A Woman of Substance

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Ye get to look more fetching every time I be seeing ye, mavourneen,’ he exclaimed. ‘I do believe ye are the prettiest colleen in the whole of England, and that’s the God’s truth, I am thinking.’

  Emma blushed prettily. ‘Aay, Blackie, yer a real tease. Don’t be so silly.’ This was said somewhat scathingly, but nevertheless she beamed with pleasure.

  The noise and bustle and sudden flurry had awakened Cook, who sat up with a start and rubbed her eyes. She blinked, momentarily confused. ‘Now, lass, what’s going on?’ she shouted, glowering at Emma. ‘Yer making enough noise ter waken t’dead!’

  Before Emma could announce the arrival of their unexpected visitor, Blackie was striding across the kitchen to pacify Cook. ‘Faith and are ye not a sight for sore eyes, Mrs Turner me luv,’ Blackie said. ‘’Tis only me, come to pay me compliments and give ye this.’ He paused at her chair and, with a small flourish, pulled a brown paper bag out of his coat pocket, which he gave to her, bowing elaborately. Mrs Turner’s irascibility instantly evaporated at the sight of Blackie O’Neill, of whom she had grown very fond.

  ‘Why, Blackie, aren’t yer the one,’ said Cook, positively glowing. She peeped into the bag and her birdlike brown eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, Blackie, me favourite toffees and humbugs. Thank yer, lad. That’s right thoughtful of yer. It is that. And have yer heard our news? We don’t have ter worry no more about the likes of Murgatroyd. No, by gum, we don’t.’ A gloating look settled on Cook’s face as she confided. ‘He’s had his wings clipped, Blackie lad. He has that. Things have changed around here since Mrs Wainright came.’ Cook gave him the benefit of a gratified smile and went on, ‘Mrs Wainright is ever so good to us all. Yes, she is indeed. Why, that woman’s an angel.’

  ‘From all I be hearing she must be an angel,’ said Blackie, his eyes merry. ‘And can I not see with me own eyes that things have improved, Mrs Turner? To be sure they have, thank God.’ Blackie stole a quick look at Emma, and was further impressed. She was blossoming into a truly lovely young woman. She looked cared for and beautiful, with her glowing face and silky hair, wearing her crisp blue dress and starched white-apron.

  ‘Yes, indeed, it warms the cockles of me heart to see the colleen so well fed, and dressed in a bit of decent clothing,’ Blackie added, nodding his head approvingly. Cook clucked her agreement and leaned back in the chair. She popped a humbug into her mouth and propped her feet up on the hearth, toasting her toes.

  Now Blackie sat down at the table opposite Emma. He fished around inside his coat and brought out a small package. ‘And this is for ye, mavourneen,’ he said importantly, placing it on the table in front of her. His gay black eyes regarded her fondly.

  Emma stared at the package and then she looked up at Blackie with large eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice hushed.

  ‘Just a little bit o’ nonsense. A birthday present for ye,’ said Blackie. His mouth twitched with pleasure as he observed her growing curiosity mingled with anticipation.

  ‘But it’s not me birthday till the end of April,’ said Emma. She picked up the package and turned it over in her hands, examining it with mounting interest. She had never received a present like this before. A present wrapped in silver paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Never in her whole life. It looked almost too beautiful to open.

  ‘Yes, I know when it is,’ Blackie told her. ‘But me Uncle Pat’s sending me to Harrogate, to do a big building job, and I’ll be gone for three weeks or more. I didn’t want to be missing the special occasion of ye birthday. That’s why I brought it for ye today, me bonny mavourneen.’

  Emma looked down at the gift in her hands. Her face was flushed and her vivid eyes sparkled with shimmering green light. ‘Can I open it now then?’ she asked, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I don’t have ter wait, do I?’

  ‘Sure and ye don’t, Emma. Open it this minute,’ said Blackie, enjoying the scene enormously.

  Emma untied the silver ribbon and removed the silver paper with the greatest of care. A small black box was revealed, which Emma stared at wide-eyed, her heart fluttering. Slowly she lifted the lid. ‘Oh, Blackie, it’s lovely,’ she gasped, her eyes growing larger. With trembling hands she took out a small brooch designed in the shape of a bow and decorated with bright green stones. She held it up to the light. The cheap little brooch glittered with such radiance in the sunlight its tawdriness was diminished and, in her hands, it seemed to take on a special kind of beauty, and even Blackie was amazed.

  ‘Look, Mrs Turner,’ Emma shrieked, running to show her. Cook said, ‘Well, aren’t you a lucky lass. That was right kind of Blackie ter remember yer fifteenth birthday.’

  ‘It’s only glass,’ Blackie said in an apologetic tone. ‘But when I saw it in the shop in Leeds, in one of them grand arcades, I said to meself, “Why, ’tis the colour of Emma’s emerald eyes, sure and it is.” So buy it I did, without another minute’s hesitation.’ Blackie grinned in his engaging way. ‘When I’m a toff, that millionaire I’m planning to be one day, I shall be buying ye a brooch exactly like this one, mavourneen. But it will be made of the real emeralds, I can promise ye that,’ he announced with the utmost confidence.

  ‘Yer don’t have ter do that,’ Emma exclaimed quickly. ‘This is the most beautiful brooch I’ve ever seen. Why, I shall keep it always. I don’t want no emeralds, Blackie. This is perfect. Thank yer, ever so much.’ She smiled at him radiantly and kissed him on the cheek.

  He hugged her to him and said, ‘I am glad ye be liking it, Emma.’

  Emma sat down, the smile lingering on her face, and after a few seconds she returned the brooch safely to its box, but she left the lid off, so that she could admire it.

  ‘Well now, how about a nice cup of tea, lad?’ said Cook, heaving herself up out of the chair with a great deal of huffing and puffing. She straightened her cap, smoothed down her apron, and went on, ‘The kettle’s on t’hob and I’ll have a pot mashed in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ As she spoke the cook padded over to the dresser, took down a brown pot and a tea caddy, and began to busy herself at the dresser.

  ‘Thank ye, Mrs Turner, I don’t mind if I do,’ said Blackie, crossing his great legs and sitting back comfortably in the chair. He gave his full attention to Emma. ‘And what are ye doing here on Sunday, might I be asking?’ he queried, frowning. ‘I thought ye would be having the day off, as ye always do. I was going to stop off at ye dad’s and leave ye the present, after I’d dropped in for a little visit with Mrs Turner here.’

  ‘The Squire gave a dinner party last night and Mrs Wainright asked me ter work over the weekend, seeing as how there was a right lot of clearing up ter do,’ explained Emma. ‘I won’t be going home till Thursday, but Mrs Wainright’s ever so kind, Blackie, and she’s given me four whole days off. Two ter make up for this weekend, and next Saturday and Sunday as well.’

  ‘I am glad to be hearing that,’ said Blackie. ‘So, the Squire had a dinner party, did he? I bet it was real posh, Emma, eh? Lots of toffs here, I am thinking.’ Blackie grinned. ‘I’ve no doubt about that, at all, at all. Ah, yes, the money is a wonderful thing to be having.’

  Emma nodded solemnly, her eyes glittering. ‘Yer right, Blackie, anybody can be a toff with money.’ She eyed him appraisingly and continued, ‘Yer don’t look so bad yerself. Is that a new suit, then?’

  Blackie beamed and sat up straighter, smoothing down his sombre black jacket made of good broadcloth. ‘It is indeed. And a new tie,’ he said, touching the dark blue cravat proudly. He winked. ‘Sure and I’m all in me Sunday best today. Ye don’t think I’d come visiting an ejicated young lady in me working clothes, do ye now?’

  Emma smiled and, ignoring this comment, said, ‘Yer should’ve seen Mrs Fairley and Mrs Wainright. They looked ever so beautiful. Like the pictures from the illustrated magazines. Real elegant.’

  ‘I can just imagine,’ said Blackie. He gazed at Emma affectionately and added, ‘And that’s the way ye’ll be looking one day, me spry young c
olleen, when ye are the grand lady.’

  Emma blushed. ‘Oh, I don’t knows about that,’ she murmured, suddenly bashful. ‘But tell me, what’s happening in Leeds? Tell me some more about Leeds, Blackie. What’ve yer been doing there lately?’

  ‘Not much news,’ said Blackie cautiously, his eyes wary as he became conscious of that look on her face, that look which always appeared when she mentioned the city. ‘Things are just the same, I am thinking. I have nothing exciting to be telling ye, mavourneen, sure and that’s the God’s truth. And all I’ve been doing, since I last saw ye in March, is work hard. Me and me Uncle Pat, why, we’ve more jobs than we can handle these days. Thanks to the Squire. Sure and it is himself who has helped us to prosper. Giving us the recommendations and all.’ Now unable to conceal his jubilation, he added exuberantly, and without stopping to consider the effect it might have on her, ‘I not be telling ye a lie, Emma, when I say that business is booming in Leeds.’

  Emma looked at Blackie intently. She thought: Then I must go there soon, but said, ‘And what’s in it for the Squire? Recommending yer for all this work?’

  Blackie threw back his great head and roared with laughter. ‘There be nothing in it for himself,’ he said. ‘Whyever should ye be thinking such a thing, mavourneen?’ Blackie pulled a red kerchief out of his pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose.

  ‘’Cos I knows the Squire, and he would never do owt for nowt,’ she said pithily, contempt curving her mouth. ‘Talk about hard-faced, yer could straighten nails on his.’

  Blackie laughed again and slapped his knee. ‘Emma! Emma! Not everybody’s on the take or on the make,’ he remonstrated gently. ‘Especially a fine gent like the Squire. He recommends us because he is acquainted with our work. He knows we are good bricklayers and builders, me and me Uncle Pat. Sure and he does.’ He paused and said with a degree of certitude, ‘He also recommends us because he likes us, I am thinking.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ remarked Emma, dryly, her eyes doubtful. She found this hard to believe.

  Blackie leaned forward across the table, and said confidingly, ‘Well, it is more than the liking of us. Ye see, mavourneen, me Uncle Pat saved the Squire’s life three years ago, and himself has been grateful ever since.’

  ‘Saved the Squire’s life,’ Emma echoed coldly. ‘And how did he do that, then?’

  ‘The Squire was driving through Leeds in his gig. Down Briggate, I believe it was, and the horse bolted. Sure and it did. Me Uncle Pat saw it happening, and with the great presence of mind he leapt on the horse and brought it to a standstill, after a great struggle, terrifying to behold, so I understand,’ said Blackie, unconsciously throwing back his shoulders. ‘He’s a big man and strong, me Uncle Pat is, but it took all of his great strength, indeed it did! The Squire could have been killed, sure and he could, if it hadn’t been for me Uncle Pat. And mighty dangerous it was. Why, me Uncle Pat was almost trampled under the horse and maimed for life.’

  Blackie gave Emma a knowing look. ‘Anyway, mavourneen, the Squire was grateful, as I said, and impressed with me Uncle Pat’s bravery and he wanted to reward him—’ Blackie shook his head and went on scoffingly, ‘Me Uncle Pat, well, he wouldn’t be taking the money. “Only a heathen takes money for the saving of a man’s life,” so says me Uncle Pat to the Squire. So, the Squire, out of his eternal gratitude, gives us the work and recommends us,’ Blackie finished triumphantly, nodding his head. ‘And glad we are to be getting it, mavourneen.’

  ‘Yer Uncle Pat must be very brave,’ said Emma. She pondered for a moment and then her mouth compressed into a thin line. ‘Well, I hope yer charge the Squire plenty, and them that he recommends,’ she commented with acerbity.

  ‘Why, Emma Harte! What a thing to be saying,’ cried Blackie, feigning horror. He concealed his amusement and exclaimed, ‘I can see ye are growing up to be a real hardheaded Yorkshire lass.’

  ‘The tea’s ready,’ announced Cook, interrupting their conversation. ‘Emma, get out the best cups and saucers, and put the best lace cloth on the table, being as it’s Sunday and we’ve got company.’ Cook waddled over with the tea tray. ‘What can I do to be helping ye, Mrs Turner?’ asked Blackie, standing up.

  ‘Nowt, lad. Sit yerself down. We’ll have it all ready in two ticks.’ She bustled away, returning a few seconds later with another tea tray laden with plates of thick ham sandwiches, slices of delicious veal-and-ham pie, hot sausage rolls, small dishes of pickled onions, beetroot, and piccalilli, warm buttered scones, blackberry jam, and a giant-sized caraway-seed cake.

  ‘I swear I’ve never set eyes on a tea party like this, Mrs Turner. Faith and that’s the truth,’ said Blackie. ‘Ye have outdone yeself, Mrs Turner, me darlin’. Sure and it’s the finest spread I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Sounds ter me as if yer kissed the Blarney stone afore yer left Ireland,’ said Cook, but her eyes were laughing and full of fun. She glanced at Blackie warmly and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Aay, get on with yer, lad. There’s nowt ter be gained from flattering an old body like me.’

  At this moment, Annie, the betweenmaid, came down the steps from the upstairs quarters. Tall and robust, with a creamy pink-and-white complexion, flaxen hair, and pale blue eyes, Annie looked for all the world like the typical buxom milkmaid and her manner was also decidedly bovine. Emma, putting out the cups and saucers, looked up. ‘Did yer finish upstairs, Annie? Is everything all right, luv?’ Annie nodded slowly, but her usually placid expression had disappeared, which Emma noticed instantly. ‘Come ter the sink and wash yer hands then, luv, and we’ll be having our teas,’ Emma went on hurriedly, manoeuvring Annie across the kitchen, and out of Cook’s earshot. ‘Did yer break summat, luv?’ asked Emma.

  ‘No, Emma. I was ever so careful, like yer told me ter be,’ said Annie.

  ‘Well, what’s wrong, then? Yer look worried to death. I can see yer not yerself.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Fairley,’ Annie whispered conspiratorially. ‘She fair give me a right turn, she did that, Emma.’

  ‘What happened?’ Emma turned on the tap and made a show of washing her hands to drown out their voices.

  ‘I went up ter see the missis, like yer told me ter, after I’d finished setting the table. But when I knocked on her door she didn’t answer. Anyroads, I went in ter the sitting room, and there she was, sitting in the dark, talking a mile a minute—’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that?’ interrupted Emma impatiently.

  ‘Yer don’t understand, Emma! There was nobody there with her. She was talking ter the empty chair,’ whispered Annie, her eyes like saucers.

  ‘Nay, Annie luv. That can’t be so. Maybe Mrs Wainright was there. Perhaps she was somewhere in the room and yer didn’t notice,’ countered Emma with a deep frown, although she guessed, as she spoke, that this was probably not the case.

  ‘Mrs Wainright’s not back from Kirkend,’ murmured Annie. ‘Anyroads, when Mrs Fairley sees me, she stops talking ter the chair. I asked her if she wanted her tea, ever so polite like, as yer told me ter be. She said she didn’t, but ter tell yer she’ll have her dinner in her room later,’ said Annie. She began to breathe a little more easily, now that she was safely back in the kitchen.

  ‘I’d best go up ter see her,’ said Emma worriedly.

  ‘No, yer don’t have ter, Emma. The missis told me she was tired, so I helped her ter bed. She laid herself down and was off in a few minutes—’ Annie stopped and took hold of Emma’s arm. ‘Emma—’ she began hesitatingly, and paused again.

  ‘Yes, luv, what is it now?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Mrs Fairley smelled ever so funny. She smelled of whisky. Least I think it was,’ confided Annie.

  Emma’s eyes narrowed, but she adopted a sceptical tone. ‘Oh, Annie, yer must be imagining things.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Honest, Emma!’

  Emma glared at Annie. ‘First of all, how do yer knows what whisky smells like, Annie Stead? All yer dad sups is beer.’ She gave Annie a penetrating look, and added protecti
vely, ‘Mrs Fairley has a special medicine that she takes. That’s what yer smelled, Annie Stead.’

  ‘If yer say so,’ said Annie, for she was in awe of Emma, and also afraid of her. Nonetheless, she found the courage to add, ‘Still, the missis was talking ter herself. Make no mistake about that!’

  Emma, who felt compelled to defend Adele Fairley, thought quickly, and said with a small, knowing smile, ‘Come ter think of it, Mrs Fairley often reads aloud ter herself. That’s probably what she was doing when yer went in ter see her. Yer just didn’t notice the book, that’s all.’ She gave Annie such a threatening look the girl blanched and shrank away. ‘But if yer that concerned, I’ll go up and see her right now,’ remarked Emma coolly.

  Annie shook her head. ‘No! No! Leave her be, Emma. She was fast asleep when I left her a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Now, there, lasses! What’s all this ’ere whispering by the sink. Yer knows I don’t like that sort of thing,’ cried Mrs Turner crossly. She clapped her hands. ‘Emma! Annie! Come ’ere at once and get yer teas. I won’t have that there whispering!’

  ‘Don’t say owt ter Cook,’ Emma cautioned. She turned off the tap, dried her hands, and attempted to look unconcerned. So Annie has smelled the drink, too, Emma thought with dismay. But, as she sat down at the table, she acknowledged to herself that there was no point in going upstairs, if Mrs Fairley was sleeping. That’s the best thing for her right now, Emma decided, with her usual common sense.

  Under Blackie’s ebullient influence Emma soon cheered up. He was a marvellous raconteur and he kept them laughing during tea with his amusing stories and teasings. Emma found she was able to put Adele Fairley out of her mind completely, and she began to enjoy herself as much as the others. She laughed a great deal, much to Blackie’s satisfaction. In his opinion, Emma was always too serious by far, so that he derived great pleasure from her gaiety.