Tilly Trotter Widowed (The Tilly Trotter Trilogy) Read online

  He stopped now in his pacing and stood near the corner of his small desk with his fingernails digging in the underside of the wood. He knew he had come to a turning point in his life, that either he could revert to his drinking bouts which would likely cause her nose to curl, or he could go on upwards, which would mean that he could do what he had wanted to do all those years ago and buy the farm. With what Lucy had brought with her he now had more than enough, and for extra land at that. But buying the farm would mean getting in touch with her. Aye, well, that’s what he would like to do, come face to face with her and show her that whatever power she had wasn’t strong enough to ruin him.

  The decision made, he sat down again and, placing his elbows on the desk, he dropped his face on to his hands, and his teeth ground against each other and his lips pressed tight to stop her name escaping, but his mind groaned at him, Tilly Trotter! Tilly Trotter! God blast you!

  Nine

  Tilly made the acquaintance of Lucy Bentwood one day towards the end of June. They came upon each other in the middle of Northumberland Street, Newcastle, and, strangely, they took to each other, although they exchanged only a polite greeting.

  Tilly had been persuaded to leave the house to accompany John and Anna to the city. Anna was to see her lawyer with regard to her grandmother’s estate. Her grandmother had died a month ago, and from that day her daughter, Anna’s Aunt Susan, who was in her late forties, had taken to her couch and decided she was in decline, and so it was left to Anna and John to settle all the legal affairs.

  Tilly had left them at the solicitor’s office in Pilgrim Street, the arrangement being that they would meet in an hour’s time and have lunch together. In the meantime, she herself was bent on doing some shopping for the children.

  She had not wanted to leave the house at all for since the day of the inquest she seemed now to have dropped back into the lethargy of the time following Matthew’s death. She was aware that if it wasn’t for the children she, like Anna’s Aunt Susan, would have needed little persuasion to take to her couch for then she would less likely become involved in another’s life.

  Over the past few weeks she had almost come to believe that there must be something in what the villagers said about her, inasmuch as she seemed to attract death. She had heard Biddy going for Peg who had been repeating some gossip from the stables that it was odd how Lord Myton had chosen her drawing room in which to commit murder and suicide; why hadn’t he done it in his own house? And what was Steve McGrath doing there? Hadn’t she been poison to the McGraths all her life?

  It was as she turned from looking at the display behind the great new plate-glass window of a shop that she came face to face with Simon Bentwood and his wife.

  At first she did not look at the young woman but at the man who had been her first love. He was now in his middle forties but he looked fifty or more; his face was florid, his girth on a level with his chest. His clothes were good – he had always dressed well – but there was no semblance of the young man who had touched her heart all those years ago. As she glanced at the woman at his side, who looked young enough to be his daughter, she hesitated, not knowing whether to go on or to stop. The decision was taken from her when Simon said, ‘Hello, Tilly.’

  She swallowed before she could answer, and then, her voice low, she said, ‘Hello, Simon.’

  ‘This is me wife.’ He put his hand to the side and Lucy Bentwood, staring at her, inclined her head, then gave the slightest bob of her knee. This gesture seemed to incense Simon, for having first spoken in an ordinary tone, he now almost growled at his wife, ‘No need for knee-bobbing here, woman. Tilly and me know each other too well for that. Isn’t that so?’ His face had taken on a deeper hue, and because she felt sorry for the woman she answered him in a quiet level tone, saying, ‘Yes, we were well acquainted when I was quite young.’

  ‘Acquainted!’ He laughed now, his head jerking up and down. ‘Funny word to use that, acquainted.’

  When into his laughter his wife’s quiet tone came, saying, ‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Sopwith,’ Tilly looked at her and, seeming to ignore Simon completely, answered, ‘And I you, Mrs Bentwood.’

  Lucy Bentwood smiled now at the tall lady, because that’s how Tilly appeared to her, a lady, and aiming to make amends for her husband’s manner she proffered: ‘We’re up for the day. I’m going to shop for some material to make dresses for my little girl.’

  ‘That is a coincidence.’ Tilly smiled towards her. ‘I, too, am shopping for my children. How old is your daughter?’

  She did not include Simon in the question and his wife answered, ‘Just on two, ma’am.’

  Again Tilly was aware of Simon’s displeasure at this latest address, but this time when he broke in on their conversation his tone was less aggressive: ‘I’ve had it in mind to come and see you these weeks past, Tilly,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ She turned an enquiring glance on him.

  ‘It’s about business.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘’Tis about the farm.’

  ‘You want repairs done?’

  ‘No; more than that. I’m thinkin’ of buying it if that meets with you.’

  ‘Oh!’ She raised her eyebrows, at the same time turning her gaze for a moment on his wife; then she said, ‘Well, it’s something that needs to be looked into, but if you would just let me know when you are coming we could discuss the matter.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Tilly now stepped to the side and, looking at Lucy Bentwood, she said, ‘Goodbye, Mrs Bentwood.’

  ‘Goodbye, ma’am.’

  Tilly made no formal farewell to Simon, nor he to her, she merely inclined her head, then walked on, but she was hardly out of earshot before Simon Bentwood said to his wife, ‘You drop the ma’am when speaking to her, she’s no better than she should be.’

  ‘I don’t think I could.’

  ‘Why?’ He paused again and stared at her; and she, with the strength of character which he had already come to suspect lay under her quiet, even serene demeanour, said, ‘Because no matter what is said about her, she appears a lady. Before opening her mouth she appears a lady, more so afterwards.’

  ‘My God!’ He looked as if he were aiming to toss his head off his shoulders; then leaning towards her, he said, ‘You know what they say about her, don’t you?’

  ‘Aye, yes, I’ve heard it all, but as I see it, so to speak, Simon, it’s nothing but second sight. My grandmother had second sight; she saw my grandfather dead six hours before they brought her the news, and he had died not half an hour’s run from her door. The horse shied, the carriage wheels went back on him and that was the end, and she had seen it and told me mother, as I said six hours afore.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet!’

  ‘Just as you say, Simon. Just as you say.’

  ‘And don’t use that laughing tone at me.’

  ‘Did you think I was laughing, Simon? Well, I can tell you I wasn’t. I’m only trying to keep a calm head in a very odd situation because that lady just gone back there caught more than your imagination years gone, not only from what I heard and the little you told me yourself, but from the look on your face whenever her name’s been mentioned and in your eyes as you looked at her not a minute gone. No, Simon, I’m not laughing. And what I’ll say here and now should be, I think, kept for a private place, not in the middle of Newcastle, but it’s in me mind and here at least you can’t bawl your denials, so I’ll say it, and once it’s said I’ll mention it no more. ’Tis this. The part of you she once had I fear she’s still got, but she had it afore I met you, and I’ve given you a child. And again I say this, ’tis no place to tell you in the middle of a street but I’m bearing you another.’

  She was pulled to a stop and he stared down at her, into her kindly eyes, and he knew shame as he had never known it before; and he cursed Tilly Trotter and her returning into his life, for here before him was his wife, a young woman whom he had been lucky to wed, and she was wise and good. Yes
, very wise and very good, for at this moment he recalled how Mary, his first wife, had taken his affection for Tilly Trotter: it had poured vitriol into her veins and made her mad at times with jealousy.

  He did not say, ‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ what he did do was to take her hand and draw it through his arm as he muttered, ‘Let’s go home; we can shop another day.’

  Meeting Simon had in a way been equally disturbing for Tilly. She no longer found that the sight of him disgusted her; she had looked into his face without seeing the picture that had been in her mind for years, that of his nakedness sporting with the plump white body of Lady Myton. She must already have accepted that his conduct had been no worse than that of her going to Mark, or, what must have appeared worse still, of her marrying Mark’s son. And was he any worse than Matthew lying with that small enigmatic-looking Mexican girl, whose child she had taken on to herself, the child who had already brought her trouble by the fact that she herself was being named as its mother?

  No, what was past, was past with Simon; he was a man as other men. That he had grown coarser was a pity, but now that he had taken to himself a wife, and such a one, augured good for his later years . . . And he wanted to buy his farm.

  She remembered vaguely her granny saying that it was the desire of Simon’s life to own his own place. Well, if he came in a proper way and offered a reasonable sum, and she would not quibble over the amount, he would own his own farm. But in granting his desire she knew she would be doing it not so much for him but for his wife, that young woman with the pleasing manner, the open honest face, the young woman who had addressed her as ma’am. She liked her; under other circumstances she would have wished for a closer acquaintance. But that was impossible.

  She did her shopping; met Anna and John, and after a substantial lunch, which she didn’t enjoy, she expressed the desire to return home. In a way she knew she was disappointing Anna, for the arrangement had been that they should visit the galleries; but all she wanted was to get away from this city that reminded her only of police courts, and men who looked at her from top to toe the while their eyes seemed to strip her of her clothing.

  It was a fortnight later when Peabody announced, ‘Mr Simon Bentwood, ma’am.’

  Tilly rose from the seat in the drawing room. She did not say, ‘Hello, Simon,’ for he would surely have replied, ‘Hello, Tilly,’ she just inclined her head towards Peabody, which motion told him his presence was no longer needed.

  When the door had closed on him, Tilly, looking towards Simon who was standing just within the room, said, ‘Please take a seat, Simon. I’ve had the fire put on’ – she motioned her hand towards the fireplace – ‘this last week of rain called for fires.’

  ‘Yes, yes, indeed.’ His tone was polite, even deferential, and if he had owned to the truth he was at this moment feeling a little awed; it was the first time he had been inside the manor house. His yearly rent had always been collected by one servant or another; not since his father’s time, when the manor boasted a steward, had anyone from the farm gone to the house to pay its dues. The carpets and furnishings were making an impression upon him, and at the back of his mind he was telling himself that these had been her surroundings for years, and in a way she had taken on the patina of the furniture about her, a veneer that had caused Lucy to call her ma’am. Yes, yes, he could understand that one would become different living in these surroundings.

  When he was seated he looked to where she was standing to the side of the hearth with one arm outstretched, her hand resting on the marble mantelshelf, and standing like this she looked at him and said, ‘What can I offer you to drink? Would you like something hot or a whisky, or rum perhaps?’

  She watched the muscles of his cheeks working as his tongue pressed his saliva into his throat. ‘A cup of tea would be welcome, thank you.’

  She half turned and, lifting her hand from the mantelshelf, she extended it backwards and pulled on the piece of broad thick-tasselled red velvet that hung down by the side of the wall.

  A moment later the door opened and she looked towards Peabody and said, ‘A tray of tea, Peabody, please.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  She does this every day, Simon thought. It comes natural to her. It was unbelievable when he looked back to the lass she had been, sawing, humping branches twice as big as herself, digging that plot of land. How would she have turned out if he’d had her? Not like this for sure, she’d have been a woman, a mother of a family, respected, whereas now, for all this grandeur, her name was like clarts, and she was feared and hated, aye, you could smell that hate of her in the village, when her name was mentioned. If she had known what was to become of her, would she have picked him or this?

  Peabody brought the tea in, she poured it and handed him a cup and he drank it, and then another, and still he hadn’t brought up the reason for his visit. It was she who had to say, ‘You have come about the farm, Simon?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it, I’ve come about the farm.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking it over and I’ve talked it over with John because he helps me run the estate’ – she smiled deprecatingly now – ‘and I have decided that you may have the buildings together with fifty acres.’

  ‘Fifty acres!’ His shoulders went back. ‘But there’s all of seventy-five acres to it.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and the rest can still remain for your use but as rented land. You see in this way it will in fact square the land off as the farm and those fields jut out on the east side of the estate.’

  ‘I’d rather take the lot.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you would, Simon, but that’s all I have to offer. It’s up to you to decide if you want it or not.’

  ‘Oh yes, I want it, that’s why I’m here. If you think back to the early days, Tilly, you’ll realise I’ve always wanted it.’

  She made no reference to the early days but said, ‘With regard to the price, of course the stock’s your own but the outbuildings are in good repair and Mr Sopwith . . . senior’ – she swallowed here – ‘had, I remember, two new byres put up for you, and also a small barn.’

  She immediately wiped from her mind the picture that the mention of a barn conjured up, and went on, ‘Then there’s the house. John tells me that it was repointed for you some two years ago. A new well, too, was dug. And so his suggestion of four hundred pounds would not be exorbitant.’

  John had suggested seven, it was she who had brought it down to four, and Simon before he had left the farm this morning had said to Lucy, ‘They’ll want eight for it, if a penny.’ But then, of course, he had expected the whole amount of land.

  Tilly watched him rubbing his chin with the side of his hand as if considering her offer. It was a man’s way. He must know that the terms were favourable, but this she supposed was business, and no-one ever thanked you for giving them a bargain.

  ‘Well, aye, yes, I suppose I’d be willing to settle for that.’

  ‘I’m pleased. It’s good to feel you own your own home.’

  ‘Aye, it is. Well, you should know, Tilly.’

  He slowly turned his head and looked about the room, and she said stiffly, ‘In a way this is only entailed to me, it will be passed to my son when he’s twenty-one.’

  As he stared at her she felt the colour rising to her face. She knew what he was thinking: her son had no claim to a stick here, he was an illegitimate child. Her voice sounded cool and her words clipped as, looking back at him, she said, ‘It has been arranged in law, he will inherit.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, well, that’s good enough.’ He now rose slowly to his feet and, again looking round the room, said, ‘’Tis a splendid room. The ceiling in itself is something to look at.’ He was staring upwards at the medallions linked with garlands within ornate squares when there came the sound of high delighted screeches, seemingly from above his head, followed by the soft thumping of steps running down the stairs.

  Looking at him with a slight smile now, Tilly said, ‘The children, they’re on the ramp
age. This is what happens if I leave them for too long.’

  ‘Do you look after them yourself now?’ The ‘now’ indicated that he knew all about Connie Bradshaw and she answered, ‘Yes, in the meantime, but I have a new nursemaid coming next week.’

  He looked towards the door when the squeals came from the hall and he said, ‘They seem to be enjoying themselves.’

  He’d hardly finished speaking when the door burst open and Willy ran into the room, one arm extended, his head to the side, an action he used nearly always when he was running. ‘Mama!’ he cried. ‘Mama! Josefina is going to whip me.’ He was laughing as he flung himself against Tilly’s legs; he then ran behind her as Josefina came racing up the room like a small dark sprite, and for a moment there was a game of tig about Tilly’s skirts, until she cried, ‘Enough! Enough, children! Do you hear me? We have a visitor. Willy, stop it!’ She slapped at her son’s hand and he became still; then she caught hold of Josefina’s arm and, shaking her gently, said, ‘Enough! Enough! Now, no more!’

  Their laughing and giggling died away and they stood now, one on each side of her, looking at the guest.

  ‘Say how do you do to Mr Bentwood, Willy.’

  The boy paused a moment, put his head back on his shoulder and to the side, screwed up his one good eye; then, his hand outstretched, he said politely and slowly, ‘How do you do, sir?’

  There was just a second’s pause before Simon reached out and took the boy’s hand and, his voice sounding gruff, replied, ‘I do very well, youngster.’

  ‘Are you a rela . . . relation?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you from the mine?’

  As Simon was about to reply again, Tilly, reaching out, drew Willy back to her side, saying, ‘Don’t be inquisitive, Willy.’

  ‘I was only asking, Mama.’