The Moth, page 13
He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, picked up a chisel and went to the window before he said, ‘Aye, miss, yes, that’s what you could say, I’m a servant.’
‘And you can read and write?’
‘I can read and write, miss. And it isn’t true that most people can’t read or write.’ Immediately he had spoken he knew he had said the wrong thing. Then he added quickly, ‘What I mean is, it isn’t necessary that everybody should read or write.’
‘Bradley.’
‘Yes, miss?’
‘I’m not very happy.’
‘You’re not, miss?’ He stopped, turned and looked towards her.
‘No, I am not, Bradley. But most times I feel happy. I used to sing inside especially on moonlight nights, but now I don’t want to sing. I feel very odd at times and, and I’m afraid.’
‘Oh’ – he took a step towards her – ‘don’t be afraid, miss. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ Little did she know, poor creature, that she had everything to be afraid of. In her odd way she was alive to the atmosphere in the house, and she could probe it.
‘I . . . I would die if Aggie went away. I couldn’t live without Aggie.’
He said nothing to this but stood looking down at her. Then he started as there came a sharp rap on the window, and there standing glaring at him was Dave Waters. Taking a piece of wood from the floor, he quickly pushed it under the frame of the upper part of the window and, grasping the hooks attached to the bottom of the window, he hauled it upwards, to be met with the harsh whisper of, ‘What do you think you’re up to now?’
And as quickly and as harshly he answered back, ‘Look here, Mr Waters, I’m doing me job. The miss came in and sat down and talked. She’s distressed. Now don’t make matters worse.’
The man stared at him; the muscles of his face worked, and then he said, ‘Aye, well.’ And he made an attempt to step over the sill; but Robert’s hand checked him for a moment and under his breath he said, ‘I don’t know whether you know it or not, but there’s been trouble indoors between the master and Miss Agnes. She . . . the lass senses it.’
Their faces were close and they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment and Robert thought he detected a glimmer of understanding in the older man’s face. Stepping aside, he made way for him to enter the room, then listened with interest as he spoke to the girl, addressing her in fatherly tones, saying, ‘There you are, me dear. I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Have you, Dave? Well, I’ve just been sitting here talking to Bradley. He’s a great reader, is Bradley. Did you know that, Dave? And I think we should ask Aggie if he can read the books in here’ – she spread her arm outwards – ‘because nobody ever reads these books, do they?’
‘They are not the kind of books people want to read, me dear. They’re all about coal mines and engines and shippin’ and the like. But come along, come along to the kitchen, I think Peggy’s been bakin’.’
‘Oh, has she?’
‘Yes, and you’d like a hot currant bun, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, I would, Dave.’
As she rose Dave Waters turned to Robert, saying, ‘I was looking for you. I want you to take the cart into Birtley to the chandlers to get some feed. Ask for a fellow called Eddie Palmer, he’ll give it to you without any trouble. Try to avoid Mr Taylor . . . he’s the boss. Go in the side door; you’ll likely see Eddie there. He’ll know what to give you. Just leave that’ – he pointed – ‘you can finish it the morrow.’ Lowering his voice, he added, ‘But don’t go until the master leaves; he’s taking the trap now. In the meantime you can harness the horse.’
Robert began to gather up his tools while Dave Waters took Millie by the arm, and as he went to lead her from the room, she turned in Robert’s direction, saying, ‘Thank you, Bradley. It was nice talking to you.’
In the drawing room she said to Dave Waters, ‘He’s a nice man, isn’t he, Bradley? He’s kind and he reads. I think he’s very clever to be able to read, don’t you, Dave?’
Dave Waters muttered something under his breath, then opened the far drawing-room door and she went before him at a tripping run now across the hall and into the kitchen. But on seeing Agnes by the fire with Peggy bending over her, she paused, seeming to sense there was something wrong and to shy away from it. But Dave gently pressed her forward and as he seated her in the rocking chair Peggy addressed him without looking at him, ‘It’s coming to something when he starts using his hands. He’s hit her.’
‘Why?’ Dave too was bending towards Agnes now, but before she could make any reply Peggy, straightening her back, turned to where Maggie was coming into the kitchen with a bowl full of eggs and she said to her, ‘I’m wantin’ some fruit for the pudding the night. Take Miss Millie here with you and she’ll help you to pick some. Blackcurrants I think we’ll have.’
After one glance at Agnes’ lowered head Maggie took in the situation and, going to Millie, she held out her hand, saying, ‘Come away with you, miss. We’ll go and raid the garden. What do you say?’
‘Well, if you would like that, Maggie.’ There was a note of reluctance in Millie’s voice, but nevertheless she rose from the chair as Maggie said, ‘I would like that dearly, because there’s nothin’ I like better than a bit of company, good company like yourself.’
At this, Millie gave a tinkle of a laugh and she looked towards the others as she said, ‘Maggie’s funny.’
‘I am that. I am that. And nobody knows better than meself how funny. When the good Lord thought me up He said, “I’ll make her nothin’ to look at but she’ll be good to listen to.” Come away with you now an’ listen some more.’
As the door closed on them Agnes raised her head. One side of her face was scarlet, the other very pale. And looking up at Dave, she said, ‘He’s going to be married . . . Father, and he’s already making arrangements to put her away.’
‘No! No!’ Dave backed from her. ‘He wouldn’t.’
‘He would. Oh yes, he would, and he can. He can ignore Doctor Miller and in fact I’m sure he will because he doesn’t like him. And he can get two other opinions. Doctors are not above bribes.’
‘In the name of God!’ Dave put his hand to his brow and turned away; then as quickly turned back to her again as he asked, ‘Who is it? Who’s he bringing here?’
Agnes turned her head to the side and as she was about to answer Peggy put in angrily, ‘His harlot, who else? But meself, I thought there was something had gone wrong atween them and that’s why he had taken to the bottle; and, too, he’s been in the house for days at a time these past weeks, and that never used to happen. He was never away from her.’
‘Was she a friend of Mother’s? Did you know her?’ Agnes’ softly spoken question brought a big ‘Huh!’ from Peggy before she said, ‘Know her! Yes, I knew her. She was never out of this house at one time years ago when your mother and father were first married. Your mother’s best friend she was supposed to be. Best friend indeed! Even in those days two wasn’t enough for her because her man was alive then. I don’t know how the master’s kept her all these years? Oh, but I do, money. According to Greg, who’s seen her lately, she’s laden down with expensive jewellery. She always was an expensive hobby.’
‘Do . . . do you think the boys know?’
She addressed this question to Dave Waters, and his answer was brief: ‘They are men, they’d be blind if they didn’t,’ he said.
Agnes now sat looking down into the cup of tea that Peggy had handed to her and, shaking her head slowly, she said, ‘What’s going to be done?’
No-one answered, and in the short silence there emerged from the long scullery Betty Trollop. She had likely heard every word that had been said. But that didn’t seem to matter; they took no notice because Betty too was like one of the family. She had been working in the kitchen since she was eight years old. As she laid a loin of chops on the table Peggy, looking towards her, said, ‘Get them cut up and put in the oven.’ And Betty, taking a chopper from a drawer, put the loin on the chopping board and began hacking at it.
Each blow of the chopper as it struck the bone seemed to vibrate through Agnes’ head. Her nerves were on edge; her mind in a whirl, yet all the time asking the same question, What was to be done? What could she do? Well, there was only that one avenue left open for her, James, and the hunting lodge. She would put it to him when he came tonight . . . She checked her thinking for a moment: the question was, if he came tonight. She hadn’t seen him for nearly a fortnight. The last time they had talked, he had told her how very busy he was. He had been doing a round of the shops, checking up on the managers; there had been some pilfering at one place, and things like that could spread. It was very worrying. Well, if he didn’t come tonight, tomorrow might be too late. Her father could do as he had threatened and bring doctors here and that could be the end of Millie, and of them all, for, as strange as it might appear, it was Millie who seemed to hold them together.
She rose so quickly to her feet that she startled Peggy, and when she said, ‘I’ll go. I’ll go now.’ Dave Waters peered at her as he asked, ‘Go where?’
‘To Haughton. I’ll . . . I’ll see James.’
‘But . . . but what could he do, my dear?’
She turned now and looked at Peggy and only stopped herself from saying, ‘He could marry me right away.’ But what she said was, ‘He’ll . . . he’ll think of something. There’s the hunting lodge, you know. If . . . if he let me take Millie there. Would you come? I mean . . . ’
‘Oh, lass, yes, yes.’ Dave held his hands out towards her, then asked, ‘But how are you goin’ to get there? The master’s taken the trap, and Prince is not fit to ride. An’ Bradley’s goin’ in with the cart to Birtley for feed.’
‘Has he gone?’
‘Who?’
‘Bradley.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ He turned quickly to the window and looked from side to side before saying, ‘He’s just on his way. But you wouldn’t ride on the cart along of him, would you?’
‘What does it matter how I get there, as long as I get there and quickly.’ Agnes now turned from them and hurried out of the kitchen. And as Dave made for the door leading into the yard, Peggy called to him, ‘What do you think? He’s not that kind of man.’
‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’ he replied. ‘If he wants her he’ll do as she asks.’
Robert was leading the horse towards the gate when Dave Waters called to him, ‘Hey there! Wait a minute.’ And when he reached the cart he looked up at Robert and said, ‘Miss Agnes is comin’ along. She wants to get to Haughton. It’s a mile or so out of your way. She’ll direct you.’ Then after a pause he added, ‘And mind your p’s and q’s.’
Robert’s face was tight as he looked down on the older man, saying, ‘I know my p’s and q’s, and the whole alphabet for that matter. You’ve got no need to tell me how to act, mister.’
Once again Dave Waters was taken aback by the nerve of this fellow, and he stared at him in hostility. It more than vexed him that the man wouldn’t defer to him or to anybody else for that matter. But wait, his boldness would get him into trouble sooner or later. Let him take that tack when the young masters were about and he would soon see where he stood. But then he was of such a temperament that he would likely walk out: his kind didn’t think of the morrow and where their next bite was coming from; they were of a new generation who didn’t like bending the knee.
He stepped back from the cart as Agnes came hurrying across the yard, the while fastening the buttons of her dust coat.
On the sight of her Robert moved along the seat and, when Dave Waters helped her up into the cart, he was about to put out his hand and take her arm, but thought better of it. His hands on the reins now, he jerked them, at the same time saying, ‘Get up there!’ And the cart moved forward out of the cobbled yard on to the gravel drive.
They were through the gates and on to the main road before she spoke. Her voice low, she said, ‘Will you please turn off right at the crossroads, Bradley, I . . . I want to go to Haughton. Do you know where that is?’
‘No, miss. I’ve never been that way.’
‘It’s . . . it’s about two miles from the crossroads. The gates are on the main road. I’ – she paused – ‘I don’t know whether I shall need you for the return journey. If Mr Crockford is at home he’ll undoubtedly bring me back, but if he shouldn’t be there, I . . . I’d be obliged if you would make your way back to pick me up. How long will the business take you in Birtley?’
‘I’m not sure, miss. I’ve been once before but that was with Hubbard. I think it took a couple of hours there and back, that was right to the house. But if I put a spurt on I might be able to be back in just over the hour or so. Anyway, I could bring the cart up to the house and wait.’
‘No, no!’ The words were brusque and she had no need to add, not the cart.
Of course not the cart; he should have known that a cart like this was no vehicle on which to take a lady visiting. Mr Waters had been right, he didn’t know all his p’s and q’s.
She turned her head and looked at him now as she said, ‘I’d be obliged if you would wait outside the gates.’
‘I’ll do that, miss. And I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Oh, you needn’t rush. If Mr Crockford is to bring me home I shall leave word for you at the gate and you needn’t wait.’
‘Very good, miss.’
They sat in silence now. The horse plodded on and the clip-clop of its hooves became loud in his ears. He would like to remark on the countryside; he would like to talk to her, but it was evident she was in a state and that she was going to this fellow of hers for help. Why hadn’t he married her before now? He had been courting her for years, so he understood. But then courtships did go on a long time, at least in the working class they did, because as a rule they had to get together their bits and pieces with which to set up house. But it should be different in the class. They weren’t short of a bed or furniture. No – he shook his head at himself – that was true, they weren’t short of a bed or furniture, but they were short of some place to put it. Perhaps they had no more taste for living with in-laws than their inferiors had.
If he knew anything there was going to be changes up at the house, and very soon. A break-up all round. Well, it wouldn’t matter to him. He would get a job somewhere and this time he’d sell his own bits and pieces, for they were hanging like millstones around his neck. He had been toying with the idea for some nights past now of trying Australia or Canada. America he thought was overrun, all Ireland seemed to have gone there. But anyway, he wouldn’t be sorry to leave this job, for none of them had taken to him, except perhaps Maggie. But then she’d take to a clothes prop with trousers on, she was so kindly.
There was an oppressive feeling about the place, and he had been looking forward to tonight to get along to The Bull and exchange news with the Taggarts. From what he had gathered from Tim Yarrow’s last visit to the inn his uncle had practically tied Carrie up, and Tim thought the old boy was going off his rocker. But it was Mrs Bradley Tim said he was sorry for.
He, too, was sorry for his aunt. But in a way she was to blame, at least in part, for what had happened. He’d have likely been still living there if she hadn’t tried to shoulder him with Carrie’s misdeed. Poor Carrie. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lass. But they weren’t the only ones who had trouble; there was trouble in high places too.
‘We are here. Will you stop please?’
He hadn’t noticed the gates, they were set well back in a half-moon from the road and there was no wall or fence leading up to them, not on this side anyway. The border consisted of an avenue of trees that you could walk into from the road. There was likely a fence someway behind them, because he couldn’t see any of the landowners leaving their parks open to the casual passer-by.
He had jumped down from the cart and was now helping Agnes to the ground. When his hand gripped her elbow, he felt the thinness of it and was in a way reminded of Miss Millie. Somehow there seemed to be the same quality about them both, only where Miss Millie was open and embraced the world in her naivety, this one lived as it were behind tight shutters, rarely allowing her natural self to peep through.
‘Thank you, Bradley.’
‘Goodbye, miss.’ He didn’t know why he had said that, but she turned as she went round the back of the cart and paused for a moment before answering, ‘Goodbye, Bradley.’
She walked through the gates and up the well-kept drive towards the house. But before she reached the end of the drive she paused on the sound of laughing voices coming from the left of her. That was where the lawn tennis court was. She had been on the court only twice. She was no hand with a racquet, and on both occasions she knew James had become irritated with her, although he had laughed at her efforts.
The tennis court was on the west side of the house and steps from a terrace led down to a large lawn facing it. Sometimes the family had tea there, but it was past teatime now. Likely it was the girls playing with some visitors. James wouldn’t be playing, for he was rarely at home before five o’clock, and it had only just turned five. She paused and looked towards the house, low spread and spruce. It wasn’t nearly as big as their own house, but it was so well kept that it made her feel at this moment that she had come from some slum habitation; and that was likely how James viewed her home.
Mrs Crockford, she guessed, would be ensconced in the drawing room working at her endless tapestry. It wasn’t likely she would be out in the sun: she didn’t like the sun; it wasn’t good for the skin, she had said. In her late forties she remained a vain woman, but she was still very good-looking. James took after her in this way.
