Outcast

by Josephine Cox

  After a while, those deeper, more serious thoughts which were never far away, reared up to darken Emma’s mood. Drawing herself up into a sitting position, she fumbled about in the folds of her skirt until her fingers located the deep narrow pocket there. Dipping into it, she brought out the silver watch, so slim and small between her fingers and thumb, and so surprisingly warm to the touch that she could almost imagine it was only in this moment that her papa had entrusted it to her. Holding it to her ear, she thought how like a heartbeat was its rhythmic tick. Tenderly, she sprang open the rear to gaze at that minute lock of hair which lay curled up inside. Not daring to take it out for fear that the wind might snatch it away, she cupped the watch in one hand while with the other she lightly stroked her fingertip against the soft golden hair. Emma had hoped that by so doing, she might somehow feel closer to her mama. But she did not. Nor was she comforted, for a great tide of sadness washed over her and, feeling disillusioned, she closed the watch and returned it to the safety of her pocket. Wherever she went, Emma always carried the tiny watch, because, little though it was, it was all she had of her past.

  Falling back into the long, waving stalks of grass, Emma closed her eyes and surrendered herself to a feeling of peace and nostalgia. In the eerie silence high up on this pinnacle, where nothing but the wind and birds disturbed the air and where little else mattered, Emma felt a curious sense of contentment. However, when pleasant recollections of Marlow began invading her thoughts, she deliberately shut them from her mind, rising quickly into a sitting position, as though in doing so she would be better able to defend herself against those things which were forbidden and dangerous.

  Her gaze drawn downwards, Emma couldn’t help but admire the house which, like it or not, was her home. It was said that Breckleton House had been in the Crowther family for many generations. Flanked either end by huge turreted edifices and decorated with spacious bay windows – which were arched at the top and framed by exquisitely carved mullions – it had the quaint appearance of a small castle. The main entrance was also arched, but it was of a grander, more imposing dimension, seeming more like the entrance to a church. The roof was tall and graceful, its elegant lines accentuated by the inclusion of numerous high-reaching, fluted chimneypots. Immediately behind, the majestic trees formed a natural and fitting backdrop.

  Not for the first time, Emma wondered how truly indebted Caleb Crowther was to her papa, for if her papa had not been so generous, he would most certainly not be so well endowed. This grand dwelling would by now surely be in the possession of some other fortunate person. Her papa had never revealed the full extent of his assistance to her uncle, for such matters of finance were always considered to be the business of gentlemen, with no place in such affairs for women-folk. But Emma was no fool, and since her employment as clerk to Gregory Denton, she had learned much more of her papa’s generosity to the Crowthers when, on the odd occasion, she had walked in on conversations between the warehousemen. Also, Gregory Denton himself was never averse to singing her papa’s praises, often to the detriment of the Crowthers. However, of late he had been in an unusually sullen mood – since the weekend in fact. These past two days he had been going about with a dark, angry expression on his face, asking occasionally whether her uncle was sure to be back for the arranged meeting on Tuesday evening. She had told him she didn’t know, and that was the truth. Caleb Crowther came and went, sometimes to attend his duties at the Quarter Sessions and sometimes to other affairs in the city of London. Whatever the reason for his absence though, Emma was thankful for it, and the longer the duration, the more she liked it. Thinking about it now, though, Emma was most curious as to why Mr Denton should be so eager to see Caleb Crowther, for she knew he had no particular liking for him.

  As though summoned by her thoughts, Gregory Denton was even now stepping down from the carriage which had drawn up at the front door. Emma leaned forward and peered down, her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun. Yes, it was Gregory Denton right enough and with him was a gentleman Emma recognized as Mr Wordsworth, the manager of the other Grady mill on Cicely Top. Emma watched as the two men disappeared through the front door while the driver went to the rear of the house for some of Cook’s cherry cake. Then, drawing her shawl tight about her small frame, Emma leaned back into the grass, bending a long, ripe stalk towards her and chewing on its end. ‘Come for a meeting, I expect,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Well, sooner them than me.’ Feeling safe and secure hidden there in the curve of the earth, she closed her eyes. A gentle smile appeared on her attractive mouth as she recalled the antics of Sal Tanner, but, suddenly, Emma felt deeply sorry that so many things were against the friendship the two of them might have enjoyed. Sighing, she regretted how sad it was that because of her age and because of adverse circumstances, she was not in charge of her own destiny. Ah, but one day, she thought, maybe, one day. Yet, had Emma known how the evening would develop, her thoughts would not have been charged with such ambitious hope.

  ‘So!’ Caleb Crowther stood up from his desk, flung his two fists behind his back and locked them into one. ‘We’ll consider that to be the end of it for today.’ He looked long and pointedly at the short, stocky fellow in the chequered waistcoat, before saying to him, ‘Just one thing. Wordsworth, . . . you’re too eager on stockpiling raw material. Not necessary. Not necessary at all.’

  ‘But . . . what with these rumours concerning the American shipments, I thought . . .’

  ‘I’m not interested in such rumours . . . nor in what you think,’ returned Caleb Crowther with a definite warning in his voice. ‘Run off some of that stock, man. It’s dead money, I tell you!’ When the man nodded and scribbled something in his ledger, Caleb Crowther smiled with satisfaction. He then gave the same instruction to Gregory Denton, who had also increased his stock of raw material, in view of the accelerating and worrying developments in America. Now, with all due reports meticulously made, Caleb Crowther called the meeting to an end.

  ‘Mr Crowther, sir . . . could I beg a few more minutes of your time?’ asked Gregory Denton, feeling somewhat nervous, but determined to convey the unpleasant details of what he had seen with his own eyes that very Saturday in Corporation Park. ‘It is most important,’ he quickly added, on seeing Caleb Crowther’s hesitation. ‘A . . . personal matter . . . not regarding myself, you understand.’ He glanced sideways to where Mr Wordsworth was paying sharp attention to this intriguing little development.

  ‘You be off, Wordsworth,’ instructed Caleb Crowther now. ‘Thomas can take Denton home shortly.’

  ‘Oh, there’s no need for that,’ assured the fellow, his curiosity heightened, ‘I’ll wait in the carriage. No trouble at all.’ And, before anyone could raise an objection, he quickly departed from the room.

  ‘Now then, Denton, what’s on your mind?’ demanded Caleb Crowther, returning to seat himself behind the desk, while leaving the other man standing. ‘Be quick with it, man. My time’s precious!’ If the truth were to be told, he was still suffering the effects of his trip to London. He kept his eyes fixed on Gregory Denton’s pink features as, first in a nervous tone, then gradually growing in confidence, Gregory Denton relayed the whole sorry episode – his voice quivering with anxiety when he relayed how ‘The fellow had Miss Grady in a disgustingly bold embrace . . . the two of them rolling about and laughing quite shamelessly!’ That said, a heavy and frightening silence settled over the room, during which Gregory Denton fidgeted in a most agitated manner while Caleb Crowther sat deathly still, his head bent forward and his fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm on the desk-top.

  ‘I’m convinced that Miss Grady played a lesser part in the dreadful incident!’ Gregory Denton added lamely. He was very much afraid that he may well have gone too far in confiding the whole business and, suddenly, his only concern was that he should not be the cause of Miss Grady being cruelly punished. Oh Lord, he thought in a panic, if only I’d kept my mouth shut! He hated the jealousy which had driven him to do such
a terrible thing! ‘Mr Crowther,’ he ventured again, ‘I wouldn’t want you to come down too hard on Miss Grady. After all, she is very young, and easily taken advantage of.’ His voice was trembling, and, seeing how dark Caleb Crowther’s countenance was, he would have given anything to turn the clock back.

  Caleb Crowther was not unaware of the fellow’s anxious state. Indeed, he thought any minute Denton would start blubbering like a baby. His first instincts on learning of his ward’s latest and very serious misdemeanour was to administer the gravest punishment without delay – both to his wilful ward and to the bastard who had dared to encourage her! But now, confronted by this fellow Denton, whose motive was undeniably that of painful jealousy, a plan was already being devised in the back of his mind. One which just might get him off the hook, and rid him of Emma Grady into the bargain. For she was a constant reminder of things he would rather forget!

  ‘Denton, my man . . . tell me . . .’ As Caleb Crowther stood up to come round the desk, a cunning smile on his face and his two arms outstretched, the sight so terrified Gregory Denton that he took an involuntary step backwards. When the two sizeable fists fell on his shoulders in a fearsome grip, and those startling eyes drilled into his with the most evil smile, he began visibly trembling. ‘Relax my dear fellow,’ urged Caleb Crowther now. ‘Just tell me the truth. Have you a deal of affection for my ward, Miss Grady?’ When Gregory Denton’s mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound, he went on, ‘Do you love her, you fool? . . . Desire her, eh? Do you?’

  Gregory Denton was so taken aback that he found himself gaping open-mouthed into the other fellow’s smiling face. What’s he playing at? he thought. What trick is the devil up to?

  ‘Come on, man!’ Caleb Crowther told him in growing impatience. ‘Any blind beggar can see you’re sorely struck by the girl. Isn’t that so?’ he insisted, both his eyes and fists holding the victim fast.

  Acutely aware of the warm breath which stank of stale booze fanning against his face, Gregory Denton’s words came out in a rush. ‘Well . . . I must admit I do find Miss Grady . . . most attractive!’ There! It was said. And, because of the effort it had taken, he felt weak all over.

  ‘Ah!’ The word fell from Caleb Crowther’s lips with a smile. Patting both his hands several times against the younger fellow’s shoulders he said it again – this time actually laughing out loud as he moved away. ‘You and I have a deal to talk over,’ he said, seating himself behind the desk and gesturing for Gregory Denton to occupy the seat before it. With that done and each man eyeing the other, he went on to question Gregory Denton at great length on issues concerning his domestic arrangements, his relationship with his old mater, and whether it was she who had discouraged him from ever taking a wife. In answer to the first question, Gregory Denton spoke with great pride of how he and his mother still resided in the smart little house on Montague Street, explaining how it had been in their family for some years now.

  ‘It’s a well-dressed, cosy little dwelling, though I say so myself,’ he emphasized, not being able to resist puffing out his wiry chest just a little. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time and effort on that little house in Montague Street,’ he said.

  He was a little more coy when coming to the business of his never having taken a wife, but it was not because of his demanding parent, he was quick to point out. ‘Oh no . . . indeed no!’ He felt most hurt by such a suggestion. ‘Although I must be truthful and say that she is never the easiest person to get on with. In fact, she can be quite a demon at times!’ he admitted, ‘But, you see I’ve never met the right woman whom I might take as a wife.’

  ‘But you are attracted to Miss Grady, are you not?’ insisted Caleb Crowther.

  ‘Tell lies and you’ll make the Virgin Mary blush!’ remonstrated the young man now, becoming bolder by the minute. ‘Yes! Yes! I am very attracted to Miss Grady.’ Then, made fearful by his own words, he swiftly added, ‘Begging your pardon, sir!’

  ‘Fine!’ smiled Caleb Crowthers, ignoring his employee’s apology and leaning across the desk towards him. 'That’s all I wanted to hear. Now then, Denton . . . how would you feel if I said I thought you to be a man worthy of my ward?’ The younger man gave no reply, for he was so dumbstruck that all he could do was to prickle involuntarily from head to toe and continue staring in disbelief. Thoroughly enjoying the situation, Caleb Crowther went on, ‘Miss Grady will be sixteen years of age in a few days time. She’ll be a woman, with a woman’s needs.’ Here, he paused to let the meaning sink in. ‘We neither of us want her messing about with these lowly river-people.’ Now, at the thought, his eyes grew darker. ‘Scum! That’s what they are . . . scum!’ he murmured, seeming to be lost in a deep, distant mood.

  ‘No, no, Mr Crowther, that would never do,’ agreed Gregory Denton. ‘Miss Grady is a fine and lovely creature, and she must be protected from such folk. Why! . . . Isn’t that the very reason I spoke out this evening!’ He began to feel pleased with himself.

  ‘We’re in agreement then!’ Caleb Crowther was back in command. ‘Tell me, Denton . . . what is your financial state? Do you have any money in addition to what you earn from me?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then you would not refuse the sum of one thousand pounds if it were offered to you?’

  ‘A thousand pounds, Mr Crowther? Why should anyone offer me such a grand sum?’.

  Caleb Crowther sat slowly back in his chair, his hard eyes fixed on Gregory Denton’s astonished features, and a half smile on his mouth. For a long time – too long for Gregory Denton’s comfort – he stayed thus, tapping his fingertips on the arm of the chair and eyeing the younger man with such intensity that Gregory Denton had to force himself to remain in his seat.

  At length, the silence was brought to an abrupt end when Caleb Crowther sprang up from his chair to unlock a drawer in the desk. Taking from it a sheaf of documents, he began browsing through, until at length he snatched one out and put it face down before him. He explained to his patient employee, ‘I have here a most vital piece of paper, and it concerns Miss Grady.’ Pausing, he subjected the younger man to a most severe look. ‘I rely on your word, Denton, because you have proved yourself to be a most truthworthy man. I want your word now, indeed, I demand it! Your bond that what I’m about to confide in you will never be repeated. Never, you understand. Not even to Miss Grady herself.’

  ‘You have my word.’

  ‘Excellent! Of course my ward is familiar with the general terms of her late father’s will. But, it would be in bad taste, and most distressing, for you ever to discuss it with her. You do accept that?’

  ‘Of course, of course! I do understand, Mr Crowther, sir. And I have given you my word,’ declared Gregory Denton with a serious nod of his head.

  Satisfied, Caleb Crowther continued, ‘Thadius Grady provided well for Miss Grady, bequeathing her the very sum I have just mentioned . . . one thousand pounds . . . to be paid over to her husband in the event of her marriage.’ He watched as realization spread over Gregory Denton’s face, amused to see a dark red blush suffuse the younger man’s cheeks as he added, ‘I can see that you understand my meaning.’ Still smiling, he asked, ‘So, Mr Denton, what is your answer?’

  ‘My answer? Please, Mr Crowther, sir, am I to believe that you are . . . you are offering Miss Grady’s hand to me, in marriage !’ He dared not believe his own ears. He was convinced that he was imagining things. But, he was not, and in the next few minutes, no time was lost by Caleb Crowther in securing a short legal statement and a number of signatures from the trembling hand of the fortunate young man.

  ‘These will ensure that, on the very day you are joined in wedlock to my ward, you will receive the sum due, as I’ve said . . . one thousand pounds.’ His tone grew more serious, as did the look he now bestowed upon the fellow before him, as he continued, ‘Mark me well though, Denton. If you’re foolish and spendthrift enough to go through this legacy in a short time . . . you had better not come crying to me, for you’ll not get one
more farthing out of me! There’ll be nothing more until my ward reaches her twenty-fifth year. You had better understand that from the outset.’ When he was assured that ‘no such thought would ever cross my mind’, he shook the hand of Gregory Denton, who was, unknowingly, his saviour. Then, bidding him farewell, he said, ‘Say nothing of this to anyone. I will inform the necessary people, after which you will be summoned to finalize the finer details . . . a date for the ceremony and so on.’ As an afterthought he added, ‘I’m placing a great responsibility in your hands, Denton. A great and precious responsibility, for I am exceedingly fond of Miss Grady, as you no doubt already know.’ Gregory Denton did not know, but he nevertheless gave an agreeable smile. The only thing he did know at that moment in time was that everything he’d dared to dream had come true! Momentarily, he wondered how Miss Grady might feel towards him, for of that he was unsure; yet he dared to hope she might nurture the same affection for him as he did for her.

  Meanwhile, from her vantage point, Emma watched as the two men emerged from the house. Already, dusk was creeping over everything like a shroud, and the breeze had grown sharp and bitterly cold. Yet, Emma made no move. It fascinated her to see these two men together. It also aggravated her to witness the clear arrogance of one compared to the gentler nature of the other. Even from this distance, and in the gathering twilight, Emma thought how very easy it was to distinguish master from servant – the former being a large, ungainly yet formidable figure, seeming to avoid any physical contact whatsoever with the latter, who in turn appeared to bow and scrape in a totally subservient manner. It sorely irked Emma to see how Gregory Denton grovelled before her uncle, for she truly believed that, of the two men, Caleb Crowther was the lesser man.