"You know what I mean. Well, anyway"--he now drew himself up and said, "I'll come to the point, I've been beatin' about the bush for as long as I can remember. I... I want to marry you, Tilly.
I... I want to know if I can start courtin' you?
I'll soon be on the face workin' an' I'll earn enough to keep us... ."
She was looking at the ground. She, however, did not kick at a pebble but remained perfectly still for a moment with one lifted palm outwards before her face.
It was this action which had stopped him talking.
There was a long silence before he said softly,
"I'll wait as long as you like."
"It's no use, Steve. I... I don't think of you in that way."
I
was "Cos I'm a year younger?"
"No, it's got nothing to do with that, I ... I just think of you . . greater-than well, as a brother."
"I don't want you to think of me as a brother, I never have."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Well, of course, I know, and ... and I've tried to put you off. You can't say I haven't."
"You won't put me off, Tilly, not until you go and marry somebody else."
"Steve"--she put her hand gently on his arm now
--"please don't wait for me 'cos it can never be, not ... not with you. As much as I like you, it can't be, Steve."
He lowered his head now as he said, "Things happen; you might be glad of me one day."
"I'll ... I'll always be glad of you, of your friendship, Steve, but ... but not as anything else."
She watched his face crumple as if he were going to cry, and what he said now startled her.
"I killed our Hal for you, Tilly."
"Don't say that!" The hoarse whisper came from deep in her throat, and she repeated again,
"Don't say it. I told you to go and help him
... oh my God! Anyway, if you did it you didn't do it for me, you did it because you hated him."
His head came up with a jerk as he said, "I hated him because of what he did to you, and what I did to him I did for you. What's more, they know that I did it, at least me ma does. But she won't give me away because she'd lose another one, an" me pay packet an' all."
The bitter irony of his words saddened her, and for a moment she wanted to put her arms about him and hold him and tell him how grateful she was for what he had done because inside she was grateful, but she knew what the result of that would be, so she said, "Oh, Steve, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, and I would do anything for you, but ... but that. Try to look upon me as a friend, Steve. There's good lasses about. Katie, you know, she's always talkin' about you, she likes you a lot, she's a nice lass... ."
"Aw. Shut up Tilly! it's like tellin' a thirsty bloke to chew sand."
There was silence again between them until she said,
"I've got to go, Steve, I'm ... I'm sorry."
"I'll wait."
"Please, please, Steve, don't, it's useless."
"Aye, well, I can't feel worse off than I am now, but I thought I'd get the first one in afore the farmer comes gallopin' over."
She stared at him, her brows meeting. "What do you mean, the farmer comes galloping over? I've never seen Si ... Mr Bentwood for months. And what makes you think he'll come galloping over here?"
Her voice was stiff, as was her face now.
"Well, he's a widower now, isn't he?"
"What!"
He stared at her. "You didn't know that she, his wife, was dead?"
Her mouth opened to let in a long draught of air and she shook her head slowly before saying, "When?"
"Four ... no, six weeks gone. And you didn't know?"
"Well, why should I?" She was finding it difficult to speak now. "We get no one... no one from the village here."
"But surely somebody in the house?"
She looked away to the side as she thought, Yes, surely somebody in the house. The master, he was bound to know that the farmer's wife had died.
Yet why should he? Then there was Mr Burgess, he knew all the gossip of the countryside, he surely would have spoken of it. Her gaze flicked from side to side as if searching for an answer; then she said, "I've ... I've got to go. Good-bye, Steve. I'm... I'm sorry."
"Tilly."
She refused to answer the plea in his voice and, turning hurriedly away, went through the arch and over the courtyard and into the kitchen; and there met Phyllis who was coming through the green-baize door and who in a loud whisper said, "I...I was just comin' for you; there's company."
"Company? Who?"
"Mr Rosier has just been shown up."
His feelings were such that Mark would have welcomed the company of any man that morning, with the exception of the one who now stood before him.
"Well, how do I find you?"
"You find me very well." Mark did not look towards Mr Burgess and
say, "Give the gentleman a seat," but Mr Burgess, of his own accord, proffered the visitor a chair before he himself left the room.
"I should have called before but I have been busy."
It was now more than a year since the mine disaster, and so whatever had prompted Rosier's presence here today wasn't out of compassion or sympathy... . But why ask the road he knew?
"How are things?"
"As you see"--Mark waved his hand in an arc which encompassed the room--"most comfortable. Everything I need."
"Yes, yes." Rosier now patted his knee; then jerking his small body up from the chair, he nicked his coat tails to the side before saying, "I was never much use at small talk-don't believe in it anyway-I think you know why I'm here today."
Mark remained quiet, just staring at the man.
"It's like this, Sopwith, there's not a damn thing been done to your pit since the water took over. Now if you leave it like that much longer it will be too late to save anything."
"I wasn't aware that I'd given the impression I wanted to save anything."
"Don't be a fool, man." Rosier screwed his buttocks hard on the chair now, and both his face and his voice showed impatience as he said, "And don't let's spar. And I'm not going to talk light because you're no invalid. Let's speak man to man, you're in a hell of a mess."
"I beg your pardon!"
"You heard what I said all right, you're in a hell of a mess. You haven't got the money to put that place in order and, as it is, nobody but a fool would take it on."
"I would never have classed you in that category, Rosier."
"Ah, don't fiddle-faddle, you know what I mean. The place needs money spent on it, even when it's pumped dry, and that'll take the devil of a lot of doing. But you know, you've always been behind the times. Now you've got to admit that. Why, you're one of the few pits that's been running solely on horses for years. You thought you could go it alone.
All pits are joining up their waggonways, some going straight to the ports. Look what's happening across the river. Seghill has become dissatisfied with the Cramlington waggonway and is building its own line to Howdon."
"Go on. Go on."
"Aye, I'm going on. Now, as I proposed to you when I last spoke about sharing, the waggonway between us would have been of great
benefit, we could have joined up with the main line going to the river... ."
"Great benefit to whom?"
"Now don't take that lord almighty tack, Sopwith. If you had taken my offer on a fifty-fifty basis we would have both benefited, now your place is hardly worth the ground it stands on."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm a man who takes risks, a gambler at heart, I suppose."
"And you're willing to gamble on something that's not worth the ground it stands on? Oh, who do you think you're talking to, Rosier? Now--" He put his hand up to check a further flow from the visitor, saying, "Wait! That mine has been in our family for generations, before rolley ways or waggonways were thought of, when the ponies and horses carried the coal on their backs, and it's going to remain i
n our family. Dry or wet, working or still, it's going to remain there. Have I made myself clear?"
Rosier was on his feet now wagging his bullet head from side to side. "You're a bloody fool, Sopwith," he said. "That's what you are. You're sinking. All about you you're sinking, your house, your land. It might as well have been flooded with the pit for all the use it's going to be to you when you haven't got the money to keep it going. I can promise you twenty-five per cent of what I'll get out of that hole in a couple of years' time, enough to keep you safe here for the rest of your days."
Mark reached out and grabbed at the bell rope to the side of the fireplace; then his hand releasing that, he picked up the bell on the side table and rang it violently.
Before Pike's stiff legs were half-way up the stairs, Mr Burgess had entered the room.
"Kindly show this gentleman out, Burgess."
Mr Burgess lowered his head and stood aside for the visitor to leave, but Rosier remained standing staring at Mark, and what he said now was, "Your days are done; you and your kind's time has passed.
Things are happening out there. Iron is coming into its own; steam is giving horses a kick in the arse, you'll see. You'll see. You and your horses carrying the coal out on your wooden tracks! God!
you're as dead as last century."
When he turned he almost knocked Mr Burgess over; in fact, if it hadn't been for the support of the door the man would have fallen.
Pike was at the top of the Stairrs to meet the visitor, but he, too, was thrust aside.
Tilly held her breath for a moment as she watched Mr Pike support himself against the balustrade; then she hurried towards the bedroom.
Mr Burgess was leaning over the chair as she entered the room and he was saying, "Are you all right, sir?" and for answer Mark said, "No, I'm not all right, Burgess; who could be all right after that?"
Burgess straightened up and, his voice quiet now, he said, "Pigs are supposed to be intelligent, sir, and one can believe this, but on no account will they ever be capable of fitting into civilised society."
"Oh, Burgess!" Mark put his head down for a moment; then looking up at Tilly, he said,
"Bring me a glass of something, not milk or soup."
She smiled at him before hurrying to the dressing-room.
A few minutes later, after he had sipped at the glass of brandy she had brought him, he looked from her to Mr Burgess and said quietly, "He's right you know, he's right in one way, I belong to the last century."
"Nonsense!"
He smiled at Burgess; then said to Tilly,
"I don't suppose we'll have another visit from him, but leave word, Trotter, that he is not to be admitted to this house again, on any account."
"Yes, sir."
She left the room, went downstairs, and gave the order to Mr Pike, who said, "Well, that's good news, for nothing would please me better than to show that gentleman the door before he got over the step."
Running upstairs again, she went immediately into the dressing-room and there she waited until she heard Burgess take his leave. There was something she wanted to ask the master, at least there were two things she wanted to ask him; the first one was if she could have this afternoon off. When she thought of what this might lead to she put her hand to her breast as if to still the quickened beating of her heart. She knew why Simon hadn't come to see her since his wife had died, for the simple reason it wouldn't be proper and no matter how forthright he might appear she knew he cared about people's opinion of him. But there was nothing to stop her visiting him to offer her condolences. Oh, she tossed her head at the thought-she was acting like a hypocrite, thinking like a hypocrite. She was glad she was dead. She was, she was. No. No. She mustn't think like that. Well, what other way could she think?
Simon was now free and she loved Simon ... and he loved her. She had known this for years, even perhaps before he knew it.
She went into the room now and, standing a little distance from Mark, she said, "Could I ask a favour of you, sir?"
"Yes, Trotter, anything. You know that I will grant you anything within my power."
"May... may I have this afternoon off, sir?"
When he put his head back and laughed she smiled widely. After the rumpus of that meeting it was good to hear him laugh. "Of course, Trotter, you may have the afternoon off. I think we should arrange that you have more afternoons off, you spend too much time in the house and"--
he paused--"and in this room."
"Oh, I don't mind that, sir."
"I'm glad you don't, Trotter. Are you thinking of going into Shields or taking a trip into Newcastle?"
"No, sir, neither."
"Oh." He waited, his face full of enquiry, and now she put her second question to him.
"Did you know, sir, that Farmer Bentwood's wife had died?"
His eyes held hers, but even before that her face had flushed with the question she had put to him, for she was remembering the confession of her feelings on a certain night some months ago.
"Yes, yes, I knew, Trotter."
She could now feel her face stretching in amazement. When she found her voice she wanted to demand, "And why didn't you tell me?" but the thought came to her, How did he know? Someone must have told him. Such a thing wouldn't be of any interest to the viewer or the agent who sometimes called about the mine; perhaps it was Mr Tolman or Mr Cragg. And then she knew who had brought the news, Mr Burgess.
Her voice was quiet when she said, "Does ...
did anyone else know, sir, that she had died?"
"Yes, Trotter, Burgess."
"Oh."
"You may wonder why he didn't mention it to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, it's because I told him not to."
Her face again stretched; then he was going on,
"I had my reasons, Trotter, very good reasons.
If Farmer Bentwood wants you he'll come for you, that's how I see it. If I loved someone and I knew they were available I would make it my business to go to them and tell them how I felt."
"It ... it wouldn't have been right, sir, if ...
she's only been gone a short while."
"Almost six weeks, Trotter."
His eyes had never left her face. "As for not being right, that's damn nonsense. I needn't ask if he's written to you because, had he, you wouldn't be showing so much surprise and agitation now."
When she bowed her head, he said, "Wouldn't it be better if you were to wait... in fact, I think it would be better if you were to postpone your visit.
Give him time to--" When he stopped abruptly she raised her head and looked at him, and he shrugged his shoulders.
They looked at each other for a moment in silence, then she said, "May I still have the afternoon off, sir?"
"Yes, Trotter."
"Thank you, sir. I... I shall see to your lunch first."
As she turned away, he lifted himself up from the chair by his arms as if to follow her or speak; then dropping back, he turned his head and looked over the wide sill and out of the window, and he thought, If she goes, what then? ... Dear God! Let's hope Burgess is right.
"I am going on an errand," she said to Biddy.
"You'll be blown away, lass."
"Doesn't matter, the sun's shining."
"Won't be for long." Katie had come in through the back door on a gale of wind and, thrusting her thick buttocks out, she pressed the door closed, saying, "Phew! that was a narrow escape. A slate came off the roof and almost slid past me nose. Boy! one of those could cut you in two... .
Where you goin', Tilly?"
"I'm just going on an errand."
"Oh." Katie knew when to stop asking questions, but she added, "Well, if I were you I'd put a scarf round me hat else you'll be leapfrogging across the fields after it."
"Stop your chattin'," her mother said to her now.
"Get about your business and let Tilly get away... . Make the best of your walk, lass; you don't get out enough."
/> "I will." She nodded at Biddy, then went out and with the wind at her back she had to stop herself from running.
She was well away from the house when her desire to run was frustrated by the wind now being in her face, and she had to battle against it, holding her hat on with one hand and keeping the front of her skirt down with the other.
She took the road along the bridle-path and past the cottage. Here, she stopped for a moment, her back to the wind, and gazed at the charred walls. The tangled grass had grown up almost to the ground floor window-sill. It seemed a long lifetime away since she had lived there, so much had happened to her, yet she hadn't moved more than two miles away from it. She cut through Billings Flat; then to avoid the village she climbed the steep bank, went through the rock strewn field and so on to the fell proper. Coming to a low stone wall, she sat on top of it and as she threw her legs over she scattered a few sheep sheltering on the other side. As they ran from her she laughed out loud. It was good to be out in the air and the wind. She had the desire to run again, but now she was approaching the farmland and she might meet up with Randy Simmons or Billy Young or Ally Taylor.
She saw none of the hands until she reached the farmyard proper, and it was Randy Simmons she saw first. He was coming out of the byre directing a heifer by prodding its rump with a sharp stick, and he became still as he stared at her while the animal galloped away to the end of the yard. And he didn't move until Bill Young shouted, "Where's this "un off to?" Then he, too, stopped after he had brought the animal to a halt, and from each end of the yard they looked at her.
Turning her back to the wind, she was now facing Bill Young and she called, "Is ... is Mr Bentwood about?"
Pushing the animal forward now, Bill Young came up to her and stared at her for a moment before saying,
"Well, no, no, he's not, Tilly."
"Tell you where you'll find him."
She turned now in the direction of Randy Simmons and waited for him to speak again, and after a moment of staring at her, he thumbed over his shoulder, saying, "Workin" in the bottom field in barn down there."
"Thank you." She turned away from them. She was facing the wind again and she heard Bill Young's voice raised and Randy Simmons answer him, but she couldn't make out what they said.
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