Marrying Miss Martha (11 page)

As they still made no answer, he added desperately, “There's no need to worry about the money. My father will reimburse you for anything you spend.”

Penelope exchanged speaking glances with her sister. “Well, we can’t abandon you in that condition, Mr Brindley, especially in this weather, so yes, we’ll take you with us to Tapton.”

“Thank you. Most grateful.”

At the next village they were fortunate enough to find the local doctor just returning from a call. While he attended to Mr Brindley's arm in his surgery, Martha and Penelope were given a most welcome cup of tea by his wife and Sally was entertained in the kitchen.

The doctor came bustling in to join them after a while. “Well, he bore it bravely enough, but what that young man needs now is to rest. As he insists on continuing the journey, I've given him a dose of laudanum. He should be drowsy enough not to feel the worst of the pain. Relative of yours, is he?”

Martha answered. “He's a complete stranger. We came upon him just after the accident and were able to be of assistance, but as it seems that we have the same destination, we've agreed to take him on to Tapton with us. He’s—er—anxious to rejoin his family.”

“Well, on his own head be it, then. That'll be half a guinea, if you please. He says you'll pay.”

After a startled glance at her sister, Martha reached into her reticule and gave the doctor the money. Within ten minutes they were on their way again.

After their next change of horses the weather grew steadily worse. Heavy clouds hung low in a leaden sky and snow began to fall more thickly again, building up on the roads so that the carriage wheels made a faint crunching sound as they compressed it and the horses’ hooves sounded muffled. They stopped only to change horses and use the inns’ conveniences, not even waiting for a proper meal at noon, but taking with them what food the landlady could provide and eating it in the carriage as they drove.

By early afternoon the light was so poor it looked like dusk outside and the cold had penetrated even their thick rugs, for the hot bricks at their feet soon lost their warmth. Mr Brindley's presence put a constraint upon any conversation so they could do nothing but sit and endure this last stage of the journey and pray that the snow wouldn’t stop them so close to their destination.

By the time they began their descent into Tapton, it had stopped snowing and the icy wind had eased a little. Sally peered through the carriage windows disapprovingly. “It looks a dirty sort of place to me. Do them chimneys always puff out black smoke like that?”

“Not all day, I think, but at regular intervals,” said Martha.

“Where's our house, Miss Martha?”

“On the other side of the town square. You can't see it from here.”

“We shall have trouble with our washing,” Sally predicted, eyeing the smoking chimney attached to the largest mill.

“Are we here?” a faint voice asked

Martha turned to him. “Yes, we are. Do you feel well enough to direct us to your home?”

Mr Brindley struggled into a sitting position and muttered directions. It was obvious that he was more than a little feverish now and she would be glad to pass on the responsibility for his welfare. She only hoped there would be someone at home to look after him. Had he a mother? He'd only talked about his father and that without any sign of affection. She pulled the checkstring and passed on the directions to Edward’s coachman.

Again the house was next to a mill, but it was smaller than Mr Wright’s or Mr Seaton’s and the door looked in need of a coat of paint. They left Mr Brindley in the care of his father's housekeeper, refusing her civil invitation to step in for a cup of tea. His father was at the mill behind the house at that hour of the day and it didn’t sound as if anyone would be sending for him.  

“And good riddance to that fine gentleman!” declared Sally as they pulled away from the house. “I don’t like to hear a young man speaking ill of his father.”

“Yet it was his father who caused the riot last time we were here,” Penelope said.

Martha stared at her in surprise. “Are you sure of that?”

“Mr Porter said so and I believed him, but there was no proof of course. Who else would want to damage Mr Seaton’s new machinery, though, except a rival?”

Further discussion was prevented by the carriage pulling up in front of the inn. The sky was darkening rapidly now as the early winter evening set in and it seemed even colder than before.

They climbed out with sighs of relief and hurried into the warmth.

“We’ll take you to see the house tomorrow,” Martha told Sally as they ate a hot meal. She tried and failed to stop herself from yawning and was glad to seek her bed at an early hour. As she snuggled down into its softness she murmured in appreciation for whoever had passed a warming pan over the sheets and laid a hot brick lapped in flannel just where her feet could touch it.

Her last thought was relief that the move was over and they could now start to make a home for themselves again.

* * * *

Noll had been informed of his son’s arrival, but didn’t think it worth going home from the mill until his usual time, short as the distance was. He didn’t find Peter in the parlour, so tugged on the bell for his cook-housekeeper, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for her to puff her way to the front of the house. “Where is he?”

“In bed, sir. We sent for the doctor like you told us and he said Mr Peter should stay there till he’d recovered from the journey and his injuries.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Broken arm, sir. Hit his head, too, the doctor thinks.” She explained about the carriage accident and how lucky Mr Peter had been to escape so lightly and find help. “He says the ladies paid the doctor who set his arm.”

Noll glared at her. “Trust him to sponge off people. Which ladies?” He snapped his fingers. “Not those new schoolteachers?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Dammit, they’re sitting in Wright and Seaton’s pockets. I’m not having them telling everyone a Brindley couldn’t pay his way. I’ll have to call and see them, pay them back.
Thank them!”
The latter stuck in his gullet most of all because he hated being beholden to anyone. He waved dismissal, yelling after her, “Dinner in fifteen minutes.” Then he went upstairs to his son’s room.

But he was balked of an opportunity to vent his anger on Peter, who was deeply asleep, and even Noll couldn’t deny that his son looked pale and battered, so he didn’t wake him as he’d intended. Instead he stood looking down at him. Good looking, resembled his mother, but what use was that? It was money that counted most, not good looks.

“I’d ha’ done better to marry Gerry’s sister,” he muttered as he went downstairs. “She’s given that no-good husband of hers eight children, and all I got was one—and a finicky, useless one at that.”

* * * *

The following morning dawned with clear skies, but snow still lay in patches on the ground and frost glinted everywhere. As soon as they’d finished breakfast, the three ladies set off for the house, Sally commenting favourably on the way the shopkeepers and owners of the larger houses had already cleared the ground in front of their establishments.

There were footprints in the snow of their own path, looking as if they belonged to a woman. “Someone’s been here before us,” Martha said as she turned the heavy, old-fashioned key in the lock. She again experienced that indefinable sense of welcome and couldn’t help exclaiming, “I do love this house!”

Penelope shivered as she remembered the last time she’d been here and how afraid she’d felt of the violent men rampaging through the streets. As they went inside, she could still see Daniel Porter standing in the kitchen doorway with his alert expression, taking in what were to him the splendours of their new home. It occurred to her suddenly that if she’d married John, she wouldn’t have had a house nearly as comfortable as this. And it wouldn’t have mattered to her at all! It was Martha who needed a comfortable home and she suspected that her sister was a great deal more upset by the move from Woodbourne and Rosemount Cottage than she was.

They found a fire burning in the kitchen range and Sally moved forward to view this item of modern domestic comfort with undisguised pleasure, making a soft aaahhhh sound of approval in her throat.

“It’s a lovely kitchen, isn’t it?” Penelope teased, knowing how Sally had longed for a modern closed stove like this one.

“It will be when we’re settled in,” Sally allowed. “And it’ll not take me long to get used to that new stove, I’m sure.”

Discussing where they would put the furniture, they walked round the house, choosing their bedrooms and making sure Sally would be happy in the attic. Since her room was quite spacious and had the kitchen chimney running through it, the chill was taken off even on a cold day like this, so she professed herself well suited.

When someone knocked at the door, Sally insisted it was her place to answer it, opening it to find a very tall man standing there. “May I help you, sir?”

“You must be Sally. I’m Ben Seaton. Are your mistresses here?”

Martha, who had recognised his voice, ran lightly down the stairs, feeling a warm rush of pleasure at the sight of him. “Mr Seaton! Do come in.”

He did so with a bob of his head for greeting. “Did someone light the kitchen fire for you? Hepzibah guessed you’d want to come here and look round.”

“Oh, yes. Such a kind thought.”

He nodded and as the two of them stared at one another, there was another of those bewildering moments when the rest of the world seemed to recede into the distance. It wasn’t until Sally cleared her throat that Martha was suddenly jerked back to reality and realised he was looking at her with an air of slight puzzlement not unlike her own.

“How can we help you, Mr Seaton?” she asked hastily to break the spell he seemed to cast upon her.

“It’s the other way round. I came to check that everything was all right and see if you ladies needed any help.”

“I don’t think there’s much we can do until our furniture arrives. Shall we go into the kitchen to talk? It’s much warmer there.” She led the way to the rear of the house, hearing Sally walk up the bare wooden stairs. No doubt Penelope would come down to join them at any moment.

* * * *

Upstairs Sally went to find Penelope. “It’s Mr Seaton. I thought it best to leave them two alone.” She cocked one eyebrow at Penelope, as if uncertain whether to speak.

“You sensed something between them as well?”

“You couldn’t miss it.”

Penelope smiled. “Whether it’ll come to anything is another matter.”

“He’s not married?”

“No. But I don’t think Martha understands what’s happening to her.” She looked into the distance and said softly, “I couldn’t help noticing because I still remember what it was like when I first met John. My attraction to him was immediate—and his to me.”

Sally put her arm round her shoulders and gave her a hug. “Miss Martha abandoned all thought of marriage long ago, and you know what she’s like once she’s settled something in her mind. She doesn’t
see
other paths. I always did think it a shame, though, that she’s not married because she’d make a wonderful mother.’ Another pause, then, ‘Do you really think he’s attracted to her?”

“I don’t know him well enough to form a definite opinion.” But Penelope couldn’t resist asking, “Did you like him?”

“Well, he looks you straight in the eye, at least.” Sally hesitated. “But Mr Seaton isn’t exactly a gentleman, is he? The way he talks is not quite—and his clothes are very—um—sensible. What would the Captain have said about him, do you think?”

“The same as he said about John. My father had some very old-fashioned and impractical ideas about what sort of gentlemen would be suitable for his daughters, I’m afraid. He didn’t think John was nearly good enough for me, but I knew how I felt and no amount of reasoning would have changed that, nor would I have let it.’

She sighed, then spoke more briskly, ‘Anyway, times are changing, especially in the newer towns like this, and I never did consider that being born with money or being able to trace your pedigree back several generations was more important than being honest and decent and—and hard-working. I’d have been happy with John even if he’d stayed a curate all his life and never got his own living, I know I would. It’d have been such a
useful
life.” She broke off, too full of emotion to continue. 

Sally patted her shoulder, pleased that her dear girl was talking more openly about the past.

Penelope took a deep breath, stepped away from her companion and turned towards the door. “I’d better go downstairs or it’ll look strange.”

She found Mr Seaton in the hall, already taking his leave, and he barely looked at her as he greeted her, then said farewell to Martha.

And Martha, who prided herself on being the practical one of the family, stood staring into space for a few moments.

Penelope didn’t interrupt her till Sally came down to join them. “Right, then, let’s go and see what the grocery store is like in this town. We can stock up on dry goods while we’re waiting for that furniture to arrive. In fact, there’s quite a lot we can do here. It’s nice being waited on at the inn, but I shouldn’t know what to do with myself all day if I always lived like that.”

* * * *

As they sat over their evening meal, which Sally again took with them in their private parlour, Martha said thoughtfully, “We should find a girl to help you, Sally, and a scrubbing woman for the rough work. We know how we stand with our money now and can easily afford it. We’ll be too busy to help you as much as we did in Woodbourne.”

“Well, I should think so. It’s more than time you two stopped doing the housework and behaved like proper ladies.”

Penelope laughed. “I doubt we’ll ever be ‘proper ladies’ in that sense, Sally. We’ve never had enough money to sit around idly and I think it’s too late to develop the habit now.”

“I’d be bored to tears if I had nothing to do but sit and embroider.” Martha looked round the hotel parlour regretfully. “Oh, I wish everything would arrive and we could move in! I’m itching to set to work on our new house. I’m sure we’ll be able to make it into a real home.”