Tilly Trotter

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Tilly Trotter Page 6

by Catherine Cookson


  What about it?"

  "Aye, yes, yes, Simon."

  Simon was now peering down into Tilly's face.

  His own mock stern, his voice imitating a growl, he ordered her, "Enjoy yourself, Miss Tilly Trotter. Do you hear? Enjoy yourself." Then on a laugh he patted her cheek and turning from her hurried to his bride.

  Tilly looked at the boy and the boy looked at Tilly, and neither of them found a word to say to each other.

  When in embarrassment she turned from him and went and sat on a weather-worn oak bench that was set against a low hedge bordering the lawn, he paused for a full minute before following her and taking his place by her side.

  Then together they sat in silence and watched women clearing the tables and carrying the remnants of the food around the side of the house and into the barn where later in the evening the jollification would continue.

  The lawn finally cleared, the fiddlers and the melodeon player struck up a lively tune, and almost immediately Simon, leading his bride into the middle of the lawn, cried, "Come on, let's go!" And this was the signal for the men to grab their partners and start the dance.

  The musicians played polkas and jigs, and the dancers danced, some in step and some out of it, stopping between times to refresh themselves from the barrel. Once Simon waved to Tilly telling her to get to her feet, but she shook her head.

  She was on the point of getting up and walking away from her tongue-tied companion when she saw Simon weaving his way towards her. Then he was standing over them, looking from one to the other and demanding,

  "What's the matter with you two? This is a wedding not a funeral! Come on." He pulled her up, and the next minute he was whirling her over the grass.

  One, two, three, hop! One, two, three, hop! They went into the polka and, laughing, he cried to her, "By! you're as light as a feather." Then bending his mouth down to her ear, he said,

  "She taught you well."

  She had no breath for speaking and so she just shook her head at him and went on lifting her feet: One, two, three, hop! One, two, three, hop! When he almost swung her into the air, so light did she feel she could imagine she hadn't any boots on.

  At last the music stopped; he held her tightly against him for a moment; then looking down into her face, he said, "What about that, eh?"

  "'Twas wonderful, Simon. Wonderful."

  "Well, you go on now and take Bobby."

  "No! No! I'm not going back to him, he's never opened his mouth."

  "Well, did you open yours?"

  "No."

  "Well then... . I've got to go, but enjoy yourself." His face became straight for a moment as he ended, "I want you to enjoy yourself, Tilly, and be happy with me the day."

  She could find no answer to give him, not even to say politely, "I will, I will. Don't worry, I'll enjoy meself."

  "Simon!" A man was pulling at his sleeve.

  "Your missus is calling you. By! you're going to get it."

  "Oh aye. Oh aye. Comin" George. I'm comin'." Without further words he turned from her.

  She watched him but he did not make directly towards where his wife was sitting below the house steps; instead he went towards the beer tent, and when he was handed a tankard of beer she saw him put it to his mouth and almost drain it at one go.

  He would be drunk before the night was over. Men usually got drunk

  on their wedding night, at least those who drank did. Would she like the man she married to get drunk on her wedding night? A stupid question to ask herself

  "cos she would never marry. With or without the chance she would never marry.

  She looked about her. What could she do? Who could she talk to? There were three old village women sitting alongside the wall at the far end of the house; she'd go and talk to them, she was used to talking to old people. She got on well with old people; likely it was having lived with her granda and grandma all these years... .

  Two hours later, when the light was beginning to go, she knew she could now make her excuses and go home. She had talked to the old women, she had been in the kitchen and helped to wash up, she had been in the barn and filled plates with odds and ends and carried empty ones back into the house. The guests had now sorted themselves out, those who were going home had already left such as the parson and Mrs Ross and the old people who were tired. One brake-load had set off an hour ago back to Felling. She went up the steps into the house to say good-bye to Simon and his wife. There was nobody in the front room. She went out into the passage, then into the hall; and there they were, he had his arms around her and was kissing her.

  Her muttering, "Oh, I'm sorry!" brought them apart, yet still holding.

  "'Tis all right, Tilly, 'tis all right."

  His voice was slurred and he held out one hand towards her, but she remained standing, saying, "I'm off now; I just wanted to say thank you." She didn't look at Simon but at his wife. "It

  ... it was a lovely wedding. Good-night." She was about to add, "I wish you happiness," when Simon made to come towards her but was stopped by his wife, her hand on his arm. He remained still, asking now, "You'll be all right?"

  "Yes, yes. Aye, of course, thank you.

  Thank you." She nodded to both of them, then backed into the doorway before turning and going hastily out.

  She had begun to make her way towards the farmyard when she saw Mr Fairweather and Mr Laudimer, another sidesman at the church, standing together. They were laughing and had their hands on each other's shoulders. She didn't want to pass them.

  She looked towards the far end of the lawn. There was a gate that led into a meadow, and further on there was a bridle-path that would bring her out near the toll bridge and the coach road, and from there she could pick up her usual route home.

  A few minutes later she had let herself through the gate and had

  walked across the meadow and swung herself over a low stone wall and so on to the bridle-path that ran alongside it.

  She must have gone about a mile along the path when she saw galloping towards her a horse and rider.

  Jumping to the side she pressed tight against the hedge to allow them to pass, but the man drew the horse up almost opposite her. She recognised him as Mr Sopwith, and he, recognising her, said,

  "Hello there."

  "Hel... . Good-evenin", sir."

  "You're some way from home, aren't you?"

  "Yes. Yes, sir; I've been to Mr Bentwood's weddin'."

  "Oh, the wedding. Oh yes, yes." He nodded down at her smiling. Then casting his eyes about him, he asked, "Did you happen to see a lady on a horse further along this road?"

  "No, sir, no; I haven't met anyone but yourself."

  "Oh. Well, thank you. Good-night."

  "Good... good-night, sir."

  He rode on again, putting the horse into a gallop, and she watched him for a moment before going on her way... .

  As Mark came to the meadow he took the horse over the stone wall, then again drew it to a stop, and once more he looked about him; then settling himself in the seat, he brought his teeth tightly together for a moment before muttering aloud, "Damn!" She was playing cat and mouse with him: she was very much the cat and he didn't like being put in the position of the mouse. "All prizes must be won," she had said, doubtless considering herself as being a very big prize.

  Well, he'd had enough; he would return home.

  He had ridden like an escaping hare hither and thither for the past hour, and likely she was back in her house laughing up her sleeve.

  What was the matter with him anyway? Why had he allowed himself to get in this state? She was coming between him and his sleep. He felt he would know no peace until he'd had her. But then what? Would the taste of her consume him or would he be brought to his senses and the fire in him quenched? It had happened before. Many years ago, he had become enamoured of a woman, so much so that he had thought life would be worthless without her. Janet, his first wife, had known. He had hurt her terribly but he hadn't been able to help hims
elf. Once he had conquered, however, the woman had gone sour on him and he had sworn never again, never, never again. Yet here he was galloping the countryside after a will-o'-the-wisp. Except that Lady Agnes Myton was no will-o'-the-wisp, she was a full-blooded, alluring, maddening woman.

  He rode along by the wall, jumped a hedge, and came on to the coach road, and in the distance he could hear the faint sound of a fiddle being played... .

  Farmer Bentwood's wedding was still in full swing.

  As he put his horse into a gallop he damned and blasted Lady Agnes Myton. He was tired, as he also knew was his mount, and he doubted if he would make home before dark. Again he damned her.

  Then at a turning in the road his horse shied from one side to the other as the figure of a boy came bursting through the hedge.

  "What the hell!" Mark Sopwith pulled himself straight in the saddle and, glaring, bent towards the boy who had paused in his run and was gasping as he spluttered, "Sorry, mister. Sorry," and quickly drawing in one long breath, he raced off down the road, leaving Mark still glaring after him.

  Now what had he been up to? Poaching? But if someone was after him he wouldn't have stopped to say he was sorry. He turned the horse around, allowing it to move at a walking pace now... .

  Steve McGrath was a good runner. He had won a race at the hill fair last year, beating lads three and four years older than himself, but that race hadn't taken it out of him like this one was doing.

  The sweat was running down his groin and his short moleskin breeks were sticking to his buttocks.

  He didn't seem to hear the music until he stopped to hug the end of the brick wall that bordered the farmyard and the gateless drive-in. There was a pain in his chest, his feet were sore and his legs at this moment were like jelly and threatening to give way beneath him. He tried to call out to someone crossing the yard, but his voice came out as a croak.

  A minute later he stumbled into the yard and, catching hold of a man's arm, said, "Mister!

  Mister! Where will I find Mr Bentwood?"

  The man turned a laughing face down on him,

  "With his bride, lad, with his bride, where else?

  Tripping the light fantastic." He pointed towards the barn from where was coming the loud noise of the fiddles and the whining of the melodeon.

  "Will you get him, mister, will you get him for me?"

  "Get him for you?" The man peered down at him.

  "You're young McGrath, aren't you? Aye yes, young McGrath. What do you want with him?"

  "I must get him, talk to him, I've got somethin' to tell him."

  "You can tell him nowt this night, lad; I should say he's past listenin'."

  "Mister! Mister!" He was clutching at the man now. "Tell him, will you? Tell him somebody is going to get hurt, somebody he knows. Ask him if I can see him a minute. Go on, will you, will you? Please! Please!"

  "Who's gona get hurt?"

  "Just... just somebody, somebody he knows."

  "Oh! Oh, well, well, if that's it." The man turned about andwitha gait that spoke of his having imbibed not a little from the barrel, he made his way into the barn.

  Steve moved to the side to get out of the way of people who were coming and going, all laughing and joking. He stood with his back pressed against the stone wall of the cow byre but keeping his eyes on the great open doors of the barn and, fascinated, he watched the scene within.

  The whole place was lit with lanterns. Some people were dancing, and some people were standing drinking, and some were sitting round the walls eating, but all had their mouths open and were laughing.

  So immersed had he become for the moment in the scene that he didn't realise Simon was coming towards him, nor that the bride was standing just within the barn and that she alone wasn't smiling.

  "What is it boy? What do you want?"

  "Oh. Oh, Mr Bentwood, it's ... it's Tilly. She needs somebody to see to her. I ...

  I couldn't, I mean on her way home, because there's three of them."

  "What on earth are you talkin' about, boy?"

  Simon's brain was not very clear, it was fogged with ale and not a little with happiness and expectation of his wedding night, and his voice now was full of impatience as he demanded, "Speak clearly, boy! what you gettin' at?"

  Steve swallowed a mouthful of spittle before he said slowly, "She'll ... she'll have to have somebody to guide her home, perhaps more than one, "cos they're gona net her."

  "Net her?" Simon was now bending over him and he repeated, "Net her? What you on about, lad?"

  "It's ... it's our Hal and Mick and Ned Wheeler. Our Hal said, well, she wouldn't have him the clean way so she's gona have him t'other way."

  He bit his lip and his head drooped.

  Simon straightened his back and looked around him.

  In his glance he saw his wife staring enquiringly towards him, and he raised his hand as if to say,

  "I'll be there in a minute," then taking the boy by the shoulder,

  he pushed him into the cowshed and seeming now to sober up, he said, "Make it quick, boy, explain yourself!"

  "They're waitin" for her. They've a net rigged up in a tree. She's strong, Tilly, wiry, an' our Hal knew she'd fight like a chained bitch, an' so they're gona net her an'

  ... an'--" He turned his head to the side, bit hard on his lip again, then muttered, "He's gona take her down, then she'll have to have him."

  "What!"

  The boy looked up into Simon's face which was now twisted in disbelief and he said, "He'd murder me if he knew I'd split. But it was our George, I heard him tellin' me dad and me dad was for it. George wouldn't go along with them and me dad went for him and said he was soft. And then he said--" He stopped and shook his head, and Simon cried impatiently, "Yes! yes! what did he say?"

  "I don't know what it meant, it ... it was about somethin' they wanted to find out, it seemed to be mixed up with money, and if he got Tilly he'd find out. It was double Dutch... ."

  "My God!" Simon now pushed his hand up through his hair.

  "You'll take her home?"

  "She's gone, boy, this fifteen or twenty minutes or more... . Come on! ... No, wait. Where are they going to do this?"

  "Billings Flat near the wood. Eeh! God, they could have her by now." He put his hand to his mouth, then muttered, "But I... I can't come along of you

  "cos he'd... he'd brain me."

  Simon didn't hear the boy's protest, he was already running towards the barn where his bride was still standing. When he reached her he took her by the hands and pulled her aside, out into the yard, across it and into the dairy, and there, holding her hands against his chest, he said, "Listen, me dear, there's something come up, I've ... I've got to leave you, but I won't be a half-hour or more."

  "Where... where are you going?"

  "It's"--he closed his eyes and shook his head--

  "it's nothing, just a little bit of business."

  "Business? Business that can't wait on this special night! What did that boy want?"

  "He had come to tell me something. I'll...

  I'll explain it all when I come back. I tell you I won't be more than half an hour.

  Keep things going. Anyway I won't be missed, only by you I hope." He jerked her hard against him and kissed her upon the lips. Then looking at her again, he said, "It's been a grand day, and it's not over yet, is it?"

  "I hope not." She was smiling at him now.

  "Don't be long."

  "I won't, I won't, I promise." He kissed her again quickly; then pulling her out through the door, he pushed her gently towards the barn before he himself turned and ran into the stable.

  Simon was quite used to riding bare-back though not in tight breeches; but there was no time to stop and saddle the mare, and within minutes he was out of the yard, causing some of the guests to stand and gape as if they couldn't believe their eyes, for wasn't that the bridegroom riding out on his own!

  Billings Flat was all of two miles from the farm and abou
t half a mile from the cottage.

  To anyone for whom the name conjured up an open area, this particular piece of land was misnamed, for the path ran at the bottom of a shallow stretch of land bordered on each side by trees which were intertwined here and there with great shrouds of ivy, the Flat itself being more than twenty yards in length and only in whiter when the trees were bare did full light penetrate it.

  Simon knew that he could cut off a further mile by taking his horse straight across his fields. This would be against his principles for he hated even the hunt to cross his fields either on horse or on foot; but this was a case of needs must when the devil drove, and the devil was driving him now because he swore inside himself that if Hal McGrath had taken Tilly down then he wouldn't live long to enjoy his victory.

  Tilly hadn't hurried on her way home.

  Again as of late, she'd had the desire to cry, and that was something she mustn't do, not until she got into bed because else how would she explain her red eyes to her granny and granda: she was returning from a wedding and they were sitting up waiting to hear all the news. And she knew that she'd have to make things up, at least about herself, how she had eaten a grand tea and drunk Simon's home-brewed ale, and danced. And then she would have to tell them what the bride looked like and how Simon, too, had appeared. Well, she could be truthful about Simon for she would say to them he looked happy.

  She stepped out of the twilight into Billings Flat. She blinked her eyes and turned her gaze towards the ground, being careful where she placed her feet for the roots of the trees spread across the path in places and had tripped her up many a time before today. She had never been afraid passing through Billings Flat. Many people were; the village women in particular would never come this way after dark, for it was said that the long hollow had once been a burial ground, and that at one time it had been dug over and the bodies carted away. But her granda said that this was all nonsense because it would take a few hundred bodies lying side by side to fill the Flat.

  She was half-way along it and could see through the dim funnel where the trees ended and the twilight in comparison showed almost bright, when something came flying out of the heavens at her like a bird with extended wings and brought a high piercing scream from her. The thing now had her on the ground trapping her arms and legs and she continued to thrash and scream until the wind was knocked completely out of her as a body, a human body, pressed down on her and fingers digging into her cheeks clamped her mouth shut.

 

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