Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy)

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, sir, yes; oh yes, sir, I would love that.’ She moved forward on her chair and bent towards him eagerly as she said, ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Good, good; that’ll make me happy too. I’m longing to see them.’

  ‘I can understand that, sir.’

  ‘Of course we’ve got to take the weather into account, but I think we’ll have a thaw and the roads will be clear. Ah’ – he turned towards the door – ‘here comes tea.’

  Simes was entering the room carrying a large silver tray on which was set a silver tea service. He was followed by Amy Stiles. She was carrying a four-tiered cake stand on which there were plates of bread and butter, sandwiches and cakes. She set the stand down to the side of the table which was placed against the basket chair. She did not raise her eyes and look at Tilly, nor did Simes look at her, not even when the master said, ‘That’ll do; Trotter will see to me,’ did they look in her direction.

  When the door had closed on them, Mark, leaning towards her, said, ‘Pretend you’re back in the nursery and about to feed the five thousand.’

  She smiled as she rose hastily to her feet, and after she had poured out the tea into the thin china cups she laid a napkin across the shawl that covered his legs, then handed him a small plate with one hand and extended the large plate of bread and butter towards him with the other. But he shook his head and said, ‘I rarely eat at teatime,’ and taking the bread plate from her, he poked his head towards her as he said softly, ‘Tuck in.’

  She wanted to act polite as her granny would have wished, but her stomach told her that politeness was stupid in this case, and so she tucked in. She had four pieces of bread and butter, she had three sandwiches and two pieces of cake, and as she ate she tried to do it delicately, not as her appetite bade her and gulp. She had never tasted food like this for months, and not even while she had worked in this house, for then the bread in the kitchen had been cut in collops. At one stage she became embarrassed that he didn’t talk while she was eating but sat looking at her, and then he said, ‘I hope you got all the things I sent you when in hospital?’

  She swallowed deeply, staring at him, her mouth slightly agape; then the colour suffused her thin cheeks and she was about to say, ‘Yes, thank you,’ when he asked pointedly, ‘You got the packages?’

  She gulped again before she now said hesitantly, ‘Yes . . . thank you.’

  ‘You didn’t get them?’

  She bowed her head, then turned and looked towards the window as she said, ‘No, sir, I didn’t get anything from you.’

  ‘Bloody lot of thieves!’

  It was strange to hear him swear, but in this moment he sounded very much like Sam when he was railing against the check weighman or the pit masters as a whole.

  ‘Things go astray in a hospital, sir.’

  ‘If my orders had been carried out, Trotter, these things would not have gone astray. I ordered special food to be sent four times, it was supposed to have been delivered to you.’

  She watched him grind his teeth, then droop his head towards his chest as he said, ‘Things are not right in this house. This is what happens when there’s no mistress to take charge.’

  As she stared at him she could have said, ‘Things were happening like this when the mistress was here, sir,’ but she doubted if he would have believed it.

  ‘Well’ – his head bobbed on his shoulder now – ‘someone will pay for this, you mark my words.’

  ‘Please, please, sir, I . . . I don’t want to cause trouble. You see I’ve got to face this. They didn’t like me when I was here, except Mr Leyburn and Phyllis, Phyllis Coates. The rumours from the village had followed me, about . . . about me being a witch, and things like that. They resented me, and at the same time, although it’s hard to believe, sir, they were a bit afraid of me, and . . . and once or twice I played on that with Ada Tennant – she’s the scullery maid you know.’ She smiled now and for the first time she asked him a direct question, ‘Do I look like a witch, sir?’

  She saw his shoulders move, and then he began to chuckle before surprising her with his next remark. ‘Yes, yes, you do, Trotter, you look very much like a witch, but a kind witch, a benevolent witch.’

  ‘Oh, sir!’

  ‘You charmed my children anyway into some semblance of order, especially when the rip went. Well now, to get back to the question of the children. I would like you to get the rooms prepared upstairs. I asked Mrs Lucas this morning if anything had been done up there of late and she had to admit that there hadn’t. She put it down to the fact that they had all been very busy and concerned about me.’ He pulled a slight face. ‘I can smell an excuse a mile off. Yet’ – he sighed now – ‘I’ve got to admit we’re very understaffed; for the size of this house we’re very understaffed. You know, Trotter, in my father’s time you couldn’t move for maids and menservants, you were tripping over them. Ah well, those days are gone. Now’ – he leaned back in the chair – ‘when do you think you’ll be fit to start?’

  ‘Oh, any time, sir.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say any time; by the look of you I think you are in need of a few more days’ rest. Would you like to come here and take it? Your room is still vacant, I imagine, upstairs.’

  ‘Oh no, sir, no, sir.’ The words came at a rush. ‘No; I’d better not come before I’m needed.’

  He made no immediate answer, but stared at her for a long moment before saying, ‘Someone of your disposition, Trotter, will always be needed . . . Well, say three days’ time?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘In the meantime, by the look of you I think you need feeding up. Ring that bell there, will you?’ He pointed to a thick twisted rope with tassels which was hanging to the side of the fireplace, and as she pulled it twice, which was the signal that he needed attention, she imagined she heard the clanging of the bell in the kitchen and the reluctant scurrying towards the stairs.

  When Simes came into the room, Mark turned to him and said, ‘I had chicken for lunch, I hardly touched it; tell cook to pack it up. And also the remains of the pressed tongue and a couple of jars of preserves. And tell Pike that I need a bottle of burgundy. When was the last baking done?’

  ‘I . . . I wouldn’t know, sir.’

  ‘You’re below stairs and you don’t know when the cook was baking! Couldn’t you smell it, man?’

  ‘I . . . I think yesterday, sir.’

  ‘Then tell her to send up a couple of loaves and cakes too, and bacon, a couple of pounds of it . . . the best end.’

  ‘Yes, s . . . ir.’ The words were spaced now, and when Simes was almost out of the door his master stopped him with, ‘Wait! I want them packed in a hamper and brought up here. I wish to inspect them, you understand?’

  Again the man said, ‘Yes, sir.’ But now the words were clipped and a slight agitation showed in his manner.

  Tilly was sitting now on the edge of her chair. She was embarrassed; he was meaning all this food for her to take away with her. She should refuse it. But no, she wouldn’t. She could see it all spread out on that bare wooden table; she could see the gleam in the eyes of the youngsters, especially when they saw the cakes. But mingled with her embarrassment was a certain bewilderment, she was puzzled by his manner. All the time she had been in this house before she had never heard him speak to the servants as he was doing today. But then she had never heard him talk as he was talking now. As she had thought earlier, he was a different man from the master she had respected, and an altogether different man from the one she had come to know down in the darkness. There was a roughness about him, and a hardly suppressed anger.

  Her eyes resting on the foot of the chair where the cover, instead of being supported by the toes of two feet, dropped smoothly over the edge, she thought sadly that it was because of his feet he was fighting inside of himself, because of his feet he was taking it out of the staff, likely because there was nobody else to take it out on. None of his own people were with him. That was sad
. Why didn’t the mistress come back? She was no woman to leave him like this alone. Granted she was poorly, but her presence would have been a comfort to him.

  ‘What are you thinking, Trotter? You’re miles away.’

  Caught off her guard, she turned her eyes quickly from the foot of the chair and said, ‘Oh, something that me granny used to say.’

  ‘What was it?’

  What did her granny say? Her granny had so many sayings. ‘Well, she used to say, when one door shuts another one opens.’

  ‘And you think one has opened for you?’

  She smiled brightly now, knowing she could say in truth, ‘Yes, sir. This time last week the future looked pretty black, no work, nothing, and now I’m to have my old job back, well, just for a short while. But . . . but I’m very grateful. And yes, as me granny would have said, the door has opened for me, sir.’

  His face was straight and his eyes looked blank as he said now, ‘The people in the rows are all out of work, what are they doing?’

  ‘Travellin’ the road, sir, looking for jobs. Sam, he was one of your hewers, perhaps you won’t remember him, but he was the one that Mr Rosier sacked because he was learning to read.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I remember him all right.’

  ‘Well, he’s got work in a candle factory. It’s nothin’ compared to the mine but . . . but it’s something. The fear among them is of being turned out on to the road and . . . ’ Her eyes widened, her mouth fell into a slight gape – she had forgotten for a moment to whom the cottages belonged. When she closed her mouth and gulped he reminded her of the very words. He gave a slightly mirthless laugh as he said, ‘You forgot for the moment, Trotter, didn’t you, you were talking to the landlord?’

  Her head was down and she said, ‘Yes, yes, I did, sir.’

  ‘Well, you can tell them they’re safe for a time, until the place is sold. In any case, whoever takes over might start the mine up again.’ He made a jerking movement now and brought himself up straight in the chair and, leaning well forward towards her, he said, ‘Don’t pass that on, Trotter, I mean about anybody taking the place over.’

  ‘No, sir, I won’t.’

  ‘You give them the assurance that they’re not going to be turned out but . . . but the fact that I may eventually sell the place, well that slipped out, you understand?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir; yes, sir; I’ll say nothing about that.’

  ‘Ah! at last.’ He turned and looked to where Simes was entering the room carrying a weighty hamper, and he said to him, ‘Place it down there,’ pointing to the floor between the basket chair and Tilly’s feet; then without looking at the man, he said, ‘Tell Leyburn to have the coach round in . . . well, what shall we say?’ He looked towards the window. ‘It’s getting dark, say fifteen minutes’ time. Then you return and take this hamper downstairs and place it in the coach.’ He paused now, then looking up quickly into Simes’ face, he said, ‘You heard what I said, Simes, didn’t you? Place . . . it . . . in . . . the . . . coach.’

  The man’s face was red, his manner definitely troubled.

  The door closed again. ‘Well now,’ he said, ‘take what’s left on that stand, Trotter, and put it in the hamper.’

  ‘Oh, sir, there’s enough.’

  ‘Do as I tell you, girl.’

  She did as he told her, and then she closed the lid and, rising from her knees, she looked down at him as she said softly, ‘Thank you, sir. I’m grateful, so grateful.’

  When he held out his hand she placed hers in it, and as he shook it gently he said, ‘If I remember, we prepared to die like this, didn’t we, Trotter?’

  There was a lump in her throat. ‘Yes, sir; we did that.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Trotter.’

  ‘Oh, sir.’ She shook her head, holding back the tears; then turning quickly, she picked up her hat and coat and after she had placed the hat squarely on her head and buttoned up the coat to the neck she sat down once again on the edge of the chair waiting, and he, quiet now, sat looking at her.

  She was so young, so thin, so poorly clad, but there was something about her face that was ageless; it was a kind of knowledge in the back of her eyes. It was the eyes that gave off the witch impression, he supposed. They were deep brown yet clear like pebbles that had been constantly washed by the sea, no impurity in them. She could have been his daughter born between Harry and Matthew. She intensified the longing he had to see his children, to hold Jessie Ann in his arms again. The anger that had subsided during this last hour or so rose for a moment and he cried inside, ‘Damn! Blast her to hell! She’s cruel, cruel.’ Why hadn’t she come back? Any woman worth her salt knowing the predicament he was in would have returned, if only to lie on her chaise longue again. He had the dreadful feeling he was going to cry. He blinked and turned a thankful glance as the door opened and Simes came in once more.

  Tilly was on her feet now. ‘Goodbye, sir,’ she said, ‘and thank you so much. I’ll . . . I’ll be here on Monday.’

  ‘Good, good. Thank you, Trotter. I’ll have the coach sent for you.’

  She wanted to say, ‘There’s no need, sir, I can walk’; instead, she remained silent and inclined her head by way of acknowledging his kindness. Then she went out, followed by Simes carrying the hamper.

  There was no-one in the hall, Biddy’s shawl was lying across the back of a carved hall chair standing between the windows. She picked it up and placed it around her shoulders. There was no butler to open the door, and she noted that Simes had to place the heavy hamper on the floor before he undid the latch of the front door. Then so hard did he push it back that it hit the wall with a resounding bang.

  Fred Leyburn was standing on the gravel drive awaiting her approach. He had taken the hamper from Simes and placed it inside the coach, and now he held out his hand and assisted her up the step, and as he did so, he murmured, ‘Be careful, madam,’ and when from under her lashes she looked at him, he winked broadly at her, which made her almost fall on to the seat. She had a most inordinate desire to laugh, yet she knew it wouldn’t remain ordinary laughter but would be the kind of laughter that finished up with her crying.

  A door had opened just a little bit; she somehow sensed it could swing wide, and if it did, as Mrs Drew had advised, she was going to take whatever came through it and grab it with both hands.

  Three

  ‘It’s a bloody conspiracy.’

  ‘Don’t you dare use that language in my presence, Mark Sopwith!’

  ‘Well, it is. If you could travel the road why couldn’t the children?’

  ‘Because as I told you both Luke and Jessie Ann have developed whooping cough.’

  ‘Well, in that case I say again, Matthew and John would be well out of it.’

  ‘Doctor Fellows advised strongly against it. Anyway, you have Harry coming for the holidays, you won’t be alone.’

  ‘Harry is a grown-up man, I want my children around me . . . She’s done this on purpose, hasn’t she, just to spite me?’

  ‘Don’t be so childish, Mark. Really! you have become impossible. She was very concerned for you.’

  ‘Huh! she’s shown it. If she was concerned she would have been back here.’

  ‘She’s in no state to see to an invalid.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be expected to see to me, and well you know it; but she should be here.’

  ‘What! and countenance your mistress?’

  ‘Hell’s flames, woman!’ He tossed his head from one side to the other; then grabbing a book from the table he flung it across the room, bawling, ‘I’ve no mistress! It was finished long before she got wind of it.’

  Jane Forefoot-Meadows stood with her hand gripping the black velvet bow pinned to the top of her plum velvet dress. That she was shocked and not a little frightened was evident, and she stood speechless staring at her son-in-law while he, his head bowed, muttered now, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, only I’m so damned lonely here, Mother-in-law.’ He lifted his head now and looked at her and
asked quietly, ‘Have you any idea what my life is like? The contrast is too much to take at once, a house buzzing with children’s voices and a complaint every time I open the door about one or other of them being up to their tricks, then an almost empty house; well, empty of every person that mattered to me. That was bad enough but I was able to get out, go to work, ride, move’ – his voice was rising again – ‘but now!’ He turned his hand palm upwards and held it out towards the bottom of the long chair. ‘I tell you, Mother-in-law, sometimes I feel I’ll go mad.’

  ‘Doesn’t anyone visit you?’ Her voice was soft now, her tone sympathetic.

  ‘One or two, the men; but they always come alone, they never bring their wives. Sometimes I want to laugh, but most times’ – his head drooped – ‘I just curse.’

  ‘I’ve noticed that in the short time I’ve been with you. Yes, I’ve noticed that.’ Her voice was astringent again. ‘You never used to use such language.’

  He looked up at her, and with a twisted smile on his face he said, ‘Yes, I did, but not in front of you or the children.’ And now he put out his hand. ‘Forgive me. I . . . I appreciate what you’ve done in coming yourself, I do really.’

  She came and sat beside him and asked, ‘When is Harry coming?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow I think. He was here the first two or three days after they found me but I didn’t know much about it. It was no use him staying; he couldn’t do anything and he had accepted an invitation at the end of term to go to France with a friend of his. But by his last letter he should be here two or three days before Christmas.’

  ‘That’ll be nice; you won’t be alone.’

  ‘No, I won’t be alone.’

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then she said, ‘Doctor Fellows is looking into the business of—’ She stopped embarrassed, and he prompted, ‘Yes? Tell me. About the feet?’ She wetted her lips and inclined her head, then said, ‘Yes. But he thinks it might be six months or more; what I mean is, they can’t do very much until the wounds are . . . well, healed.’