and you’d better show yourself. I’m sorry, Trotter.’ He brought his gaze kindly on to Tilly and she, rising to her feet, merely inclined her head towards him, then watched them both leave the room.
The door closed, she sat down again and looked about her. Perhaps this was to be the last night she would sit in this room. Unless Mark had made provision that she stay on as the housekeeper until Matthew returned from abroad Jessie Ann would have her out of the door quicker than the old housekeeper had pushed her out years ago. Strange how things repeated themselves.
How would she take to living in a little house of only four rooms, three of which were strewn with books, and sleeping in the loft under the eaves? Well – she straightened her shoulders – it was no use asking herself such questions, for it was no use planning until tomorrow. But she knew one thing, and the thought brought bitterness on to her tongue, if she was turned out the village would celebrate.
Although she hadn’t been near the village for years she knew that they were aware of everything that transpired in the Manor House; they had always made it their business to find out what the witch was up to. The word no longer frightened her because Mark had used it so often, his beautiful witch he had called her. She had never felt like
a witch, beautiful or otherwise, and not since Hal McGrath’s death had she wished bad on anyone, yet she knew if it lay with some of the villagers their wishes would bring her so low that she would be face down in the mud and they dancing on her. There was evil in people. Some picked it up from their parents, its growth fostered by listening to their superstitious chatter, their jealous venom, while others were born with evil in them. Hal McGrath had been such a one. And the old cook, that overflowing receptacle of gluttony, had been another. And both had tainted those with whom they came in contact. As Mr Burgess said, one advanced through education to reason and one retreated through ignorance to evil. He was so right. At least she was convinced she herself had advanced through education to reason. And yet she couldn’t reason out the fact why it was some people loved her on sight, whereas others could hate her with an equal passion.
Three
The breath issued like puffs of white smoke from the horses’ nostrils, seeming to mingle with the black plumes dancing on their tossing heads before thinning in the still biting air.
Tilly Trotter Wed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 3