The Harrogate Secret (aka The Secret)

by Catherine Cookson

  The small ferry boat was at the landing stage when they reached the Low Lights, and when he helped her onto it she sat on the slatted seat, her hands tightly joined in her lap, her back straight, and gazed before her while knowing she was at the centre of attention of the other passengers.

  When they landed on the far side he said briefly, ‘We’ll walk up to the market and take a cab from there.’ He was carrying her valise and when, putting out his other hand, he went to take her elbow to help her mount some greasy stone steps she shrugged off his hold, he moved sharply from her side and walked a step ahead of her until they reached the market place. And there, hailing a cab, he did not assist her into it but left her to arrange her skirt, then pull herself up and onto the seat.

  He sat next to her in order that he wouldn’t have to look at her, but they hadn’t gone very far when she turned to him and caught his hand, saying, ‘Freddie. Oh please, don’t be angry with me. I’m…I’m so unhappy at the moment.’

  He looked back into her eyes now and asked quietly, ‘Why are you unhappy, that is, apart from losing Maggie? You broke your neck to get married and now you are married; why are you unhappy?’

  ‘Because it is all so strange, the house and everything. Oh, it is beautiful. Everybody is so nice but it doesn’t seem home. I’ve told myself that I’ll get used to it; and it really is my natural home, isn’t it? So it should come easy. But, somehow I can’t see it. And madam has kept telling me in the short time I’ve been there that I am mistress of the house, but I’ll never be mistress as long as she’s alive. Oh, please, you know what I mean, I don’t want her to go…to die, but everyone looks up to her so much. She reigns in the house like an old queen, and that is the point, she is old, very old I would say, but acts like someone young, her mind is so sharp.’

  ‘You are not married to her, you are married to him, and if you care for him so much, that’s all that matters, or should be.’

  ‘Yes’—she nodded—‘or should be. But, Freddie’—she looked into his face again—‘if I could only think I was still welcome across the river as if Aunt Maggie was still there, I…I would feel happier inside.’

  Of a sudden he gripped both her hands and his voice shook slightly as he said, ‘Well, if that’s all that’s worrying you you’re out of trouble because you know there’ll always be a welcome there for you. That is still your home, the home I brought you to. Don’t forget that, ever, Belle. It was me that brought you to that house, it was me that ran with you from the house you’re returning to now, and into the cart down to the river, and held you tight while Maggie had to commit murder in order to save us both. So, in a way you belong to me. I…I’ve never said this to you before, but that’s how I feel about you, you belong to me. So whatever happens in the future, remember I’m there over the river and that it’s your home too.’

  ‘Oh, Freddie.’ Of a sudden she was in his arms and he was holding her tightly, and they swayed together until the cab, turning a corner, caused her bonnet to fall back from her head, and he put his lips into her hair.

  Then they were apart, sitting close, looking at each other; and they seemed to continue to look at each other, saying nothing, until the cab stopped, and the driver, from his box, shouted, ‘Is this the place, mister?’

  And Freddie, looking out of the window through the open gates, called back, ‘Yes. Yes.’

  He had intended to go no further than this, but he did not alight and say to the driver, ‘Take your passenger to the door of the house and return straight away; I’ll be waiting,’ he remained seated.

  It was just before the cab stopped again that he said, ‘I won’t come in.’ And she said, ‘All right, Freddie. And…and I feel better now.’

  He alighted and assisted her down to the ground, and stood watching her walk towards the front door before he entered the cab again.

  The door was opened by Benedict, and he peered at Belle for a moment before exclaiming, ‘Oh! The young madam,’ and looked past her beyond the door, saying, ‘Have you come alone, madam?’

  ‘No. Mr Musgrave brought me, but he had to return home because of business.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes. Let me take your coat, madam. I am so glad you have returned. The mistress will be so pleased to see you.’

  ‘Has she retired?’

  ‘Oh yes, madam. She has been in her room these past few days. The weather has been anything but clement. Could I ask Cook to get you a tray, madam, as dinner is over?’

  ‘No, thank you; but I would be glad of a hot drink in my room.’

  ‘Very well, madam. Just leave your valise; I will see that it is taken up.’

  She wanted to say, Oh, I can carry it myself, but she knew that was one of the things she would have to learn; as madam had once said, ‘Servants are there to be used.’ And she realised that if she didn’t use them in this way they would consider her odd, perhaps not fitted to her position.

  When she reached the room which she knew was hers and Marcel’s but which she had not yet slept in, she looked about her. It was still light enough to take in each object in the room and, as she had realised the other day when she first saw it, it was all frills and furbelows, but a replica of his grandmama’s. She herself loved pretty things, or perhaps that wasn’t the right word to use for her particular taste, rather she loved beautiful things. For instance, she would not have draped the head of the bed with yards of lace to look like a miniature waterfall and to strengthen the impression by its pale blue colour. The bedcover, too, was blue, but made up of heavy quilted padded satin.

  The four armchairs in the room were also upholstered in blue quilted padded satin, as was the small chaise longue at the foot of the bed. The walls she had noticed were not painted nor papered but were made up of silk panels, these in an oyster colour, and a rose pink carpet covered the entire floor.

  Mrs Birkstead had informed her that she was having the room decorated for her in a French style, and it was certainly that, overpoweringly French, she would say. And she wondered how long it would be before she could change what the grand old lady called the décor. But now she would have to go and see her.

  She took off her bonnet and coat and as she was placing them on the bed there came a tap on the door. She called, ‘Come in!’ and a housemaid entered and, bobbing her knee, said, ‘Good evening, madam. I…we didn’t expect you or we’d have had the hot water up and the bed turned down.’

  ‘It’s all right. Thank you. You are?’

  ‘Mary, madam, Mary Chambers. I am the first housemaid.’

  ‘Of course, of course. Well, Mary, I’ll be glad of some hot water, thank you; but in the meantime I’ll go and pay my respects to Mrs Birkstead.’

  ‘Yes, madam, yes.’ She pulled the door wide and dipped her knee again as Belle passed her.

  When Belle tapped on Madam Birkstead’s door it was opened by her maid who smiled at her, then turned her head and looked back into the room, saying, ‘’Tis the young madam, mistress.’

  There was a considerable pause before the voice said, ‘Well, show her in.’

  Belle entered the room, and for a moment she hesitated in her step as she approached the bed for the person in it had no connection with the one who took court in her drawing room. Here was an old lady, a very old lady, wearing a pink nightcap made up entirely of plaited ribbons and bows. It was a high cap but its brim was not broad enough to hide the white streaks of hair that fell about the ears. The face beneath the nightcap was no longer covered with powder and paint but with what looked like grease, and when the mouth opened to smile, as it did, there was a gaping hole where the teeth had been.

  Hiding her surprise and not a little shocked at what she thought was a frightful sight, likening the face to that of an animated corpse, Belle said, ‘Good evening, madam. I hope I find you well.’

  ‘Good evening, child; and you don’t find me very well. I’m somewhat changed from the last time you saw me, isn’t that so? Oh, I’m not going to wait for your opinion. Sit down’—she
pointed—‘and tell me all that has transpired these past few days.’

  Belle took the seat Sarah Cummings placed for her while thinking that whatever was changed in the old lady’s appearance command of speech certainly wasn’t. And now she looked at her as she pointed to Sarah Cummings, saying, ‘Leave us now; you can do my massage later.’

  The woman gave a slight bend to her knee, then left the room, and Mrs Birkstead said, ‘Well, so you’ve buried her, have you, the woman who murdered my son-in-law?’

  ‘She didn’t murder him; it was self-defence and in order to save me…and Freddie.’

  ‘Well, that’s one version of it; but like all these cases the real truth will never be known, I suppose. But all that jewellery being in the hands of those servants all those years. They’re thieves, the lot of them! No matter how long they serve you they’ll rob you. Remember that, girl. Although I must say mine are as faithful as dogs. Again though, only because it pays them. But the scandal, and how it was reported in that paper. I don’t know how Marcel is going to take this.’

  ‘He was aware of most of it, madam.’

  ‘Oh no, he wasn’t. Do you think he would have tolerated that woman for a moment knowing that she had murdered his father? No matter what kind of a man Gallagher was, he was his father. And then he never thought for a moment that your parentage would be made public.’

  ‘He can be no more embarrassed than I was, madam.’

  The old lady now raised her hairless eyebrows, and then said, ‘Well, I suppose that’s right enough. By the way, what did she leave you, that woman? From what I understand she was very rich.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What! Nothing?’

  ‘No; it’s all been left to Freddie…Mr Musgrave.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she thought that, being married, I was well provided for.’

  ‘Oh, did she? Did she? But…but you were her ward, sort of, you should have been the one that inherited, for what was he? Just someone she took under her wing and, as Marcel says, a very common fellow at bottom.’

  ‘He is not a very common fellow.’ Belle rose to her feet and stared down into the wrinkled face that was visibly quivering with indignation, but before she could continue in Freddie’s defence the cutting voice of the old lady forestalled her: ‘Girl, please remember to whom you are speaking! And if Marcel judged him to be a common fellow, then he is a common fellow. And it isn’t right that he should have come into that woman’s fortune.’

  ‘As I see it, madam, he has every right to her fortune: he has looked after her and been her right hand for years, and loved her and cared for her as he did for me.’

  The figure pulled itself up in the bed, the arm came out and the filled nightdress fell away showing the loose sagging flesh; but it lacked no strength as the hand pointed towards the door and the voice commanded, ‘Leave me, girl!’

  Belle had no need to be told to leave the room. Her indignation carried her swiftly back to her own bedroom, where she asked herself as she stood in the middle of it how she was going to put up with that changeable old lady who apparently allowed no opinion to be voiced except her own. But it was enlightening to her in this moment that she didn’t stand in awe of her. Everyone else in the house seemed to, for her name was mostly uttered in a reverential or revered tone. Oh, why wasn’t Marcel here? What was keeping him?

  Her nightclothes had been put on the bed and there was a copper jug of steaming hot water on the wash-hand stand in the closet. She opened the wardrobe door and saw that among her own clothes were arranged all the new ones Marcel had bought her on the second day in London. They had spent most of that day shopping, and she recalled that it had taken her mind off things which had disturbed her but which she knew she must get used to, for marriage, she had found immediately, was not exactly what she had imagined it to be.

  The bed was high and the bedtick was filled with feathers, which some people would have welcomed, but years spent sleeping on a dormitory bed, then at home on an ordinary flock-filled mattress, had given her no taste for this kind of luxury which she termed ‘smothering’.

  Having told herself she wouldn’t sleep, nevertheless, she did sleep, and she was utterly amazed when she heard a voice saying, ‘I have brought your early tea, madam. Have you slept well? It’s a beautiful morning.’

  She pulled herself up out of the depths of the feathers and blinked at Mary Chambers who was smiling widely at her. And when she said, ‘Is it morning?’ the maid laughed and said, ‘Yes, madam; it is morning and turned eight. I have brought your early tea; breakfast is at nine; and madam sends you her regards and hopes you have slept well.’

  This latter brought Belle into a sitting position. Was the maid just being tactful? And then she had the source of the message when Mary said, ‘And Miss Cummings said that the mistress would be pleased if you would call on her after breakfast.’

  The bed tray which Mary arranged across Belle’s knees held a small tea service and a plate of four biscuits on it; and their appearance Mary now explained by saying, ‘Mr Marcel always liked biscuits with his early tea. I thought you might like them too.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you, Mary; but I won’t have anything to eat.’ She handed the plate back, and the woman seemed a little disappointed but said, ‘Is there anything you would like in place, madam, a light scone or toast?’

  ‘Oh, no thanks, Mary; that would ruin my breakfast. No, I’ll just have the tea. I’ll enjoy that.’

  Mary now smiled; then pointing to the bell pull, she said, ‘If you should want any help with your dressing, madam, I’d be pleased to see to it. You just need ring.’

  Belle had already glanced at the bell pull; then she said, ‘I…I won’t need you for that, Mary, but thank you.’

  After the maid had taken her leave, it was quite some minutes before Belle poured herself out a cup of tea and then lay back on the pillows against the shower of falling lace while comparing this present lifestyle with the one she had only recently left. And she knew at the moment which one she preferred…

  She presented herself at the mistress’s bedroom door at half past nine, and was admitted to see the now transformed old woman, the wig in place, the powder and the paint applied, the silk negligee topped with a frill that covered the sagging flesh below the chin, and the voice too so changed from that of last night that she could hardly believe her ears as the greeting came to her, saying, ‘Good morning, my dear. Have you slept well? You look a little pale. What did you have for breakfast? Come and sit down by me.’ She patted the side of the chaise longue on which she was reclining.

  Belle did not fully obey the order and sit on the edge of the chaise longue, but she sat on a dressing stool nearby and answered the questions one after the other: ‘I slept very well, thank you. And for breakfast, I just had toast and orange preserve.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness! That will never do. Breakfast is the main meal on which to start the day. Wasn’t there any choice?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ She was about to say, Too much of a choice, but deciding to match the old lady’s manner with a change in her own, she smiled as she said, ‘The smell was most appetising, but I wasn’t hungry. I think I’ll take a brisk walk this morning and that will give me an appetite for dinner.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t go on till dinner time, my dear, on an empty stomach. You must have something at eleven o’clock. Cummings, you see to it. Give an order downstairs, young madam will have a light meal around eleven o’clock. That will serve until dinner at three.’

  Belle made no protest; she knew it would be a waste of words: this lady reigned in this house and her word was law. But there was one thing: she could order food but she couldn’t make her eat. On the other hand though, by twelve o’clock she’d likely be hungry. Back home she could have eaten at any time of the day. Jinny used to laugh and say, ‘You make up for the mean years you had at that school, for, from what I hear, hard tack is nothing to what that must have been.’ Why was she still thinkin
g of Maggie’s house as home, and of Jinny and the warm…?

  ‘When Marcel returns you must ride with him. That will put colour into your cheeks, and you’ll eat like the proverbial horse then.’

  ‘When may we expect him, madam?’

  ‘Oh…Oh.’ The bony hand now dusted an imaginary crumb or some such from the white-laced cover that was spread across the couch and reached to her waist, and she said, ‘Well now, it all depends on business. It is very unfortunate that it should happen at this time. I told you about my elder brother, didn’t I? But of course, he is no use, it is his own son who is now in charge of the estate and…and the business. But…but I’m afraid James hasn’t got a head on him like Marcel.’

  ‘What is the business, madam?’

  ‘Mm…er…what is the business?’ the old lady repeated. ‘I should have said businesses; they are so varied. Now, let me see.’ She put her head back, then began to count on her fingers. ‘There is first of all the property; then there are the shops. Yes, there are the shops. When I was a girl there were seventeen shops and they were about to spread out further into the villages. But do you know, my dear, it was most difficult to set up shops in villages; they’re so clannish, the people in villages. Their little industries have been established for years. Yes, so clannish.’ She shook her head now as if she couldn’t fathom the reason for the clannishness. ‘Then there is the railway. But of course, there’s only shares in that. That is quite a separate thing. Oh, my dear, I’ve forgotten how many businesses there are altogether. And from what he tells me things haven’t been going very smoothly. So it could be another week, perhaps a little more, before he returns. But you mustn’t worry, my dear; he’ll be all the more loving when you meet. And you know’—her voice dropped—‘he does love you, and dearly. And you love him, don’t you?’