With the memory of Con’s laughter, her throat tightened and when he turned slowly towards her now and said, ‘You look tired, worn out. Go on to bed and don’t get up until seven in the morning, I’ll see to the fire and things,’ she began to bustle around the table, saying as she went, ‘I’ll be down at me usual time; one hour in the mornin’s worth three in the afternoon.’
He stood looking at her for a moment before saying quietly but firmly, ‘Leave those trays alone and get yourself upstairs, go on now…Goodnight. Goodnight, Emily.’
He had uttered her name softly, almost a whisper and she didn’t look at him as she went past him to the delf rack and picked up a candlestick and a box of matches, and she was almost at the kitchen door before she said, ‘Goodnight, sir.’
As she went along the side of the hall and up the back stairs she knew that a new phase of her life had begun, but as to what it would hold she could give herself no inkling as yet. But whatever came of it, it was because Con had died…Everything had to be paid for. She was coming to believe in that. Oh yes, she was coming to believe in that.
PART THREE
HOW ARE THE MIGHTY FALLEN
One
Emily awoke on the morning of her seventeenth birthday and stretched her legs downwards until her toes stuck out from underneath the bedclothes and she could feel the brass rails of the bed; then she stretched her arms upwards and gripped the rails behind her head. She was seventeen today, she was a woman…well, she had felt a woman for a long time, but once you were seventeen…well, you were really grown up then. She felt as she hadn’t felt for months, happy inside, glad, gay.
A streak of yellow light across the wooden boards told her the sun was coming up and that it promised to be a fine day. She turned and looked at Lucy. In the past six months Lucy had put on inches in height and broadened a little too. She put out a tentative finger and lifted a strand of the long straight hair from off her sister’s brow. She’d miss her when she went; oh, how she’d miss her, but she’d have to put up with that because it was for Lucy’s own good. And Lucy herself must have faced up to it; in fact, she seemed excited about going all that way across the country. The only thing she kept saying was she wished they were both going together.
She turned on her back again. She’d never be able to repay the master for what he was doing for Lucy, for he wasn’t only paying her train fare all the way down there, but had rigged her out in decent clothes. She knew, too, that he would have been prepared to pay for her stay if it had been needed, but this place where Lucy was going seemed to be a public hospital where you got in by recommendation. It was in a place called St Leonards, outside a town called Hastings. He had said it was lovely; he had been to the hospital once and he said nearly all the bedroom windows looked out to the sea.
She wished she could have gone down and seen Lucy settled in, but she knew she couldn’t be spared, and so Lucy was to travel on the train in care of the guard, and the master’s cousin was going to meet her in London. She could understand Lucy’s feeling of excitement ’cos the very thought of it all made her feel excited too.
Well! She’d better get up out of this; birthday or no birthday the work had to be done, and Mrs Riley came the day. Oh, she thanked God for Mrs Riley, oh she did indeed. But then it wasn’t God she should be thanking but her Aunt Mary. She giggled to herself as she brought her legs over the side of the bed. Eeh, the things she thought!
Mrs Riley was a widow with no family and she supported herself by going out washing. She could earn up to half a crown a day at it, at least so she had said; but that, Emily thought, was stretching it a bit, and more than a bit. However, stretching it or not, that’s what she got here, together with her food. The master picked her up in Fellburn market any time between three and four on a Monday, and the minute she arrived she got down to it, putting all the washing in soak, and on the Tuesday she scrubbed, boiled, possed and mangled the entire week’s wash, and if the mistress had been in one of her tantrums, or perhaps two or more of them, the bedding took on the form of a linen mountain. Then on the Wednesday she ironed, and if the weather had been good for drying and she was finished early, she scrubbed out the kitchen, blackleaded the stove, washed out the pantries and the meat store, and if time permitted scalded out the dairy. Then on the Thursday morning she walked to the crossroads outside the village and there caught the carrier cart back into Fellburn. And for her two days’ work, and a bit, she got six and sixpence, together with her meals and a bed, though the last wasn’t what she herself would have offered her, being but a straw shakedown in the barn loft. This was because the mistress wouldn’t have her bedded in one of the attic rooms.
But Emily couldn’t be too sorry for Mrs Riley, because whoever heard of anyone claiming a wage like that, six and sixpence for two days and a bit, and as much grub as she could push into herself; not that she begrudged her her good fortune and wasn’t thankful for her assistance, but being human she couldn’t but compare the wage for those two days’ work with the five shillings she now got for six and a half days’ work, which days began at six in the morning and if she was lucky finished at eight at night.
But this was her birthday and she felt up to moving a mountain.
She stripped off her calico nightdress and grabbed at her shift lying over the foot of the bed, then paused for a moment as she did most mornings and looked at the watch pinned to the front of it. At one time she used to keep her shift on under her nightie, but when she lay on her face the watch stuck into her. She could have unpinned it at night and pinned it back again the next morning but she was always too tired most times to bother. It was easier to take it off altogether, even when the interval between taking off the shift and putting on the nightdress made her disturbingly aware of her body.
The light of the rising sun was glinting on the watch; it looked bonny, beautiful, and the wish returned that she could wear it just for one day, and especially today, it being her birthday. But then, if she did, she’d have to explain where she got it, and how she got it. So with a sigh she pulled on her shift and got hastily into her clothes. She no longer kept the sovereigns pinned to her petticoat band for it meant taking them off every time she washed it, and so she now kept them in the chest of drawers. She knew they were quite safe, for who was there to steal them in this house? But with the watch…well, that was a different thing; she could never leave that lying about …
Down in the kitchen, she went straight to the door and opened it to let the fresh air in, and she stood for a moment breathing deeply as she looked up into the sky. It was a beautiful day, a lovely day, a real June day, and she was seventeen. She skipped round and went to the stove, poked the fire into a blaze, then lifted the kettle off the hob where it was near boiling and set it in the heart of the fire.
When she went to the dresser to get the teapot she stopped and stared, for leaning against the teapot was an envelope, and on the envelope her name, Emily. Her face smiling, her lips apart, she tore the envelope open and took out the sheet of paper and read, ‘Happy birthday, Emily. Get yourself a little present with this.’ There was no signature. She peered in the envelope, then took out the sovereign.
Eeh! Wasn’t that kind of him? It must have been a month or more since she had mentioned the date of her birthday. Oh, he was kind. A whole sovereign! Yet while she smiled her appreciation of his gift a part of her mind was telling her that she already had a number of sovereigns upstairs and how much more delighted she would have felt if the gift had been…well, something personal, like a little brooch, or a locket and chain, or something like that. She had seen a beautiful locket and chain for four and six in a shop in Fellburn on her last half-day, in fact she had been tempted to buy it for herself.
This same section of her mind now told her that she was an ungrateful monkey and reminded her that the master wasn’t a personal man. But what did she mean by that? Well, she told herself, the fact that he hadn’t taken advantage of what had passed between them on the night that
Con was buried explained it, didn’t it? And he could have taken advantage. Oh yes, he could, he could have played on her feelings, but he hadn’t, he had kept his place, and from that night she had kept hers. And so, she told herself that was why she could say he wasn’t a personal man; and what was more, she could still go round with her chin in the air if she wanted to.
‘Happy birthday, Emily.’
She actually jumped around, the letter in one hand, the sovereign and the envelope in the other, and she laughed outright now as she said, ‘Oh, thanks. An’ thank you for this an’ all. Eeh! It’s ever so kind of you. I never expected it.’
His next words belied, to some extent, the impersonal man when he said, ‘I’d like to have got you some little thing, but I’m afraid I’m no hand at choosing presents. And I didn’t know what you would like, anyway.’
‘Oh, that’s all right.’ Her face was alight now, her eyes shining. ‘I know what I’m going to buy with it.’
‘What?’
‘A locket and chain, a good one. I saw a nice one for four and six in Fellburn, but I’ll get a better one…Oh, there’s the kettle boiling, I’ll make the tea.’
She ran to the stove, and he stood and watched her as she laughed aloud when she went to grab the kettle forgetting that she still had the letter and the money in her hand; then putting both quickly on the mantelpiece, she lifted the kettle onto the hob and turned to him, saying, ‘I don’t know where I am this mornin’, I’m trying to make the tea without the teapot.’
Again she was running, back to the dresser now, and after spooning the tea from the caddy into the pot she looked at him, then paused a moment. He was standing in the same place, he hadn’t moved, the look in his eyes was soft, yet sad, as he said, ‘Seventeen. You’re going to be a beautiful woman, Emily.’
‘Oh, sir!’ She bit on her lip, lowered her eyes, and shook her head.
‘You know you’re beautiful, don’t you?’
‘No, sir.’ Her head came up. ‘Well, not…not beautiful; I’ve…I’ve been told I look bonny, and, as me da would say, I’d pass in a crowd, but…but not beautiful.’
‘You are beautiful, both inside and out, kind and beautiful.’
There was a mist before her eyes. It was blocking out his face and she felt an urge to push her hands through it and touch him, hold him, feel him near her.
‘Eeh, the kettle! It’ll…it’ll have boiled dry in a minute.’
She mashed the tea, stood the teapot on the hob, then, bending down, took the hearth brush and swept some loose ashes under the grate before turning once more to the table and him.
He was still looking at her. It was as if his eyes had never left her face, and he smiled gently at her now but with a downward pull to his lips as he said quietly, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, Emily, don’t worry.’ Then he turned away and went through the kitchen, and she heard him going up the stairs.
She was standing sipping at a cup of tea while her thoughts whirled about in her head, telling her things that were making her hot when she heard his voice raised in anger coming from above, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she said to herself, ‘Oh, not again! And not the day.’
It was almost three weeks since they’d had a row, and things had been easier all round. He had looked happier and had laughed aloud on more than one occasion, he had even teased Lucy in the kitchen here.
She often wished he would take the line Sep had followed and give in to the mistress, as Sep had to Mrs McGillby, then gone his own way on the side. But, of course, she admitted to herself, there was a great difference between Mrs McGillby and Mrs Birch, because that woman up above would aggravate a saint when she got going.
As the voices rose higher she wondered what they could be on about now. She never really knew what they fought about because they would stop whenever she went into the room. The master would usually bound out, and the mistress bang her fists on the eiderdown, then mess the bed. Although her mistress had deigned to explain to her that her eviction, or some such, as she called it, only happened when she was disturbed, Emily was of the opinion that there were times when it was done on purpose, just to aggravate. Well, she nodded up to the ceiling now, if that went on much longer there’d be a number of evictions this morning; of that she had no doubt.
It was at dinner time that she found out what they had been fighting over. She was taking the dinner tray up and had reached the landing when she heard the master’s voice loud and clear, which told her that the bedroom door was open, and he was barking, ‘I’ve told you I’ll pension him off; he’s no good, he can’t carry his weight any longer, he’s too old.’ Then the mistress’s voice answering in slow deep tones, ‘You’ll not pension him off ever. As long as I’m here Abbie stays. And after. D’you hear me? And after. Listen to me, my fine fellow, and listen carefully. Abbie will be here when you’re gone. Do you hear that? Abbie will be here when you’re gone. Your time is running out. I’ve warned you, I’ve given you fair warning.’
‘You’re mad, woman. You can’t do me out of this place and you know it. If you could, by God, you would! I know that too. But you can’t. Women’s property rights or no women’s property rights, I’m your husband, and when you go I can claim this place by law.’
The laughter that now filled the landing caused Emily to screw up her face against it, for if it didn’t sound like that of a madwoman; it didn’t sound that of a sane person either. Then the voice, full of the same laughter now, was shouting at him, ‘Oh you upstart! Listen. Listen and remember what I’m saying. You’ll hear me laughing like this when I’m gone. Believe me, you will, you will.’
She didn’t move from where she was when he burst out onto the landing, and when he marched past her and pounded down the stairs it was as if he hadn’t seen her. She waited a few more minutes until the tray took on a leaden weight before she moved along the landing and entered the bedroom.
Her mistress was leaning back among her pillows and she was smiling, and she continued to smile as she looked at Emily and said, ‘I suppose you heard all that?’
‘Heard what, ma’am?’
‘Don’t play the gormless idiot with me, girl!’ Now the smile was slipping. ‘You heard what I said to him, the person you call the master.’
‘I don’t listen, ma’am, I mind me own business,’ Emily said as she proceeded to place the bedside table across the woman’s knees.
Leaning towards Emily, Rona Birch now hissed, ‘You have two faces, girl, one for up here and one for down below. Down below you are the ingratiating, busy, kitchen slut. Oh, I know what I know. Up here you take a stand, thinking you have the better of me because of my predicament. But you, like him, my dear, are going to get a surprise one of these days, and not so very far away either; oh no. The time is fast approaching, it is indeed; yes, it is indeed.’
‘Eat your dinner, madam.’ Emily put the tray on the bed table; then straightening her back, she smoothed down her apron and said quietly, ‘The doctor told you a week or so ago you had to keep calm, madam, you know he did, ’cos if you didn’t your tantrums would be the end of you…’
With a swiftness that belied the delicateness of the hands and the weakness of the whole frame, Rona Birch tore off the silver cover from over the dinner plate, threw it to one side, then hurled the plate of meat, gravy and vegetables into Emily’s face.
The scream that Emily emitted outdid any that had as yet been heard in the room. The gravy, although not scalding, was still hot, and as she staggered back she cried, ‘Oh! Oh! You…you wicked thing you!’ while her hands scraped at the pieces of vegetables and meat that were clinging to her face and the front of her bodice. She was leaning against the dressing table gasping when Larry burst into the room.
Taking the whole situation in immediately, he stood over his wife, his hands poised as if to grip her throat as he cried at her, ‘I could kill you, woman! I could cheerfully kill you at this moment. You should be locked up; you should be in an asylum; that’s your rig
htful place, an asylum.’
Rona Birch didn’t utter a word, she just stared at him, her hate of him oozing from her in sweat.
When he turned to Emily, his whole body was shaking, as was his voice as he said, ‘Go on, get cleaned up…I’ll see to this. My God, yes, I’ll see to this!’
He led her to the door and pressed her out on to the landing, then closed the door again; and she stood there for a moment unable to move, until she heard the crack of a hand contacting flesh. She swung round as if to open the door again, but when she heard the second slap she put her hand over her greasy face, then bowed her head and stumbled towards the stairs.
He had hit her again. He shouldn’t have done that because after all, she was a sick woman. As bad as she was, he shouldn’t have done that. Sep would never have hit Mrs McGillby, no matter how bad she was; but then Mrs McGillby would never have thrown a hot dinner in her face.
In the kitchen Lucy rushed at her, crying, ‘Eeh! she…she never! Did she?’
‘Aye, she did!’ Emily went to the sink and began to pump the water, and she shook her head as she said, ‘It’s funny but I shouldn’t have been so surprised or frightened, for I’ve often thought she’d throw the meal at me.’
‘Eeh! she’s an awful woman. Oh, you are in a mess, Emily.’
‘I…I am, aren’t I? Well, let’s get it off. Mash a cup of tea, will you? I could do with something.’
After washing herself she sponged the grease off her dress, and Lucy, watching her, said sadly, ‘An’ it’s your birthday an’ all,’ then she threw her arms around her waist, burying her head against her and muttering, ‘Oh, I wish you were comin’ with me, Emily. Oh, I wish you were.’
The Tide of Life Page 24