The Rag Nymph

by Catherine Cookson

  It was one evening when they were sitting round the kitchen table and enjoying Millie's new dish, a rabbit pie, not stewed in the old way, with potatoes round it, but baked in the oven in a thick gravy, dotted with sliced apple and covered with a pie-crust.

  She had seen the recipe in the Sunday magazine. It was a nice paper and had lively stories in it, more so than The Band Of Hope and The Good Words Magazine, both of which Mrs Sponge kindly passed on to her every week.

  The pie had caused much pleasant comment. It was after the dishes had been cleared away, and they were sitting round the fire that she dropped her bombshell. And a bombshell it was.

  When Aggie got over her surprise, the first words she said were, 'Are you thinkin' of pushin' me out?'

  'Don't be silly, Mrs Aggie. But, you know, you say yourself you're tired of doing the rounds, and Laddie is twice as old as you thought he was when you bought him.'

  Then she had asked Ben." 'Well, what do you think? Don't just sit there staring; tell me what you think.'

  'I think it's a fine idea. You're a cook. No matter what else you'll be in your life, you'll always be a cook. And aye, I can see the yard being' cleaned up, and a bench at the front gate. But, I'll say, like Aggie, what's goin' to happen to me? Where do I come in this? Are you willing to pay me eight shillings a week?'

  'I won't pay you anything; it will be Mrs Aggie who will pay you.' She inclined her head towards Aggie. 'And likely twice as much because, you know that shop we pass on the way to the school, well, the pies in there are tuppence ha'penny each.'

  'Aye well, be that as it may. But again I ask you, what's to become of me in this new business venture?

  What am I to do?'

  'Well, you don't think I can do it all on my own, do you? It'll take me all my time cooking with Mrs Aggie here, and somebody will have to look after--' she laughed now as she said, 'the shop.'

  'Oh, I can't see meself servin' in a shop. Never!'

  He wrinkled his nose.

  'Well, all right then, I would do the cooking at night; well, in the evening, and I would stand at the table the next day.'

  Aggie and Ben looked across at her now, and Aggie said to him, 'She's got it all worked out.

  My God! I can't believe it. This place has been a taggerine yard for as long as I can remember, but now she proposes to make it dainty with pies and buns, and such like. But would you tell me, miss'

  - she had turned now to Millie - 'how many pies et cetera, et cetera, do you think you can cook in that at once?' She was now thumbing towards the round oven.

  'Twenty-one, twelve on the top shelf and nine on the bottom. And if the meat's cooked beforehand they'll take only about half an hour. And at the least I could do four lots in the evening. Of course I'd want someone to stoke up the fire and someone to go for the stores' - she glanced from one to the other now - 'because I'd need a lot of fat, and flour, and meat, and currants, and things like that. And I had thought of peas. There's a place in the market that sells mashed peas. You pointed it out to me once.'

  There was a rumbling sound from Ben; then he was doubled forward on the settle, his laughter filling the room. And Aggie, looking at him, endeavoured to keep her face straight, too, as she said, 'He's findin' it funny.' And Millie, gazing at the old woman, asked quietly, 'Aren't you?'

  For answer Aggie said softly, 'Aw! love; I can't see it happenin'. It would take an earthquake to move that lot in the yard. And then, look at the weather.

  How about that? You couldn't have a table out there in the wind or rain.'

  'Yes, I've thought about that. It could come under the arch, or the barn could be cleared. Quite easily the barn could be cleared.'

  Aggie said nothing to this, but she looked to where Ben was lying back against the settle, his hand now held tightly against his side. His face was wet with his laughing until Aggie, looking at Millie, said, 'Lass, have you ever thought that you won't be in this place for ever. Sixteen, comin' up. And who knows? you could be married.'

  They both gave a start as Ben sprang to his feet, all laughter and fun now gone from his face as he cried,

  'Don't start putting things into her head. You would damn well think, the way you talk, that sixteen was the limit for any lass marrying. She'll marry when she's ready, and she'll know when she's ready. And who she wants to marry an' all. So you get that into your head, woman.' And on that, he turned about and marched from the room, leaving Millie greatly perturbed; but not so Aggie.

  'Gets worked up, doesn't he?' she said. 'But you know, me dear, what I say is true. Come sixteen, if not afore, that's the way your thoughts'll be goin'. By the way, how long is it since that Mr Thompson called?'

  'Three months.'

  'Yes; yes, it'll be that. And I thought you would remember. That was the third time he's looked in, wasn't it?'

  Millie was on her feet looking down into the wide, sagging face, and her voice was just above a whisper as she said, 'No, Mrs Aggie. No, never; he's.., he's just a kind man. He's a gentleman and, what's more, don't you remember who he's related to? That...

  that awful woman.'

  'She's just a half-sister, so you said.'

  'Mrs Aggie, please, don't ever think such a thing.

  I ... I wouldn't be able to look at him or speak to him ordinarily if I thought he'd imagine that I ...

  Well, it's as Ben said, sixteen is no age and I've never thought about being married. Well, not really. I'll not marry for years and years. And then it would have to be someone I was at ease with, never anyone like Mr Thompson. Anyway' - her voice was louder now 'I wouldn't like the way they live, and they certainly wouldn't tolerate anybody.., well, like me, coming into the family. I know that. Oh, yes, yes, I know that. You've just got to listen to Mr Sponge at the school. He was speaking the truth, and that's why they stopped him teaching. But he just pointed out the gulf there is between them and us, I mean, the middle classes and the working class. And not only just ... well, like the people around here, but the artisans.., you know, those men with trades whom the middle class still think of as scum. Do you know what? They won't allow working men on to the station when the gentry's there because the sight of them might offend their eyes, not until the train is about to go, when they can scramble into the third class, and have to stand up most of the way. Oh! Mrs Aggie. And you think that Mr Thompson...?'

  It was she who now turned about and hurried from the room, leaving Aggie sitting quietly nodding to herself. Then as if she were speaking to someone, she said aloud, 'Well, we'll see what we shall see. I hope I live long enough.'

  TWO

  It took nine months for Millie's suggestion to bear fruit in the form of pies at tuppence and fourpence each. Plain scones at a ha'penny each, currant ones at a penny each, or three for tuppence; mutton soup at a penny a ladleful, the implement being of a generous size; peas to be served as required, a ha'penny or a penny a scoop, with the Saturday being the currant teacakes and light pastry squares day, both at a penny each, yet the latter thick enough to be split and hold some form of preserve or a slice of meat.

  But the business had brought with it a disappointment, at least for Millie: there was no chance now of her attending the night school; and although there had been no pressure on Ben to give up his free time, he had done so. One thing, however, he would not do was to accompany her into the adult Sunday School in the Methodist Hall. No; they weren't going to get him among the ranters, he said.

  Millie was happy; at least she appeared so most of the time. And Aggie was happy, very happy, particularly on a Friday and Saturday night when she reckoned up the takings. But always Millie had to remind her that the cost of the ingredients, and of Ben's eight shillings and her own wage of five shillings, had to be taken into account before she could say what amount was profit

  'Well, Miss Smarty,' said Aggie, 'what d'you make of it tonight?'

  'If you give me a few minutes I'll tell you, but it won't be as much as you think.'

  'Well, there's seven pou
nds, four shillings here.

  How much have we made?'

  'You, my dear Mrs Aggie, have made one pound, seventeen shillings and two pence.'

  'Well, I suppose I can pay meself, say ten shillin's, takin' all in all, so that leaves a profit of one pound, seven shillin's and tuppence. Well, that isn't bad.

  And what we've made durin' the rest of the week, how does that answer?'

  Millie started to scribble on the slate on which she had worked out the accounts, and then after a few minutes she said, 'Well, altogether the profit for the week looks to have been four pounds, eighteen and sixpence.'

  'Not bad, not bad. I would have had to travel the town for nearly three weeks before I touched on that. A little gold mine this, isn't it? But' - she now put her hand out and touched Millie's - 'you can't keep it up, lass. You're at it from early mornin'

  till late at night, except like tonight, when we've sold out. And it's no use talkin' about gettin' a two-oven grate in, 'cos you've only got one pair of hands, no matter how Ben an' me help. You've got to make the stuff, and you're gettin' as thin as a rake where you should be filling out. You're as flat as a pancake.'

  'I'm not.'

  'Well, if you're not you've got it well hidden, both up your front and in your rear. No, dear, I can't see you goin' on like this. In a fortnight's time you'll be sixteen; and a great age will have come upon you; and I'm not being' funny now either, because then you'll be really enterin' womanhood.'

  When a bell clanged she turned round impatiently towards the door, saying, 'Can't they see that we are closed? Why he had to go and stick a bell outside, God alone knows.'

  'Because,' Millie put in, laughing now, 'you complained about them walking practically into the

  kitchen here after we were closed. That's why he put the bell outside, Mrs Aggie. Anyway, I'll go and see who it is.'

  'You'll do nothin' of the sort. You'll sit there.

  You've never been off your feet since first thing.

  An' the more you sit the more chance there'll be for you to grow a little bit of shape. Look at me.'

  She went out laughing at the joke against herself.

  And Millie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. It was true; she did feel tired. It was also true that in a fortnight's time she would be sixteen, when Aggie had suggested she would enter into womanhood. But hadn't she entered that area some time ago? At what stage did one become a woman...? When one lay thinking in the night how wonderful it would be if... if... if, yet had sense enough, when daylight came, to deny every night thought, with such terms as, 'Keep your head on your shoulders', or 'Have sense'.

  As if she had been suddenly transported back into the night she saw with a gape of surprise the man who had been in her thoughts. There he was in the flesh, standing by Aggie's side and smiling at her.

  When she sprang to her feet, she toppled the chair over, and he came rapidly forward and straightened it, saying, 'I'm so sorry. Were you dozing?'

  Before she could answer, Aggie put in, 'She's tired, sir. She's never off her feet. This business was her idea, but it's wearin' her out.'

  'Oh, be quiet, Mrs Aggie, and don't talk nonsense.'

  Millie now put her hand out and indicated the settle, saying, 'Won't you sit down?'

  'Yes. Yes, for a moment or so, but I won't stay, as I'm putting you out.'

  'You're not. You're not at all, sir,' Aggie put in.

  'Can I offer you a drink?'

  'No, thank you. I... I had a meal a short while ago, and it was washed down. You understand?'

  Aggie's head was bobbing now and she was smiling widely as she said, 'Oh, yes, sir, I understand that all right. It's a habit of me own. Mine's called cream of the valley. Eeh!' She swept her arm towards Millie, saying, 'Look at us both! Saturday evening and not changed out of our old duds. Well, if I can't offer you a drink I won't offer you my conversation, 'cos it wouldn't be what you would call edifying. But I'll away and change meself into something better.

  If you'll excuse me; I won't be all that long.'

  Millie made a sign of protest with a half-open mouth and a gesture as if to halt Aggie's departure; but Aggie was not to be stopped; she was already disappearing through the door leading to the hall.

  As Millie stood staring at him he rose to his feet, saying with a smile, 'I can't sit while you stand.'

  'Oh.' As if coming out of the night dream, she turned and lowered herself slowly down on to the couch, and he resumed his seat on the settle.

  'How are you? You look fired. As Mrs Winkowski says, you're working too hard.'

  'It's natural. One is always tired towards the end of the day and Saturday is an especially busy day.'

  'Yes. Yes. Is the business still going well?'

  'Very well indeed.'

  'Have ... have you ever thought of taking a shop?'

  She looked to the side before she said, 'Yes. Yes, I have, but that would mean leaving here and Mrs Aggie and Ben.'

  He did not reply saying, Yes, I understand, but sat staring at her, all the while wondering how she could tolerate these surroundings after having, for a time at least, lived in the more refined, even though

  boisterous, atmosphere of the Quintons'. This room for instance: it was really dreadful. Of course, it was a working room, but it was taken up mostly with the couch on which she was sitting and the two tables, one under the window on which was laid out the various flours and substances for her cooking; the other, at which, he imagined, they would have to eat, was also used by her for writing, for on it were sheets of paper and a pencil, besides a slate. And that room which he had just come through; it smelt; not a bad smell, but a stale smell as one would get from old people. And here she was, this beautiful lily-like creature who, besides looking so beautiful, had also a mind, which had been so apparent in the short conversations they'd had previously. God! If only things were different. If only.., if only. How often, over the past months, had he said that to himself, whenever the picture of her had sprung like a vision unheralded before his eyes, that picture which had brought him here tonight. How long could he go on and what would she say? 'You have a birthday soon,' he said now; 'I remember you telling me it was in September.'

  'Yes. In a fortnight's time.'

  'And then you will be sixteen. Do you feel grown up?'

  She did not answer him immediately, but she was looking him straight in the face across the narrow space when she said, 'In a way, I can't remember not feeling grown up. Yet, in another way, I resent the feeling and want to remain, if not a child, then young.'

  He laughed gently, saying, 'But you are young; and you're the type of--' he stopped here, not knowing whether to say lady, or woman, but tactfully substituting, 'personality that will always retain a youthful freshness right until you are a very old lady like my Aunt Chrissie. Yet--' He waved his hand now before his face, saying,

  'that was a bad

  comparison, because although, at sixty-five, she still has that girlish vitality, unfortunately she has become a little troubled in her mind. She lives not so very far away from here in a sweet little house, with an old retainer. I would dearly like you to come and meet her some day.' To this he added playfully,

  'When you are sixteen and allowed to go out.'

  'I'm allowed to go out now, Mr Thompson; no one stops me.'

  'But I've never been allowed to take you out, have I?'

  She stiffened slightly as she replied, 'As yet you have never extended the invitation.'

  He had a nice laugh; what she called a clean laugh.

  'This conversation,' he said, 'could be taking place in a drawing-room with tasselled mantelborders there' - he pointed to the bare wooden mantelpiece, bare except for a pair of brass candlesticks and two ornamental jugs - 'and the windows almost obliterated with heavy brocade drapes, the table with an ivory marquetry top. Oh, and that one' he laughingly now pointed to the table under the window - 'oh, that one is carved Indian style. And over there' - he indicated th
e far door - 'is a piano, but you can't see the top of it because it's covered with a huge Spanish shawl. And the walls are thick with paintings, all by great painters. Oh yes. And the floor? Well, nothing less than a Brussels carpet for the floor. And under my feet here' - he now tapped his feet on the home-made mat - 'is a bearskin rug, an actual bearskin rug that once kept the poor old bear warm somewhere out in the snows. And you know' - he now leant towards her - 'your reply just suited that room.'

  'I don't know whether to take all that as a compliment or the reverse.'

  Her answer evidently surprised him, and he was definitely nonplussed when she said, 'Well, you've described the drawing-room you are used to, so how do you find this in comparison?'

  She watched him blink two or three times, wet his lips and then say softly, 'I don't draw comparisons.

  It was a picture to match your voice at that moment; although, I may add,' his tone dropped still further,

  'that you would fit admirably into my description.'

  He rose from the seat as if about to come towards her, but at that moment the door opened and Ben entered, to pause, then slowly walk towards the kitchen table.

  'Hello, there.' Bernard Thompson's voice was light. 'I ... I was just passing and popped in to' - he inclined his head towards Millie - 'to see how

  our young friend was getting on.'

  'Oh, aye. Were you makin' for The Courts?'

  'The Courts?' It was a puzzled question.

  'Aye, the only destination past our gate is to The Courts; you know, Nelson Court and the like.'

  'Ben!' Millie's voice was quiet. 'Mr Thompson called in to see me as he has done before; he knows what The Courts are like.'

  'Huh! I doubt it. Have you ever been along there ... sir?' The word seemed to come as an afterthought.

  'No, I haven't been along there, but the stench proclaims the condition of the houses.' Bernard Thompson's expression was stiff now, as was his tone. 'And although you might not believe it, I'm well aware of the disparity between one end of this town and the other. In fact, I could say that, in a way, I'm as much concerned as Mr Engels is. And now that I'm part-owner of a mill I shall do my utmost to alleviate the situation wherever possible.'