The Moth, page 25
‘Aye, she’s different and I know who’s the cause of it.’
Peggy’s face was expressing honest inquiry as she said, ‘You know who’s the cause of it? What do you mean?’
‘Just what I say. And I’ll add this, you’re blind, you’re all blind.’
Exasperation in her voice now, she thrust her fists into her waist as she demanded, ‘Well, tell me what it is I can’t see . . . that we all can’t see.’
‘Bradley.’
‘Bradley? . . . Bradley? You mean . . . ? Huh!’ She turned her head to the side. ‘You must be going out of your mind, man. Bradley and the miss!’
‘Aye well, perhaps I am goin’ out of me mind, but I use me eyes and I’ve caught them.’
‘What do you say? What do you mean, you’ve caught them?’
‘Talkin’. Talkin’.’
‘Oh, my God! She talks to us all. Look how she talks to you. You’re not a servant to her, neither am I, we haven’t been for years. She looks upon us more like parents.’
‘Aye, that’s just it, because I feel like a parent I can read atween the lines and I know what’s going on. He’s a troublemaker that fellow. Oh, I know, I know he saved me neck and I’m stuck with him, but he’ll only try me so far. Let him lay a finger on her.’
‘Dave. Dave.’ She went up to him now and patted his arm; then raising her hand, she stroked his cheek, saying, ‘It’s in your mind, it’s just because you think so much of them both, like I do myself. But Robert, he’s one of the nicest fellows. You’ve got him all wrong. And he’s changed, he’s altered his town ways and he’s fallen in with us.’
‘Woman!’ His voice was severe but quiet now as he looked into her face, ‘I know what I know. I see beyond me eyes. It’s likely because I do think the world of them both that I see like that, but I know there’s something afoot.’
‘Well, whatever you think, Dave, there’s one thing I’ll ask you: for God’s sake keep it to yourself, because if she ever guessed you were thinking as you do about her . . . and him, I don’t know what her reactions would be. Man’ – she moved her head from side to side – ‘she’s class; she mightn’t have one penny to rub against the other, but it makes no difference, she’s class. And what is Robert, after all? He’s an odd-job man. Aye, yes, he’s got a skill at carpentry, but that doesn’t give him a standin’, a status like; he’s still an ordinary working man. You could as soon think of . . . well, say one of the boys, Master Arnold or Stanley taking up with Ruthie. Come on, man, don’t fret yourself any more, but think straight.’
His voice was still quiet as he said, ‘I do think straight, and it’s happened before where a man has married beneath him.’
‘Oh, yes, yes.’ She answered on a high note now. ‘Admittedly from that end, yes: a man of class can stoop and take up a woman from beneath him, but never the other way round. You’ve never heard, and I’ve never heard of anybody like Miss Agnes lowering herself to seek a mate among the likes . . . well, let’s face it, the likes of us. It doesn’t work that way. As long as the man’s superior, it’s all right, and it happens, but not t’other way round. Never! Never!’
She did her shopping in Newcastle and in the main street. She had left the horse and trap on the outskirts and had come into the centre of the city by the tramcar. She bought the material for Millie’s dress and fell to the temptation of buying herself a new hat.
It was all of three years since she’d had anything new except for the funeral outfit that had served both her father and her mother and which she had laid away and hoped that she would never use again, because she hated it.
The hat was of green velour: the brim at one side was turned slightly up, while across the front was a row of pink and mauve felt flowers. It had stood out in the middle of the plate-glass window and she had thought it would look most unsuitable on her, yet minutes later when she tried it on and the shop assistant who was an adroit saleswoman exclaimed with joined hands, ‘It’s exactly you, madam, and it’s in tone with your coat, you couldn’t have found a better match,’ she agreed with her and parted with one pound, twelve shillings and sixpence, which was more money than had ever been spent on a hat for her in her life, she was sure of that.
She asked for her brown everyday felt to be packed in a bag and she went out from the store feeling slightly elated. Perhaps the elation showed in her face, because a number of heads were turned towards her as she walked down Northumberland Street.
Such was the effect of the hat that she had almost forgotten her main purpose in coming out, but as soon as she took her seat in the trap it returned to her and it tightened the feeling in her chest and she told herself there was nothing unusual about calling to see how the man was faring, for after all, Bradley was in her employ. He had been away five days now; she wished to ascertain whether he meant to return or not.
She was very thankful to leave the main road and to turn the horse into the quiet lane that led to Lamesley. When, having passed through the village, she eventually came to the hamlet her heart began to pump against her ribs and she chastised herself, saying, ‘Don’t be silly; there is nothing untoward in calling.’
Yet when she drew the horse to a stop at the side of the road and hitched the reins to a post in the railings and walked the few yards to the opening beyond which stood the house and the long appendage of a workshop running at right angles to it, she was trembling.
It was a pleasant looking house, built of stone and surprisingly large, she thought, for the home of a carpenter. Her hand shook slightly as she knocked on the front door, and it was almost a minute later when it was opened and there he stood looking at her, his face stretched in surprise which slowly melted into a smile as he said, ‘Come in. Do come in.’
She went in without speaking and stood in the small hallway. He kept his eyes on her as he closed the door, then said, ‘Come into the sitting room; my aunt’s upstairs.’
She went into the room, passing before him as he held the door open for her, and she noted with some surprise the comfort and homeliness of the room, and, unlike other cottages she had been in, that it was uncluttered, there were only a clock and two ornaments on the mantelpiece. The furniture looked solid, naturally because likely it was handmade. But what she found most unusual was a large chintz-covered couch set straight before the fire, its cushions ruffled as if someone had been recently sitting there. This definitely wasn’t the sort of set room favoured by most working-class.
He pointed to the couch, saying now, ‘Come and warm yourself.’
It wasn’t until she sat down that she found she was able to speak, when, looking up at him where he stood in front of her, she said, ‘I really called to find out how your uncle is.’
‘Oh, he’s on the mend, thank goodness. It was touch and go for a time though. Anyway I was coming back today; in fact I was thinking of making me way about now.’
‘You were?’
‘Yes.’ There was a short awkward silence until he said, ‘Would you like a cup of tea? Look, I’ll get my aunt; she’d like to meet you and for you to have something, it’s still bitter out.’
‘Oh, please, don’t bother.’ She made to rise but he put his hand out towards her, the palm vertical as if he were pressing her down, and his tone changed now, as did the expression on his face, as he said, ‘Now sit still, relax for a minute, I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
When he left the room he left the door open and she saw him run the three or four steps towards the stairs, and the action reminded her of Millie. He looked light on his feet, yet his body for all his height was thickset and somewhat heavy . . . Sit still, relax for a minute, I’ll be back in a jiffy. He had spoken to her like . . . like . . . How had he spoken to her? Like an equal. Yes, like an equal. She must be careful, she must, or things would get out of hand. She had been foolish to call here, utterly, utterly foolish. She was asking for trouble; she was giving him an inch and he would take a mile. No, no, he wouldn’t. He knew the position as well as she did. Hadn’t she been over this in her mind a thousand times?
When she saw the woman coming towards her, she rose to her feet and almost immediately she began to talk: ‘I was passing and I wondered how your husband was. I’m . . . I’m so glad to know he’s on the mend. It must have been very distressing.’
‘It was. It was . . . Please sit down.’ Alice extended her hand towards the couch, then went on, ‘But I’m sure if he hadn’t had the kind attention you gave to him in your home he wouldn’t be here now. Robbie has told me how good you were. Would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘Yes. Yes, thank you very much. It would be very acceptable.’
‘Stay where you are.’ Robert wagged his finger at his aunt, saying, ‘I’ll see to it.’ And she smiled faintly at him before looking at Agnes and saying, ‘He makes a good cup of tea.’
Left alone, they seated themselves each at an end of the couch. An awkward moment followed during which they looked away from each other and into the fire; then Agnes said, ‘I would like you to know that I sympathise with you in your recent tragedy, Mrs Bradley.’
Alice continued to look into the fire for some time longer before she said, ‘Tragedy is the right word.’ And she added neither miss nor ma’am, which wasn’t lost on Agnes but caused her to look deeper into the woman as she went on, ‘I feel lost; the house is lonely. Of course, she was more Mr Bradley’s than mine, always, yet she was still my daughter, and—’ Alice now wetted her lips before going on, ‘we became very close in the last months we were together, drawn no doubt by the wrong we had done to a certain party.’ She turned now and looked at Agnes. ‘’Twas my fault. I put the blame on Robbie for a number of reasons. I thought it would lessen Mr Bradley’s anger, but also because he was the kind of man I would have liked my daughter to marry. And last but not least, I liked him about the house, he was like a good son. We all wronged him . . . that was why my husband made the journey on New Year’s Eve. But you know that by now.’
A quietness settled on the room; and again they sat looking towards the fire. Presently, Alice said, ‘He’s going back to you today,’ which brought Agnes’ head jerking towards her. But when Alice added, ‘To his work; he says there’s a lot to do,’ Agnes realised it was an ordinary statement. But those words, he’s going back to you today, made her imagine for a moment that he had talked to this woman, about her. But of course that was ridiculous. Anyway, what could he say about her?
He came into the room carrying a tray on which was a china teapot with a milk jug and sugar basin to match together with three cups and saucers. The pattern was blue on an off-white background and rimmed with gold, and Agnes recognised the quality immediately and she exclaimed on it, saying, ‘What a lovely set. It is old English Wedgwood, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is pretty old,’ Alice nodded; ‘it came from my husband’s mother’s family. It was her wedding present to us. It’s an odd set: there were twelve cups and saucers, no plates. She said that years ago when, the gen . . . people had afternoon tea, that’s all it used to be, just a cup of tea, no cakes or anything like that.’
She was right. Yes, she was right. She drank her tea. It was good tea, not at all a cheap blend. She knew about teas. That was one thing her mother had taught her. In the house they had a variety of Indian and China teas and just one particular kind for the kitchen, an inferior blend which she still ordered.
During the drinking of the tea she remarked on the room, how light it was, and how nice it was to have two large windows, and these to look out on to the garden beyond. And the paddock, was that theirs?
Oh yes. That and the other two that went down to the burn. Mr Bradley owned all of ten acres that took in the land to the back of the house and to the side, and all freehold. The fields were a nice stamping ground for the two horses.
As Agnes listened, she thought, two horses, ten acres and this comfortable house, this woman was better off than she was. Moreover, she had a business on the premises to support her and no worry about a staff and brothers who had to be educated and grounds that were like a jungle.
When she rose to take her leave, Alice thanked her for her visit, and she thanked Alice for the tea; then she looked at Robert and said, ‘We can expect you today then?’ And before he could answer Alice put in, ‘He was just about to leave when you came. Another few minutes and you would likely have missed him.’
And now Robert put in quickly, ‘I’ll be along shortly.’
She stared at him as she said, ‘Are you coming? By vehicle, I mean.’
‘No, no; the walk is nothing.’
‘Well, I’m on my way back now’ – her voice had a businesslike tone about it – ‘there’s no reason why you should walk.’
He returned her look steadily before saying quietly, ‘Thank you. I’ll get my coat.’
There was no further conversation between Agnes and Alice while they awaited his return from upstairs, and when he was once again in the hall he bent and kissed his aunt, saying, ‘Don’t you worry now, I’ll be over as often as I can until he’s on his feet. And you’ve got no worry about the workshop, Tim’ll see to that. As for inside help’ – he pulled a face at her now – ‘the door won’t be closed until our dear Nancy will be in.’ Then he laughed as he added, ‘Don’t you let her say a word against me, mind.’
Alice smiled and, patting his arm now, she said, ‘You’re a naughty lad.’ Then turning her eyes towards Agnes, she added, ‘He’s a tease.’
Agnes ignored this remark but again said a polite farewell.
He helped her up into the trap, then threw the brown paper parcel that he had been carrying on to the padded leather cushioned seat and in doing so dislodged a bulky brown paper bag which slid to the floor exposing as it did so the brim of a hat. About to take hold of the reins, Agnes turned in her seat and their eyes met.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he reached over and pushed the hat back into the bag and replaced it on the seat before taking his own place opposite her.
It wasn’t until after she had set the horse in motion and they were approaching the Parkins’ cottage that he realised they’d had a spectator: Nancy was standing by the gate and as they approached he could see the look on her face, the expression so tight that it aged her. He was on the offside to her but as the trap drove past her he leant slightly forward in front of Agnes and with an exaggerated gesture he touched his cap, then sat back with a tight grin on his own face.
It had been a stupid thing to do, he knew, but he had been unable to resist it, not after what had happened on the evening of New Year’s Day when she had sent her mother, not her father, in to him and he had then made sure that she left with a flea in her ear.
The meaning behind his exaggerated gesture had not been lost on Agnes. His last words to his aunt had referred to somebody called Nancy. This then was the person in question. Had she been another whom he had comforted? Oh, how stupid of her to have invited him to accompany her home! What if they were seen, as surely they would be? Well, he was a groom of sorts, and she was driving with her groom. That certainly wasn’t an unusual procedure.
They had driven almost a mile in silence when he said, ‘That was a silly thing to do, I know.’
She didn’t say, ‘What are you talking about?’ Or, as she would more likely have put it the way she was feeling at the moment, ‘To what are you referring?’
And he went on as if bent on defending himself now, ‘She has a bitter tongue, that girl, and slanderous. I’ve had occasion to speak straight to her.’
Why couldn’t she say something? But what could she say to such statements without becoming implicated? Without him taking advantage? Oh, for goodness sake! The warring being inside her screwed up its eyes and turned its head away, crying at her loudly, He’ll take nothing that you don’t give him.
Again they sat in silence until, his voice quiet and ordinary sounding, he said, ‘May I say something?’
She gave a short laugh while looking straight ahead as she replied, ‘I can’t imagine anything or anyone stopping you from saying what you want to say.’
A stiffness showed in his voice now as he replied, ‘There you are wrong. I can’t say what I want to say. I can never say what I want to say. And when I make up my mind not to say something that’s that. But in this case it was a simple thing I wanted to say, just this, that’s a beautiful hat you’re wearing.’
Her eyelids were blinking rapidly again. She felt silly inside. Why did she always make issues out of the simplest things? ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s what I thought when I saw it in the window. I couldn’t resist it.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought many women could. Anyway, it’s your colour, it’s a lovely brown.
‘Brown?’ Her mouth was wide as she now smiled at him. ‘It’s green.’
‘Green?’
‘Yes.’
She stared fixedly at him before saying, ‘What colour is my coat?’
He looked at it from the top button that was half hidden by the small velvet collar down to where it fell round her feet before he said, ‘It’s brown too, but a different brown.’
‘It’s a bluey green. You . . . you must be colour-blind.’
‘No. Me colour-blind? No!’
They were laughing together as she turned the trap into the drive. ‘Haven’t you ever thought about colours?’ she asked him.
