‘Oh, s . . . s . . . some time ago, in fact I c . . . c . . . can’t remember wh . . . wh . . . where it was or who m . . . mentioned it. But there, I think he w . . . w . . . would have told you about it, w . . . w . . . wouldn’t he, Tilly, if there w . . . w . . . were any t . . . t . . . truth in it?’
There was an underlying meaning to his words which she wasn’t slow to recognise, but she ignored it, saying, ‘Well, I happen to be his employer, but then it is often the employer who is the last one to be brought into the picture . . . How is Anna?’
‘Oh, as usual.’ He looked to the side before returning his gaze back to her and saying, ‘I’ve s . . . s . . . suggested to her that we adopt a b . . . b . . . baby.’
‘How did she take it?’ Her voice was soft now, sympathetic.
‘N . . . N . . . Not at all well, T . . . T . . . Tilly. In fact, it brought on one of her ner . . . ner . . . nervous bouts again.’
‘I’m sorry. But you know John, children, besides bringing blessings, also bring pain.’
She watched him shake his head sadly now as he said, ‘She, and I too, would gladly su . . . su . . . suffer the pains.’
‘Has she talked the matter over with her doctor?’
‘N . . . N . . . No, Tilly, and I w . . . wouldn’t suggest it to her, n . . . n . . . not again. I d . . . d . . . did once allude to it but it’s such a de . . . delicate matter. You understand?’
‘Yes, yes, John, I understand. Well, give her my love. And I’ll expect to see you both on Friday. Insist that she comes, won’t you, John, because it will be the last time she will see Josefina.’
‘Th . . . Th . . . That girl, she must be m . . . m . . . mad and ungr . . . gr . . . grateful in . . . into the bargain.’
‘No, no, John. It’s natural I suppose, she wants to see her people and the country from where she sprang. It’s a natural desire. And she can always come back. I’ve told her this is her home, she can always come back . . . Well, there’s Robbie with your horse.’ She pointed, ‘Goodbye, John.’
‘Goodbye, Ti . . . Ti . . . Tilly. See you Fr . . . Fr . . . Friday.’
They parted: he mounted his horse and rode away; she now went to the stables.
As she approached the wide double doors she was met by Steve leading both her own and his mount out. Without a word he assisted her up into the saddle and the next minute he was riding by her side, and not until they were clear of the pithead and on the road did she speak, and then she said, ‘You’ve changed the shift?’
‘Yes, some days ago.’
Again there was silence. At one point the road narrowed until their mounts had to walk close together, and when his knee touched hers, he said, but without looking at her, ‘Why have you been avoiding me, Tilly?’
‘Avoiding you?’ She had turned her head towards him, and so she was aware of the angry hue that had come over his face before he exclaimed, albeit in a lowered tone, ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Tilly, don’t put on your drawing-room manner and your polite asides. I say you’ve been avoiding me, you know you’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know the reason.
So he wanted to know the reason. Being Steve, he wouldn’t settle for anything else. Well, what would she say to him? Tell him the truth: I’ve been avoiding you because I’m jealous, because I can’t bear the thought of you being nice to another woman? And what would his answer to that be? ‘You’re too late, Tilly, you should have thought about this years ago, even a few months would have made all the difference. I’m a man, I need someone.’ And she had no doubt that he slaked a particular need during his not infrequent visits to his cottage on his long weekends and to the inn on the high road. And she couldn’t blame him for that, oh no.
‘Come in a minute.’
She turned to him in surprise. She hadn’t realised they had ridden so far in silence. She allowed him to help her down, watched him as he tied her horse to the gatepost, and then she preceded him up the path and stood aside while he placed the key in the lock, turned it and opened the door.
When she entered the room the proceedings went as usual. He put the bellows to the fire, he took up the black kettle from the hob, went into the scullery, and in a short while returned with it and pushed it into the heart of the coals, then went again into the scullery, and she sat listening to him getting the thick of the coal dust from his hands and face. But today his ablutions seemed to take longer and when he came into the room she saw that he had also washed his hair; it was lying flat and gleaming on his head.
He came and stood in front of her, but he did not speak for some seconds; and then his words were directly to the point. ‘Out with it, Tilly,’ he said; ‘you owe me this at least.’
Well, here was something she could make use of without giving herself away, so she repeated his last words, ‘I owe you that at least, you say. Well, perhaps you owe me something too, Steve. If you are thinking about changing your job, shouldn’t I have been the first to know?’
‘Changing my job? Where did you hear this?’
‘Does it matter? Is it true?’
‘It is and it isn’t, so to speak. It could be true but on the other hand it could be just a rumour.’
‘As is the fact that you may be thinking of getting married?’
There, she had jumped in with both feet but without giving herself away. He was looking down at her, straight into her face; but his expression told her nothing. His next words did however: ‘Yes’ – he inclined his head towards her – ‘I’ve been thinking about it for some time now, some long time in fact.’
‘You could have told me.’
‘Yes, I suppose I could, but what would you have said?’
‘I—’ She kept her eyes fixed on him as she took her spittle over the lump in her throat, then continued, ‘I could have wished you happiness, you deserve happiness.’
‘We very rarely get what we deserve, Tilly.’
‘May I know her name?’
‘Oh’ – he pursed his lips – ‘her name doesn’t matter very much.’ He was turning away as she said, ‘Well, I’ve seen her face so I would like to put a name to it.’
He stopped in the act of making a step; then his right foot seemed to descend slowly to the floor and he remained immovable for a moment not speaking. When he turned, it wasn’t towards her but towards the fireplace where the kettle was spluttering its boiling water onto the now glowing coals, and he lifted it up and placed it on the hob, then straightened his back and reached for the tea caddy from the mantelpiece before he asked, ‘When did you see her?’
‘Oh, you were out riding together some time ago.’
The tea caddy in one hand now, he stretched out the other hand for the brown teapot which was standing on a corner of the delf rack to the side of the fireplace, and he said slowly, ‘Ah yes, yes; that would be one Sunday about seven weeks ago. It was the first time we had ridden together.’
He turned his head now and looked at her over his shoulder and his face was bright. He was smiling, the lines at the corners of his eyes were deep, his mouth was wide and the expression on his face pained her to such an extent that she wanted to cry out against it. She couldn’t remember ever seeing such a look on his face, not even on that night long ago when they watched the New Year coming in together, and he had taken her in his arms and kissed her.
‘Well now, where’s that milk? As if I didn’t know.’ He went to the cupboard beneath the delf rack and took out a can. Lifting the lid, he sniffed at the contents and said, ‘It should be all right, I only got it last night, ’tisn’t turned yet.’
She watched him pour the milk into the cups, then take up the brown teapot and pour out the tea. After handing her a cup, he picked up his own and, taking it from the saucer, he raised it as one would a glass of wine in a toast, and he waited as if he expected her to do the same. After a moment she did so and forced herself to say, ‘I wish you every happiness, Steve. You know that.’
‘Not more than I wish myself, Tilly. Not more than I wish myse
lf.’ The smile slid from his face and he was placing the cup on the table when the sound of a galloping horse drew his eyes towards the window, and, bending his length downwards, he said, ‘It . . . it looks like one of your lads. It is, it is. It’s Ned Spoke. What now?’
She had risen swiftly to her feet and they were both at the door when Ned came running up the path. He stood gasping for a moment before he could say, ‘’Tis trouble, ma’am. I . . . I was on my way to the mine, then I saw Bluebell.’ He thumbed back towards the horse.
‘What is it?’ She had gone down the step and had hold of his arm now, and again he gasped before he said, ‘Mr Bentwood, he . . . he came crashing in. Mad he was, clean mad like a raving bull. He knocked Mr Peabody over, clean over. Then Biddle tried to tackle him. ’Twas then that Master Willy came on the scene. He . . . he, Mr Bentwood, sprang on him and got hold of him by the throat, so Peg said, but Master Willy, being good at throwing people off, got free. But he didn’t raise his hand to him. He tried to speak, Peg said, to calm him down. But then Mr Bentwood came at him again and knocked him flying.’
Tilly now ran down the path calling as she did so, ‘Is . . . is he hurt?’ and Ned, coming after her, cried, ‘His face is busted a bit and he hit the bottom of the stairs and went out like a light, but he came round again.’
‘Wait! Wait, Tilly; I’ll be with you.’ Steve was now running to the stable, buttoning his shirt neck as he went, and he mounted his horse almost at the same time as Tilly did hers, and within seconds was galloping after them . . .
The house seemed in chaos, it was as if the whole staff had gathered in the hall. It was Biddle who came forward now to her, saying, ‘He’s all right, madam. Don’t worry, he’s all right. He’s recovered. We put him in your room.’
She did not stop to ask questions but flew upstairs and into the bedroom to see Josefina holding a cold compress to Willy’s face. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and since the compress was covering his good eye he turned in the direction of the opening door and, sensing her before she spoke, he said, ‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, it’s all right.’
‘Oh my God!’ Tilly had lifted the compress away and looked at the darkening surface of the skin from the top of the eyelid to well below his cheekbones, taking in the split at the corner of his upper lip which was still bleeding. ‘We must get the doctor.’
‘I’ve already sent for him.’
She turned and looked at Josefina who added harshly, ‘But who you should send for is the police. That man should be locked up, he’s mad.’
‘We want no police . . . or a doctor.’ They both looked at Willy as he finished, ‘Just leave me alone and I’ll be all right .’
‘You can’t be left alone.’ Tilly’s voice was almost a bark. ‘Have you any idea what has been done to your face?’
‘Well, whatever it is it can’t be worse than what has already been done to it, can it?’
They were the first real words of bitterness she had heard from his lips. Before, whenever he had referred to his blindness it was with acceptance. His nature was innately placid or had been; but over the last weeks she had noticed a change in him, a hardening. It seemed to date from the day of the upset with Josefina.
There was silence in the room for a moment, the only sound being that of water dripping into the dish as Josefina wrung out another compress. When she placed it against his cheek, she said, ‘Well, this should bring home to you the fact that if you want to survive you’d better give up whatever thoughts you’re harbouring concerning that gentleman’s daughter.’
The reaction of his hand coming up and tearing the compress from his face was so rough that he almost caused Josefina to overbalance, and his voice now matching his action, he cried, ‘He, or no-one else, is going to stop me seeing Noreen and—’ he paused and his eye searched for his mother and held her gaze as he finished, ‘marrying her.’
Again there was a short silence, ended by Josefina turning hastily away, saying with bitterness equal to his own, ‘I hope you live long enough to accomplish it, that’s all.’
As the door banged Tilly wrung out another compress and when she placed it on his face and he said, ‘What’s wrong with her these days?’ she could have answered, ‘If you don’t know you are indeed blind. Can’t you understand that the girl you have treated as a sister all these years is in love with you, deeply in love with you?’ She could not have made a comparison, saying, ‘And to a greater extent than Simon Bentwood’s daughter,’ because as yet she had no way of gauging the feelings of the girl, she only knew that she had so ensnared her son it could in the end be the death of him; and her mind gave her no other word but ensnared.
When a tap came to the door she turned her head, saying, ‘Come in,’ and when it opened Biddle stood aside to allow Steve to enter, and what struck her immediately was the incongruity of the two men, Steve in his coal-dust-stained shirt, a leather belt holding up his trousers, and Biddle in his grey and blue well-fitting gaitered uniform.
‘How are you?’ Steve was standing at the other side of Willy, and he, lifting his head, said, ‘What does it look like, Steve?’
‘Pretty rough to me.’
‘Well, that’s how it feels.’
‘Something’s got to be done about that man.’ Steve was looking across at Tilly now, and Tilly asked simply, ‘What?’
‘I’m not having the police brought into this, Steve.’ Willy made to rise from the bed while Steve, staying him with a hand on his shoulder, said, ‘No; well, there’s no need for that, not as yet. But if he thinks he can put the fear of God into you and everybody else he’ll go on doing it. You’ve got friends haven’t you? Phil Spoke, and Ned an’ all, are not to be sneezed at when it comes to a knockabout.’
‘I don’t want that.’
‘No? Well, you just might have to agree with it in the end. What I can’t understand is how he got at you; using one of your holds you could have had him on his back because he’s gone to wind. He’s big but he’s soft body-wise; you could have tossed him.’
‘I didn’t want to toss him.’
Steve let out a long breath and as it ended he said, ‘I can understand that. But now, I think, looking at your face a steak wouldn’t come in wrong until the doctor gets here.’
‘A steak! I never thought of that, I’ll get one immediately.’ Tilly almost ran from the room; and with her going Steve lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed to the side of Willy and, his voice changing, he said, ‘You’ll have to be careful, lad; he’ll not let you have his girl, not as long as he’s alive.’
‘Why? Why, Steve? All because of some silly thing that happened years ago.’
‘Silly? Well, I wouldn’t call it silly. What would you say if I came along now and took your lass away from you, from under your nose, and you had to watch her being happy with somebody else?’
‘But it was so long ago; and he was so much older than Mama. I can’t understand it.’
Steve gave a short laugh, then he said, ‘You can’t understand it? Knowing your mother, being with her all these years, and you can’t understand what it is about her that gets hold of a man?’
Willy bowed his head now; then his voice a mere murmur, he said, ‘I can’t bear the thought of her having had so many men.’
‘Oh, you mustn’t look at it that way, lad. Fact is, it isn’t her who’s had the men, t’other way round, they’ve had her, pursued her, persecuted her. One or two courted her, but they were few compared to the ones who would have liked to. Your mother is a unique woman, Willy, haven’t you realised that? What do you think’s kept me running after her, at her beck and call so to speak, since I was a lad?’
Willy slowly turned his disfigured face towards Steve and he peered at him for a moment before saying, ‘You’re a good man, Steve. She’s lucky to have you . . . for a friend. I’ve . . . I’ve often wondered why you haven’t married her. I’ve thought perhaps it might be . . . well, the difference in position, but knowing that much about her I
know she doesn’t lay much stock on position . . . You’ve never married, Steve?’
‘No, never.’
‘It’s a pity, I think you should be.’
‘Yes, you’re right, I should be, and I intend to be.’
‘Married?’ There was a quick and interested movement of his face which caused Willy to wince and put his hand up to his cheek and, as the door opened, Steve was saying, ‘Yes, I hope to be married and not in the very far future. There’s only one hindrance but I hope to overcome that.’
The room was quiet again and Tilly placed the steak over the whole surface of Willy’s right cheek, and it seemed a long time before anyone spoke, and then Willy, his tone quiet, said, ‘Steve has just been telling me he intends to be married.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You didn’t say.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t all that important.’
The reply could have been taken as a slight insult or as merely an expression of ingratitude for a life of devotion, but to both the younger and the older man it conveyed neither of these things. Strangely, the same thought entered both their minds.
Five
The instigator of Simon Bentwood’s memorable visit to the manor was Randy Simmons. He had for some long time been looking for an opening through which to inform his master of what was going on between his daughter and ‘that one up there’s son’ without exposing himself as a peeping Tom, or of bringing himself further into the black books of his mistress, for Mrs Bentwood had made it plain right from the beginning that she didn’t savour him or his ways. However, because he had been so long employed at the farm he knew he stood well with his master.
So when it should happen that a letter was placed in his hands he, later when explaining it to the mistress, put it in his own words that inadvertently the master had twigged it.
As Tilly’s grandmother had often said to her, no big event ever came about of its own accord, it had to grow, and such events matured from little acts or coincidences or, as in this case, just the changing of a sailing time of a boat going to America.
Tilly Trotter Widowed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 21