‘Yes, I understand.’
‘There is a man in Scarborough who has been fitted with a complete leg’ – she was nodding at him now, warming to her theme – ‘and no-one would ever believe it, you can’t tell which is the real and which is the artificial one. Of course, in your case it will be slightly more difficult because . . . ’
‘Yes, yes, Mother-in-law,’ he interrupted her, closing his eyes tightly.
‘Oh. Oh well, I was only trying to tell you.’
‘I know. I know.’ He nodded slowly.
There came a tap on the door and after he had called, ‘Come in,’ the opening door revealed Tilly, but she stopped when she saw Mrs Forefoot-Meadows.
‘Come along in. Come along in, Trotter,’ Mark called to her. ‘I’ve disappointing news for you. Mrs Forefoot-Meadows has just come to tell me that Jessie Ann and Luke have caught the whooping cough, and so, of course, none of them will be able to travel.’
‘Oh!’ Her face registered her disappointment. ‘Oh, I am sorry.’
‘This is Trotter, Mother-in-law.’ He turned to Jane Forefoot-Meadows. ‘You may remember, she was the children’s nurse.’
If Jane Forefoot-Meadows did remember she showed no recognition, she merely inclined her head and said, ‘Oh yes.’
‘She is also the young woman who was incarcerated with me down below; she was the one who kept me sane during those three and a half eternities we spent together.’ He turned and smiled at Tilly, but Tilly did not answer his smile; she was looking at Mrs Forefoot-Meadows and Mrs Forefoot-Meadows at her.
Again Mrs Forefoot-Meadows said, ‘Oh yes,’ and on this Tilly turned and took her leave. But she had not reached the door when Mark, twisting his body round in the chair, called to her, ‘I’ll send for you later, Trotter; stay put until I call you.’
She inclined her head and went out, then stood on the landing looking first one way then the other. Nothing was straightforward, nothing turned out as you expected. The door wasn’t opening after all. She let out a long shuddering breath and went towards the stairs that led to the nursery floor.
It was almost twenty-four hours later when Mark sent for her. Except for the time it took her to go down the stairs and empty the slops, she had remained in the nursery quarters. Her meals had been brought up to her, though reluctantly it would seem from the attitude of the bearer, whether it was Ada Tennant or Maggie Short, neither of the girls had a word to say to her, they even scurried from her presence as if they were indeed expecting a curse to be put upon them.
It was Simes who summoned her to the floor below. Both his manner and his voice were offensive. He had thrust open the schoolroom door as if expecting to find her at a disadvantage in some way; then jerking his head at her in much the same way as Mrs Lucas did, he said, ‘You’re wanted down below,’ and stood staring at her as she rose from the schoolroom table and closed the book she was reading. He watched her as she went to the rack and replaced the book on the shelf. This was another thing that made her different and feared, she could read, not only headlines from a newspaper but apparently books like those in the library down below.
She did not turn immediately from the bookshelf, she knew he was standing watching her, but when she did confront him, her back straight, her voice firm and, she imagined, in a good imitation of Mrs Ross, she said, ‘Very well, thank you.’ The thank you was a dismissal, and it must have brought his lips tight together for he went out banging the door after him.
Her back no longer straight, she leant over the table and looked down at her hands pressed flat on it and asked of them why they should all hate her so, she had done nothing to bring it about. But there was one thing certain, she would never be able to do anything to make them change their attitude towards her.
When she entered Mark’s room he was again sitting in the long basket chair opposite the blazing fire, and he smiled at her; but it was a thin smile expressing weariness, and when she stood at the foot of the chair and looked at him, he said slowly, ‘Come and sit down,’ indicating with a lift of his hand a chair by his side.
When she was seated he said, ‘Yesterday you looked almost as disappointed as I was.’
‘I was, sir, very disappointed.’
‘My mother-in-law has promised me faithfully that, weather permitting, she’ll bring at least one of them on her next trip this way.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
He laid his head back against the cushion now and his voice was merely a mutter as he said, ‘But that won’t be for some time; the roads will get worse before they’re better.’
She nodded. ‘She’s a very brave lady to have made the journey, her being so—’ She stopped, she had almost said ‘old’; and now he turned his face towards her and smiled widely as he said, ‘You nearly said old, didn’t you? My! my! Trotter, you must not even think of that term with regard to my mother-in-law, else all her paint and powder will be wasted. But nevertheless, I’ve got to agree with you, for her age, which I won’t mention, it was very brave of her to make the journey and without her maid. Yes, without her maid. And now about you.’
She moved uneasily on the chair.
‘What will you do if you go back to . . . the Drews?’
‘Look for some work, sir. That’s all I can do.’
‘What will you say if I offer you a post here?’
Her eyes widened for a moment and then, her lids drooping, she moved her head slowly as she answered, ‘’Twould be no use, sir; they wouldn’t accept me, them down below, the staff.’
‘Because of the witch business?’
‘I suppose so, sir. There’s something about me they don’t like.’ She lifted her hand in a gesture that implied she couldn’t understand the reason.
‘Bloody ignorant fools!’ he said; then added, ‘But what if I was to say to you you’d have a position of authority over them, as Price had. Oh, I knew all about Price’s authority, she even dominated Mrs Lucas, didn’t she? Well, let me put it to you like this. Simes sees to my wants. Now between you and me’ – his voice fell to a whisper and he leant his head towards her – ‘I don’t care for Simes; he’s a subservient individual. You know what subservient means, Trotter?’
She paused, thinking. Mr Burgess had used that word, she had heard him explain its meaning to the children. She couldn’t remember the word he had put in its place but she knew the meaning of it. She was smiling as she said, ‘A crawler, sir.’
As his laugh rang out, her smile widened into what could only be described as a grin, and for a moment she felt utterly happy – she had said something to make him laugh. Now if she could only remember some of the things that were said in the Drews’ kitchen and caused roars. But he was talking about her position . . . Her position. She became astounded as she listened to him.
‘I had a nurse at the beginning. I didn’t like her either. She talked and acted like a sergeant major and she treated me as if I were still in binders and of the same age mentally. And I cannot talk to Simes – you can’t talk to somebody you don’t like – but I can talk to you, Trotter. It’s strange this. I asked myself last night why it was I could talk to you, but I couldn’t find the answer, for after all you haven’t much to say. Now, have you?’
‘Well, ’tisn’t my place, sir.’
‘No, Trotter, it isn’t your place.’ He sighed. ‘Haven’t we gone through this before? I remember faintly discussing place with you down there. Perhaps I’m mistaken. Anyway, what would you say if I asked you to forget your place and speak first for a change. Tell me what you think, about anything’ – he spread his arms wide – ‘this, that or the other, just so the time will pass.’
She stared at him for a moment before she said, ‘Have you thought about engaging Mr Burgess again?’
‘Burgess? Now why would I want to engage Burgess? I think I’m past the learning stage. I know my letters, at least I think I do.’ He made a slight face at her, and she smiled as she answered, ‘’Twas for conversation, sir; Mr Burgess talks w
ell. I used to like to listen to him talking to the children, he made the simplest things sound . . . well, interestin’ like. I could have listened to him for hours. He gave me books to read and . . . ’
‘Burgess gave you books to read? . . . And you read them?’
‘Some of them, sir. Others were beyond me. The first one . . . well, I can’t understand it yet.’
‘What was the title?’
The title. She thought a moment, then said, ‘Can . . . did . . . de.’
‘Candide. My God! He never gave you that. Voltaire’s Candide? Oh, really!’
‘Well, he said it was a great adventure and when I told him I couldn’t understand it, he said he didn’t expect me to, not yet, only if I’d read it once a month for twenty years.’
Again Mark put his head back and laughed, saying now, ‘The old fool.’
‘I liked him.’ Her voice had a flat note to it. ‘He was very kind to me and I learned things from him.’
‘I’m sorry Trotter.’ His voice was flat too now. ‘That remark was meant in a most kindly way. Burgess, I’m sure, is a very wise man . . . So you’d like me to engage him merely to talk?’
‘Well, not only to talk, sir; perhaps he could look after you. He’s not all that old; well, what I mean is not too old to work; he can’t be seventy.’
Mark stared at her. Not too old to work, he can’t be seventy. Strange, but he felt he was learning from this girl as she must have learned from old Burgess. ‘You might have hit on something there, Trotter,’ he said, ‘I’ll think about it. But now back to you. How about you taking on the position of nurse-cum-matron-cum-dictator of the first floor?’
She half rose from the chair but his hand on her knee pressed her down again and when she began ‘They wouldn’t have it, sir, they’d . . . ’ he interrupted, ‘To hell with them, Trotter! Am I master here or not?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
‘Well, if I say you’re in charge of me and of this room and of all that goes on above the kitchen level, then that’s how things will be. So what do you say?’
‘Oh! sir, I . . . I can’t say anything. It’s just too big, too much.’
‘Too big, you say? Well, do you think you’re big enough to tackle it, and them?’ He flung his hand outwards towards the door.
Their glances held, she felt her back straightening, her chin tucking in. The door had opened. Was she going through it? Automatically she placed one hand on top of the other, palm upwards in her lap, very much as she had seen Mrs Lucas do when she was going to lay down the law, and now her face unsmiling but her eyes bright, she said, ‘I’ll be grateful to accept the post, sir.’
‘Done! Done, Trotter. Well, if nothing else we’ll have some excitement in the house during the next few days. What do you say?’
His words almost took the stiffness from her back and lifted her hands from her lap. Yes, indeed there would be excitement. They would lead her a hell of a life; they’d make things unbearable for her . . . But only if she let them. Yes, only if she let them. And with the master behind her, well, she couldn’t fail. Or could she? Could she bear the hostility that would rise up from the kitchen quarters and the servants’ hall like black suffocating vapour from a midden bog?
When his hand suddenly came on hers she started visibly, and then her eyelids blinked rapidly as he went on, ‘When a girl who was entrapped in darkness had the courage not to show her fear but to give her attention to someone who was in dire need of it at the time and to go on doing it for days, well, I would think she would have enough courage to face a few mean-minded people. What do you say?’
She swallowed deeply before answering. ‘Aye, sir; you would think so.’
They now smiled at each other. Then briskly, he said, ‘You’ll have to have a uniform and decent clothes. You’ll go into Shields tomorrow or wherever Mrs Lucas deals and fit yourself out. And by the way, go now and tell her I wish to see her . . . You afraid?’
‘No, sir.’ She rose to her feet, paused for a moment to look down on him, then walked from the room, her brisk step denying the tremor inside her.
As he watched the door close behind her he lay back and his body slumped into the pillows and he closed his eyes. The days wouldn’t be so long from now on; part of the loneliness would lift. Her very presence took him out of himself, and what was more, he was going to enjoy the war that was impending.
Of a sudden a deep, almost shameful sadness enveloped him. His mental state must be very low if the only thing he could find of interest was friction within his staff. As if in denial, he reached out and picked up a book from the table and began to read, and as he did so he thought wryly that his choice of literature would meet with the approval of Mr Burgess.
Four
‘I’m not standing for it, it’s gone too far. My God! when you come to think of it, I knew from the first time I clapped eyes on her there was something weird about her. She’s a witch I tell you, she’s a witch.’
‘Don’t be silly, Cook . . . ’
‘And don’t you tell me I’m silly, Phyllis Coates. You admitted it yourself last night there was something very strange the way she’s got round the master.’
‘Aye, I did, but that isn’t to say she’s a witch.’
‘Well, then, you explain to me how a slip of a lass who was brought up livin’ from hand to mouth in a cottage on this very estate an’ spent most of her days digging or sawing wood, how other has she got the power to entertain a man like the master, an’ not only him but now Master Harry? You tell me, Phyllis Coates. Why, if she were an educated person you might be able to understand it, but she’s an ignorant little slut who’s never been further than Shields in her life. Now you explain to me where she gets her powers from.’
‘She’s not ignorant, Cook, she can read and write better’ – her voice dropped – ‘than Mrs Lucas, so Fred says.’
‘Aye, and what was the cost of her readin’ and writin’, ruination of the parson’s wife an’ him an’ all. And don’t forget about the farmer, him on our very door so to speak, and the fiasco on his weddin’ night all through her. And now Master Harry walking with her in the grounds.’
‘Someone talking about me?’
The cook, Phyllis, and Maggie Short who was standing stoning raisins at the table, all started and turned towards the kitchen door leading into the yard.
During the period between the death of his mother and the remarriage of his father, Harry Sopwith had been in the habit of running wild about the place, but all this had been put a stop to with the advent of Eileen. And now this was the second time in four days he had come into the house through the kitchen. He was changed was Master Harry, they all said so, free and easy, sort of gay. It was as if he were pleased to find his stepmother gone from the house.
He said again, ‘Did I hear my name mentioned, taken in vain?’ He was looking from one to the other; then, his eyes coming to rest on the cook, he said, ‘Well, Cook?’
Looking back into the long, tanned face of the young man, cook saw this as an opportunity to make her stand and for her grievances to be expressed in the proper quarters, and so she said, ‘Aye, you did hear your name mentioned, Master Harry, but not taken in vain.’ Then remembering how she had mentioned his name, she sidestepped the issue by saying, ‘We were glad to see you back an’ so happy like in spite of the tragedy that has befallen the house, and—’ now her fat head wagged on her fat neck and, her lips forming a tight rosebud, she spat out, ‘And I say tragedy in more ways than one.’
‘Yes?’ He inclined his head towards her.
‘Aye, Master Harry. I might as well come clean ’cos things have got to such a pitch we can’t go on like this, none of us can.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘’Tis that Tilly Trotter, Master Harry.’
‘Trotter? What’s she got to do with tragedy except that she was in it, very much up to the neck so to speak?’
‘’Tisn’t that tragedy I’m referrin’ to, ’tis the trouble she’s caused since she’s c
ome into the house. It was a peaceful house afore she stepped into it. It began the day she came to look after the children, but then we came back to normal like once she was gone. But now she’s back an’ life’s unbearable, Master Harry.’
The tolerant smile slipped from the young man’s face and he asked, ‘In what way, Cook?’
‘Well—’ She looked from Phyllis Coates to Maggie Short as if for support, then said lamely, ‘’Tisn’t right, she shouldn’t be in the position she’s got, not over us. From Mr Pike downwards we all say the same, ’tisn’t right. She’s even topping Mrs Lucas.’
‘In what way? Explain yourself.’
‘Well’ – she tossed her head – ‘she sends down orders through Maggie Short there’ – she jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen maid – ‘or Ada Tennant who’s in the scullery.’ Her head moved in the other direction now. ‘She even gives orders to Mr Pike for them outside. Well, it’s not to be tolerated, Master Harry, oh no! We’ve got our heads together an’ I’ll tell you this much’ – she paused now – ‘we . . . we want it put to the master’ – again she paused – ‘either she goes or we all go. There, that’s how we feel, from top to bottom that’s how we feel.’
‘Oh, those are strong words, Cook.’
At this point Mrs Lucas came through the green-baized door and the cook turned eagerly towards her, almost shouting down the length of the room now. ‘I’ve been tellin’ Master Harry about that ’un up there.’ Her head jerked towards the ceiling. ‘I’ve told him if the master doesn’t get rid of her he’ll have to get rid of us, it’s one or t’other, isn’t it, Mrs Lucas?’
The housekeeper came to a stop at the top of the table and, looking at the cook, she said, ‘It is my place, Cook, to say what the staff have decided or not decided, but’ – she now turned her head slowly and looked at Harry – ‘I must say this, Master Harry, things are not right in the house and there’s got to be changes or else . . . well, there’ll be trouble. You can’t run an establishment with resentment like what is filling this house at the present moment.’
Tilly Trotter (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Page 31