The Mallen Girl Page 13

  She had risen from the chair, and she said quietly, ‘I’ll attend to the accounts, but you’ll understand that I cannot go over Brooks’ head and investigate unless I have your authority. If you remember, I warned you that this situation might arise when you decided not to engage another housekeeper or steward after Mrs Fairweather left.’

  ‘Aye, you did, I know you did.’ He was walking away from her now. ‘And you needn’t rub it in. Yes, you have my authority to investigate all you like, and I’ll tell him that afore I go. And if you think it will help matters’—he half turned toward her now—‘you can see about engaging a housekeeper because I can’t expect to keep putting the load on you. But for how long she’ll be here God knows, with the state me mind’s in.’

  He turned more fully towards her now and finished quietly, ‘What I meant to say straightaway was, thanks for all you’ve done this past week, seeing to the crowd of them and everything. You impressed them, you did that, although I think they were a bit frightened of you.’ Again his lips moved from his teeth. ‘You know something?’ His voice dropped low in his throat as he ended, ‘They’re my folks but I was glad to see the back of them. Funny how your ideas change. But a little of them goes a long way now. And yet I’m ashamed of meself, thinking along those lines. Money’s a curse, you know. You know that? It is’—he nodded slowly at her—‘it’s a curse, it makes you so that you’re neither flesh, fish, nor fowl…So long for the present, I’ll be seeing you.’

  Flesh, fish, nor fowl. She turned and moved slowly back up the room toward the desk and, seating herself in a leather chair, she drew the scattered accounts toward her.

  He had left her with the unenviable job of curbing extravagance and putting a stop to pilfering, and of choosing a suitable housekeeper, one capable of keeping Brooks in his place. And why would she be doing this? Merely to set the house in order for a new mistress after a suitable lapse of time. And most likely it would be that obnoxious creature who, because of their common ancestry and her past experience of men, would, as Matilda had prophesied, hook him on the rebound.

  Well, there was one thing certain, the day that woman came permanently into the Hall would be the last time she herself would set foot in it.

  BOOK THREE

  DANIEL

  One

  It was now over three months since Matilda had died and during that time Harry had spent only four weekends at the Hall, on two of which he was accompanied by Mrs Talbot; John’s visits, too, had been fewer; only Dan had come every other weekend.

  As for Katie, she had stayed five weeks in Manchester before paying a visit to the Hall, and after only one week she had returned to Manchester because, she gave Miss Brigmore to understand, she had taken up various interests there, one of which she was sure would gain her approval in that it had to do with education. She was, she said, teaching girls and women to write their names and addresses, as she considered it demeaning that any human being should be identified by an unidentifiable cross.

  Of all the people and things affected by Matilda’s death, and many were, Katie and her reaction were to Miss Brigmore the most mystifying. More mystifying still was the very fact that a person of such lowly birth, and one so utterly devoid of education or culture of any kind as Matilda had been, should now be influencing a number of people in such a way as to alter their lives.

  That she herself had come under this influence was more than she cared to admit, but it added to the unexplainable situation when she posed herself the question, Was education so necessary after all for human happiness?

  One thing Miss Brigmore was extremely grateful for during these trying weeks of being in sole charge of the Hall was that Barbara seemed to be making an effort to co-operate, in that her temper was more even and that they had on several occasions talked like two amicable companions.

  On one special occasion when Barbara had reopened the delicate subject surrounding Michael’s birth, she had thought it wise to tell her the truth so that she might view Constance in a more friendly and understanding light. It was true, she said, as Barbara had discovered, that Michael was not the son of Donald Radlet but of his brother Matthew. Constance and Matthew had discovered that they loved each other when they were forced to take shelter from a storm in the old ruined house on the fell. Barbara had sat enraptured during the telling, only breaking in to ask that things might be explained more fully on her fingers. One such point she had to make clear to her was that Michael had not been born in the ruined house up in the hills; Barbara had misunderstood her on this. She had not gone on to explain that he was merely conceived there. She had ended by saying, ‘You must never, never voice this. Promise me, now promise me, Barbara, that under no circumstances will you ever speak of this again. You discovered the truth by accident, and it is a secret you must keep to yourself.’

  Barbara had not promised immediately, but said, ‘Michael’s no relation to the Mallens at all then? If Aunt Constance’s husband was not Michael’s father then Thomas Mallen was not his grandfather, then we are not even distantly related through my father being Thomas’ brother—we’re just cousins on our mothers’ side?’

  Miss Brigmore had taken some time to answer, stooping first to attend to her shoelace before she had said slowly, ‘No, he is no relation.’ She had surrendered her last defence, at least in this sector of her private war, and she sighed deeply before she said again, ‘But now I ask you once more to promise me, Barbara.’

  Barbara had promised, and life had run very smoothly in the cottage since that night.

  But Michael’s own attitude toward Barbara puzzled Miss Brigmore at times for although he always appeared pleased to see her wherever they met, whether at the farm or the cottage, it seemed that he was merely humouring her and that his show of affection was drawn from him because of her affliction. Yet at other times when she watched them walking together and she could not overhear what they were saying, she imagined she could detect an affinity between them expressed merely by their proximity to each other. But what gave her hope that his affection was nothing more than brotherly was that he was in his twentieth year and if he were going to speak surely he would have done it before now.

  And John? She was disappointed in John; she had pinned her hopes on John, for his manner toward Barbara had always been very affectionate. But he had scarcely been home since his mother died. Yet, perhaps it was the pressure of business that was keeping him away at the moment, rather than his recent bereavement. In any case, under the circumstances it would have not been correct to make a fuss over Barbara, and he always made a fuss over her when they met. But let her ask herself a straight question: Did he pay her more attention than he did others? She couldn’t answer this because everyone was considerate for her; her looks plus her affliction seemed to draw men to her, all except Dan.

  But there, she herself had never understood Dan: he had been one apart even as a child. Dan had been an obstinate, rebellious boy and had grown into an obstinate, rebellious young man, as his father only too well knew. She was finding his presence, when he visited home, more and more annoying, for he had developed the habit of drawing her into arguments with regard to class and social conditions…Why should there be three classes of travel on the railway, he demanded to know. Some of the compartments weren’t fit for pigs to travel in, and he knew because he had travelled by all three. Eight hours from Manchester on wooden seats in a freezing box, would she like it? And why should one human being have to raise his hat and address another as ‘sir’ just because the ‘sir’ was driving in the carriage and the man was pulling down the steps for him to alight, or holding his horse’s head? Things weren’t right, wealth was badly distributed.

  She had the idea that if Master Dan did not curb his tongue he would find himself in trouble before many years had passed over his head. Yet looking back, she recalled the time when she had found him interesting because of his lively mind. But minds needed to be kept under control, especially when they tended to be influenced by
radical ideas.

  There were times since Matilda’s death when Miss Brigmore thought that she would gladly sever her connections with the family and retire to the cottage and live out her life quietly. Yet this thought would always be attacked by another; to do so would be dire ingratitude. Anyway, it would not be possible as the arrangement stood now, for Harry Bensham, in his generosity to her, had in a way elicited from her an unwritten agreement that she would help in the administration of the house for as long as she were needed.

  It was not unusual for any member of the family to turn up unexpectedly, so on this particular Sunday morning in late September when Miss Brigmore entered the Hall she was not altogether surprised to see Katie descending the stairs, and she greeted her warmly, even forgetting to thank Armstrong when he relieved her of her cloak. Hurrying forward, she said, ‘When did you arrive, you must have got in very late? I did not leave until about seven last evening.’

  ‘Oh, we arrived about nine. How are you?’ They were walking toward the breakfast room now.

  ‘I’m very well. And you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m fine.’

  Miss Brigmore looked at Katie and confirmed in her mind that she did look fine. Her cheeks were red, her complexion clear, her eyes bright, her abundant hair glossy. She looked as she used to look; it was only her manner that had changed. There was a covert defiance in it, as if they were at loggerheads but being polite about it. But this was not so, for she was very fond of Katie.

  ‘Is your father with you?’

  ‘No.’

  They had entered the breakfast room where Brooks was placing a large covered dish on the sideboard. He turned toward them and said, ‘Good mornin’, Miss Katie…Good mornin’, miss.’ The last was addressed to Miss Brigmore and she answered, politely, ‘Good morning, Brooks.’

  Katie hadn’t answered the butler’s greetings, which Miss Brigmore thought was very remiss of her but was in keeping with her new attitude.

  ‘Would you like some breakfast an’ all, miss?’

  ‘No, thank you, Brooks.’ Miss Brigmore sat in the big chair at the head of the table and Katie sat to the right of her.

  ‘Are the boys with you?’

  ‘No, no they’re not with me; you know, Saturday’s a working day.’ Katie made the latter statement as if she were pointing out the fact that most people had to work on a Saturday and Miss Brigmore should be old enough to understand this.

  ‘You didn’t travel alone?’ Miss Brigmore left her lips apart as she waited for the answer. But it did not come immediately, for Brooks was now placing before Katie a plate on which reposed two slices of crisp bacon, an egg, and a kidney, and when he said, ‘Will that do, Miss Katie?’ she answered, ‘Yes, thanks, Brooks; just what I want.’

  As the man returned to the sideboard and lifted the covered dish Miss Brigmore asked again, ‘But you didn’t, you didn’t travel alone?’

  ‘No, I didn’t travel alone, Brigie; I came down with Willy.’

  The butler was walking down the room now and Miss Brigmore, glancing at his back, waited until the door had closed behind him; then she said one word, ‘Really!’

  ‘Yes, really, Brigie, I really travelled down with Willy.’ Katie swallowed a mouthful of bacon, then glanced sideways at Miss Brigmore. ‘Terrible, isn’t it? I spent eight hours with the butler’s son; no, nearer ten by the time we got here.’

  Miss Brigmore swallowed, then swallowed again before she said stiffly, ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Katie, but I can only tell you that if you’re not embarrassing yourself, you are embarrassing others, and not least of all Brooks.’

  ‘Brooks?’ Katie brought out the word on a high laugh. ‘Me embarrass Brooks because I travelled with his son? You don’t know Brooks, Brigie; you never have.’

  Miss Brigmore eased herself back into the chair and sat stiffly upright, and she allowed a period of time to pass before she said, ‘And I’m beginning to think that I don’t know you and never have.’

  ‘That could be.’ The words were flat, ordinary sounding. Then the tone changed as if a sharp gust of wind had blown open a door, and Katie’s voice now was harsh, Miss Brigmore would have said commonly strident, as she said rapidly, ‘You’ve lived in a cocoon all your life, Brigie, and like all people who’ve lived in this house before us you’re half dead, you don’t know what is going on in the world. I was saved, we were all saved, all our family, because we were born in Manchester, and our threads—and that’s the big pun—the cotton threads drew us back there. It seems impossible to believe that you’re shocked because I travelled in a train with a man whose father is a butler; you wouldn’t have minded in the least if it had been Mr Pat Ferrier, would you? Before Mother died I spent a full day with him and that didn’t turn anyone’s hair white, but because it’s Willy, whom I’ve known all my life, it comes under the heading of lack of decorum…’

  As suddenly as her tirade had begun so it stopped, and her whole manner changing, she put out her hand and grasped Miss Brigmore’s arm and, her voice soft now, she said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry; I’m sorry, Brigie. Don’t look like that, please. I…I owe you so much, I know I do, we all do. It’s just that, well’—she shook her head from side to side—‘they’re two different worlds, this and…and the house in Manchester. There’s only four servants there altogether and it’s more like home. I can’t explain.’

  The room became quiet, Miss Brigmore stared straight before her while Katie rested her head on her hand.

  After a while Katie began to speak. Her voice low, her words hesitant, she said, ‘Before Mother died I used to have bouts when I thought I wasn’t happy, and…and then I would tell myself I was, because I had everything to make me happy, and I’d laugh at everything and work up an excitement about clothes and horses; and finally when Mr Pat Ferrier started paying me attention, and not just this year but last, I told myself that this was what I wanted. Then from Mother dying it all changed; it was just as if a curtain had come down on a play and I had to step back from the stage into real life. I…I know I’ve been horrible to you lately. You see…How can I explain?’

  ‘I shouldn’t try, Katie.’ There was a deep hurt in Miss Brigmore’s voice as she rose from the table, and Katie, grabbing at her hand, said, ‘But I must. I must. You see, you represent the, the other side of me, the refined side, and there is a refined side, and a taste for gracious living, and good books, and art, and all the things a young lady is supposed to want, all the things a young lady is supposed to need. But, Brigie, you were dealing with very raw material. We were already formed before you had us, and even when you had us there was still Mam and Dad on the side pointing out to us from where we had sprung. Don’t you understand, Brigie? You know, as Danny said the other night, John’s the only one you’ve succeeded with. John acts the gentleman, and he feels a gentleman, he’s the same in whatever company he finds himself. I’m not; neither is Danny. But…but we don’t blame you, we love you none the less; it’s just that you don’t know the outer world, the rough and tumble of living. You ignore it as something not quite nice, you do, Brigie, you do.’

  Miss Brigmore slowly withdrew her hands from those of Katie, and she flicked imaginary specks from each side of her bodice below her breasts before she joined her hands together at her waist and said quietly, ‘You are under the mistaken impression, as many others, that only the poor suffer, that you’ve got to be cold, or hungry, or ill-housed before your heart breaks. Well, let me tell you that the poor have a great advantage over their superiors, for they can cry out loud when hurt, they can afford the relief of tears, they can wail in unison over the bereavement, and when they are scorned they can, as they often do, stick their tongues out. Some male members of the upper class allow themselves certain relief to their feelings, but the female members rarely, and’—she paused long here before finishing, ‘governesses never,’ and on this she walked out of the room.

  Turning to the table, Katie pushed her breakfast to one side and covering her face
with her hands, ground out, ‘Oh, Brigie, damn you! Damn you!’

  Miss Brigmore was greatly disturbed, but she showed no sign of it as she took the morning’s report from the new housekeeper.

  Mrs Kenley was an efficient, sensible woman, who was slowly winning the war against Brooks. Mrs Kenley had been in good service and, as Mary would have said, she knew how many beans made five. Privately, Mrs Kenley considered Miss Brigmore to be the only person in the household superior to herself, and this included members of the family, and so, therefore, she gave her the respect that was due to her. The term the other members of the staff gave to her loyalty toward The Brigadier was, sucking up; even so the majority were glad that she had quickly put a stop to old Brooks feathering his nest, the privilege which he had, over the years, claimed to be his, and his alone.

  At this particular meeting Miss Brigmore informed Mrs Kenley that she would not be staying to either lunch or dinner, nor would she be in tomorrow, but she could be expected on Monday morning. She trusted that Mrs Kenley would see to the comfort of Miss Bensham.

  Mrs Kenley said she would indeed, and she assured her she would find everything to her satisfaction when she returned on Monday and that she hoped she would enjoy her rest.

  Miss Brigmore thanked Mrs Kenley, and Mrs Kenley thanked Miss Brigmore, then departed, accompanied by the rustle of her black alpaca skirt.