by Val Wood
‘It can wait. We have plenty of time.’
‘But I’m not Annaliese,’ she insisted. ‘I’m Annie; just plain Annie.’
He shook his head and put Henry down. ‘I don’t care for that so much. A common name.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Anna. Anna is better I think. That’s what I’ll call you. If you have no objection, that is,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘May I call you Anna?’
It wouldn’t harm to give in this once, Annie thought. It’s gone better than I expected. I’ve caught him on a good day. He’s feeling mellow and sentimental and he seems to be genuinely pleased about Henry. But then a man in his position wants a lineage. The trouble is, she pondered wryly, that I know more about him than he knows about me, and when he finds out, as he will, then there are going to be some sparks flying.
‘Very well, Mr Linton,’ she said appeasingly. ‘If Anna suits you, I have no dislike of the name, and I’ve found in my experience that any name will serve as well as another.’
‘Good.’ He nodded as if satisfied with the arrangement. ‘Then that’s settled; you’ll stay. Now, what should you call me? Henry will call me grandfather, not grandfather I hasten to add. And you Anna, what name will you know me by? I can’t imagine beautiful young women calling me father,’ he said with a roguish smile, ‘but I suppose it has to be.’
‘Father,’ she exclaimed. ‘You want me to call you father!’
‘Why not,’ he said briskly. ‘Or would your own father object?’
She shook her head and covered her face with her hands. To break down now over a simple word when she had kept her emotions in check for so long, was painful and intolerable. ‘I have no fayther.’ Her voice was muffled and he leaned closer to hear. ‘I have no fayther or mother, never have had, or none that I remember.’
‘Anna! Please don’t cry.’ He bent over her and diffidently grasped her about the shoulders. ‘Please Anna. I can’t bear it when women weep.’
39
A week passed and in that time she told him of living in York; of the drapery business she owned with Henry; of Marcus Blythe, Henry Linton’s own lawyer who was also hers and whose carriage was now sheltering beneath the coach house walls here at Staveley Park.
She told him of her meeting with Toby and Matt in Hessle; but not of the smuggling. Nor yet did she tell him of her own life before that. Not of her existence beneath the wharves of the Humber, nor of her children of her marriage to Alan. These, she decided, could wait until she knew him better, until such time as he was sufficiently fond of her and Henry, not to mind.
He brought out his dusty carriage which he said he never used, as he preferred to ride his horse, and took them around the estate. He showed them the farms and the cottages in the hamlet, and she remembered them from her last visit, when the cottagers had closed the door on her, when they hadn’t wanted to know the stranger on that cold snowy night.
He showed them too the vast meadow lands which were dotted with grazing sheep and told her of the damn fool idea that Matt had of turning it over to the plough.
‘But wouldn’t it give the cottagers work?’ she’d ventured. ‘It surely would be better than them sitting idly at home?’
‘And more work for me. And what’s the point when there’s no-one else interested? No son to take over after me.’
He’d glanced at Henry then who was looking out of the carriage window counting sheep, and had then fallen silent as they made their way back home.
They ate in his book-lined study at a small table. He couldn’t be bothered with the fuss of eating in the dining-room, he said. ‘Can’t be bothered with all of that, laying out the silver and glass; not worth it just for me. Besides, I’d have to get extra staff, Mrs Rogerson couldn’t manage otherwise.’
‘It seems a pity,’ Annie said. ‘It’s such a lovely room.’
She had been quite overwhelmed by the interior of the house when Mrs Rogerson had shown her around, for although it was less grand, and not so large a mansion as Mrs Burnby’s where she had been to the masquerade, it had a modest elegance, displayed in its classical plasterworked ceilings, in intricate carved cornices, in richly carved fireplaces and panelled walls.
Mrs Rogerson had pulled off the covers from the furniture in the drawing-room with a sigh. ‘These have been covered over for nearly twenty years ever since ’mistress died; and then each year since Masters Matthias and Tobias finally left, Master has shut off a room. Said there was no point in having rooms with nobody to admire them.’
Annie admired them. They were the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen, and the gilded furniture though old and the fabric faded, was exquisitely handsome.
‘It’s a French style, ma’am, so I understand. Mrs Linton was a great connoisseur of what was right for each room. And a collector too. We’ve boxes of Chinese porcelain and Italian glass that she acquired, some of it she brought with her when she married ’Squire. It’s been put away in case of breakage, and it needs careful handling, and I just don’t have time to spare.’
She told Annie that she was housekeeper and cook. That the squire had given the cook notice because he wasn’t fussy about eating, and had said that Mrs Rogerson could prepare him something simple on a tray.
‘I’ve got a girl in the kitchen and another one for cleaning and then I bring women in from the village twice a year so’s we can bottom everywhere. It’s bad enough for me,’ she’d said, ‘but old Jed is at Master’s beck and call all day long. He even got rid of coachie ’cos he said he didn’t need him, and he’s just got a stable-lad to look after hosses.’
Annie sensed the woman assessing her, though she didn’t look at her directly. She hadn’t recognized her, she was sure, but then how could she? She was quite different in her simple, though fashionable, gowns from the roughly spoken ragged girl with the donkey-cart, that she had been all those years ago.
‘Maybe now, ma’am, we’ll be able to open up some of the rooms again, if you and young master are staying?’
It was a direct question as to the length of time they were staying, though asked obliquely. And only this morning Mrs Rogerson had come with a list in her hand and asked Annie about supper.
‘I don’t know, Mrs Rogerson,’ she’d replied firmly. ‘I’m only a guest. You must consult with your master as usual.’
‘Would young Henry like a pony?’ Henry Linton poured her a brandy as they lingered after supper. The question was sudden, quite unexpected.
‘I’ve been thinking about it for a day or two. And we’ve a curricle in one of the coach houses. I could teach you how to drive it.’
She sat stunned for a moment. Was he expecting them to stay for a long period – or indefinitely? Matt had said, wait there until I come back, but she hadn’t told his father of his words.
‘You’re very generous to suggest such things, sir’ she said quietly, ‘but we can stay only a few more days. I shall be so sorry to leave, but I mustn’t impose on you any longer. You’ve been very kind, but I must get back to York – to my business, and Mr Blythe will want his carriage.’
For a second she thought she saw a fleeting dismay in his eyes but it was instantly followed by a flash of anger.
‘What! What do you mean get back to your business?’
‘I told you, sir, of us having a drapery—,’
He guffawed. ‘You surely don’t think you can go on with that? Not now. It’s not possible. You’ll have to sell.’
‘I don’t understand, sir.’ She was confused as to his meaning, why wasn’t it possible?
‘I can’t have any daughter-in-law of mine in trade, you must surely understand that. Great Heavens, it’s just not done!’
‘Why not? It’s a very good shop, all the ladies of York come to buy from me.’
‘Well that’s just it, isn’t it? We’d be the laughing stock of the county if it got out.’
‘If it got out?’ she whispered. So there were divisions, not just between rich and poor, but between sections in between. The ladi
es who patronized the shop had usually been very pleasant towards her; or were they simply being gracious as befitted their status? Oh, Annie, she pondered. You’ve still a lot to learn.
‘Why, they’d come in just to have a look at you, to see what kind of woman Matt had married. I don’t care for myself, but think of Matt when he gets home – his wife serving behind a shop counter! And Henry. Think of when he goes to school. He’d get bullied and ragged no end.’
She laughed in amazement. What a fool she was. She thought she’d bettered herself, dragged herself out of the gutter and here she was, still not good enough.
‘Matt knows what kind of woman I am,’ she attacked back. ‘He knew me when I had less than I have now, and as for Henry, I’m his mother no matter what.’ Was that true, she wondered as a niggle of doubt crept in, or would Matt be different in his old home? She couldn’t imagine Henry changing towards her, but under other influences, he might.
She suddenly felt frightened and insecure and all her old terrors came flooding back. She couldn’t bear it if Matt and Henry should turn against her, she would die rather than suffer that.
‘Ah, but did he?’ He leaned forward and shook an admonishing finger. ‘Did Matthias know? It’s all right falling for a pretty face, I’ve done it myself many times, but did he know your background? Did you tell him you had no family and that you worked in a shop? Or did you twist him round your little finger so that he wanted you, come what may. I know you women, how you tease.’
Her anger flared. ‘You know nothing about women, sir. How could you? Not women like me anyway – women of your own class maybe – but not my kind.’
‘Ho, ho.’ He leaned back in his chair and laughed. ‘I do believe the little lady has a temper. And tell me, my dear,’ he said sardonically. ‘How are you different from any other woman. I’ve known all types of women in my life and I know how they entrap men.’
‘Not my sort, mayster.’ She dropped her voice to a husky whine. ‘Tha can’t be teasing menfolk when tha’s starving and searching for a crust o’ bread.’
His smile faded and he narrowed his eyes, then he gave a nervous laugh. ‘That’s very good, Anna. Where did you learn to mimic like that? Why you sound like—. You sound like—. You’ve been visiting the villagers, haven’t you?’ he added sharply.
She shook her head. He’d paled as if understanding was seeping through. But he still didn’t know who she was. ‘Them folks have a better life than I ever had, sir, even though they’re living in broken down hovels, with a mayster who doesn’t care if they live or dee.’
‘That’s enough.’ Abruptly he got to his feet. ‘Enough of this foolishness.’
‘Nay, mayster,’ she persisted. ‘It’s not foolishness. They have a roof of sorts over their head, even though ’thatch is ragged and let’s in ’rain. Not like ’likes of me who spent their childhood with their feet in river water sheltering beneath ’wharves, or scavenging for leftovers in rich men’s yards.’
‘Stop. Stop it at once.’ He was angry now and raised his voice.
‘Now sir, do you believe what I say?’ She spoke now in her ordinary voice. ‘That you wouldn’t know about women like me? Your class of gentleman couldn’t begin to know, not unless they were really searching amongst the dregs for a woman of a different kind, and thank God I never did stoop so low, though I was tempted many times.’
There was a quiet knock on the door and Mrs Rogerson entered. ‘Can I clear the supper things, sir?’
‘No, you can’t,’ he bellowed at the startled woman. ‘Get out. I’ll call you when I need you.’
She fled, but not before she cast an anxious glance at Annie.
‘There’s no need to shout at Mrs Rogerson,’ Annie began. ‘She’s done nothing.’
‘Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do in my own house. You’re not mistress yet, nor likely to be.’
‘You’re too hard on your servants.’ Annie thought she had nothing more to lose. He’d tell her to go now. ‘Mrs Rogerson works so hard and you don’t give her as much as a thank you.’
‘She gets food, a bed and a wage. Why should I thank her? She should be grateful to be here.’ His face was red as he glared at her. ‘Ah, I see it all now. You don’t know how to behave towards the servants, and no wonder. You have no maid to help you dress, and you speak to that chit of a girl who can’t string more than three words together, who looks after Henry—, as if she’s an equal instead of the servant she is!’
‘She’s only a child. I speak kindly to her,’ she shouted back. ‘She reminds me of my own daughter.’ The words slipped out by accident, she hadn’t intended telling him yet about Lizzie and the boys. Slowly she added. ‘She also reminds me of me; of how I used to be.’
He said nothing but simply stared at her. Then he went back to the table and poured himself another brandy. He didn’t offer another to Annie and she wished that he had as she felt her passion evaporate to be replaced by a black melancholy.
‘You have a daughter?’ His words were low and he sat down as if weary.
‘Yes, sir, and two sons. I was a widow before I married Matt.’
He nodded his head in a resigned fashion as if there was nothing more that would surprise him. ‘I think, madam,’ he said in a crabbed, bitter voice. ‘That you had better leave this house. We shall not get along. I am unused to females behaving in the way that you do. However, you may leave Henry with me. I’m willing to educate him in a manner befitting my grandson.’
‘What!’ Was the man mad? Leave Henry? ‘How could I leave Henry?’ she cried. ‘You had no love for your own sons, you will have even less for a grandson.’
He stared sourly at her. ‘Of course I loved my sons, but it doesn’t do to show it. Makes them soft; like women. But I don’t wish to discuss it with you. You may leave him if you wish.’
‘I don’t wish it.’ She stormed to the door and grasped the door knob. ‘We’ll leave first thing in the morning.’ She gave him a superior smile though her mouth trembled and she was close to tears. ‘You won’t remember Mr Linton, but this is the second time you have turned me off your property.’
‘What do you mean? You haven’t been here before.’ He looked at her from dull eyes and she saw, or thought she saw, grief.
‘Yes, I have. The first time I walked away, my feet deep in snow, after spending the night in your barn. This time at least I can drive away in a carriage, even though a borrowed one. I said then I hoped you would never have to stretch out a hand for charity and find none.’
She opened the door and paused before leaving. ‘I’ll bid you goodbye, sir. We won’t be coming back here again. Not even if you were to go on your bended knees.’ She gave a half laugh, half cry. ‘Which you never will of course. Not you. I’m sorry for you, for you have no warmth, no pity. I’m really sorry.’
She was halfway up the wide curved staircase when she bethought herself. She didn’t want to meet him again in the morning. They wouldn’t take breakfast she decided. They would move off at first light and stop at an inn for refreshment. She turned and went back down and going below stairs to the kitchen she sought out Mrs Rogerson.
As Mrs Rogerson opened the inner kitchen door Annie glanced beyond the woman’s shoulder. Jed was sitting with his elbow on the kitchen table, his chin in his hand and the young maid was pouring him ale from a jug. They both looked up at her and she felt as if she was re-living her past. Only this time she was inside the house, not waiting at the outer door.
‘Mrs Rogerson.’ She whispered so that the girl wouldn’t hear. ‘We will be leaving first thing in the morning. We won’t require breakfast. Will you ask Jed to tell Lowson to have the carriage ready at the door by seven o’clock.’
‘Oh, ma’am.’ There was genuine dismay on the woman’s face. ‘I’d hoped you were staying longer.’
Annie shook her head. ‘No. Have Jed collect our bags first thing.’ She gathered up her skirt and fled from those sympathetic eyes and ran upstairs to her room.
/> She packed her belongings into her travelling case and then looked in on Henry. He was sleeping soundly, his hands tucked beneath his round cheeks and next to him on a day-bed Polly slept, her hand stretched out limply towards him as if in reassurance. Annie lifted up her hand and tucked it under the covers and gently stroked her face. Polly had changed so much since coming to live with them, she was more attentive to her duties now that she was secure and no longer frightened.
Mrs Rogerson had given Annie a room which she’d said was next door to Master Matthias’s. She’d opened the interconnecting door and showed her in. The old high mahogany bed and furnishings had been shrouded in sheets, just like the other unused rooms. Annie looked in now and wondered with a deep sadness which bit deep into her, if the bed would ever be slept in again.
On impulse she ran back into her own room and pulled off the deep soft pillows and the feather quilt from her bed and took them back into Matt’s room. She tore the dust sheets from his bed and the mirror and the polished wooden chest of drawers, and left them in a heap on the floor.
She drew back the damask embroidered cover and lay her pillows and quilt on the mattress and standing on the stool at the side of the bed climbed in.
Her sleep, what little she had, was disturbed by images of Matt and Henry, somehow superimposed one into another. She saw Matt as a boy living lonely in this great house. In her dream he gave her a sad smile and spoke to her, but they were Henry’s eyes that were looking at her. There was a ship with its sails on fire and men jumping into a foaming sea, and there, too, was Toby with a dark stain on his coat, clutching Matt and Henry by their hands.
She thought in her dream that she could hear footsteps along the corridor, a pencil of light showing beneath the door as if someone with a candle was wandering around in the dead of night and she slid further below the quilt and hid her head.
When she awoke dawn was breaking and she climbed out of bed and went to the window and opened it. The sky was streaked with red and gold and a young thrush was clearing its throat for the first song of the day. The notes soared through the silence of the morning waking other creatures, enticing them to join the chorus, the blackbirds and robins, the tiny wren and the deep koo koo of the collared doves above the stables. From the meadows she could hear the bleat of sheep and the barking of a dog, and the distant cry of a lonely shepherd.