The Moth, page 20
For answer, Robert turned to him and said, ‘You like Maggie, don’t you?’
‘Aye, I do. She’s good company, she’s a real good lass.’
‘Have you ever thought of marrying her?’
‘What!’ Greg Hubbard peered at Robert through narrowed lids and Robert came back at him sharply saying, ‘You could do a lot worse; many a man could do a lot worse.’
‘Shut up! Don’t go on. You’re tellin’ me. I know I could do a lot worse, but look at me, forty-one come the first of November and her just on twenty. I’m old enough to be her father, an’ a bit.’
‘What’s age got to do with it? You’re a well set-up fellow.’ He turned his head and looked Hubbard up and down, a half smile on his face; then after a moment he confronted him fully, saying, ‘No, she hadn’t the toothache last night, as you surmised, and I’ll tell you what she was crying about if you’ll keep it to yourself, and then she won’t think whatever action you take in the future is out of pity.’
And so he told him the reason for Maggie being upset, and when he had finished Greg Hubbard remained silent for quite some seconds before he said, ‘Well, Robbie, it’s a damn good job I didn’t know this afore those two left, as there’s one thing sure, I’d be going along with you, and not next week, but the day, for I’d have busted their gobs. By God! I would that.’
Robert went on with the rubbing down of the horse, but as he did so he said, ‘You’re to go to the Durham Cattle Fair on Monday, so I heard Mr Waters tellin’ you?’
‘Aye, I’m takin’ a crop of hens in.’
‘Well, take Maggie along. She never gets anywhere; she’ll jump at the chance.’
When there was no response to this Robert turned and looked at Greg, saying, ‘Well?’
‘It’s a thought.’ Greg gave a twisted smile, then he added, ‘But what if she laughs in me face? She mightn’t be any oil paintin’ but she’s young and healthy and . . . ’
‘Maggie’ll not laugh in your face; she’ll laugh with you but not at you. Anyway, I should think it’s worth a try. What have you got to lose? On the other hand, what have you got to look forward to? Old age on your own.’
‘Aye, there’s that in it.’ Greg walked slowly out and Robert resumed his work again with the feeling that Maggie’s future was settled. That would be something good coming out of this house of turmoil. He had six more days to go and then he would be free and by God, wouldn’t he be glad to see the last of this place and everybody in it. Aye, definitely, everybody in it.
The meal in the kitchen was constrained: there was no small talk or laughter, and every time Robert looked up from his plate he felt Dave Waters’ eyes on him and he wanted to say, ‘It’s all right, don’t worry, I won’t talk, I’m not a blabber.’ And he would say this to him before he left and so try to put the man’s mind at ease.
What was troubling him not a little was that Maggie didn’t look at him at all, she kept her eyes averted. But Ruthie looked at him, as did Betty Trollop. They smiled covertly at him, and this made him think ironically to himself they considered Maggie as another notch on his life tree. By! Was there any man so misjudged as he where this particular thing was concerned? One of the main reasons for his leaving Jarrow was for him to escape marriage, and since then he had been accused of coming between a lass and her intended, giving another one a bairn, and now he shouldn’t be surprised if they thought he had been making advances to Maggie; and, of course, they weren’t taking into account Miss Millie’s preference for his company.
Well now, he promised himself, the very next time any such label was stuck on him there’d be some truth behind it, and that without a wedding ring on the finger. He might have to make a run for it afterwards but he was getting used to change.
Later that night in bed he had the same trouble getting off to sleep as he’d had the night before, because the picture in his mind was of himself standing with his arm outstretched, his hand against her hair, his face close to hers, and the peculiar scent of her body wafting up his nostrils.
It was ten o’clock the next morning and they were facing each other once again, across a desk this time. Last night she had received what amounted to a deputation headed by Dave. At any other time, had he spoken to her in like fashion, she would have said, What has come over you Dave? But since the accident with her father she had realised that Dave was a changed man and was probably still suffering from shock, and so when he said, ‘You can’t let him go, you’ve got to ask him to stay; he could open his mouth and then where would we be?’ she could have answered, ‘You mean, where would you be?’ But she didn’t, for wasn’t there some law whereby one could be implicated for hiding the truth and for harbouring what was in plain and terrifying language, incredible as it sounded when applied to Dave, a murderer?
He had gone on to say, ‘What’s more, you’ll not get another like him, I mean, as handy with wood’n that. You’d have to pay a carpenter’s firm a mint for the work he’s done on the windows and the floor and skirting in the library. Then he helps Bloom. He’s as strong as a bull, sort of tireless. You’ll not get another like him. And the women . . . they’re upset.’
And the women were upset; Peggy had come up to her room last night and, sitting on the foot of her bed, she had said, ‘I don’t know what’s happened rightly to upset him, but if you let him go he’s going to be a loss. You know the ones we’ve had afore him, they would neither work nor want. Dave spent more time on their tails than it would have taken him to do the jobs himself.’ She had then ended, ‘If it wouldn’t upset you too much, don’t you think you could ask him to stay on, lass?’
She had looked at Peggy. Peggy had said she didn’t know the reason for Bradley’s leaving, but she knew all right: Maggie had likely filled her in, at least given a description of the compromising situation . . . Why did she use such words? Compromising. What was compromising about a man holding a woman? And her, as he had pointed out so strongly, of his own class.
Then this morning, when Maggie had brought her an early cup of tea she had stood looking down at her, her eyes lowered as she said, ‘I was daft, Miss Agnes, to make all that fuss. An’ look where it’s landed him, out of a job. An’ him just being kind. There was nothin’ more in it, miss, he was just comforting me.’
That word again, comforting. Oh, as she had said, Bradley was the exponent of comfort all right where women were concerned. She wanted to be rid of him, she wanted to see him go, for then, knowing that she would never set eyes on him again, her mind would fall into familiar channels of thinking and her imagination would not run rife.
She had pulled herself up in the bed and demanded of Maggie, ‘Why should I ask him to stay? It isn’t seemly. You know that yourself, Maggie, it isn’t seemly. He should be the one to come and ask to be reinstated.’
‘Oh.’ Maggie had half turned away as if about to make for the door, then had paused and, looking downwards, had shaken her head as she said, ‘He wouldn’t do that. He’s not made that way.’
‘Not made that way?’ The words had seemed to tumble from a platform high in her head, and they verged almost on a shout. Then lifting the cup and saucer from the tray, she had gulped on the tea before saying in a voice that her mother might have used, ‘That’s all, Maggie, thank you. We . . . we’ll look into the matter.’
When Maggie left the room, she had lain back on her pillows, repeating, He’s not made that way. Did you ever hear anything like it? He’s not made that way. And as she lay staring fixedly ahead it came to her that she was reacting exactly as her mother would, or anyone else in a like position, on being told that a servant would not bring himself to apologise, apparently under any circumstances whatever.
Her fingers tapping on the eiderdown, she had sat inwardly fuming at the prospect that, she knew, lay before her. And there had come into her mind the picture of herself confronting her brothers only two days before and Arnold saying, ‘You are being ridiculous. You don’t insult that kind of person.’ So what was the difference? Really what was the difference, her brother refusing to apologise to a servant or a servant refusing to apologise to his mistress? They were both men; the only difference between them was their position, one had been fortunate enough to be educated. But as men, which one was the better, Arnold or Bradley?
When the answer came she had flung back the bedclothes and after going across the room to the wash-hand stand she had poured the cold water from the jug almost filling the basin to the rim; then dropping her nightdress to her waist, she had knotted the sleeves and with a jerk pulled them tight, then proceeded to wash her face, arms and upper body while she shivered both inside and out.
And now she was looking at the bone of contention. She did not look into his face but at his clothes. He was wearing breeches and leggings and under an old tweed coat his blue striped shirt was buttoned to the neck. He had nothing on his head and he wasn’t holding a cap in his hand.
‘You wanted to see me, miss?’
‘Yes, Bradley. Will you please be seated?’
He turned round and pulled the leather chair straight and in line with the desk before sitting down.
When she picked up a pen he recalled that her father had done something similar as he sat in that chair and rolled off the work he wanted done for ten shillings a week.
‘I . . . I suppose I owe you an apology.’ She raised her eyes to his face and waited for his response; and when none came she looked away from him down to her hand now that was tapping the pen on the blotter. What did he expect her to say! She had apologised. He was an impossible man, he didn’t know his place . . . Oh! be quiet. What place? What place? There it was again that section of her mind at war with her upbringing. Now she heard her voice saying, even contritely, ‘I . . . I was only thinking of Maggie. I . . . I had her welfare at heart.’
‘Which would seem to prove the low opinion you have of me, miss.’
‘Oh, no, no.’
‘No?’
‘No, no; only . . . Well—’ Oh, what could she say? How did one deal with a man like this? Better to come to the point straightaway and get it over.
‘What . . . what I wanted to see you about was . . . well, would . . . would you reconsider . . . I mean stay on? I . . . I mean . . . ’ She couldn’t go on. Her head drooped, the pen stopped tapping. And he put in quietly, ‘It’s all right, miss, don’t worry. You’ve been put under pressure, I can gather that. Mr Waters imagines that once I leave here I’ll open me mouth. He doesn’t know me. It appears that nobody here does. I’m not a blab, and what I don’t thank them for is putting you on the spot because I know you don’t want me here. You haven’t done so from the start. An’ so I would sooner go.’
‘Oh. Oh, you’re wrong, Bradley, quite wrong. There is nothing personal. I mean you have done so much good work, the . . . the library and the windows and things. Oh, there’s nothing personal, it is only that you’re . . . ’
A silence fell between them before he said, ‘That I’m what, miss?’
She smiled faintly now as she looked at him, saying, ‘Well, you must admit that you’re not the usual type of servant. It is because you haven’t been brought up to this kind of life. Being bred in the town, it . . . it makes a difference.’
‘What you mean is, I’m not subservient enough, miss?’
The smile slid from her face. Subservient? Yes, that’s what she meant. But she also meant something else, and it was still connected with the word he had just used, subservient. He used words. Given the chance, the same chance as her brothers, he would have been someone, he had that kind of drive. As it was he had trained to be a carpenter, and he was an excellent carpenter. But had he trained in law or business he would have done an equally excellent job.
She did not at this point question her radical thinking but, her face once again slid into a smile, wider this time, and she nodded at him as she said, ‘Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean, subservient. And I think that would come very hard to you, Bradley, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would all depend upon the circumstances, miss. For instance, I’d bend me knee to anybody who could teach me anything, say an intelligent or wise man.’
‘Yes, yes, I can understand one adhering to the sayings or precepts of an educated man . . . ’
‘Not necessarily educated, miss.’
‘No?’ There was both question and surprise in the word.
And he repeated, ‘No; from what I’ve seen of some educated men, their intelligence is nil. There’s a big difference atween intelligence and education, miss. At least that’s how I see it.’
Yes, yes; of course he was right. Strange, but she had always linked the two together, feeling that without education you couldn’t be intelligent. But how on earth had they got on to this subject?
As if he had picked up her thoughts he now said, ‘But intelligence or education doesn’t come into this matter, does it, miss? The question of the moment is, do I stay or go?’
‘Yes, Bradley, the question of the moment is, do you stay or go?’
He stared at her. The width of the desk was between them but her face seemed to swell before his eyes until it covered the whole room. He stood up abruptly, saying, ‘I stay as long as I’m needed.’
‘Thank you, Bradley.’ She too had risen to her feet.
‘Thank you, miss.’ His voice was low and his face was straight.
As he went towards the door she brought him to a halt by saying, ‘Bradley.’
‘Yes . . . miss?’ He was looking towards her, but it was some seconds before she spoke and then she said, ‘If . . . if you should like to further your reading, you may help yourself to books from the library. There . . . there are all kinds of reading there, some very dry, but no doubt you would find something of interest.’
‘I . . . I surely will. Thank you, miss.’ His expression still didn’t alter.
When the door closed on him she turned to the desk and, putting her hands flat on it, she leant over it for a moment; then her body snapped upwards as she heard a high excited cry coming from the direction of the hall. That was Millie. That cry always heralded the turn or some change in her demeanour that didn’t augur good.
She pulled open the door, then ran along the passage, only at the end of it to come to an abrupt halt, for as she looked into the hall, there stood Bradley. He was facing her, his hands hanging by his sides, while in front of him was Millie and she was leaning against him, her hands around his shoulders.
Slowly, she walked towards them and when she was an arm’s length from them, Robert, looking at her with a twisted smile on his face now said, ‘She says she is pleased to know I am staying, miss, but I beg you to witness that I am giving her no comfort.’
Agnes drooped her head, and she bit tight down on her lip and only just stopped herself from laughing aloud. But when she put her hands out to draw Millie away, her eyes were bright with suppressed laughter that was mirrored in his, and as their gaze held, the barrier that both of them had contributed to building up one against the other fell. Yet in the falling it revealed more clearly the immeasurable gulf that lay between them, and they both recognised this.
PART FOUR
THE INHERITANCE
One
It was Wednesday the twenty-fourth of December, nineteen hundred and thirteen. He had spent the afternoon going round the markets in Newcastle. And now he had something for everybody, nothing very big, but all new with the exception of one thing, and to him it was a find. It was a first edition of Cobbett’s Rural Rides. It wasn’t even soiled, and he had paid half a crown for it. He had read it some time ago, having got it out of the Institute in Jarrow. But he hadn’t bought it for himself. Now he was asking himself if it wasn’t like taking coals to Newcastle. And another thing, was he overstepping the mark by offering her a present? Anyway, he would see how things went. They had been going pretty smoothly of late; it was as if since that morning in the hall when they had laughed together over Miss Millie they had decided to call a truce.
She had looked happier over the past weeks than he had ever seen her before. She had been freer, less tense. At least she had been until some days ago when the young one returned. He would never be able to get on with him. If after finishing at the university he should plump to stay at home and not to follow his brothers or to take up some occupation that would take him away, he doubted if he’d be able to stick him.
He had been blowing his mouth off about Miss Millie, so Ruthie said. Didn’t want her to have her meals in the dining room when he was there, said they should be served upstairs.
It was odd but over the past weeks Millie had talked and acted so normal that it was hard at times to believe there was anything mentally wrong with her. Yet since her brother had come home she had reverted somewhat, talking a bit wild, like the other day. She had said, ‘I don’t care if Stanley locks me in my room because I can get out. I can fly. I can, Bradley, I can fly. With the aid of the wisteria I can fly.’
