The Mallen Streak

by Catherine Cookson

  Still she knew that had Thomas Mallen never taken her she would still have cared for him, looked up to him, and feared him a little. Now she no longer looked up to him nor feared him, but she loved him.

  ‘Sit down,’—he paused—‘Anna.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She did not add ‘sir’. He had used her Christian name, there was no need now for titles.

  ‘It’s about the children. I…I don’t know whether you are aware,’—he knew she was aware all right, every servant in the house was aware of everything appertaining to his business—‘but the children jointly own the cottage and have an income of two hundred pounds a year between them. Now,’—he paused and ran his tongue round his lips—‘if you’ll still consent to take charge of them they could afford to pay you your salary, also perhaps Peel’s too, though it would not leave much for living. I’m afraid your fare would be rather scanty, as would other amenities, so I…I shall not take it amiss if you decide to terminate your agreement.’

  Anna Brigmore would have liked to retort at this moment ‘Don’t be silly!’ What she said was, ‘I have already arranged to go to the cottage with the children; everything is in order, the rooms are ready…yours too.’ She paused here, then added ‘sir’, for it seemed at this point a title was called for. ‘That is, if you wish for a temporary dwelling before you make other arrangements. The house appears small at first, but it is really quite roomy. I’ve had the furniture rearranged and fresh drapes hung; the place is quite comfortable. What is more, I took the liberty of transferring some of your belongings…objects, of the smaller type, to the cottage. Certain pieces which I think are of some considerable value, and which…’

  ‘You what?’ He had jerked himself forward in his chair and now, with his forearms on the desk, he was leaning towards her and repeated, ‘You what?’

  ‘I arranged for some objects from the cases in the drawing room to be transferred and…and with the assistance of Mary Peel and the children they are now safely hidden in the cottage.’

  ‘An-na.’ A smile was spreading over his face and he shook his head as he looked at the prim figure sitting before him, prim but pretty. He had noticed her prettiness six years ago when he had first met her, and had remarked laughingly to himself, ‘This one’s chastity belt’s secured all right.’ It was strange, he thought now, that she should be the first indoor servant he had taken. He had made a rule never to tamper with indoor servants. His father had put him up to this. ‘It’s always embarrassing,’ he had said, ‘to see bellies swelling inside the house and you having to deny claim for your own handiwork. Keep your sporting well outside; your own farms if you must, but farther afield is always safer.’ But there had been something about Miss Anna Brigmore, something that appealed to him; not only had he wanted to end her virginity but he’d had the desire to strip the primness from her and expose the prettiness. Well, he had taken her virginity, but he hadn’t managed to strip the primness from her. She was still Miss Brigmore, softer in a way, yes, but nevertheless Miss Brigmore, even when he addressed her as Anna.

  But Miss Brigmore had had the sense to do what he should have done or at least have ordered someone to do on the side. He could have said to Brown, ‘See that my personal belongings are put in a safe place.’ How many sets of gold cuff links and odds and ends had Brown tucked away in his own valise? He wasn’t blaming Brown, he wasn’t blaming any of them, let them get what they could while the going was good. But Miss Brigmore hadn’t thought of herself, she had thought of him, and his future needs. Strange…strange the quarters from which help came.

  ‘What did you take?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I should imagine about fifty pieces in all.’

  ‘Fifty pieces!’ He grimaced in disbelief.

  ‘Some I should imagine more valuable than others, such as the pair of Swiss snuff boxes and the Louis XVI enamelled one.’

  His eyes crinkled at the corners and he said softly, ‘Fifty! And the Louis snuff box among them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did you know what to take?’

  Her chin moved slightly upwards before she said, ‘I read a great deal about such things. What is more, my parents found themselves in a similar situation to yourself when I was sixteen.’

  His mouth was open, and his head nodded twice before he said, ‘They did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And…and you managed to secure some trinkets of your own before…?’

  ‘No; we weren’t successful. The articles were discovered for the simple reason that there were in no way as many pieces to choose from. The result was very trying.’

  He nodded again, saying, ‘Yes, it would be.’ Then going on, he added, ‘Yet knowing it could be very trying here too, you transferred fifty pieces to the cottage? How did you do it?’

  ‘I…I selected certain things, and ordered Mary Peel to bring them up to the nursery; then I pinned or sewed what could be pinned or sewed to…to our undergarments; the other pieces we managed to secrete on our persons.’

  In blank silence he stared at her…‘You must have done all this before…before the accident, and made several journeys, it’s some distance to the cottage.’

  ‘Only two journeys, and the children looked upon it as a game. If…if you would care to come to the cottage you will be able to judge for yourself as to the value of what is there. I would have informed you sooner but there has not been the opportunity.’

  Slowly he rose from the chair and came round the desk and, standing over her, he put out his hand and when he had placed hers in it he pressed it tightly, saying, ‘Whatever they’re worth, tuppence or ten thousand, Anna, thank you, thank you.’

  Her eyes blinked, her mouth pursed; then, her face suddenly relaxing, she smiled up at him softly as she said, ‘I only wish I’d had more time.’

  Drawing her to her feet he gazed at her for a moment before saying, ‘We will go now to the cottage. Bring the children. It will appear as if we are taking a stroll.’

  She looked at him as if he were proposing just that, a stroll with him along a country lane…

  Half an hour later they walked down the long drive and through the lodge gates, which Thomas opened himself and found it a strange experience for he hadn’t realised how heavy they were. They walked briskly, for it was a cold, raw day. The sky was lying low and heavy on the hills and promised snow. After a short while Thomas’ step slowed considerably for he found he was out of breath, and he lightly chided the children, saying, ‘If you want to gallop, you gallop, but let me trot.’ And the children ran on ahead; but Miss Brigmore suited her step to his.

  When at last they reached the gate of the cottage he leaned on it and stood looking at the house before him. It was built of grey granite; it had been built to withstand wind and weather, and no softness had been incorporated into its design. He followed Miss Brigmore up the narrow winding path and watched her insert the key in the lock, then they all went inside.

  ‘Well, well!’ Thomas stood in the small hall and looked about him. It wasn’t the first time he had been in the cottage but he remembered it as a dull characterless place; now, even this little hall looked different.

  There were five doors leading out of the hall and they were all open. He walked towards the first one to the left of him; it led into a sitting room, tiny by the standards of the Hall, being only fifteen by twenty feet in length he imagined. Yet it looked a comfortable room, solidly comfortable, although at a glance he would say there wasn’t one piece of furniture of any value in it.

  He turned and smiled at Miss Brigmore, and when Constance grabbed his hand and cried, ‘Come on and see the dining room, Uncle,’ he allowed himself to be tugged into the next room. Here he stood nodding his head as he looked about him saying, ‘Very, very nice, very nice. You should be quite happy here.’ He looked down at Constance and then at Barbara. Barbara wasn’t smiling. That was the difference in these two little sisters, Constance always appeared happy, whereas you could never tell whether Barbar
a was happy or not. He said to her now, ‘Do you like the cottage, Barbara?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle.’

  ‘You’d like living here?’

  She paused for a moment before saying again, ‘Yes, Uncle.’

  ‘I’ll love living here, Uncle.’ Constance was tugging at his hand again, crying now, ‘Come and see your study.’

  ‘My…?’ He did not look at the child but turned and looked towards where Miss Brigmore was walking into the hall, and again he allowed himself to be tugged out of the room and through the third doorway and into a smaller room. He looked at the long narrow table that served as a desk, at the leather chair, the leather couch, and at the end of the room the two glass doors opening out on to a small terrace.

  ‘This is your room, Uncle, your study.’

  He turned to face Miss Brigmore, but Miss Brigmore was not in the room. He could see her now ascending the bare oak staircase.

  ‘Come and see your bedroom, Uncle.’ As Constance led him towards the stairs she pointed to the other doors leading from the hall, saying, ‘That one is the morning room and that one leads to the kitchen,’ and she added to this, ‘The kitchen requires a lot of seeing to; the stove smokes.’

  He was on the landing now and being tugged towards one of the doors that led off from it. ‘This is your bedroom, Uncle.’

  The room was of a fair size, almost as large as the sitting room. It held a four-poster bed, a stout wardrobe, and dressing table, but its most significant feature was the unusually large window that gave a view of the foothills and the mountains beyond.

  Thomas turned now to where Miss Brigmore was standing in the doorway. Constance was still hanging onto his hand, and the look in his eyes spoke a different language from his words as he said, ‘You have transformed the place; I remember it as a very dismal dwelling.’

  ‘There is a toilet room, Uncle, next door too and you won’t have to go out in the…’

  ‘Constance!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Brigmore.’ Constance hung her head knowing that she had touched on a delicate and unmentionable subject.

  Miss Brigmore now said hastily as she pushed open another door, ‘This is…is a spare room for anyone you might wish to stay,’—she did not say ‘Master Dick’—‘and this,’—she opened yet another door—‘is the children’s room.’

  ‘Isn’t it pretty, Uncle? And the desk bed in the corner is for Mary, she doesn’t want to sleep in the attic. But isn’t it pretty, Uncle?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, it’s very pretty.’ He patted Constance’s head.

  Miss Brigmore did not open the fourth door, she merely said, ‘That is my room.’ Then leading the way down the stairs again, she added, ‘If we can dispense with the morning room I would like to turn it into a schoolroom.’

  ‘Do as you wish, Miss Brigmore, do as you wish.’ He was nodding down to the back of her head.

  In the hall Miss Brigmore looked at Barbara and said, ‘Would you like to gather some wood for the fire? It would be nice if we had a fire, wouldn’t it? And then we could have a cup of tea.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Brigmore. Come, Connie.’ Barbara held out her hand and took Constance’s and forced her now to walk out of the room, not run as she was inclined to.

  Miss Brigmore looked at Thomas and said quietly, ‘They’re in here.’

  He followed her into the dining room, and watched with amazement as she knelt down and rolled back the carpet and prised up the floorboards with a chisel. When she put her arm down into the hole and began handing him articles of silver, cameos, and trinket boxes; he did not utter a word, he just kept shaking his head.

  At last the collection was arrayed on the top of the sideboard and the round table, and he stood gazing at it in amazement. Picking up a small Chelsea porcelain figure of a mandarin he fingered it gently, almost lovingly; when he looked at her he found he was still unable to speak. This one piece alone would be worth five hundred, if not more, and then there were the snuff boxes; three of them, no, four. He put out his hand and stroked the Louis XVI gold-enamelled box, his fingers tracing the minute necklace that graced the slender neck of the lady depicted in the middle of it.

  One after the other he handled the pieces: a pair of George I sugar dredgers; a set of three George I casters; and when he came to the chinoiserie tankard he cupped it in both hands, then, as if it were a child he had lost and found again, he held it tight against his waistcoat and looked at her. And now he asked quietly, ‘What can I say to you, Anna?’

  She stared back into his eyes but did not answer.

  ‘An hour ago I was a desperate man; now I’m no longer desperate, you have given me new life.’

  There was another silence before she asked in a practical manner, ‘Will you be able to sell them immediately?’

  He looked away from her for a moment, bit on his lower lip as he nodded his head, and said ‘Yes, yes, Anna, I’ll be able to sell them immediately. I know of a gentleman in Newcastle who is of great assistance to people like us.’

  Her eyes were unblinking as she kept them fixed on him. He had said ‘us’.

  ‘Not that he’ll give me half what they’re worth; but as long as it’s enough to get Dick out of that place…’

  Miss Brigmore suddenly gasped as she felt herself almost lifted from the ground and pulled into his embrace. He kissed her, his mouth big, warm, and soft, covering hers entirely. When at last he let her go she experienced a strange feeling; for the first time in her life she knew what it was to feel like a woman, a mature fulfilled woman. She hadn’t experienced this when he came to her room because then he had merely given her his body. Now he had given her something from his heart.

  Seven

  For five weeks now Thomas had been living in the cottage and he had taken his change of circumstances with good grace, hiding the feeling of claustrophobia that the rooms gave him, hiding the feeling of despair when he thought of the future, and hiding the disturbing feeling of disdain whenever he looked at his son, for Dick Mallen had not taken the change with good grace.

  To Dick Mallen the cottage appeared merely as an extension of prison. As for thanking the governess for being the means of his temporary liberation, when his father had suggested that he afford Miss Brigmore this courtesy he had looked at him as if he were mad.

  Thank the governess for giving them what was theirs! Very likely they had only received half of what she had taken.

  Thomas, who up to that moment had kept his temper, had sworn at his son, saying, ‘You’re an ungrateful sod, Dick, that’s what you are, an ungrateful sod.’

  After his release Dick Mallen had visited the Hall, but had returned empty-handed. He had been informed, and in no subservient manner, by the bailiff that his strictly personal belongings, which meant his clothes only, had been sent to the cottage; as for the remainder, they had been tabulated against the day of the sale.

  He knew that his man Taylor would surely have lined his pockets with cuff links, scarf pins, cravat rings, and the like, and he wished he could get his hands on him but the beggar had gone long since, and he couldn’t find out if he had become established in another position.

  When he thought of the attitudes of their various friends he just couldn’t believe it. He could understand Armstrong’s reaction but not that of old Headley and Ferrier. Yet he had to admit that Pat Ferrier had turned up trumps. Then, of course, he should, he would have been damn well amazed if he hadn’t, for Pat had cleaned him out time and again over the past three years; and after all, what was a few hundred compared to what he had lost to him?

  He had said nothing to his father about Pat Ferrier’s help. He said little to his father at all these days; the old man, he considered, had gone soft in the head. The way he treated that governess made him sick, for he constantly deferred to her as if she were an equal. One thing he was certain of, her stay would be short once the trial was over…The trial! It was that word that had the power to take the bombast out of him. He was fearing the trial for although the man ha
d recovered they said he was badly scarred; moreover he knew that public opinion would be against him. If only there were some way out …

  Thomas too kept thinking, if only there were some way out, but his thoughts did not run along the same channels as his son’s. His idea of a way out was to beat the law by engaging one of the finest barristers and to do this he needed money, big money, and all he could call upon was the refund of the bail money, and the little that was left over from the sale of Anna’s haul, as he came to think of the pieces she had retrieved.

  With the exception of two miniatures and a snuff box he had disposed of all the pieces to the certain gentleman in Newcastle. With regard to these three pieces he had private thoughts concerning them, but had decided he would do nothing about them until the sale was over …

  It was on Monday the fourteenth of April that the sale of the contents of the ground floor of High Banks Hall began. It was well attended, and the result was favourable. On the morning of Wednesday, the sixteenth, the auctioneer dealt with the contents of the nursery floor, the attics, and the kitchens. In the afternoon he sold off the contents of the coach house, the harness rooms, and the servants’ quarters. The livestock, such as the coach horses and the four hunters, had been sent to the West Farm, where the sale of all livestock would take place on the Tuesday following Easter Monday.

  But it was Thursday, the seventeenth, the day before Good Friday, that was the important day of the sale, for on this day the Hall and the estate, together with its two farms, was put up for auction. The carriages came from County Durham, Cumberland, Westmorland, and Yorkshire. There were gathered in the library quite a number of men bearing names that spelt money. Then there were those others who held themselves apart. These men had names that didn’t only spell money but distinction of class. Yet at the end of the day the Hall had gone neither to a self-made man nor yet to one of title.