Forever Yours (8 page)

‘Well, what do you think then?’ Mabel’s face was bright, and without pausing, she went on, ‘Matt’s asked young Tilly to marry him. Went to see her da and did it properly, by all accounts.’

‘And what did young Tilly say?’ her granda put in, his face deadpan after he’d given a sly wink at Constance.

‘She said yes, of course.’ Mabel’s voice carried a touch of indignation, for who wouldn’t say yes to Matt Heath? ‘And they’re after setting a date for the autumn. They’ve already been to see Father Duffy, they’d just got back when I got there this afternoon. Middle of September, they thought, and we’re invited.’ She beamed at them as though this had been a surprise.

Perhaps because she had prepared herself for this moment over the last little while, Constance found she was able to smile back and say quite naturally, ‘I bet Aunty Ruth is pleased.’

‘Oh aye, they all are, although likely Ruth’ll be at a bit of a loss when Matt goes, him being the last one. I know I felt the same when your mam got wed.’

The pain was killing her but no vestige of it showed in her face or voice when she said lightly, ‘And then I was dumped on you and you had to begin all over again.’

In a rare show of affection her grandma reached out and touched her cheek. ‘Lass, you’ve bin a blessing from the day you were born and that’s the truth. Am I right, Art?’

Her granda nodded, his eyes soft. ‘Never a truer word.’

How could she ever leave them and go into service? The tiny hope she’d kept hidden in her heart as an antidote to this day flickered and died. She couldn’t. She owed them so much, and they weren’t getting any younger. Her granda was still fit and healthy now, but there would come a time when he couldn’t work and she would be the breadwinner. But doing what?

As though her grandma had heard her thoughts, she sat down at the table next to her, her voice low as though someone might be listening when she said, ‘Your Aunty Ruth had a quiet word with me this afternoon, hinny. There’ll be a job going at the post office when Tilly’s wed and she’s asked Tilly to put in a good word for you with the postmaster. She gets on well with him, always has done, and he thinks a bit of her so there shouldn’t be a problem if she recommends you. What do you think of that then? Working in the post office, lass. Imagine.’

The steel jaws of the trap finally snapped shut. Knowing she’d cry if she tried to speak, Tilly squeezed her grandma’s arm and attempted a smile.

Her grandma must have been satisfied with the way she was overcome with wonder at the news. Patting her cheek once more, she rose briskly to her feet and after divesting herself of her coat and old felt hat which was going green with age, Mabel walked over to the range and put the black kettle on to the centre of the glowing fire. ‘We’ll have a nice cup of tea and some of that fruit loaf I made earlier to celebrate,’ she said happily, her smile beatific, although whether they were celebrating the news of the coming nuptials or the prospect of Constance’s job at the post office, her two listeners weren’t sure.

 

It was only a few days later that the event occurred which changed the direction of Constance’s life for ever. She had been helping Miss Newton clear out a store cupboard in the seniors’ classroom once all the children had gone home, and Miss Newton had put something to her. She had, the teacher said, been thinking for some time that Constance could do very well for herself. She understood the circumstances in which Constance was placed – this was a tactful way of saying she knew there was no spare money at home – but had Constance considered becoming an uncertified teacher? It wasn’t the same as a qualified teacher, of course, but it was something, wasn’t it? And she would receive a salary, that was the thing. Miss Newton would do all she could to help her, she had emphasised, and she was sure Constance was up to the task. She had such a gift with the children and it would be a great pity if this wasn’t put to good use. It would take some time, of course, but it wasn’t essential Constance brought in a wage immediately, was it?

No, Constance had assured the teacher, her eyes shining. It wasn’t. But what exactly was involved and how would she go about it? How old did she have to be and how long would it take?

They had talked some more and by the time Constance left the school premises it was dark and snowing hard. Her mind full of the conversation she’d just had with Miss Newton, she didn’t notice the tall dark figure standing a few yards away at the corner of Church Street. Consequently when Vincent spoke she started violently and would have fallen but for his hand shooting out to steady her.

‘I – I didn’t s-see you,’ she stammered, taking a step backwards so his hand fell from her arm. She knew who he was, everyone in the village knew Mr McKenzie, the weighman, and every miner’s child grew up thinking of him as the devil incarnate, but she had never spoken to him until three days ago. He had been walking along Front Street when she had left school on Monday evening, and had shocked her by smiling at her and saying hello. She had muttered something in reply and scurried away covered in confusion, conscious of his eyes burning into her back. She had thought it a chance meeting and had put the matter out of her mind before she’d reached home, but then he had been there the next night and this time had struck up a conversation with her and she had found herself walking with him until she’d reached Cross Streets.

He terrified her. She swallowed, her heart pounding. And it wasn’t just the stories she’d heard about him in the Heaths’ kitchen when Matt had vented his spleen about the ‘keeker’ as the men called him. Exactly what it was that frightened her she didn’t know, because he was very well-dressed and he wasn’t ugly, but there was something in his eyes . . .

‘You’re late leaving tonight,’ he said quietly, confirming her fear that he had been waiting for her. ‘Keeps you at it, does she, Miss Newton? Bit of a slave-driver?’

‘No. No, she’s not – not like that. She’s nice. She just—’ Constance stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that she’d been about to share her momentous news with Mr McKenzie, of all people.

‘Just what?’ His eyes narrowed as he stared into her face.

She shrugged, and as she began walking she prayed desperately that he wouldn’t walk with her. He did.

‘Just what?’ he said again, but in a tone of voice she knew meant he was determined to get an answer.

For the life of her Constance couldn’t think of anything to say but the truth. ‘Miss Newton thinks I could train to be an uncertified teacher.’ She kept her eyes on her boots as she walked. ‘It wouldn’t be for a while, of course.’

‘Uncertified teacher?’ The way he spoke, she could have said something immoral. ‘What’s she doing putting ideas like that in your head? You’re bonny, you don’t want to end up an old maid like Miss Newton. You’ll be after getting married and having a family before too long. Take no notice of her.’

It wasn’t the response she’d expected. It didn’t occur to her to point out that she could follow the course Miss Newton had suggested and still get married. Instead she spoke out what was on her heart. ‘I shan’t ever get married,’ she said flatly.

‘A bonny lass like you? Don’t be silly.’

She didn’t reply to this. She’d said too much as it was.

After a moment, he said, ‘I knew your mother many years ago. She was beautiful too, just like you.’

There was a funny little shake in his voice now and it unnerved her to the point that she felt like running away. And then she wished she had when she’d had the chance as he caught hold of her arm, forcing her to stop and face him through the whirling snow. ‘Have you got a lad, Constance?’ he asked softly.

She blinked away a snowflake which had landed on her eyelashes. She didn’t like him touching her, and something of this was reflected in her voice when she said, ‘Of course not, I’m only thirteen years old. No one has a lad at thirteen.’

‘You look older than that. You look like your mother did when she was sixteen, seventeen even.’

His eyes were covering her face and she wanted to pull herself free, to fight him if necessary, but she told herself she was being silly. He had only talked to her, after all. And she mustn’t forget he was the master weighman. He could make things impossible for her granda if she offended him. If even half the stories about him were true, it was enough for her to know his power was absolute. Looking down at her boots again, she muttered, ‘Well, I’m thirteen and my grandma wouldn’t hear of me having a lad for a long time, but I don’t want one anyway so it doesn’t matter.’

He was silent for a moment, then his voice came slowly, almost thoughtfully, but with a harder note in it than he’d used thus far. ‘And is this decision anything to do with Matthew Heath getting betrothed to the Johnson wench at the weekend?’

Taken aback, her eyes shot to his face. He couldn’t know, no one knew. So surprised was she, the truth was written all over her countenance.

‘I saw you with him that day at the pit gates.You’ve allowed him liberties, is that it? And he’s let you down?’

‘No.’ She was still so shocked by him guessing how she felt about Matt that her voice carried no weight.

‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ His hands had tightened on her arms to the point he was really hurting her. ‘Damn it.’ His face had darkened; now he was growling the words at her. ‘Like mother, like daughter.’ He shook her and she had to clutch at him or lose her footing on the icy ground. ‘What did you let him do? Has he taken you down? Tell me.’

‘Stop it!’
She was struggling violently, panic-stricken and afraid, and as she did so the shawl which covered her head and was tucked in the collar of her coat slipped about her shoulders. At the sight of her golden hair, soft tendrils of which curled on to her forehead and cheeks, he seemed to go mad.

Pulling her against him, he crushed his mouth down on hers, her head going back so far she thought her neck would crack. Now Constance fought in earnest but her frenzied efforts had little impact on the hard male body. Although she was tall for her age, she was slender and finely boned. Vincent was a man in his prime and big and broad; the muscles he had developed in his years before becoming weighman had not yet turned to fat.

The snowstorm had driven everyone inside and the street was deserted; there wasn’t even the odd child or two playing out. He had stopped her a hundred yards or so before the grid of streets wherein was home and safety, and now her terror increased as she felt him begin to manoeuvre her off the main street and into an alley which led to a piece of waste ground the colliery were due to develop for housing.

His mouth had left hers, but now one large hand was clamped across her lower face, stifling her screams but also her air supply. She felt herself going faint and limp, and strangely, as she stopped struggling, this seemed to check his madness. He paused a few feet into the alley, removing his hand as he shook her slightly, saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry – you’re all right, aren’t you? Look, I didn’t want it to be like this. I don’t want to hurt you. I want . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Just tell me, and I want the truth, mind: have you and Heath been carrying on?’

He was still holding her arms and she hated herself for the pleading note to her voice when she said, ‘No, no, I told you. I swear it.’ Her breath caught in a sob. She didn’t understand this. He didn’t know her, so why was he behaving like this?

‘You swear it? On your grandmother’s life? He hasn’t touched you? He hasn’t done anything he shouldn’t?’

She shook her head and his eyes moved from her mouth to her hair and then back to her mouth. ‘I can find out if you’re telling me the truth. And I don’t like being lied to.’

‘He hasn’t touched me, he hasn’t done anything. No one has.’

His hands tightened on her arms again but not roughly now. Thickly, he said, ‘I’m the first?’

Help me, please help me, God.
He was going to hurt her, she knew he was going to hurt her. Her lips trembling, she whispered, ‘I have to get home, they’ll be worried.’

‘Your mother played me for a fool.’ He straightened away from her but still didn’t let her go. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you? I can offer you more than any man in the village and it would all be above board, legal and proper, once you’re old enough. You’d want for nothing.’

Dumbly she stared at him, barely able to take in what he was saying. He was the weighman and to her eyes he was old, as old as the fathers of the girls she’d gone to school with, and even before this night something about him had made her flesh recoil.

‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ His hands dropped to his sides but she knew if she tried to run he would grab her. ‘I want you and I’m prepared to wait but I won’t be messed about, be very sure about that. You’re mine.’

Again his voice had that funny little quiver in it that made her skin crawl, but instinct told her to say anything he wanted to hear. ‘I – I understand.’ She didn’t dare move a muscle in case it inflamed him again.

‘And you’re willing? You’re willing to be my lass?’

‘When – when I’m old enough,’ she said faintly, repeating his own words back to him.

He rubbed his hand hard across his mouth, his eyes unblinking as they searched her face. She knew he was weighing her up, wondering if he could trust her. She didn’t know what he was going to do next but her legs felt so weak she didn’t think she could walk, let alone run. He had to believe her. Something outside of herself guided her tongue: ‘You’d have to come and see my granda though, he’s a stickler for doing things proper.’ She forced a note of pertness into her voice. ‘You’d have to ask him when it’s time, but until then it’s best it’s a secret.’

He stared at her a moment more, then his jaw relaxed. ‘Young as you are, you’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? But aye, it’ll be a secret. Our secret. Till you’re old enough.’

‘You live in the big cottage at Fulforth Wood, don’t you?’

‘You know where I live?’