"Get yourself to bed, you must be tired."
"Yes, sir. Good-night, sir."
"Good-night, Trotter. By the way"--he paused
--"it was an excellent meal, I've never tasted better. Tell cook that."
"I will, sir. She'll be very pleased."
In her room, she sat for a while in the chair by the side of the bed. She was feeling sad inside, sad for herself, but more sad for him: he hadn't enjoyed the evening, yet everybody else in the house had. Of course, she couldn't speak for the guests.
She rose slowly and undressed and got into bed.
She did not know how long she had been asleep but the crash woke her, bringing her sitting upright and wide awake all in a moment. The noise had come from the room beyond the closet and the dressingroom. Had
... had he fallen? Had he tried to get out of bed and knocked something over?
She was out of the door, along the corridor and into the bedroom before she had even given herself the answer to the question, and there before her, showing up faintly in the glow of the night candle in the red glass bowl, was the overturned side table, the water carafe not broken but half empty now as it lay on its side, and a glass that had snapped clean in two. Also spread about the floor were a number of books and as far away as the fire, lying on the rug, was the square brass travelling clock.
"What is it? What is it?" She had gone round to the other side of the bed. He was lying back now on his pillows, his face twisted. "I ...
I had an accident, the table toppled."
"Don't worry. Don't worry, I'll soon clear it up."
He roused himself, saying, "The glass, mind your feet."
"Yes, yes, all right. Just lie still."
She lit the candles; then taking one, she hurried through the dressingroom and into the closet. As she was picking up the pail and cloth there was a tap on the door. When she opened it, there stood Katie and Ada Tennant. For some time now they had been sleeping up on the nursery floor, while Biddy, Peg, and Fanny went to the back lodge which was now their home.
"What... what's happened? We heard the crash."
"It's all right. He ... the master upset the table, the side table."
"Is there anything I can do, Tilly?"
"No, no, Katie. Get back to bed." She now looked at Ada Tennant who was hanging on to Katie's arm. She seemed frightened. She was a silly girl, vacant in some way, and her mind, what little she had, was open to all impressions. And so she reassured her now, saying, "It's all right, Ada, nothing's happened. Go on back to bed."
As Ada nodded her plump face at her, the thought came to her that in a few years time she would look like Mrs Brackett, because like her, she was always eating.
When the girls had gone she closed the door, then went swiftly through the dressing-room and into the bedroom. He was lying as she had left him, his head back, his eyes closed.
After picking up the debris from the floor and sopping up the water from the carpet, she took the pail and the broken glass into the closet and left it there. She would deal with that in the morning. All she had to do now was to fill the carafe again and give him a clean glass.
He was sitting propped up against the pillows when she returned to the bedroom and, going to him, she said,
"Is ... is there anything more I can do for you, sir?"
His eyes were wide open and he continued to stare at her, and then he said slowly, "Yes, Trotter; sit down here beside me." He patted the side of the bed.
"But, sir."
"Trotter, please."
Her hand went instinctively now to the front of her nightdress. She hadn't even got her dressing-gown on. She said softly, "Will you excuse me a moment, sir, while I get me dressing-gown?"
"No, Trotter, I wouldn't excuse you a moment. Just sit down as you are."
Slowly she obeyed him.
"Give me your hand."
She gave him her hand, and when he took it he turned it over until her palm was upright. Then he placed his other hand on top of it and, his voice now like a low rumble in his throat, he said, "During these past months I've been very lonely, Trotter, but never so much as tonight ... downstairs."
Her surprise overcame her feeling of apprehension for a moment and she managed to bring out,
"They ... they are your friends, sir."
"No, Trotter, no; I have no friends. I am going to tell you something, Trotter. Those men who were here tonight all have mistresses. Two are kept in Newcastle and one in Durham. One of those gentlemen has lost
count of the number of mistresses he has had. And their wives know of these kept women, yet they live an apparently normal life. But me, I had one affair, not my first I admit, but the only one during the time of my second marriage, and what happens? I lose my wife and my children, and because my wife leaves me I am shunned. Had she chosen to stay, my escapade would merely have been a talking and a laughing point among my so-called friends.
Can you understand it, Trotter?" She made no answer. She couldn't. She knew what he had said was true, but the unfairness of it provided her with no words of consolation.
"I sound full of self-pity, don't I?"
"No, sir."
"Well, what do I sound like to you?"
This she could answer without taking time to consider.
"Somebody lonely, sir."
"Somebody lonely." He repeated her words.
"How right you are, Trotter. Somebody lonely. But it does nothing to help a man's ego to admit that he's lonely. You know what an ego is?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it is ... it's his pride, it's that thing inside of him which tells him he's a great I am.
Both big and small men are born with it.
Strange"--he gave a huh! of a laugh here--"but the smaller the man the bigger the ego. You see, the small man's got to fight to prove himself.
But here am I, neither big nor small, and my ego has dropped to rock bottom. It must have, to make me act as I have done tonight in order to bring you to me."
He turned now and looked at the righted table and he said, "I upset the lot purposely because I wanted you here near me." He did not turn his head now and look at her, but feeling her hand stiffen in his, he said, "Don't... don't be afraid of me, Trotter."
"I'm not, sir."
"You're not?"
"No, sir."
"Then why did you shrink from me?"
"I didn't shrink; I... I was only surprised, sir."
"And shocked?"
"No, sir, not shocked."
"You know what I'm asking of you, Trotter?"
She looked down to where their clasped hands lay on the padded eiderdown and she moved her head once as she said, "Yes, sir."
"And--" His voice scarcely a whisper now, he asked, "Are you willing?"
Her head was still down as she answered him bluntly, "No, sir,"
When his fingers withdrew from hers she raised her eyes and looked at him and said, "I'm ... I'm sorry, sir. I...I would do anything for you, anything but... but... ."
"Lie with me?"
Again her head was down.
"You... you don't like me?"
"Oh yes; yes, sir." She instinctively put out her hand towards his now; then withdrew it as she went on, "Oh yes, sir, I like you. I like you very much, sir."
"But not enough to comfort me?"
"It wouldn't be right, sir. And ... and it would alter things."
"In what way?"
"It ... it wouldn't be the same, me going around the house, I--" She turned and looked across the dimly lighted room now and it was some seconds before she could find words to express her feelings, and then she said, "I... I wouldn't be able to keep my head up."
Again he made a small sound like a laugh in his throat, then said, "That is what is known as working-class morality."
"What, sir?"
"It doesn't matter, Trotter. But tell me, have ... have you ever loved anyone?" He watched her chest expand underneath the cotton nightdress, he saw her nec
k jerk as she swallowed deeply, and when he insisted, "Have you?" she said "Yes."
"And he? Does he love you?"
"I...I think he does in a way, sir."
"In a way? What do you mean in a way?"
"Well, it would be no use, sir, "twoodn't be right."
"Oh! Trotter. Trotter!" The sound of his laughter was more defined now and he shook his head as he said, "You're unfortunate, Trotter. It would appear that you only arouse the love of married men.
I suppose he is married?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is it the farmer?"
When she actually started, he said, "Oh, don't be upset; I'm sure your secret must be suspected by a number of people for it isn't every bridegroom that leaves his bride on his wedding night to go to the assistance of a beautiful young girl.
Nor does a man take her into his
house in spite of his wife's protests. By the way I'm just guessing at the last. When I found you living in the outhouse I thought something was amiss in the farmer's household for you to have returned to the ruins of the cottage. ... So, Trotter, you're in love with a man who can never mean anything to you. What are you going to do? Spend your life fighting against frustration until you're a wizened old maid?"
"No, sir." Her voice was clear now. "I shall marry. Some day I shall marry and have a family."
He peered at her now through the lamplight and her answer seemed to deflate him still further, for he lay back on his pillows and sighed.
"I'm sorry, sir." Her voice conveyed her feelings.
"It's all right, Trotter, it's all right. But stay. Would ... would you do something for me? It's not going to hurt you in any way. But it'll bring ...
well, it'll bring to life a sort of fancy I've had of late."
"Anything I can, sir."
"Well then, lay yourself on top of this bed with your head on the pillow facing me."
"Sir!" She was on her feet now, her hands joined together at her waist, and he said, "It is nothing much to ask. I won't hurt you in any way, I'll be under the clothes and you'll be on top of them. I just want to see you lying there."
He watched her head slowly droop until her chin was on her chest. He watched her turn slowly and walk round the foot of the bed and to the other side.
He watched her pull her nightdress up slightly and her bare knee touch the coverlet. Then after resting on her elbow, she lay straight down.
He watched her stretch out her hand and push her nightdress well down over her knees. And now they were lying, their faces opposite to each other.
When he lifted his hand and gently touched her cheek, Tilly closed her eyes and told herself loudly in her head not to cry, because if she cried it would be the undoing of her, for pity for him would swamp her and she would no longer lie on top of the bedclothes.
"You're very beautiful, Trotter. You know that?"
She made no answer.
"I'm going to tell you something. I dislike your name very much, I hate it every time I've got to say it, it's a harsh name, Trotter. Your name is Tilly and Tilly sounds so nice, gay, warm. A Tilly, I feel, could be no other than nice. I think of you as Tilly."
"Oh, sir."
His fingers now were moving round her eye sockets as he said,
"You've got the strangest eyes, Trotter, they're so clear and deep. That's why people take you for a witch."
Again she said, "Oh, sir."
"And you know, I don't think they're far wrong.
I was thinking the other day it's a good job that you hadn't been born into the class because you would have played havoc there. There would have been no peace for any man who set eyes on you."
She had to speak or cry, and so she said, "That isn't right, sir. Some people ... some men dislike me wholeheartedly."
"It's only because they want you."
"No, sir. No, sir. 'Tis something in me.
Women dislike me too. That's the hardest to bear, women dislikin" me."
After a moment his hand left her face and he lay looking at her. Her eyes were shaded now, and he let his own travel down her shape underneath the cheap nightdress.
Then of a sudden they both turned their heads and looked up towards the ceiling as the sound of a door closing came to them, and when she rose quickly to her elbow she looked at him and he at her, and now he said, "All right, my dear, and thank you."
She slipped from the bed and made for the dressing-room door, but as she turned and looked backwards she saw he was lying on his side staring towards her. Swiftly she went into the room now, then through into the closet, and there, sitting down, she bent forward and dropped her face into her hands. Her whole body was shivering while her mind was chattering at her. Another minute or so and I would have. The pity of it, the pity of it. And him the master.
"Tisn't right. If only I could. But no, no,
'twoodn't be right. And as I said, I couldn't hold me head up. And he knows about Simon. Well, if he's twigged, how many more? His wife? Oh yes, his wife. But what's going to happen now? How can I go on knowing what he wants, and he's so nice, so kind? I do like him. Yes, I do, I do.
She got to her feet now, her mind saying harshly, "Get to bed! For God's sake! get to bed."
She had to go out of the closet door to get to her room, and she had just stepped into the passage when she came face to face with Ada Tennant. Ada was holding a candlestick; she held it above her head and peered at Tilly. She had a coat on over her nightdress and Tilly, remembering her position, said sternly, "Where have you been?"
"Just down to kitchen, I was hungry. Me belly grumbles in the night. I've just had a shive."
Ada now turned her gaze on Tilly.
Tilly wasn't wearing anything over her nightdress and she dared to say, "You've been with the master? You've had to see to the master all this time?" and Tilly said rapidly, "No, no, of course not.
I've just been to the closet."
"Oh. Oh aye. Thought I heard him talkin"
as I passed goin' down. Must have been dreamin'."
She now turned away and went towards the end of the corridor and the stairs leading to the attic, and Tilly went into her room where, almost throwing herself into bed, she lay stiffly staring up into the darkness. It only needed Ada Tennant to put two and two together, and as simple as she was, she wasn't past doing that, and it would be all over the place that she was serving the master in more ways than one. Swinging herself about, she turned on to her stomach and tried to squash the thought that had sprung into her mind: she wished she could serve him in more ways than one, and except for the fact that she might be landed with a bairn she would, yes, she would, because where would this feeling for Simon ever get her?
Gone now was the idea that if she followed such a course she wouldn't be able to hold her head up again.
Routine can become tedious, but often it signifies a time of peace. From the night of the bed incident a new relationship came to life between Mark and Tilly. No reference was made to the incident, nor did his manner towards her alter in any way. But on her part, she had found difficulty for days afterwards in being her natural self. Soon, however, she took the cue from him and life went on smoothly, too smoothly.
Then one morning the smoothness was raffled. Like the surface of the sea before a storm, all had been calm, but following the slight ruffle came a wind, and it churned up the waves so fiercely that at one point Tilly thought she would drown.
She was entering the kitchen when Peg came hurrying towards her, saying, "Steve, the lad, is at the back door askin' for you, Tilly."
Endeavouring to hide her impatience, she said, "Thanks, Peg. I'll see to him," and went down to the kitchen, past Biddy who turned her bent back from the stove, raised her eyebrows and shook her head but said nothing.
Steve had grown within the last year or so. He was now almost eighteen but he looked older; it was his solemn countenance that went a long way towards putting at least two years on him. He greeted her as usual: "Hello, Tilly."
> "Hello, Steve," she said. "How are you?"
He did not answer her question but asked, "Can I talk to you like, away from here?"
She turned for a moment and looked back into the kitchen, then said, "Well, I'm on duty; but I can give you five minutes or so."
She was surprised when he closed his eyes for a moment as he tossed his head upwards; then he was walking by her side and through the archway, and into the shelter of the high stone wall which had been bordered at one time by a rough hedge, but now the land was all cleared and showed a neat path and low-trimmed box hedges.
She was again surprised by his manner when he stopped abruptly and said, "I've come to ask you something."
She didn't say, "Well, what is it?" She just waited a while, looking into his face; and so he went on, "I feel I've got to speak out and get me say in afore he gets over his pretended sorrow and comes lookin' for you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talkin' about."
"I don't, Steve." She shook her head impatiently.
"Well, first of all I don't care what they say about you and ... and him... ." He pointed in the direction of the top of the wall and the house beyond.
"What do you mean?" Her chin came into her neck now as she felt her body stretching upwards.
"Aw"--he lowered his head and shook it--"you know what I mean."
"I don't know what you mean, Steve McGrath."
"Well, you should do if you've got your wits about you. Ask yourself, which lass of your standin' is taken into a big house like that and put in charge and runnin' it like a mistress? They say you don't get chances like that for doin' nowt."
"Well, I got my chance for doing nowt." Her voice was loud, and, realising this, she turned her head first to one side, then to the other, and pressed her fingers over her lips for a moment.
"You mean there's nothin'?" His tone was contrite now.
"I don't see why I should bother even to answer you."
"Aw, I'm sorry." He looked to the side, then kicked at a pebble on the path. "It's the village; they seem to have nobody to talk about but you.
It's funny."
"I don't think it's funny."
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