Forever Yours (20 page)

Constance didn’t dare to look at the house steward as she sat down on the small cushioned chair he provided a moment later. But it wasn’t as if she’d asked to sit down, was it, she reassured herself. She knew no one could do that in front of the master; it was unheard-of. Nevertheless, she was grateful for Sir Henry’s thoughtfulness. Her arm was paining her and her ribs still ached from contact with Midnight’s hooves; just the walk down to the drawing room had taken it out of her more than she would have thought possible.

‘I understand you worked with the local schoolmistress in your village before you left to come here?’ Lady Isabella addressed her, her Italian accent noticeable.

Constance inclined her head as she murmured, ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And you enjoyed working with children?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘How many children were you in charge of?’

Constance hesitated. ‘I wasn’t exactly in charge, my lady’ She didn’t want them to get the wrong idea. ‘I helped the teacher, Miss Newton. There were about thirty most days.’ She didn’t mention here that some of the mining families rarely sent their children to school if they were needed at home or could earn a wage in the summer working in farmers’ fields picking turnips or scaring the crows away. ‘I looked after the infants, the little ones.’

‘And were they well-behaved?’

Again Constance hesitated. It probably wouldn’t look very good if she said they weren’t, but her innate honesty led her to say, ‘Mostly, my lady, except for the Finnigan twins.’

‘The Finnigan twins?’

‘They were two little boys from one of the poorer families, my lady. The family were Irish and there were a lot of them.’

‘And they were disobedient, these twins?’

‘They could be right little devils. Oh, beg your pardon, my lady, I mean they were . . .’ Constance searched for a word, her face red, ‘. . . high-spirited. But—’ She stopped, aware she had been in danger of talking too freely, which the master and mistress would find disrespectful.

‘Yes, but?’ Lady Isabella queried.

‘It was only because they were bored most of the time, my lady. They were bright, see, but being the youngest in a family of eighteen’ – Lady Isabella blinked – ‘no one had any time for them. And so they thought of things to amuse themselves.’

‘And how did you overcome the problem of the Finnigan twins?’ Sir Henry’s wife asked, a brightness in her eyes which indicated amusement. ‘If you did, indeed, overcome it, of course.’

It was obvious, wasn’t it? ‘I set them the same sums as the older ones had and helped them learn to read, my lady. Miss Newton was a lovely lady and she had lots of books she’d bought for the school out of her own pocket. At first she thought Moses and Aaron—’

‘Moses and Aaron?’ the other woman interrupted her.

‘The family were devout Catholics, my lady, and all their bairns – their children – had Bible names, mostly New Testament, but I think they’d run out of them by the time the twins came. Anyway, Miss Newton thought the twins would tear or dirty the books, but they didn’t.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Lady Isabella appeared to be struggling. She coughed, holding her handkerchief to the lower part of her face for a few moments before she said, her voice shaking slightly, ‘And did you find the – the Finnigan twins hard work?’

‘In a way, my lady, but I liked them. The things they came out with . . .’ Again Constance stopped. Her tongue was running away with her. ‘They were interesting,’ she finished weakly.

Lady Isabella turned to her husband. ‘You were right,’ she said cryptically. ‘Perfect.’

Sir Henry nodded. Leaning forward, his hands on his knees, he stared at Constance. ‘How would you like to take the place of the nursemaids? Not to see to Miss Charlotte and Miss Gwendoline, Nanny Price can be responsible for them, but Edmond needs the sole attention of someone, and I rather think that someone is you. He has taken to you, that’s the main thing, and you have a way with him. Rather than a nursemaid, your position would be that of an under-nanny, which would necessitate a higher salary. Shall we say . . . seventy pounds a year?’

Constance’s eyebrows moved upwards and her eyes opened wide but she couldn’t speak. She was aware they were doing this because she had saved Master Edmond from being trampled, but seventy pounds was as much as a fully experienced nanny could hope for. She had seen a post advertised just the other day in the
Yorkshire Chronicle
which Cook had been reading.

‘The position would also mean you would accompany Master Edmond when we visit my family for two months in the summer.’ Lady Isabella was speaking again. ‘You would also come with us in the spring when we take the waters in Bath, and in the autumn when we visit a branch of Sir Henry’s family in Scotland for the shooting and fishing. You are not averse to travelling?’

Italy. Lady Isabella’s family had an estate in Italy. And to see Bath, and Scotland. Aware they were both looking at her, she whispered, ‘Sir, my lady, thank you, thank you.’

‘You are decided? Good, good.’ Sir Henry rang for the house steward. ‘Once your arm is mended you may take up your duties, but in the meantime you might like to acquaint yourself with the workings of the nursery suite on an informal basis. Nanny Price will answer any questions you may have.’

‘And we will have to see about a uniform for you,’ said Lady Isabella as Mr Howard knocked and opened the door. ‘And a suitable wardrobe for those times when you are off-duty, especially when travelling abroad. I shall give Mrs Craggs the necessary insructions.’

Constance rose to her feet. The sudden change in her circumstances was too much to take in. With tears in her eyes, she whispered again, ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, my lady.’ In a daze she allowed the house steward to lead her from the room, and it was only when she was in the hall that she realised she hadn’t made a final curtsy.

When the door closed behind Constance, Isabella glanced across at her husband. ‘Moses and Aaron,’ she murmured, a gurgle in her voice, ‘because they had run out of New Testament names.’

‘And they were right little devils. Oh, beg your pardon, my lady. High-spirited.’

They looked at each other a moment more before bursting into laughter.

Mabel Gray was sitting in Ruth Heath’s kitchen, Constance’s letter in her hand, but she was experiencing a curious feeling of deflation without really knowing why. When she had received her grand-daughter’s amazing news that morning she had been beside herself, and it being a Saturday had hardly been able to contain her impatience until she was due to visit Ruth after lunch. But in the event, the telling of Constance saving her employer’s son’s life and her rise to under-nanny and all that entailed had been something of an anti-climax. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Matt and Tilly and Rebecca had been there when she arrived. Although everyone had oohed and ahhed – everyone except Tilly, that was – somehow she’d sensed their heart wasn’t in it. She hadn’t made mention of the most extraordinary thing of all either, the seventy pounds, not with the men being in the middle of another strike and money so tight.

Perhaps Ruth sensed how she was feeling because now Matt’s mother leaned across the kitchen table and squeezed her arm as she said, ‘You must be proud, lass, of what your Constance did. And they must think a bit of her to give her such an opportunity. Travelling, you say, and to Italy an’ all. Who’d have thought it? Matt had a notion he’d like to take off to foreign parts when he was a lad, isn’t that right, Matt?’

Tilly had been bending forward looking at a picture Rebecca had drawn on her slate as Ruth had spoken. As she straightened she made a little sound in her throat which could have meant anything, but which caused Matt to look daggers at her. Answering his mother, he said flatly, ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Oh aye, full of it you were for a while. Your da picked up a picture book from one of the mining galas about Egypt and lost civilisations, moth-eaten old thing it was even then, but you pored over that book until it fell to pieces. Made up your mind you were going to be an explorer.’

Tilly made the sound again. ‘Didn’t get very far, did you?’

The bitterness in Matt’s voice when he said, ‘No, more’s the pity,’ was embarrassing, and when the back door opened in the next moment and Andrew and Olive and their brood walked in, Mabel heaved a silent sigh of relief.

There was no disguising the fact that Matt and Tilly couldn’t stand the sight of each other these days, and Matt had no time for the bairn – Ruth had told her that.Which was a shame because Rebecca was a nice little thing and the very image of her mam. Although Tilly brought the bairn round to see her grandparents and the others every Saturday afternoon, Matt rarely accompanied them, but then with there being no football due to the weather, she supposed he hadn’t got an excuse not to come today.

Ruth, her voice overloud, was urging her to tell her news to the newcomers, and when she did their reaction was warm and genuine. But it was too late. She felt all at sixes and sevens now. She’d get back to their Molly’s when she could. Their Pearl was bringing the new baby round – she could use her granddaughter as her excuse and she was longing to see her great-grandson anyway.

When, after a decent interval, she got up to go she was surprised when Matt stood up too. ‘I’ll see you along the back lane, Mrs Gray. It’s frozen solid out there and there’s places it’s treacherous.’

They didn’t speak until they were out of the backyard. Then Matt took her arm as they began walking over the icy ridges and glassy puddles, and said quietly, ‘When you write back to Constance, tell her I’m pleased for her, would you, Mrs Gray? And glad she wasn’t hurt too badly, of course.’

‘Aye, I’ll do that, Matt, although between the two of us I think she was hurt more than she’s let on to me or she’d have written sooner. And it’s funny Florence didn’t let me know. Still, all’s well that ends well and it looks like she’s landed on her feet, sure enough. She’s always made light of slaving away in that kitchen but I know she wouldn’t have chosen that sort of work if—’ Mabel stopped abruptly, aware that she’d said too much.

‘But . . .’ Matt’s brow wrinkled. ‘She wanted to go into service, didn’t she? You said—’

‘Aye, I know what I said, lad, but to tell you the truth there was a reason she had to leave.’

‘A reason?’ Matt stopped walking, turning Mabel round to look at him. ‘What reason?’

‘Oh, it’s nowt, lad. It’s done with now.’

‘What reason, Mrs Gray?’

‘There was a man who was bothering her, that’s all.’

‘A man?’

‘Oh, don’t look like that, lad. Nowt happened. But he was the type who wouldn’t have given up and he’d frightened her. We thought it was best for her to get away.’

‘Who was it? What’s his name?’

‘I’m sorry, Matt, but I can’t tell you that.’

‘Mrs Gray—’

‘No, Matt, I can’t.’ Her tone was final. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘So he still lives in the village?’

Mabel pulled her arm loose and began walking again so he was forced to do the same. Her head down, she said quietly, ‘We dealt with it as we saw fit, and as I said, it’s done with.’

She had said a man. Not a lad, a man. Matt felt sick.

‘So that was why she went so suddenly without saying goodbye to anyone and why you’ve never said where she is?’

‘It was for the best, lad, believe me. He’d scared her half to death and I think he’d got it in him to be a nasty piece of work. She was best out of it.’

Names were flying round his head and being dismissed with equal speed. ‘You should have told me. I’d have sorted him out.’

‘We didn’t even tell her granda, lad. Like I said, I reckon he could be violent, and you never know with a man like that. Least said, soonest mended.’

If she came out with one more platitude, he’d scream. Constance had been forced to leave, she had been frightened and intimidated by some swine, and he hadn’t known. He’d just continued on his merry way and all the time— ‘If you tell me his name -’

‘ – there’ll be hell to pay,’ Mabel finished for him. ‘And what good would that do? It’s in the past now and best left there. And it’s done the lass a good turn in the long run. She wouldn’t be where she is now if she’d stayed in Sacriston. She’ll get to see a bit of the world, experience all sorts of things any other lass would give her eye-teeth for. It’s a grand place where she is, Matt, and even if she came back here tomorrow, what is there for her? She’s outgrown us,’ Mabel finished, a touch of sadness in her voice now.

They had reached the end of the lane and a few desultory flakes of snow were being blown in the arctic wind. Mabel shivered. ‘You get back to your mam’s, lad. I’ll be fine from here, and I’ll be sure to give Constance your best wishes when I write.’

She turned after patting his arm and Matt watched the small stout figure clothed in black until it disappeared round the corner and was lost to view.

Constance. Oh, Constance, Constance. He leaned against the wall of the last house in the terrace, his hands in his pockets and his cap pulled low over his eyes. If only he’d had the gumption to follow his heart all those years ago, who knows what might have happened? That afternoon in her grandma’s kitchen, something had passed between him and Constance, something indefinable, but she had been so young and he’d been hooked up with Tilly, and then like a will-o’-the-wisp she’d taken herself out of his life. And maybe she hadn’t felt like he felt anyway.

He took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair before pulling it on again.

Excuses. Excuses, excuses, excuses, damn it. He was good at those. Why hadn’t he thrown Tilly out on the street the day she’d told him she was expecting a baby? He’d known it wasn’t his, and not just because they’d only come together the once, on the wedding night. The ‘upset tummy’ she’d had for weeks and which she maintained had been brought on by nerves after his treatment of her, the subtle but distinct change in her figure when she was in her nightdress, the fact she hadn’t gone running to her mother with tales of his cruelty in ignoring her very existence day after day, all spoke of one thing. She’d been in the family way when she’d walked up the aisle and she had known it. And now she had to maintain the illusion of togetherness.