The Tide of Life

by Catherine Cookson

  A bell ringing caused his and all their eyes to lift towards the ceiling, and Emily muttered, ‘The mistress! She must have heard it. Will I go up?’

  ‘No.’ His voice was grim now. ‘No; I’ll go.’

  After he had left the room Emily turned to Lucy and said, ‘Well, come on, the jollification’s over, we’ll have to get this cleared up afore the mornin’.’

  ‘Must we, Emily? I’m tired, an’ I’m a bit dizzy in me head.’

  ‘You…sit down…Lucy.’ Con was nodding at her. ‘I’ll…I’ll help Emily.’

  Needing no further bidding. Lucy went to the chair by the fireplace and sat down, while Emily and Con started to clear up the debris; and all the while Emily kept asking herself in a dazed way, why had this to happen, because in a curious way it had put the damper on things. And she had been enjoying herself as she had never done before; she could have gone on all night.

  The broken crockery had been shovelled into two wooden pails and the floor swept by the time Larry returned, and when Con asked, ‘Did…did it frighten her…Larry?’ he answered slowly, ‘Yes. Yes, it frightened her. It woke her up. She…she’s disturbed.’

  He looked at the delf rack again, and his jaw tightened as he said, ‘We’ll have to look into the whys and wherefores of this in the morning, but animals don’t know it’s New Year’s Day, they read the clock by the light, so we’d all better get to bed, eh?’

  He turned and now looked at Lucy, where she was slumped in the big chair and he said, ‘She’ll not walk up those stairs tonight.’

  ‘She’ll have to; I’ll wake her.’

  ‘Don’t. I’ll…I’ll carry her up.’

  ‘Oh, ta, thanks. It’s all that wine; it got me an’ all.’ She gave a little laugh, ‘She’ll not be the only one who’ll take some wakening in the mornin’.’

  When Larry stooped and gathered Lucy up in his arms, Emily said, ‘I’ll just bring the things out of the library, I’d better leave it tidy like,’ and she gave her head a shake as if endeavouring to throw off the muzziness, then added, ‘Goodnight, sir, or mornin’. And…an’ thanks for…for the jollification.’

  Larry was pushing his back against the kitchen door before he answered briefly, ‘Goodnight, Emily.’

  ‘Goodnight, Con.’

  ‘Goodnight…Emily. I’ll…I’ll never forget this…this New Year, never…never.’

  ‘Nor me, Con. Nor me. Goodnight, and a happy New Year to you.’

  ‘Same to you, Emily. Same to you.’

  She now went across the hall and into the library. The fire was still burning brightly. There was a sweet tangy smell in the air. It had been a lovely night, and she had felt so happy. They could have gone on till morning if that shelf hadn’t come down.

  She piled the remains of the food onto two plates, gathered up the dirty glasses and crockery, then stacked them all on a tray. She was about to lift the tray from the table when she looked at the fire and said to herself, ‘I’d better bank that down, or put the screen in front of it, ’cos if a spark fell onto that rug…whoops!’

  She didn’t know why saying whoops! should make her laugh, but she felt like laughing all the time now. It was silly, but somehow she couldn’t help it.

  She flattened the top of the fire down with the poker, pushed the dry logs to one side of the hearth; then, leaning across to the stone wall that flanked the fireplace, she pulled towards her an ornamental iron screen and placed it in front of the fire. She now sat back on her knees as she thought, Lord above, but I am tired! And only a minute ago I was thinking I could go on all night. I feel too tired to make the stairs. She turned and moved on her knees to the couch, leaning her elbow on it for a moment, and as she did so the door opened and Larry entered the room.

  She was pulling herself to her feet when he reached her. He put out his hand and helped her upwards; then still retaining hold of her, he bent slightly towards her and said solemnly, ‘Thank you, Emily.’

  ‘Thank me!…What’s there to thank me for?’ She knew that her face must be red for it was suddenly very hot.

  ‘For one of the nicest, and homeliest, few hours I’ve had in years.’

  ‘Aw, go on with you, sir.’

  ‘It’s true…it’s true, Emily…Have you enjoyed yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes; I’ve never felt like this afore, I feel as happy as…’ She put her hand over her mouth now and started to giggle as she ended, ‘I nearly said Larry, sir. You know, there’s a sayin’, “As happy as Larry”.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ve heard the saying, Emily, many times…As happy as Larry. But it doesn’t apply to me; I’m not happy, Emily. You know that, don’t you?’

  The smile slid from her face. The feeling of laughter went from her. She blinked up at him as she said, ‘I’ve felt it at times…your misery.’

  ‘That’s the right word for it, Emily. Oh yes, that’s the right word, my misery. Do you know something? You’ve brought more light and laughter into this house than it’s ever seen before, and you’ve brought me more happiness—yes’—he nodded at her—‘more happiness than I’ve had in years. Everything in life must be paid for, Emily, but some prices are too high…You’re warm, Emily.’

  His two hands were stroking hers now, his fingers moving over the rough chapped skin. The pressure of his fingers on a keen hurt her but she gave no evidence of it, she just stared at him wide-eyed unblinking. There was in her the feeling which she had experienced a number of times of late, a kind of excitement in the region of her stomach, an irritating excitement; an excitement that demanded relief, an escape. The times when she felt like this she had told herself to go to sleep and it would pass; but now she wasn’t asleep, and there was no way to make it pass. Or was there?

  His face was coming closer to hers, his hands were on her shoulders, and as they moved down towards the blades on her back, her breast came nearer to him until her bodice was touching his coat. Yet still she kept her face away from his. But when he said, ‘Oh Emily! Emily!’ she could move it back no further. Now his breath was all over her face; then his lips were all over her face; and when they stopped on her mouth she became lost. The exciting feeling was growing, leaping about in her stomach, swirling upwards and downwards at the same moment, making her legs tremble and her chest heave; but it was when his hand, moving down her spine, pressed on her buttocks that sanity returned to her; it came like a flash of lightning. This is what had happened to May Turner and Nell Blackett, who had lived in their street. And where was Nell Blackett now? She was in the workhouse, and her bairn as well, ’cos her da turned her out. And moreover this is what had happened to that lass in the village down there, that they were blaming Con for. He had said it wasn’t Con, an’ perhaps it wasn’t Con after all…No, by God, perhaps it wasn’t!

  He was no more surprised by her strength than she was herself for she felt she had thrown him onto the couch. His mouth wide open, his breath coming in gasps, he gaped at her where she was standing well back from him, her skirt actually touching the iron fire screen.

  They were staring at each other like fighters who had been momentarily separated, she as stiff as a ramrod, her arms held slightly away from her sides.

  Slowly he brought himself forward onto the edge of the couch and dropped his face into his hands; and after a moment he rose to his feet and, without looking at her or saying a word, went from the room. Now her body relaxed and she lifted up her hand and, pressing it across her mouth, she muttered ‘Oh my God!’

  Six

  It was ten o’clock the following morning. Emily was in the kitchen and she didn’t know how she was standing on her feet. For the first time in her life she was experiencing a headache, and the pain was intense, although not as bad as when she had woken up at seven o’clock.

  When she had sprung from the bed realising how late it was, she had fallen onto her knees and buried her head in the rumpled bedclothes as she imagined for a moment that hot skewers were being banged into her temples. She couldn’t understand w
hat was happening to her until she remembered her father, his face screwed up, crawling down the back stairs and holding his head under the running tap following a night of boozing.

  Had she been drunk?

  At first she couldn’t recall anything that had happened last night. Not until she reached the kitchen and had taken the teapot from the stove and drunk the scalding black liquid did she remember that they’d had a party…a jollification, but the full details of it did not become clear in her mind for another hour or more.

  She had managed to get the mistress’s breakfast on time and she was relieved when the mistress did not speak to her, not even to wish her a happy New Year, but just stared at her, which meant she was in one of her bad moods.

  She had set the breakfast as usual in the kitchen but only Con came in for it. She did not ask him where the master was, nor did he offer her any explanation for, as he had already told her, his head too was fit to burst.

  Nor did she press Lucy to eat her breakfast for Lucy, too, seemed dazed.

  It wasn’t until she paused for a moment in her scurrying and drank her third mug of black tea that the incident that had occurred at the end of the jollification sprang into her mind. She saw it as a picture suspended in air, herself within the circle of the master’s arms, his lips on hers; and as the picture unfolded she actually felt the warmth again pass through her body and she recalled her desire to lie against him, lie deeply against him. But the picture faded as she saw herself thrusting him from her, then watching him walking away without a word.

  How was she going to face him? What was more to the point, how was he going to face her? For in his sober senses this morning he would consider he had let himself down…or would he? Because, let her face it, he wasn’t a gentleman, for no real gentleman would have allowed them to have such a jollification in his library, no matter how lonely and miserable he was…He had said something about being miserable, hadn’t he?

  Oh, she couldn’t think. She didn’t want to think. If only her head would ease.

  She turned to Lucy, who was standing at the sink scouring a porridge pan, and said, ‘You’d better go up and bring her tray down. And mind, be careful you don’t drop it; there was enough crockery broken last night.’ She looked towards the delf rack, adding, ‘I’ll never know how that happened; I’ve taken things off that shelf hundreds of times an’ didn’t feel it was loose…Go on now.’ She almost barked at Lucy, who had been slow to turn from the sink, and when she saw her walk across the room with her shoulders stooped she thought to herself, We’re all in the same boat; it’s the mornin’ after the night afore with a vengeance. Of one thing she was certain, she’d had her first and last fill of wine. The next bit of jollification she had would be dry, if she knew anything about it. Aye, it would …

  When she heard the scream she recognised it as Lucy’s and as she looked upwards her head fell back on her shoulders so quickly that a bone cracked.

  She had dropped the tray. Oh my God!

  She was out of the kitchen, across the hall and up the stairs and to the bedroom door before another thought entered her mind, but when she went to push the door open it resisted, as it had done many times before, and as she went to knock on it she heard Lucy’s scream again. It was a high, terrified scream, and she yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Lucy! Lucy! Let me in. What is it?’ and Lucy’s choked answer came back, crying, ‘Emily! Oh Emily!’

  ‘Open the door, Lucy! Open the door!’ She was banging on it with her fist now.

  ‘What’s…what’s the matter?’

  She turned her head to the side as Con came onto the landing, and she shouted at him, ‘Go and get the master, quick! Go and get the master.’ Then she banged on the door again, yelling now, ‘Madam! Open the door. D’you hear me! Take that bar off the door. D’you hear me!’

  But the only answer that came to her was the sound of Lucy’s sobbing. Then she began to bang on the door and to yell at the same time.

  ‘Open that door this minute, Rona!’ So loud had been her own yelling that she hadn’t heard Larry’s approach. ‘Do you hear me! Open this door at once!’ The answer came back sharp and clear almost immediately, ‘The door is open.’

  When he turned the handle the door gave and he thrust it wide and went into the room, and Emily, rushing past him, ran towards Lucy who was cowering near the fireplace holding her torn skirt with one hand and her torn blouse with the other. Her face quivering with fear, she gasped out, ‘Oh Emily! Emily!’ and as Emily’s arms went about her she looked towards the bed and cried at her mistress, ‘What’s the matter with you, woman! What’s she done to you? Why…why did you do this?’

  ‘Why?’ The voice sounded calm. ‘You may well ask why. I told her to take off her skirt. She wouldn’t, she was afraid, and she has every reason to be, she’s pregnant.’

  Emily’s hold became limp. She stared down into the wet, terrified face of her sister, then looked towards the bed again, and even as she whispered, ‘Oh no! No!’ she told herself she had been a fool all these weeks. Didn’t she know that you were always sick when you dropped with a bairn. And she had thought it was something Lucy had been eating…But she had said that that Tim Pearsley hadn’t touched her. Well, he must have. And she must have known he had, she wasn’t all that simple; in fact, she wasn’t simple in that way at all. Nobody could be that kind of simple after having lived with Alice Broughton for any length of time.

  She now gripped Lucy by the shoulder and pushed her forward, past her mistress who was now sitting almost upright in the bed, her face a picture of disgust, even of loathing, and past her master, whose expression was a mixture of anger and amazement, and thrusting Lucy before her, they went out onto the landing, not towards the main staircase but up the attic stairs and into their bedroom.

  Once inside, Emily pushed the shivering girl onto the bed; then thrusting her face down to Lucy’s, she said bitterly, ‘You’ve made a fool of me, a damn fool. You knew all the time you were goin’ to have a bairn.’

  ‘No! No, Emily!’ Lucy was shaking her head from side to side while the tears rained down her face and she whimpered, ‘I’m not. I’m not.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Emily straightened her back, her hand held upwards. ‘For two pins I’d slap your face right and left. Oh!’ She turned away and, folding her arms tightly across her breasts, hugged herself as she paced the room. ‘All these weeks, sick in the mornings, and at all times of the day’—she now turned her head and glared at Lucy—‘and it never dawned on me, ’cos you had said he hadn’t touched you, and I believed you. Oh, if ever there was a fool in this world it’s me. An’ d’you think them down there’—she now brought her hands from underneath her oxters and pointed towards the floor—‘d’you think they’ll believe me? Not on your life. An’ we’ll be out, out on our necks, both of us.’

  She now stood still and looked at the thin, white pathetic figure sitting on the bed staring at her, while the tears ran out of the eyes and nostrils and dripped onto the chapped hands where they lay in her lap, not gripping each other as hers would have done, but lying limp, and at the sight of the abject figure all the fight went out of Emily. Going towards the bed, she sat down by Lucy’s side and, putting her arm around her shoulder, she said softly, ‘You could have told me.’

  ‘Emily.’

  ‘Aye, what is it?’

  ‘He never, Tim Pearsley never touched me, not that way.’

  For a moment her pity vanished and she had the strong urge to knock the slight form flying onto the floor; then on a deep intake of breath, her anger once more vanished and she said on a sigh, ‘Well, if he didn’t touch you, who did then?’

  The next minute it was almost as if she had been startled out of her wits by the thought that had crossed her mind, for she was gripping Lucy’s shoulders and pressing her back onto the bed again as she hissed at her, ‘Con? Was it Con?’

  ‘Oh no! No!’ Lucy’s voice had a strength to it now and she shrugged herself away from Emily’s grip. Pullin
g herself upright, she got off the bed and, facing Emily, she said, ‘How could you think such a thing! Con? Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. I tell you, our Emily, I’m not. I’m not!’ Now she was shouting loudly. ‘You won’t believe me but I’m not. I tell you I’m not, I’m not goin’ to have a bairn.’

  At this Lucy turned and darted out of the room, and Emily made no attempt to follow her; what could you do with somebody who wouldn’t believe what was staring them in the face.

  She sat dejectedly on the side of the bed now asking herself where they would go from here. Well, there was only one place they wouldn’t go, and that was the workhouse. She still had fourteen whole sovereigns and some small change left. And then there was the watch. If the worst came to the worst she would risk pawning it; she would go to a big pawnshop in Newcastle and say she was pawning it for her mistress. Yes, she could do that. In the meantime they would go to their Aunt Mary’s; she would know how to handle a situation like this.

  She rose slowly from the bed and went down the stairs. As she reached the first landing Larry was coming out of his wife’s bedroom. He was a few steps behind her when she reached the main staircase. At the bottom of the stairs he was walking by her side and he didn’t look at her as he said, ‘It would have been better if you had brought it into the open.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’ Her voice was dull, lifeless.

  He stopped now and confronted her and said quietly, ‘I find that hard to believe, Emily, seeing you appear so wise in so many ways.’

  ‘That’s as may be, sir.’ Her face was tight now. ‘But apparently I wasn’t wise in that. I thought it was the food, the rich food. And anyway, as I understood it, you were only sick in the mornings, she’s been sick at all times of the day, and in the night an’ all. An’ she had told me, sworn to me, that Tim Pearsley never touched her.’

  ‘Tim Pearsley?’ He screwed up his face at her.