Down Weaver's Lane (16 page)

That young woman would have to go, he thought, doing as she bade him while scowling at her. She was far too pretty for a maid - especially with young Marcus around - and too forward in her ways. ‘Why did you not tell us you were in need, my dear Matilda?’ asked Claude, keeping his voice gentle.

Standing behind her mistress’s chair Emmy saw the look of shame on Mrs Tibby’s face and felt angry on her behalf, but knew better than to speak. Her mistress might treat her more like a young relative than a servant, but this man was staring at her as if she were a worm and for two pins he’d tread on her.

‘My father said never to call myself an Armistead again - and I knew dear William was dead,’ Tibby faltered, then began to weep softly into her handkerchief. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to help me, Claude.’

‘Go and ask my wife and son to join me!’ he ordered Emmy, then he turned back to his sister, speaking in a soothing manner though Eleanor was much better at dealing with weeping females than he was. ‘You were wrong, Matilda. Of course we’ll help you. We would have done so sooner had we known you were in trouble.’

Mrs Armistead swept into the tiny cottage and studied her surroundings with a mouth twisted briefly by disapproval, then bent over the old woman, calling her ‘Matilda, my dear’.

It annoyed Emmy that both visitors spoke to her mistress as if they were dealing with a stupid child. She waited by the front door, wanting to close it and keep the chill, damp air out. But the young man who had helped his mother from the carriage was standing in the way, not even looking at the old lady just staring at Emmy herself with a hot, devouring gaze. He was short and plump with a soft, full mouth and very pale eyes.

‘What’s your name, girl?’ he demanded in a low voice.

To Emmy’s relief his mother interrupted. ‘Marcus, come and say hello to your aunt. And you, girl, close the door and wait in the kitchen until you’re needed! Set a kettle on the range. Your mistress clearly needs a cup of tea and I would appreciate some refreshment myself.’

But the young man moved only a half-step backwards and Emmy had to press against him to get past. To her horror he squeezed her breast as she did so. His father noticed and smiled. What sort of people were these? But though Emmy felt outraged she did not say anything to embarrass her mistress. Closing the kitchen door firmly behind her, she leaned against it for a moment, shuddering. There was something about that young man that revolted her.

In the parlour Claude did not waste any time. ‘We’ve come to rescue you from this dreadful hovel, my dear sister.’

She stared at him in shock. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, we’re here to take you back to live with us.’

‘But I’m very comfortable here,’ she protested, not at all sure she wanted to be rescued if her brother was going to look at her so scornfully. ‘Dear Emmy looks after me very well, I do assure you, Claude. If you could just see your way to ... if we just had a little more money, only a very little, I could manage perfectly well here.’

Eleanor, who had been studying the furniture and her sister-in-law’s shabby, old-fashioned gown, gave a scornful sniff. ‘I can see that your girl keeps everything clean - I do not fault her there - but, my dear sister, you should be living in a manner befitting your station. There’s plenty of room for you at the Grange, and living with us, you need never lift a finger again as long as you live.’

‘At the Grange?’ Tibby asked faintly.

‘Well, where else should we take you but to your old home?’ Claude forced another smile, wondering if his sister had lost her wits. ‘Now, where is that girl with the tea? Eleanor, my dear, perhaps you’d go and see what she’s doing?’

‘Emmy can’t prepare the tea any more quickly,’ Tibby said, quick in defence of her maid. ‘There’s isn’t a range, only the kitchen fire.’

‘I’ll go and see what she’s doing,’ Marcus offered.

‘You will
not!’
his mother snapped.

He scowled, then fell into a reverie as his father chatted to his old aunt. That maid was a dashed pretty girl - and not too tall. He didn’t know when he’d ever seen a more angelic face, though what he’d like to do with her was far from that. She had an untouched air to her and he’d bet she was a virgin. A thrill shot through him at the thought. If there was one thing he loved it was breaking in a virgin to be obedient and responsive to his special needs.

In the kitchen Eleanor made no pretence that she was doing anything but checking the place. She ran a finger over various surfaces, nodding in approval as she found them dust-free.

Emmy watched in amazement. ‘I dust every day and keep things clean, just as Mrs Oswald showed me,’ she said as the inspection went on.

‘Don’t be pert, girl! The house is clean, I will admit, but you are in need of a lesson in knowing your place.’

For her mistress’s sake, Emmy pressed her lips together and said nothing more.

Eleanor watched, hawk-eyed, as the girl made the tea. The impudent creature knew how to set a tray, at least. She would offer her a reference after they’d taken Tibby away from here but she could not employ someone so pretty at Moor Grange, not with Marcus even worse than his father about young women.

When the tray was ready, she preceded Emmy into the miserable excuse for a parlour, not attempting to hold the door open for the girl.

Emmy had to catch the door with her foot or it would have knocked the heavy tray out of her hand, which annoyed her. It seemed to her that rich people had no manners. She waited until Mrs Armistead was comfortably seated before she moved into the room, which felt very crowded. And that horrible young man was staring at her again. She’d like to black his eye for him!

‘Put the tray here then leave,’ Eleanor ordered. ‘I shall serve tea for your poor mistress.’

Emmy did as ordered, but the way the young man continued to stare at her made her shiver and instinctively keep as far away from him as she could.

‘Why do we not take you home with us today, Matilda?’ Claude asked as he sipped his tea.

In the kitchen with her ear pressed against the door Emmy stiffened in horror at this suggestion. Not today! Not till they’d had time to say a proper goodbye. It had only taken her a few minutes to realise that whether they wanted her to continue as Mrs Tibby’s maid or not, it would not be safe for her to be in the same house as that young man, but at least her worries about her mistress would be dealt with, so she would have only herself to think about.

Her main problem had just been solved for her, really. Now she could leave Northby and get away from George. Why, then, did she not feel happy about it all? Why did she want to weep?

 

In the tiny sitting room, Tibby Oswald was trying to hide her bewilderment from her relatives. She couldn’t believe they had suddenly started to care what happened to her. She knew she wasn’t clever but James had been and she remembered him saying once, ‘Never trust your family, love. You don’t know the half of the things they got up to when they wanted to make money. They’d swear black was white, the Armisteads would.’

Her father had refused permission for her to marry James and had tried to match her with someone more ‘suitable’. But she had refused and when James had suddenly inherited a small legacy, she had not hesitated to marry him. She was twenty-one by that time, so they could not stop her. Of course her father had washed his hands of her but she’d not minded because she was so happy with her beloved husband.

If Mr Portley hadn’t cheated them out of their money they might have been happy still, but only a few days after James had discovered it someone had waylaid him one evening on his way to provide Constable Makepeace with evidence. His poor dear body had been savagely battered and the murderer never caught. Constable Makepeace said it was probably Mr Portley but the man had vanished, never to be seen again in Northby. The thought that he had escaped justice still hurt.

And now the family wanted her to move back to the Grange, leaving the town where she had so many happy memories.

She realised suddenly they were all looking at her as if expecting an answer. ‘I’m so sorry - this has all been such a shock, I simply can’t make a decision so quickly.’

‘You don’t have to decide anything. We shall look after you now.’ Claude was somewhat offended that she had not accepted his offer at once.

Because her whole life was at stake Tibby found the courage to ask bluntly, ‘Why?’

And when they all looked at her as if they didn’t understand her question, she said, ‘Why are you doing this? The family has ignored me for years. There must be a reason.’

The Armisteads all began soothing and cajoling her again so she waited till they’d finished and said simply, ‘You still haven’t explained why.’ James had taught her that, too.
Stick to the point, Tibby. Don’t let people distract you. If you want to know something, keep asking.

Eleanor suddenly burst out laughing and said, ‘Tell her. She deserves the truth.’

Claude looked at his wife as if questioning her judgement, but when she made an encouraging gesture with one hand, shrugged and said, ‘We are negotiating a marriage with Rishmore’s daughter. He would not think well of us if we left my sister living in need. We didn’t know about your difficulties until this week or we’d have acted before.’

Suddenly it all made sense. Tibby looked at Eleanor and said simply, ‘I should prefer a place of my own. A cottage would be enough, somewhere a little larger than this, perhaps. But I admit I should like to have my family nearby, and - and I should like a promise that I will be buried in Northby churchyard next to my dearest James.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Could you not give me that?’

‘My sister live in a cottage? Certainly not! And since we have the carriage outside it would make sense to take you home with us now,’ her brother pressed.

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. I must say goodbye to the people who have been kind to me, and Emmy and I must decide what to take with us. No, no! I can’t possibly go now. And Emmy must come too of course.’ She looked across at Eleanor. ‘Take them away, please, my dear. It’s all too much for me today.’

With a nod Eleanor stood up. ‘You cannot force her to come with us,’ she told her husband. ‘I shall return alone in two days’ time and make plans with your sister. Will that suit, Matilda?’

‘Yes, dear. It’ll suit me very well. Thank you.’ She raised her voice. ‘Emmy!’

So Emmy went to open the door for them - as if they couldn’t do it for themselves! Last to leave was the son, who paused next to her to grasp her arm with one hand and tilt her chin upwards forcibly with the other before saying, ‘If I ride over to Northby, can you get some time off?’

‘No.’ She tried to step backwards, but his hand tightened on her arm till it hurt and she could see that he was enjoying hurting her, so she kicked him hard in the shins.

He yelped and his grasp slipped for a minute, so that she could step quickly back towards Mrs Tibby who had seen what was going on and was looking horrified. Emmy waited there for him to leave.

‘I’ll be back,’ he said savagely, and left without a word to his aunt.

Emmy rushed across to slam the door and slide the bolt across it to make sure he couldn’t sneak back inside. ‘I’ll just watch them go,’ she said to her mistress.

The son got inside the carriage, a groom slammed the door on him and climbed up behind, then they drove off through the rain which had not let up all day.

When Emmy turned round she saw Mrs Tibby weeping and went to comfort her.

‘So silly, Emmy. Why am I upset when this means I shall be looked after even if my money does run out?’

‘Because it means things must change.’

‘Not between us, my dear.’

Emmy could not lie to her, so she sat down on the sofa, took her mistress’s hand with its papery skin in hers and said quietly, ‘I’m afraid so. You saw how your nephew looked at me. And - I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while - now that I’m grown up, my mother’s protector wants to use me as he uses her. I’d have had to leave you soon anyway because he’d force me, I know he would. At least this way I can be sure you’ll be safe. And I can be safe, too.’

Mrs Tibby looked at her for a long time, then took her maid’s hand and held it against her cheek, saying in a quiet, sad voice, ‘Nothing ever stays right, does it?’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ Emmy could feel tears welling up, then they escaped and both of them were sobbing in each other’s arms.

 

Eleanor Armistead returned to find that Tibby was prepared to be sensible. Fortunately the maid had ‘made other arrangements’ because the girl wasn’t the sort to work in a gentleman’s residence, really, for all she knew how to keep a house clean. Even if they hadn’t had Marcus to consider.

So five days after the Armisteads’ first visit Emmy said a tearful goodbye to her mistress as they cleared up the house together for the last time and waited for the Armistead carriage to arrive.

‘You will be here this afternoon when the farm cart comes to take my furniture?’ Mrs Tibby asked for the tenth time.

‘Yes, of course,’ Emmy said gently.

‘And you will come to me if you’re ever in trouble? Promise!’

‘I promise.’

‘And you’ll write to me?’

‘If I can.’ She had promised all this several times, but her mistress was in a fluttery mood and seemed to need a lot of reassurance.

When they heard the carriage arrive, the two women looked at one another and embraced, saying nothing because everything had been said now.

Emmy went to open the front door, relieved to see only Mrs Armistead. She had been afraid Mrs Tibby’s nephew might have accompanied his mother and had lain awake worrying about what a rich man like him might do to get his way with her. How stupid of her! As if he’d care that much about a simple maidservant like her! He’d probably forgotten she even existed by now.