For the first time in weeks Tilly smiled widely, and she said, ‘I hope you’ll be happy.’
‘Ta, thanks. He’s a good man. He’s been married afore, his wife died, but he’s a good man. It was him who said last night when we had a minute, “Put her wise” – that was you – “to the set-up inside, you know, who’s what an’ everything.”’ She drew her head back into her shoulders and surveyed Tilly for a moment. Then shaking her head, she said, ‘I must admit you’re a different kettle of fish from Nancy . . . Nancy Dewhurst, that’s the one whose place you’ve taken. She was older than you by years, eighteen she was, but didn’t look half as sensible; cried her eyes out every day. Of course mind, they’ll likely bring you to tears an’ all afore you’re much older, I mean that lot in the nursery. Real hell-bent little devils they are, especially Master Matthew. Oh! that one, he’s got somethin’ missing an’ that’s his horns. Well there, I must get on. You see, the mistress’ mother is comin’ in a fortnight’s time, comes twice a year when the roads are passable. She lives near Scarborough. Oh and don’t you know she’s here! Everybody runs around like scalded cats for a month. An’ you know we’re very understaffed. There used to be twice as many in the house at one time, when the wings were open. Well, when I first come years ago there were over thirty servants inside and out, now there’s about half that many. But they expect the same out of us. Oh aye; yes they expect the same out of us. Anyway’ – she smiled again – ‘if you want to know anything, I’ll be around the first floor till twelve.’
‘Thank you. Thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
As Tilly turned away she called softly to her, ‘Keep your full breakfast half-hour, you’ll need it afore the day’s out,’ and for answer Tilly nodded at her, then went towards the stairs.
Again she was feeling confident, and again a strange feeling of courage was rising in her. She had a friend, in fact she had two friends, the housemaid and the coachman. Well, that wasn’t bad for a start, now was it? No; no, it wasn’t. She ran up the whole flight of stairs to the nursery floor.
At twenty past nine she was standing in the schoolroom and protests were coming at her from all sides. They didn’t want to go out for a walk, it was cold, they wanted to stay in and play. Matthew had some beetles in a box and they were going to race them.
She let them go on with their protests for some minutes; then, holding up her hand, she said, ‘Very well. I shall go downstairs and tell your mother you don’t want to go out. I would go to your father but I saw him leavin’ for the mine some time ago.’
Go and tell their mother! They looked at this new creature, and they really could see her doing just that, especially Matthew. If they upset their mother their father would be told and that would bring up the question again of being sent to boarding school. He didn’t want to go away to school, he liked his life here. He was wise enough to know that he would have no dominion over anyone at boarding school; in fact, he was aware that the tables would be turned and he would have to obey. He didn’t like obeying. But for some strange reason he knew that he had better obey this thin, weak-looking girl who had a grip like iron and who had the habit of staring you out. He turned to his brother and said, ‘Aw, come on,’ and immediately Luke and Jessie Ann repeated, ‘Yes, come on.’ But John just stood, and when she held out her hand and said to him, ‘Come along,’ he looked up at her and said, ‘I’ve w . . . wet myself.’
At this the others doubled up with laughter and, as if their young brother had scored off her for them, they cried almost in one voice, ‘He always wets himself.’
She looked down on the boy and, her voice and face stiff, she said, ‘You’re too big to wet yourself, you should go to the closet.’
Jessie Ann, her wide grey eyes full of mischief, tossed her long ringlets first from one shoulder then to the other and cried, ‘He’ll go on wetting himself until he’s put into trousers, and he won’t have them until he’s five. Luke wetted himself until he was five, didn’t you, Luke?’
Tilly gazed at the little boy, who had every appearance of a girl, dressed in a blue corduroy velvet dress with a white frill at the neck, his thick straight brown hair hanging on to his shoulders. He looked more of a girl than did Jessie Ann. She felt like taking him up in her arms and hugging him, wet as he was underneath; but these were children who, she surmised, at the slightest show of softness in her would make her life unbearable so that she, too, would be crying every day. Well, she wasn’t going to cry every day, she had finished with crying, she was going to get on with this job. So, bending down to the small boy and watched by the other three, she said, ‘Well, I’ll change you this time, John, but if you wet yourself again you’ll keep your wet pants on till they dry on you. An’ you won’t like that, will you now?’
‘N-no.’
‘Well then. An’ should you wet yourself just afore we are goin’ out into the garden then we’ll leave you behind ’cos I won’t be able to waste time changin’ you.’
Where was she getting the words from to talk to children like this? She who had had little to say except to her grandma and granda and, of course, Mrs Ross, dear, dear Mrs Ross. Funny – she straightened up and stood looking over the children’s heads for a moment – wasn’t it strange, but she felt she was acting in much the same way as Mrs Ross would do when dealing with children; in fact she was speaking to them as Mrs Ross had spoken to her Sunday school. She smiled to herself, and when she again looked at the children her voice was brisk and had a happy sound, and, looking at Jessie Ann, she said, ‘Bring me a pair of clean pantaloons from the cupboard.’
‘What!’ Jessie Ann looked as surprised as if she had been told to jump out of the window, and so Tilly leant towards the round fair face and in words slow and clear she said, ‘You heard what I said, Jessie Ann. Bring me a pair of John’s pantaloons from the cupboard.’
After a moment’s pause Jessie Ann did just that, she brought a pair of small pantaloons and handed them to Tilly . . .
The play area in the garden was a stretch of lawn which was bordered by the vegetable garden on one side and a stretch of woodland on the other, and when the children began to play desultorily with a ball she stood watching; until Matthew aimed it directly at her, not for her to catch she understood but with the intention of hitting her, and when she caught it she kept it in her hand for a moment, then threw it to Luke; and Luke threw it to Jessie; and Jessie, after a pause, threw it back again to Tilly; and now Tilly threw it to John, and he ran away with it and they all chased him, and she among them; and when the little boy fell and the other children tumbled on top of him and he began to cry, it was then she picked him up and held him in her arms and her hand cupping the back of his head pressed it into her shoulder as she said, ‘There now. There now. ’Tis all right, you’re not dead,’ while the others stood looking at her in amazement. After a while the play went on.
When they returned to the nursery it was to find an old man sitting there. He rose from a chair before the fire and as she went to take her coat off she looked at him and said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ and he answered, ‘Good morning.’ Then poking his head forward, he added, ‘Your name is?’
‘Trotter. Tilly Trotter, sir.’
‘Tilly Trotter. Trotter Tilly. Tilly Trotter.’ Matthew had his head back now chanting her name, and Mr Burgess, looking at the boy, said, ‘Don’t be silly, Matthew. It’s a nice name, it’s a singing name; a name you can associate with alliteration . . . Ah, now that’s a word we can use this morning, Matthew. You will find out what alliteration means and give me some examples, eh, like, Miss Tilly Trotter?’ He smiled at Tilly and Tilly smiled back at him. Then she stood looking at him as he marshalled the children towards the table. Here could be a third friend. He spoke kindly, he looked kindly. Again she was reminded of Mrs Ross. This man knew words like Mrs Ross did. And then she started visibly as he said, ‘You . . . you were acquainted with Mrs Ross?’
It was a long moment before she answered,
‘Yes, sir.’
‘They . . . they were friends of mine.’ As he inclined his head towards her she wanted to say, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ And she was sorry that he had lost his friends, sorry as she was that she had lost Mrs Ross.
‘She taught you to read and write, did she not . . . Mrs Ross?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As they looked at each other she knew that he knew all about her. Yet he was being civil to her, nice to her; he didn’t blame her for what had happened to his friends.
‘The world is yours if you can read and write.’
Again she answered, ‘Yes, sir.’
Now he turned from her, saying to the children, ‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s begin! For there’s no time to waste, life is short; at the longest it’s short.’
She noticed, with not a little surprise, that the children obeyed him, even Matthew did. They fetched their slates and pencils from a cupboard and took their places around the bare wooden table.
Unobtrusively now, she made her way out of the room and crossed the landing to her own room. Here she hung up her coat and hat and, slumping down on to the side of her bed for a moment, she thought, That’s that! The worst is over, I’m set.
It was fortunate in this moment she didn’t realise that her battle, the real battle of her life, had not yet even begun.
At eleven o’clock she took a tray of hot milk and biscuits to the schoolroom. But just within the doorway she stopped. The tutor was speaking and he was making the words sound like a lilt, like music. He was saying, ‘The boy saw that the land was green, as in the beginning, and water swept, as in the beginning, and as beautiful and mysterious, as in the beginning; and he knew that it was the seasons that made it so for without the seasons what would there be? . . . Devastation! And he asked from where do the seasons get their orders? And the answer came, from the sun . . . Ah, now we’ll talk about the sun, shall we?’
He stopped and looked towards Tilly still standing with the tray of steaming mugs in her hand, and he said, ’Well now, the sun can wait; here is Miss Trotter with refreshment.’
He had called her Miss Trotter. It was the first time in her life she had been called Miss Trotter. It sounded nice somehow.
She handed the children the mugs, and a large one of tea with milk and sugar in it she placed before him; then having set the plate of biscuits in the middle of the table, she withdrew.
The children hadn’t spoken. Mr Burgess, she thought, was a wonderful man, so . . . so like Mrs Ross. The Sunday school children hadn’t talked either when Mrs Ross was speaking.
At dinner time the meal was good, and she noted that she was given a fair share like everyone else; but no-one spoke to her, except Phyllis Coates and the coachman. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. When Mrs Lucas had inspected the nursery floor she had hardly said two words to her, although all during her inspection she had kept muttering, ‘Hm! Hm!’ However, in the afternoon Miss Price had been more verbal, much more verbal.
‘You are not to say “you” to the children,’ she said; ‘you’ll address them in the following manner: Master Matthew, Master Luke, Master John, and Miss Jessie Ann. You understand?’
She had said she understood.
‘And go down at once and tell Mrs Lucas to fit you up with suitable uniform.’
When she had carried out this order, Mrs Lucas had not been at all pleased; she had muttered something under her breath that sounded like bitch. But then it couldn’t possibly have been – a woman in Mrs Lucas’ position wouldn’t call anyone in Miss Price’s position a bitch.
Towards the end of the day she had one pleasant surprise. The master came up to the nursery and, after talking to the children, he called her out on to the landing, and there he said, ‘Well, how’s it gone?’
‘Very well, sir,’ she had answered.
‘Do you think you can manage them?’
‘I’m having a good try, sir.’
‘They haven’t played any of their tricks on you yet?’
‘Not as yet, sir.’
‘There’s plenty of time.’ He had smiled at her. ‘Look out for Matthew; he’s a rip, as I’ve already indicated.’
‘I’ll look out for him, sir.’
‘That’s right. Goodnight, Trotter.’
As he turned from her she said, ‘Sir ,’ and he looked towards her again. ‘Yes?’
‘I would just like to say thank you for . . . for givin’ me the post, sir.’
‘’Tis nothing. ’Tis nothing.’ He shook his head, smiled once more at her, then went quickly from the landing; and she stood until the sound of his feet running down the stairs was smothered in the carpet of the lower floor . . .
She had seen them to bed, she had tidied up the schoolroom, carried down the last slops from the closet, washed out the pails, then by the light of the candle she had taken in the waist of the print dress she was to wear tomorrow and moved the buttons on the bodice and on the cuffs. It was ten o’clock now and she was dying with sleep. Getting out of her dress, stockings and shoes, she left on her bodice and petticoat to sleep in and, pulling the cover back, she got into bed, thrust her feet down, then only just in time smothered a high scream as the thing jumped around her legs.
Within a split second she was standing on the floor again. Gulping in her throat, she groped around for the candle, then made her way out on to the lighted landing and lit her candle from the lamp. Back in the room she held it in her shaking hand over the bed; and there, as startled as she was, sat a large frog.
A gurgle came into her throat and steadied the trembling of her hand. The little devil! And he was a devil. He wasn’t just an imp like some young lads, he was a devil. It was in his eyes, and she was going to have trouble with him if she didn’t do something about it. These were the kind of tricks which could scare the daylights out of you, and once he got away with it they would get worse. What should she do? She leant forward and picked up the frog just as he was about to make another leap. She had handled numerous frogs, having had to save many of them from losing legs when they took refuge under pieces of wood she had been about to chop.
She turned and looked towards the door. They were both likely out there, the two older ones anyway, waiting to hear her scream.
. . . Do unto others as you’d have them do to you. Her granny was again in her head, but her saying was a little confused now with her grandfather’s laughing remark to his wife’s parable: Do for others before they do for you. Anyway, she would give Master Matthew tit for tat, and see how that worked.
Silently she crept out of the room and into the boys’ room. They were now both tucked well down in bed, but instinctively she knew that Matthew was very much awake and had only just scrambled into his bed. Placing the candlestick on the box table to the side of the bed, she gently pulled down the bedclothes that half covered the boy’s face, and as gently she lifted up the neck of his nightshirt, then with a quick movement she thrust the frog down on to his chest.
The result of her action frightened her more than when the frog had jumped up her bare legs, for when the animal’s clammy body flopped against the boy’s bare flesh he let out an ear-splitting scream, and then another, before jumping out of bed and shaking madly at his nightshirt.
When the frog leapt on to her bare feet before making its escape under the bed, she took no heed but, gripping the boy’s shoulders and shaking him, she cried, ‘Whist! Whist!’ and when he became quiet she bent down to his gasping mouth and said, ‘Tit for tat. I told you, didn’t I?’
She turned her head now quickly towards the door when she heard running steps on the stairs, and she had only just pushed him back into bed when the door was burst open and Mark Sopwith appeared.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
The boy was sitting up in bed and he stammered, ‘Fa . . . Father, Fa . . . Father.’
Mark took hold of him, then said, ‘What’s the matter? Did you have a dream?’
The boy now glanced from his father t
owards Tilly and it was she who stammered now, ‘Ye . . . ye . . . yes. Yes, he had a dream, a night . . . nightmare.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong? The mistress is upset.’
They all looked towards Mabel Price who had burst in and was standing at the foot of the bed dressed in a blue dressing gown with her hair hanging down her back in two plaits, and Mark said, ‘He’s had a nightmare. Too much supper likely. It’s all right . . . Tell your mistress he’s all right. I’ll be down presently.’ His tone was curt and held a dismissal, and after looking from one to the other she left the room.
‘Settle down now, you’re all right.’ He pressed his son back into the pillows, and when the boy said again, ‘Father,’ he asked, ‘What is it?’
There was a long pause before Matthew muttered, ‘Nothing, nothing.’
‘There now, go to sleep.’ He tucked the clothes around the boy’s shoulders; then nodding to Tilly, he beckoned her out of the room.
On the landing he looked at her standing in her petticoat and bodice. He hadn’t realised before that she was only partly undressed. She must, he imagined, have been getting ready for bed. Although she was tall, almost as tall as himself, she looked like a very young girl, for her face had a childlike quality. He said, ‘Did he have a lot to eat tonight?’
‘No, sir . . . and’ – her head drooped – ‘and it wasn’t a nightmare.’
‘No?’ It was a question.
‘Well, you see, sir, when I got into bed I was startled like ’cos I found . . . well, he’d put a frog in me bed, and . . . and I thought the only way to get the better of him was tit for tat. He . . . he must have been waitin’ for me screamin’ and . . . and I just stopped meself, but . . . but I didn’t think he’d be frightened like that when I put it down his shirt.’
Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 19