‘Tell him . . . tell him I’m not free, not till after the morrow when they go,’ she said.
‘Look’ – Phyllis took the child from her arms – ‘go on, slip down the back way, you needn’t go through the kitchen. Go through the still room and out that door; you can whistle him down the yard.’
When she hesitated, Phyllis pushed her, saying, ‘Go on, they can’t do much more to you, you’ll be out on your heels the morrow, anyway.’
Yes, Phyllis was right, an escapade like this could at any other time have brought on the sack, but she was already for the sack, so what matter.
When she reached a corner of the yard she saw Steve standing looking over the half door of a horse box, and she did whistle him. He turned sharply, then came towards her at a run. His face was bright, his eyes laughing. He began straightaway, saying, ‘I had to see you, I’ve some good news. Our Hal’s gone for a sailor.’
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened into a gape before she repeated, ‘Gone for a sailor?’
‘Aye; him and wor Mick an’ all. George was with them. They were on the quay in Newcastle. They got into a fight, George said, with three other fellows, proper sailors, ’cos they were scoffing them. Our Hal and Mick said they couldn’t paddle canoes and the sailors jumped them. Our George run for it an’ hid behind a warehouse an’ he saw two fellows come off a big ship an’ talk to the sailors; then together they hoisted our Hal and Mick up the gangway, an’ the last our George saw of them was when these fellows seemed to be dropping them down a hatchway.
Steve now bowed his head and, putting his hand round his waist, he began to laugh; then looking up at Tilly, he said, ‘I’ve laughed more since yesterday than I’ve done in me life, I think, ’cos our George was afraid to come in and tell me ma and da what had happened to their shining pair. You see an hour or so after they were took on board the ship up anchor an’ went off, and when George asked some fella on the quay where it was bound for he said some place like the Indies . . . Aw! Tilly’ – he caught hold of her arm – ‘can you imagine what they’ll be like when they wake up? Our Hal’s always hated the water, he wouldn’t go swimmin’ in the burn with the other lads. The great big “I am” hated the water.’ He now threw his head back and when his laugh rang out, Tilly, her own face creased with smiles, cried at him, ‘Ssh! Ssh! you’ll have the kitchen lot out on us.’ Then pulling him round the corner and through an archway from where a narrow path led to the middens, she looked at him and whispered, ‘Oh, Steve, ’tis the best news I’ve heard in me life I think. I was worried sick. You see, I’ll likely be out of a job the morrow.’
‘Why?’ His voice was sharp. ‘They sackin’ you?’
‘No, no. Well, not sackin’ me, but the mistress is leavin’ to go to her mother’s house. There’s been trouble atween her and the master and she’s taking the children with her.’
‘Aw’ – he shook his head – ‘nobody’s allowed to have good news, are they, not without bad followin’?’
‘Oh, I don’t mind now, well, not so much. But I liked it back there’ – she jerked her head towards the high wall – ‘yet the thought of meeting up with your Hal again was terrifyin’ me.’
‘Well, you’re safe now for a year, perhaps two or three. Me da said if the ship was bound for the Indies it could be for trading an’ they mightn’t see these shores again for years. Eeh! he did go on, nearly went mad. Me ma didn’t, she just said, “Bloody fools.” And you know, Tilly, from the stories I’ve heard ’bout ships an’ sailors he’ll get his deserts all right.’ Without pausing a moment, he looked up at her and, the smile sliding from his face, he said, ‘’Twas my birthday yesterday, I was sixteen, Tilly.’
‘Oh you were, Steve? Oh I’m so glad. May it return again and again.’
‘Thank you, Tilly. I wish I’d been eighteen.’
‘You will be soon enough.’
‘Do you like me, Tilly?’
‘Like you? Of course I do, Steve. You know I do, you’re my friend.’ She stressed the word, then said quickly, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll have to be goin’, one of the maids is standin’ in for me, there’ll be trouble if she’s caught.’
‘Oh aye, aye. But wait a minute.’
As she moved away he put his arm out to her and checked her, saying, ‘Where will you go? I want to know.’
‘I haven’t really thought. I could go back to the woodshed at the cottage, but I think I might go and see Mrs Drew. She’s a nice woman. You know, you saw Katie that day an’ her brother Sam. Mrs Drew will tell me what to do, and they’ll take me in for a night, I’m sure, until I find me feet.’
‘Can I come and see you there?’
There was a pause before she said, ‘Why yes, Steve, of course. Now I really must be goin’. Thank you. Thank you for your news, Steve. Oh aye, aye, thank you.’
‘It’s all right, Tilly. I . . . I don’t mind what I do, for you.’ His voice trailed away.
She walked backwards from him for a number of steps before, smiling and nodding at him, she said, ‘Will you be able to find your way out?’
‘Aye, I found it in, I’ll find it out.’
On this she turned and ran back through the archway and into the yard; but once having passed into the still room she paused for a moment and closed her eyes. It was a good job, she thought, Steve was only sixteen, else she’d be having trouble with him. No, no; that was the wrong word to use about Steve, she owed Steve a lot, not trouble. Well, she said to herself, you know what I mean. Then as quietly as possible she scurried out of the room, along the passage and then came to a dead stop for there, with their backs to her, were the housekeeper and the butler, and the housekeeper’s voice not unduly low was saying, ‘Tomorrow I’ll come into me own, then I’ll sort them out, all of them. There’ll be changes here, and I’m starting with cook. I’m going to put a stop to her fiddling on the side right away. In future I’ll be in that kitchen to meet the tradesmen from the top to the bottom of them. In any case there won’t be so many pickings after this with six less.’
‘Six less?’ It was a quiet enquiry from the butler, and she said ‘Yes, six. The mistress and the children and Madam Price; then there’s the old man, Burgess, and that weird witch of a girl who gets on me nerves every time I look at her. That’s one I’ll be glad to see the back of, and once the mistress is out of this house she’ll be the first to take her bundle, you’ll see.’
And Tilly saw. At twelve o’clock the next day only half an hour after the coach had left taking the mistress, her mother, and the children away, she was walking down the back drive with her bundle.
Only Phyllis had wished her goodbye and Godspeed; the rest of the staff paid no attention to her, they were too taken up with the war that was going on between the housekeeper and the cook. They all really knew that because of Mrs Lucas’ seniority she would win, nevertheless they were interested in the battle even though they all stood to lose by the inevitable outcome.
Tilly had not heard one of them say, not even Phyllis, that they were sorry the mistress was going, nor to ask what the master was going to do now he would be left on his own. Strangely, she hadn’t seen the master since this business had flared up three days ago, and to her knowledge he hadn’t seen the children. He certainly hadn’t come up to the nursery, unless he had done so while she was dead asleep. She was sorry for him. Of course, he hadn’t acted right by his wife, but then, as they had said around the table time and time again, the mistress was no use to him in the way a wife should be, so perhaps he wasn’t entirely to blame. She still liked him, she still thought he was a kind man. Anyway, he’d been kind to her.
When she reached the lower gates she stood outside the disused lodge and looked at the gaping windows. Nobody had lived in there for years they said. It was almost overgrown with grass, as were the gates that were never closed now. This part of the estate had been sadly neglected. She wished she could have a little house like that. It would be lovely, like living in the cottage again.
Sh
e stood looking at it for a moment while she thought, if Mrs Drew can’t take me in I’ll come back and sleep there the night. The master wouldn’t mind I’m sure. And the thought directed her steps through the tall grass and weeds to the window. Through it, the room appeared dark and she couldn’t see anything. She pushed her way now along the wall and round to the back of the lodge, and there to her surprise she found a pathway had been made leading from the back door away into the long grass and the thicket of the wood beyond. So somebody came here.
She was passing the narrow scullery window next to the back door when she heard the rustle of footsteps coming through the dried grass, and she turned and almost dived into a thicket behind her.
The footsteps seemed to come to a stop just near her head. Then her mouth slowly opened and she stifled an exclamation as she saw a hand come down through the grass, turn over a small stone and take something from under it. She next heard a key grating in the lock of the back door and before she had time hardly to close her mouth the key grated again; then the hand came through the grass and placed it under the stone once more.
When the footsteps died away she laid her face down among the stems and let out one long-drawn breath after another. Then she asked herself why she was afraid of anyone seeing her round by the lodge. Well, she told herself, they would put two and two together and think she was going to stay there and the next thing that would happen would be Mrs Lucas bearing down upon her.
She now put out her hand and unearthed the key and, looking at it, she asked herself who it was had gone in and out of there so quickly, and why? Getting up, she turned and looked in the direction of the wood. Whoever it was had come from the house, and this wasn’t their first trip not by a long chalk. She nodded to herself.
She went quickly to the door and inserted the key; then she was standing in what had been the scullery and the reason for the secret visit was immediately apparent. On a bench within an arm’s length of her stood a skip holding at least three dozen eggs, and next to it lay a whole sucking pig that must have been recently slaughtered; on the floor below the bench were two other skips, one full of plums and the other holding large luscious bunches of grapes.
Eeh! the things that went on. All this pinched from the small stock. She shook her head. The Manor didn’t have a home farm, but there were a hundred or so hens in the lower meadows and three sties full of pigs. Mr Pilby, besides helping in the garden, looked after the livestock, but Mr Summers was the chief one outside and he looked after the greenhouses. Her head was still shaking as she thought, They’re all at it inside and out. Yet both Mr Summers and Mr Pilby were as mean as muck; she’d had personal experience of this. One day when she was out with the children and she’d pulled an apple off a tree, Mr Summers had gone for her. And to think they were doing this all the time. They were robbing the master. Did they think of it that way?
She could have understood it if they were slipping something to somebody outside who was out of work or who never saw a grape or an apple for that matter, but to sell it in piles like this. A feeling of anger rising in her, she turned abruptly away and, after locking the door, she replaced the key and went round the lodge and into the road.
One thing was clear. If Mrs Drew couldn’t take her in she couldn’t go back to that place and sleep, she’d have to make her way to the shed behind the cottage . . . But what if there was a tramp in it?
Now not only did her head shake but her whole body gave an impatient jerk; she’d have to meet that trouble when she came to it. Let her get to Mrs Drew’s first . . .
Biddy Drew hailed her with warmth but with some surprise, saying, ‘What brings you at this time of the day, lass?’
‘I’ve . . . I’ve lost me job, Mrs Drew.’
‘They sacked you?’
‘Wasn’t like that, no. The mistress . . . well, there’s been trouble and she’s gone back to her mother an’ taken the bairns with her and so I’m not needed any more.’
‘Huh! I said it all along, ’tisn’t only the poor that have their troubles. Well, come along in, lass, that’s if you can get in. As you see I’m up to me eyes in soapsuds; twice a week I have to be at it. I pick me day ’cos I like to get them dried outside; if not, you have them hangin’ round the room for evermore. Look, push that lot off there’ – she pointed to a large mound of pit clothes lying on the form – ‘and sit yourself down. I’ll put the kettle on; I’m in need of a drink meself, me tongue’s hangin’ out.’
Tilly didn’t sit down but she placed her bundle on the form and said, ‘Can I help you?’
‘Help me?’ Biddy turned and looked at her; then smiling widely, she said, ‘Aye, well, you might. But you’ll have to take your hat and coat off first, wouldn’t you, lass? Then we’ll have that sup tea an’ a bit crack, an’ then we’ll get goin’.’
Tilly took off her hat and coat and hung them on the nail on the back of the door leading into the other room and as she did so, she said, ‘Where’s everybody the day?’
‘Oh, Peg, Katie and Sam are down below’ – Biddy nodded her head towards the floor – ‘Bill and Arthur were on back shift, they’re asleep in there.’ She nodded now towards the other room and when Tilly drew her lips together and said quietly, ‘Oh,’ Biddy said, ‘You needn’t whisper, lass, the militia could go marching through here an’ it wouldn’t disturb either of them once they got their heads down. Fanny and Jimmy are in the fields at Richardson’s farm, cleanin’ up.’ The smile sliding from her face, she said, ‘It’s hard work for a bairn of seven, but she’s in the air and light and that’s something.’
As they sat down on the bench, mugs of steaming weak tea in their hands, there came a high cry from behind the fireplace wall, and when Tilly turned sharply and looked behind her, Biddy laughed and said, ‘Oh that’s Annie Waters. She’s as deaf as a stone; some of them must have got into bed without washin’ and she’s hauling them out. Seven she’s got an’ all men. They’re all down below an’ they’re a mucky lot. Pit dust or not, they’re still mucky.’ She smiled tolerantly, then said, ‘Well, lass, come on, let us have your news.’
Tilly gave her the news, and when she had finished, Biddy, inclining her head towards her, said quietly, ‘Well, he’s no better or no worse than any of the rest of them. The gentry were ever like that. As me mother used to say, if one doesn’t satisfy a man, ten won’t. But on the other hand there’s some women, lass, worse than men, and when you get a woman inclined that way, well, nothin’ll stop her except that she should be taken to bed every year with a bairn. But about your Lady Myton, well, that lady is makin’ a name for hersel’, I can tell you that. It isn’t the first time I’ve heard about her. And she’s a right madam, but in the high and mighty way you know, servants are scum ’neath her feet. There’s gentry and gentry, lass, and some of them would use you like cattle. The McCanns at the far end of the row’ – she jerked her head towards the door – ‘their Peggy was sent home from her place outside Newcastle. The lasses in that house used to be sent from the kitchen upstairs to a special room and there the dirty old bugger had his way with them. And one of the stable lads was always blamed for it. By the way—’ she leant forward and asked Tilly a personal question now and Tilly, the colour flooding to her face, lowered her eyes as she said, ‘Yes, me granny told me, Mrs Drew, after I started when I was thirteen.’
‘Aw well, you know all about it then. But nevertheless, lass, take care, keep your eyes open and your skirt down an’ you’ll be all right.’
‘Yes, Mrs Drew.’
Biddy finished the last of her tea; then getting to her feet, she said, ‘Of course there’s black and white in all classes, lass; ’tisn’t only the gentry for there’s the keeker up at the pit, Dave Rice, he’d have you on your back afore you could say give over if he had his way. I meself have had to fight him off afore this. Dirty old bugger! The last time he had a go at me I threatened to put me pick shaft where it had never been afore if he didn’t leave over.’
‘You were down the min
e, Mrs Drew?’ Tilly’s eyes widened.
‘Fifteen years, lass, fifteen years.’ She turned her head away now and looked towards the open doorway leading into the mud road and, her voice dropping, she said, ‘’Twasn’t bad as I got older, but I was but a bit of a bairn when I first went down. God! I was scared to death, crawling, crawling, crawling, day after day, me knees and me hands bleedin’. I didn’t know what it was all about.’ She turned and looked at Tilly. ‘A child can’t take it in, you know; that’s why I’m not for lettin’ my Fanny or Jimmy go down. The others have had to in order that we should eat, but we’re not doin’ so bad now an’ they’re all with me in this to keep the last two clear of that bloody black hole.’ Her voice ended on a bitter note; then her tone changing quickly again, she said, ‘Well, let’s for the washtub, lass. If you’re goin’ to help, take this lot there and put them through the mangle. It’s out in the back under the lean-to, you know where. Then hang them on the line.’
‘Yes, Mrs Drew.’ As Tilly went to pick up the tin bath of wet clothes she paused for a moment and said, ‘About tonight, Mrs Drew, do you think . . . do you think I could stay here until I get fixed up the morrow some place?’
‘Where else, lass? Where else? It might be on the mat in front of the fire, or you might have to stand up against the wall.’ She laughed, then said, ‘Go on, go on, you’ll always have a place to rest your head here.’
Warmed, and almost on the point of tears, which kindness always evoked in her, she went out through the back door to the lean-to where an iron mangle stood, its wooden rollers worn thin in the middle. It was of a type similar to the one that she had used in the cottage and so it was no hardship to wring out the clothes; but when it came to pegging them out, which meant her going into the lane which was bordered by the middens, her stomach almost heaved with the smell. But then she chided herself, for what did the smell matter when she had been received with such kindness.
Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 24