The Rag Nymph (aka The Forester Girl)

by Catherine Cookson

  As they drove through the lower part of the town, he said, ‘I’ve never seen so many people about; but then it’s the new factory law, I suppose. The Saturday half-day starting at one o’clock makes all the difference; although it also gives more time for the gin shops.’

  ‘Did you get all your business finished in Cheshire?’

  ‘Business?’ His head jerked towards her, then away again. ‘Oh, it wasn’t business in that sense; more family conferences: one can never really untie those strings that tie you to a family. But I did have another journey to make, to visit a friend’s house. I’ll…I’ll explain all when I get inside…’

  It was as if it were but yesterday and not a week since she was in the house and had met Miss Christine Lavor, for there she was in the hall, her arms outstretched, saying, ‘Oh, how nice to see you! I’ve been thinking of you. Are you ready for tea? Fanny has rolled some extra brown bread. I’ve been watching her in the kitchen: she has made some tarts and filled them with a lovely conserve. Oh, do take your things off. Let me have them.’

  Bernard laughed, because he had already taken Millie’s coat and bonnet and her bag and gloves and laid them on a chair; and so, turning to his aunt, he said, ‘Now you run into the kitchen, dear, and tell Fanny we are here and we want tea right away, because…because we are both hungry and cold.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, of course, Bernard.’

  After she had trotted away, Bernard took Millie’s hand and drew her towards the drawing room. And after hastily closing the door behind them, he put his arms about her and looked into her face for a moment before placing his lips on hers, but in no mild fashion: it was a hard and hungry kiss, and when it was over she laid her head on his shoulder, gasping as if at the end of a long run. As for him, he let out a deep sigh as he held her tightly to his body and muttered, ‘I’ve been longing for that all week, more and more.’ Then pressing her from him and gripping her shoulders, he said, ‘Have you any idea of the depths of my feelings for you, Millie Forester?’

  ‘No, sir; but I hope to find out, during which time I express mine for you.’

  ‘Oh, Millie’—he was walking her up the room now—‘just to hear you talk. It is this, not only your appearance, your beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful face, and that marvellous hair’—he gently flicked the fringe on her brow—‘but it’s the way you deport yourself and how you speak…and coming from that place! Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t denigrate it, but…but how, I’ve asked myself, and keep asking myself, how have you remained so beautiful, so pure, so good, amidst all that mire?’

  Her voice was quiet now as she answered, ‘I had Mrs Aggie and Ben to guide me and protect me. I can’t say that too often, Bernard. I owe them everything. I certainly owe them what I am and how I am today, for without their care I don’t know what might have happened to me. Something…something terrible. I must tell you about it sometime. But enough it is that you take me as I am.’

  ‘Oh, Millie, yes, yes, I take you as you are, and always shall…Oh dear! Here we go!’ The door had opened and Miss Chrissie entered, followed by Fanny with the laden tray. And again Millie’s thoughts were that it was as if she had never moved from this room, that everything was the same as it had been last Saturday.

  And Miss Chrissie chattered as before, remarking, early, ‘I like the colour of your attire, Miss Millie. I’ve always liked green. I suppose it is because I used to play in the green fields when I was a child and I used to make long, long daisy chains. Do you know how to make a daisy chain?’

  ‘No,’ Millie answered; ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Oh, then I will show you. There are lots of fields behind the house. I’ve never been out in them yet, but we will walk in them and I shall show you how to make a daisy chain. I used to put them round my dolls, but there were always one or two that didn’t like them. I said to them, you can’t please everyone. Do you agree with me, Bernard, that you can’t please everyone?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Aunt Chrissie, I do agree with you there.’

  ‘There won’t be any daisies for some time, it being autumn; but that will soon pass, because you’ll be staying with us from now on.’

  Millie laughed and said, ‘Well, not from now on, Miss Chrissie; and today I must be home on time because Ben—he is,’ she paused, ‘a friend of mine—he has an appointment for early evening, and you see, my guardian, Mrs Winkowski, she has a cold, and it wouldn’t be nice to leave her alone with a cold, would it?’

  She was talking to the little woman as if she were a child, and as a child Miss Lavor answered, ‘Oh, no, no, it wouldn’t. You mustn’t leave anyone alone if they’ve got a cold or are sick. But I thought you would be staying tonight. Still, perhaps next week.’

  Millie smiled kindly and said, ‘Yes, perhaps next week…’

  A short while later she was a little surprised when Bernard drew the little woman to her feet, the while saying to her, ‘Run into the kitchen, Aunt Chrissie, and tell Fanny to come and clear. And I want you to help her because I’ve got a lot to say to Millie. You understand?’

  ‘Oh, yes, dear boy. Oh yes, I understand. Of course, of course, I will help Fanny. Of course, she will not let me dry up the teacups because I’m apt to drop them.’ She giggled as she went tripping down the room.

  Bernard now sat down beside Millie, saying, ‘Oh, I wish I could have had a word with your Mrs Aggie. I did want you to stay tonight.’

  She looked at him, puzzled for a moment; then she said, ‘There’ll be other nights.’

  ‘Of course, of course, I know, but…but I’m so impatient. And it is ridiculous that I can see you for only a few hours a week. But all this will soon change, won’t it?’

  She smiled up at him as she answered softly, ‘I hope so, Bernard. I hope so.’

  The tea things were quickly gathered up, the pleasant-faced Fanny beaming all the while. And after lifting the heavy tray, she turned about, her arms still outstretched, and she bobbed her head towards Millie, as if saying, there now, I couldn’t have been quicker. And Millie felt inclined to say thank you, but she knew it wasn’t her place: she wasn’t the mistress of the house yet.

  Bernard now pushed the two single chairs back and, pulling the small lounge sofa forward towards the fire, he said, ‘Come, dear.’ And after seating her on it, he put his arm about her and again he kissed her, pressing her to him so hard that a button on her costume made itself felt through the bottom of his cravat and fine undershirt. Laughing, he took hold of it and twisted it, saying, ‘You are stabbing me through the heart, do you know?’ Then he added, ‘Wasn’t it funny about Aunt Chrissie and the daisies and the colour of your costume?’

  ‘Well, it showed she liked it.’

  He pulled a face, as he responded, ‘She may have but, my dear, I shall dress you so differently, and in gold colours to match your skin.’

  She pressed herself from him and her indignation was slightly mocking as she said, ‘You do not like my attire, sir?’

  ‘Oh, madam, it would be all right on another person; very smart, but on you, it does nothing to enhance, not that you need enhancing at all. Your beauty wants to be matched, and I shall see that it’s matched. We shall go to London one day—there are some splendid, splendid shops there—and I shall sit in a satin chair and you will parade before me’—he swept his hand back and forth—‘in the gowns that have taken your fancy.’

  Why she should feel slightly perturbed she didn’t know, except that perhaps her costume was not of the smartest; but it was good thick homespun cloth and of a nice shape.

  ‘Have you ever thought of going to Paris?’

  ‘To France? No, never. I think I should like to see the sea, though.’

  ‘You have never seen the sea?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, dear, Millie. Oh, what pleasures there are in store for you. But there are places and places from which to view the sea. Especially so are there places across the channel, in France and Italy and Venice
. But you have to go on the sea in a ship to go to France.’

  Her face was straight now as she said, ‘You have been to all these places?’

  ‘Yes; I spent some time abroad, from when I was seventeen to almost nineteen. I had family connections in Holland.’

  ‘In Holland?’ Her head was nodding now.

  ‘Yes, in Holland. Then last year I did a short tour of about six months in…Oh, but Millie’—he was holding her again—‘imagine if we could travel those places together for six months.’ He looked over her shoulder now, away down the room, and his voice lost its high excited note when he said, ‘But what am I saying? Our visits now would indeed have to be on occasions. But what will that matter?’ He was again holding her at arm’s length, and he leaned towards her as he said, ‘We have this, this great, great mansion, this seven-roomed castle, this secret cave, to which I can escape from the world and to you and as often as I can. Oh, yes, as often as I can, Millie. Believe that every minute I can I shall spend with you. Oh, my dear’—he was now stroking her face—‘if only things were different and we could be married. But you understand the situation. We have the next best thing though, a freer thing without…What is the matter? What is the matter?’

  She had edged from him and was pressing her back against the wooden arm of the couch; then, slowly and as if sliding from something that she was afraid might spring upon her, she rose to her feet, and she looked at him, where he still remained seated, a puzzled expression on his face, and again he said, ‘What is it?’

  Her voice wouldn’t come. She tried to get words through her throat, but they just stuck there. Her brain seemed to have stopped working; yet no, its thoughts were flying, dashing themselves against each other.

  She watched him get to his feet and put his hand to his brow, then say, ‘Oh, no, no. You must have understood. Mrs Aggie understood. Of course she understood. She’s not a fool; neither are you. Millie! Millie, please, have sense! See the situation. And…and there would be no scandal, none whatever. I’ve worked it all out. That’s why I took the house and brought Aunt Chrissie here. You are to be known as her nurse. No-one would know any different. Please! Please, Millie; don’t look at me like that. And don’t move away from me; stay where you are. Look! Listen to me!’ His voice was loud, hoarse. ‘I love you. Every word comes from my heart. I love you, and…and I’d marry you tomorrow if it were possible. But…but I’ve been promised for years; I told you. Last week we talked about the breeding business and families and how things are arranged. When I was eighteen I made the mistake of promising myself to someone. All I can say is it had been arranged in the cradle. We were brought up together, a neighbour’s daughter. I…I’ve got to go through with it. It’s not only the families, it’s to do with business and my godfather who left me the money and the shares in the mill. It’s all bound up together. It’s…it’s his niece…Millie!’

  He had taken two steps towards her before she found her voice, and it didn’t tremble: it wasn’t a whine and it made a statement that even surprised herself, for what she said was, ‘I’ve been what Ben would call a bloody fool. I should have known there was no such man as I thought you to be. Mrs Aggie said there were men here and there who married beneath them, gave the name of Lady to dancing girls, but she did indicate they were few and far between.’

  ‘Millie. My darling Millie, believe me when I say if I’d had the slightest inkling that you didn’t understand the situation I…I would have never gone ahead. Believe me in this. I thought, coming from that’—he swallowed—‘quarter, there would be nothing you would be unaware of in such matters. That you were pure, oh, yes, yes, I never doubted that for a moment, but I thought you would gauge the situation in its true context, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know what you mean: I was to be your mistress; I would be here for you to use at odd times. You have seen my father. To my mind he’s a man of low character, and he has only come into my life these last few months. But my mother died when I was seven. She died by her own hand; she hanged herself because she was used. You didn’t know that; that was what I meant to tell you later on when we married. Oh my God! You have a right to be astounded at my ignorance, at my stupidity, but let me tell you this, no matter how life deals with me I shall never become any man’s mistress. Never. Never!’ The last words came out as a shout. ‘Now, Mr Thompson, I shall take my leave. But one last word I will give you. Do you know who you remind me of at this moment? The son of your half-sister.’

  He had been standing with his head lowered, but now he jerked it upwards as he cried at her, ‘Don’t you dare say that to me, Millie! I’m no better nor worse than most men, but in character I’m not in any way connected with my half-sister’s offspring or her husband.’

  She now walked behind the chairs in order to avoid him, but when she reached the door he was there before her, his hand on the knob: ‘Please, Millie,’ he said. ‘Please try to understand. And I’ll say again, I love you. I do.’

  ‘And can you describe the feelings you have for your future wife?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I can. They are, in a way, loving, bred on liking and kindliness, but in no way can they reach the passion that I have for you, nor would our association ever permit of that, I am sure.’

  ‘Well, you have plenty of time to find out. Will you please let me pass?’

  Slowly he opened the door for her, and in the hall she dragged on her coat and bonnet, but when he was about to call to his man to get the trap, she said, ‘You need not bother with your conveyance, I am used to walking.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ His voice was harsh now. ‘It will soon be getting dark. You could never make your way back home.’

  ‘I am used to walking among the poor, as you have already experienced; so the journey holds no fear for me.’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ He went to grab her arm, but she brought her other hand down on to his wrist, saying, ‘Don’t touch me!’ That it had been a hard slap was evident by the way he gripped his wrist; then grabbing up her handbag and gloves, she was out of the door and running across the gravel front and then down the drive.

  As she reached the road she could hear him calling loudly, ‘Millie! Millie!’ It was then she lifted up her skirt and fled.

  The light was going and she knew it would take all of twenty minutes to reach the built-up area, through which she would have to pass before reaching the main streets and the district that she knew.

  When she could no longer hear his voice calling her, she drew in her run to a stumbling trot, then into a walk.

  Between trotting and walking she covered about a mile before twilight really settled in. Her breath coming in gasps, she was hurrying along a stretch of open road which she could still make out had fields on both sides when she saw, in the distance coming towards her a vehicle of some kind with its carriage lights already on. Then hearing the sound of a trotting horse behind her, she turned, thinking that he had brought out the trap after all.

  In order to pass on the narrow road, the drivers had brought the horses to a walk, The oncoming vehicle passed her first; the other she recognised now was a cab…and cabs were for hire.

  Its driver was still walking his horse, and she stood on the verge and called up to him. ‘Are you for hire, please?’

  When the man drew the horse to a stop and bent forward, she could make out that he was a big man, and he said, ‘What’s that you say, miss?’ And she called back, ‘Are you for hire?’

  ‘Huh! Am I for hire? Well, well, well. I’ve already got a passenger, miss. I’ll have to hear what he says about it.’

  The passenger was looking out of the window and he couldn’t believe his eyes. He must be dreaming, he told himself. But he believed in luck, and this was his lucky day: he had just made a very nice deal with a gentleman who lived away back along this road, a regular customer.

  He opened the door of the cab and stepped down, and, his tone assuming what he imagined to be that of a gentleman, he said, ‘At your
service, miss…or madam. Do you wish to be taken into town?’

  ‘Yes, if you please.’

  ‘It is very late for a young lady to be out on her own and on this lonely road.’

  ‘I…I missed my friends.’

  ‘Where do you wish to go, miss?’ The man on the box was now speaking, and she said, ‘If…if you would just drop me near the market place; I can find my way quite well then, thank you.’

  It was as she went to pass the passenger that his face showed clear in the light of the carriage lamp and her body stiffened; then, and for the second time on this day, she walked backwards and, gasping now, muttered, ‘No. No, thank you. I will walk.’

  ‘As you wish. As you wish.’ The man did not seem at all put out by the answer, but said, ‘It is a very lonely road, you know, and we are coming into a rough district. So, if it will be any help to you, you can walk by the side of the cab, and the driver will walk his horse and you can take protection that way. And may I add, you have nothing to fear from me; and much to her surprise, he got back into the cab; then putting his head out of the window, he called up to the cabby, ‘You can take the short cut through Caxton, cabby.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Yes, sir. As you say.’

  The cab had moved forwards some yards before Millie could force herself to follow it.

  She was sure that was the man with the thin face who had been after her all those years ago. She would never forget his face. And yet he seemed changed, different altogether.

  Walking as it were in the tracks of the cab, she realised that long before they reached the built-up area some mishap could easily have befallen her: there was a ditch running along each side of the road, and she could tumble into one or other.

  By this time, she was actually holding on to the leaf springs, as much for support as for guidance, because she was so tired. But more so she was miserable, and heartbroken. And as on that occasion when she was brought back from the Quintons, and she had promised herself that once inside the yard and that house with those two people she would never leave them again, never! so she was doing now, and with equal fervour.