The Mallen Girl Read online

  ‘Did they have a harvest supper this year?’

  ‘No, no, they didn’t have one.’ Her face was straight; her expression told him nothing.

  ‘But they always have a harvest supper.’

  ‘Not always. Apparently Aunt Constance didn’t feel up to it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘No. Do you still go over there a lot?’

  ‘Yes, frequently.’

  ‘How frequently?’

  ‘What a silly question! Whenever I can.’

  He was staring into her face as he told himself not to ask the question, but he did. ‘When are you going to be married?’ he said.

  ‘Married? Who said I was going to be married?’

  ‘Well…well, aren’t you? You’re getting on, you know. You’re nineteen this month and as Mary would put it’—he nodded toward the door—‘you’ve been courtin’ for years.’

  She was on her feet now, her expression almost ferocious and her voice high and shrill as she cried, ‘You’re…you’re impossible, Danny Bensham! You always have been. You are tactless, uncouth…’

  ‘Look, look.’ He rose slowly to his feet, but his hands came out quickly and grabbed her by the shoulders as she went to turn away, and he held her in a grip that hurt her as he mouthed, ‘It’s no insult to ask if you are going to be married when you’ve been stark staring mad over the fellow for years. Hasn’t he asked you?’

  She went to wrench herself away but he still held her as he repeated, ‘Hasn’t he?’

  When her lips showed a slight tremble his own voice dropped and the mouthing of his words became less exaggerated as he said, ‘Well, if he hasn’t it’s about time he did, don’t you think so?’

  He watched her throat swell, he watched her gulping before she could get out the words, ‘Why don’t you mind your own business!’

  ‘Yes; why don’t I…Tell me, does Brigie still not allow you to go over alone?’

  Her lids drooped and she made a small movement with her head. Taking his hands from her shoulders but bringing them together, he spoke on them, placing them so that she could read them from her lowered gaze: ‘I’d like to take a ride; shall we go out tomorrow?’

  She kept the eagerness from her voice but was unable to do anything with the light in her eyes as she said, in mock politeness now, ‘Thank you, Mr Bensham, I will accept your company, but as yet I cannot say if I shall enjoy it. Now would you like to come upstairs and see Brigie for a moment?’

  He did not immediately follow her but remained until he heard her running up the stairs.

  When he entered the bedroom, guided by her voice because it was the first time he had been upstairs in the cottage, she was saying to Miss Brigmore, ‘And they’re bringing a guest and he’s very mysterious, he won’t tell me who it is.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Brigie.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Dan.’

  ‘I’m sorry to see you unwell.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not unwell, not really; this is Mary’s doing, she is coddling me. Do sit down. Barbara tells me that the family will be down at the weekend and…and you have a guest, a surprise guest.’

  ‘Yes, you could say that, a surprise guest.’

  ‘It sounds very mysterious. Why haven’t you to say who it is we may expect?’

  ‘Because he wants to tell you himself…Dash, now I’ve indicated that the guest in question is female.’

  Miss Brigmore continued to keep the thin smile on her face as she looked at Dan; it hadn’t been hard for her to identify the mysterious guest as female. She asked now, ‘Is it to be an occasion?’

  ‘Yes; as I said to Barbara it’s to be an occasion, but not a very elaborate one under the circumstances.’

  Why couldn’t he have told her himself? He must have known what was in his mind a fortnight ago when he was here, but likely he was ashamed of the fact that he had chosen someone so soon to take Matilda’s place. She had promised Matilda she would try to do something to prevent this very happening, but what could she do? Mrs Talbot was a woman who would bulldoze her way through a stone wall. From something John had let slip on his last visit she had gathered that the woman had almost taken over the housekeeping of the Manchester house. Never off the doorstep was the term he had used, and he had added, as his father had done, ‘She means well, does Auntie Florrie.’ And now the mysterious guest was to be Mrs Talbot and the occasion, the announcement of their forthcoming marriage. Really! When she came to think of it it was disgraceful, disrespectful; it would never happen in organised society. Matilda had said she’d hardly be cold in her grave before that woman got to work on him, and her words had come true, for it was now just over six months since she had died. Well, two things were certain: first, the announcement would put the seal on the plans for her own future; secondly, as much as she owed Mr Harry Bensham no amount of gratitude on her part and no persuasive talk on his would coerce her into attempting to make a silk purse out of that big gormless numskull.

  Part of her mind chastised her for resorting to Mary’s verbal level for words to describe the woman; pretentious, ignoramus, would have been more appropriate.

  ‘Shall I pass the order on to Brooks with regard to what you would like doing, it will save you having to bother?’

  ‘Not at all, not at all.’ She shook her head sharply. ‘I shall be down tomorrow, and I shall make the preparations, as usual, with Mrs Kenley. I shall work out some menus tonight.’

  ‘You shouldn’t get up for a day or two.’

  Miss Brigmore looked at Barbara and replied, ‘I am perfectly all right; it’s nonsense that I should be in bed at all.’ She turned to Dan now. ‘Will you be at home for dinner tomorrow?’

  ‘Well, I thought about going out riding, and I’ve asked Barbara if she’d like to come along, that’s, of course, if you can spare her.’

  ‘Oh, yes of course.’ Miss Brigmore looked at Barbara now as she answered Dan. ‘That’ll be nice. You can go into Hexham and get some shopping: I need some wool and tapestry threads.’

  Barbara’s expression did not alter but her voice was flat as she said, ‘Danny said he would like to go over to the farm.’

  ‘Oh.’ Miss Brigmore blinked now; then again she said, ‘Oh,’ and turned her head slightly toward Dan while keeping her face in full view of Barbara’s as she said, ‘I’m afraid that would be inconvenient because of the wedding.’

  ‘What! What did you say?’

  ‘The wedding, dear.’ She spoke directly to Barbara now. ‘Lily Waite is marrying Bill Twigg.’

  Barbara could not prevent her body from slumping visibly, and her hands gripping the bed rail relaxed. She smiled faintly as she said, ‘Oh, Lily Waite. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Nor did I until Mary told me just a short while ago. Apparently Jim Waite called in and he mentioned they were all very busy. Constance is giving the couple a wedding breakfast in the barn.’

  Barbara was staring at Miss Brigmore, repeating in her mind, a wedding breakfast in the barn. She had seen Michael a week gone Sunday. He must have known about the wedding then yet he hadn’t mentioned it. A wedding breakfast in the barn…there’d be dancing. Sarah Waite would dance; she’d do the clog dance and then she would waltz, she’d waltz with Michael. She felt the old fury rising in her again then checked it. She must stop thinking this way. Michael had been wonderful to her the last time they had met; they hadn’t ridden into town but had raced all over the moors; they had sat on the stone bridge over the barn, then he had guided her over the stepping stones and had caught her when she slipped, holding her close for a moment, and they had laughed into each other’s face. It had been a wonderful day. She had never been so happy for a long time, and the happiness had stayed with her up till now. But a moment ago she had received a shock when Brigie mentioned the word wedding at the farm. This, coming on top of Dan asking her when she was going to be married, revived the question she was continually asking herself: When was she going to be married? It was time he
spoke; if he didn’t speak soon, she would, because she couldn’t bear the uncertainty much longer. He wanted her as much as she did him, she knew this, she was positive of it. Deep within she knew that he desired her, and there was only one thing, one person, stopping him from declaring his love for her, and that was his mother.

  He could not help but be aware that his mother didn’t like her, and so he was torn between two loyalties; but he was young and had his needs, needs which a mother couldn’t fulfil; yet her Aunt Constance had done her level best to supply them all, with the exception of the most vital one. And it was here that she herself held the winning card; for this need, sooner or later, would bring Michael to her, and a thousand mothers, a thousand Aunt Constances couldn’t prevent it.

  She was unaware that Mary had entered the room until she passed her and put a tray on the bedside table to Miss Brigmore’s hand and, turning to her, said, ‘I’ve set yours downstairs, don’t let it get cold.’

  ‘You should have asked me, I would have brought it up.’ Barbara’s manner was now conciliatory as she looked down at Mary’s swollen foot, and Mary said, ‘Stop blatherin’ and go and get your tea. You an’ all, Mr Dan.’ And she now shooed them both out of the room as if they were children; then coming back to the bed, she poured out a cup of tea for Miss Brigmore and as she handed it to her she asked, ‘What’s brought him then?’

  ‘Just to say that the family are expected home for the weekend and they’re bringing a guest.’

  ‘A guest? Who’s likely to be?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mary.’ Miss Brigmore and Mary exchanged straight looks. ‘But it’s my guess it’s the future Mrs Bensham.’

  ‘Well, well.’ Mary shook her head. ‘If he had galloped from the grave he couldn’t have done it much quicker, could he? Disrespectful I’d say, wouldn’t you? Is it that woman, that Mrs Talbot who got on your wick?’

  ‘Yes, Mary, Mrs Talbot; at least, I assume it is.’

  ‘Well, there’s one thing certain, an’ I suppose you can be glad of that, being the age she is there’ll be no bairns to bring up. Not that you would want to, for you’ve had enough. Anyway, at your time of life you’re past it, and about time too, I’d say…There now, drink your tea; I’ll go down and see to the pair of them.’

  Miss Brigmore did not seem to draw in another breath until the door had closed on Mary. Past it! She was past nothing, nothing at all, nothing that went to make up life. Inside, her emotions were still flourishing, every single one of them, and painfully. That was why she was so incensed about this woman, this Talbot woman. Thomas would surely turn in his grave at the thought of such a creature being mistress of the Hall…Yet she hadn’t thought of him turning in his grave when Matilda became mistress of it. Oh, Matilda was different…But what had Thomas to do with it anyway; it was Mr Harry Bensham’s business, his choice. The man had no taste. Of course this was no news to her. In taking the Talbot woman he was but keeping to his own standards. And could she really blame him?

  Yes.

  Three

  The big black iron-studded doors were wide open. Miss Brigmore stood some way back within the lobby while Brooks and Armstrong went down the steps to where the carriage was drawing up on the drive below.

  When the carriage door was opened and the steps were pulled down Harry Bensham was the first to alight. He did not turn to assist anyone out of the carriage but spread his arms wide, took in one gulp of air, then came up on to the terrace and into the house. ‘Well! Here we are again. By! It’s grand to smell the air. I think I’ll bottle some and take it back with us. How are you? Let me look at you.’ To her embarrassment he put one hand on her shoulder and pulled her round toward the light so that her eyes were taken from the carriage for a moment.

  ‘You’re lookin’ washy; aren’t you eating? With air like this and good food you should be as round and as comfortable as a tub.’

  When she could get a word in she said, ‘My health is quite all right, thank you. And yours?’

  ‘Oh me?’ He was letting Emerson divest him of his coat. ‘No need to ask about me; I’ll never die from disease, they’ll have to shoot me. You know the best cure against disease?’ He poked his face toward her. ‘Go amongst it, that’s what I say, live amongst it…Well, it’s nice to be back again.’ He cast a quick glance around the hall, then turned toward the door where Katie was entering with a strange young woman by her side.

  Where was Mrs Talbot, she certainly wouldn’t be coming up in the rear? Mrs Talbot was always to the fore. And who was this person?

  As Katie came up and kissed her on the cheek, saying, ‘Hello, Brigie,’ and she was about to give her a greeting, Harry Bensham shouted to John, who was entering the hall, ‘Come on then, lad, come on, do the honours, it’s your business.’

  ‘Hello there, Brigie.’ John was bending down to her. He also kissed her cheek; then putting his hand out toward the stranger, he drew her nearer, saying, ‘May I present Miss Jenny Pearson. Miss Brigmore, Jenny.’

  The young lady extended her hand and Miss Brigmore took it. This then was the surprise, not Mr Bensham going to marry the Talbot woman, but John presenting his future wife. The hopes that had become slender of late, yet which she stubbornly insisted on preserving, snapped and sank into the well among her other unfulfilled desires, taking with them the picture of Barbara ever becoming mistress of this house.

  It was unfair. He had over the years shown an open affection for Barbara, at the same time giving evidence of having no interest in any other woman…yet what proof had she of this when for the past six months nearly all his time had been spent in Manchester? The name Pearson had a familiar ring. Yes, yes, of course; this was likely the daughter of the rival mill owner. She remembered first hearing the name years ago when there was talk of a strike. She could even recall the exact time; she pinpointed it by remembering it was the first time she had seen Willy Brooks in the library.

  But this girl; she was plain, tastefully and well dressed admitted, but very plain; and he had chosen her rather than Barbara. Yet the reason, she felt, wasn’t far to seek. Like his father before him he was marrying a mill, in this case another mill; very likely a bigger and wealthier mill…women always had values set on them.

  ‘How do you do?’

  ‘How do you do? I’ve heard so much about you, Miss Brigmore; I am very pleased that I’m able to make your acquaintance at last.’

  Well, she had been educated, that was something; and her voice was pleasing, musical she could say; and now she was smiling she did not look so plain. She could imagine that she could be of a kindly nature.

  ‘Come on, come on, what are we standing here for?’ Harry was shouting across the hall, now. ‘You take Jenny up to her room, Katie. By the way’—he turned around and looked towards Miss Brigmore—‘where’s our Dan? And for that matter, where’s Barbara?’

  ‘They’re…they’re both up in the nursery…’

  ‘What! At their age?’ He put his head back and let out a great bellow of a laugh. Then noticing the expression of Miss Brigmore’s face, he flapped his hand at her and said, ‘All right, all right, bad joke, but what they doin’ up there?’

  Miss Brigmore hesitated before giving him the answer. ‘Dan is doing a sketch of Barbara in an endeavour to paint her portrait.’

  ‘Paint her portrait! Well, well! And by, you’ve said it, endeavour’s the right word, for if he’s as successful at that as he is at learnin’ a business…Aw! What’s the good of keeping on. Come in here a minute’—he jerked his head in her direction—‘I want a word with you afore I go upstairs. And as for you, Katie’—he now called toward his daughter where she was mounting the stairs with Miss Pearson—‘when you’ve got the dust off you you’d better take Jenny up to the nursery an’ introduce her to Barbara; better get it over.’

  On this he turned and walked toward the library, and after a moment Miss Brigmore followed him. Having to pass John on the way, she stopped and, looking straight at him, she said, ‘On short
acquaintance I approve your choice, John.’

  A flush spread over his face, and she could not say whether it was caused through embarrassment or pride; but he answered warmly, ‘Thanks, Brigie, thanks.’

  She went into the library, and after closing the door quietly she walked down the room to where Harry was already standing in his usual position with his back to the fire, his hands on his buttocks. As she moved toward him she felt she had been doing this at intervals all her life, walking down the room toward this man while her body stiffened and she bristled inwardly in preparation for the attack he would undoubtedly make on her senses. And today, as on other occasions, she did not find the preparation had been unnecessary, for the first thing he said to her was, ‘I’ve just told Katie to break it to Barbara. But she’ll take it all right, that one, ’cos she’s got her sights set elsewhere; it’s you it should have been broken to, isn’t it, ’cos you thought John had his sights on her? In fact, in a way, I could say you’ve been working at it.’

  ‘Really, Mr Bensham!’ her indignation was evident, in her voice, her face, her back. ‘You are insulting. You…’

  ‘Aw now, Brigie, you know me; a spade’s a spade. And be honest. Come on, woman, be honest, you hoped to make a match of them. And you know, I’m going to tell you something, I did an’ all. I was a bit put off by her deafness at first, but then I thought: He likes her, he understands her, he’s got sympathy for her; and her drawback’s more than made up for by how she looks, because she looks a spanker, like a thoroughbred. But over the past year or so I’ve realised it was just sympathy, that’s all, ’cos she draws it from you, you know; she draws it from everybody.’

  He stared at her now in silence and when she made no effort to speak he slapped at his buttocks and the sound was like that on a horse’s flank. Then, half apologetically, he said, ‘I’m not saying, mind, I wasn’t pleased about him wanting Jenny, and for more reasons than one, because I’m human. She’s an only child, she’ll come into the mill. Yet with him, it was meself over again as I once told you, but in a different way, ’cos he’s taken Jenny because he loves her, and that’s the right reason. And you know, when he first let on to me about this I thought of you. Aye, you were my first thought. She’s going to be disappointed, I thought.’