Miss Mary Martha Crawford (9 page)

station as if travelling was an everyday occurrence, while others, and these very much in the majority, seemed most ordinary people, some in dire straits if their clothing was anything to go by. As she stood

gazing about her from under the portico a shabby-looking cab drew up towards the kerb, and the cabman, bending side wards shouted at her,

"Wanting a cab, miss?"

"Yes. Oh yes, thank you." She stepped towards him, then said, "Would would you take me to this address, please?" She handed a slip of paper up to him.

The man held it at arm's length, then said, The eyes're not so good, miss, read it out, will ya? "

When she took it back from his hand she realized that the poor man was unable to read.

"It's the house of Mr. James Low-Pearson, Seven Court Terrace," she said kindly.

"Court Terrace? Aye. Aye." He now made an elongated 0 with his mouth, then looking down at her from under his brows he said, "That's up Portland Road, quite a way. Now, miss, do you want to go the long way round, or the short way? The long way goes up Grainger Street an'

you can see all the bonny shops, then on to Northumberland Street where I'll cut off into Sandybank Road, then you're almost there. But the

shorter way, well 'tisn't so pleasant. Interesting like, but not so

pleasant, an' young ladies generally like it pleasant an' to see the shops. There's some fine shops, an' some fine buildings. Now what's

it...?"

She cut him off sharply, saying, "I would prefer the shorter route, thank you."

He stared down at her for a moment before exclaiming, "Oh aye ... all right then, just as you say. Well, boy yersel in."

He made no attempt to get down and help her into the cab and once she was seated inside, her nose wrinkled at the stale smell pervading the worn leather, and she said to herself with some indignation, "Hoy yersel in!"

The road leading from the station had been comparatively smooth but now she was being tossed from side to

side as the cab joggled its way over cobbles and through narrow

thoroughfares. At one point the cab stopped and while her driver had a loud altercation with someone in front of him she put her face close to the window and was appalled at what she saw. Filthy children, some in their bare feet; women, their bodies bulbous with old clothes to keep out the cold, but all with raucous voices yelling and shouting against the hold-up in the street. They looked like creatures from another

planet. There were many poor people in Hexham, and some of very low

estate who worked in the factories, but never had she seen people like these, particularly the children. Even the smallest of them, who

seemingly could hardly toddle, were raucous. When at last the cab

moved on there passed by her window, its wheels half on the mud

pavement, a flat cart piled high with decrepit household goods.

The horse pulling the cart was a sorry sight, its bones were sticking through its skin and its head was drooped in misery. Such an animal, she was sure, would never have been put in shafts in Hexham. There

were lots of things to be righted in their own town. Her father had

always said this, but he had also added that compared to other places it was paradise, and this was being proved to her now.

As the journey continued she felt that the cab driver was purposely

taking her through the meanest streets because she had refused to go by the longer route, which, of course, meant that she would have had to pay a higher fare.

It was a full half hour later, after the cab had emerged into broader and cleaner streets, that it drew to a stop and the driver, tapping the window with the butt end of his whip, called, "We here. This's it!"

She opened the door and got out and stood for a moment gazing up at the house across the pavement; then swiftly turning to the cab man, and

about to ask what her fare was, he forestalled her, saying abruptly,

"Half a dollar."

What? "

"Half-a-crown, two and six."

Half-a-crown! It was outrageous. The shortest way

indeed! Me must have brought her the longest way round on purpose.

When she handed him the fare he looked at it on his outstretched

palm.

She hadn't increased it by even one penny. He did not ask, "Shall I wait?" but after casting a hard glance down at her he cried, "Gee-up there!" and she was left on the pavement alone, once again staring up at the house.

It was a very nice house; being No. 7 it was set near the beginning of a long curved line of tall houses. It had six stone steps bordered by an iron railing leading up to the front door, above which was a

half-moon fanlight. Although she could recall visiting her great-uncle on that one occasion, the exterior of the house held no memory for her.

Slowly she mounted the step and pulled on the brass knob to the side of the door.

Her heart was beating rapidly; the mission before her was going to be somewhat embarrassing, besides sad. She was here not only to tell her great-uncle that his constant visitor, and sympathetic supporter over the years, had gone before him, but that she desperately required his financial aid.

When the door was opened by a smartly dressed maid with streamers from her cap reaching to her waist and her uniform, not grey or brown as was usual for morning, but blue, a light delicate shade of blue that would dirty easily, she was slightly nonplussed.

Tes? "

Martha gave a little cough and said, "Mr. Low-Pearson's residence?"

Who? "

"Mr. Low-Pearson's residence?" Her voice had an edge to it. For all her smart attire the girl seemed stupid.

"There's no Mr. Low-Pearson 'ere. You've got the wrong house....

Oh--' She now pointed at Martha and a smile spread over her face as she exclaimed, " Oh, he used to live here, but that was afore my time.

He's been dead and gone these four years. "

Martha gaped at the girl, she gaped at her for perhaps thirty seconds before she said falteringly, - "You must be

making a . " She stopped, then added, " The housekeeper, a Mrs.

Angela Mear? "

"Huh!" The girl's face now stretched wide in evident glee.

"Housekeeper?" She leant forward, "Eeh! You'd better not let her hear you call her that. Are you after a situation? It's only a cook she

wants, an' you don't sound like a..."

"Who is it? Who is it, Alice?"

"The girl turned aside and Martha saw the speaker coming |; towards her. She was a girl, no, a woman, a young woman I beautifully dressed in a morning gown, the colour was violet, | the material a velvet cord.

She had a round pert face with an abundant mass of fair hair high on her head. Her eyes were deep blue and her lips full and her skin

delicately fair.

Somewhere in Martha's bemused mind the word pretty didn't encompass all this young lady's assets.

"This person ... the young lady's a bit mixed up. She was asking' for Mr. Low-Pearson, and then she thought you ..." She stopped as her mistress thrust her aside; and now it was the woman who was standing looking straight into Martha's eyes. She had this advantage because of the four-inch step that was dividing them.

"What's your name?"

Martha's chin went up slightly as she replied, "I am Martha Crawford.

I came to see my great-uncle, Mr. James Low-Pearson. " 'you ... you come from Hexham?"

Tes. "

Tour. your father? "

"My father died over two weeks ago."

Martha watched the young woman put her hand out and grip the stanchion of the door, then she turned away and, her voice scarcely audible, she said, "Come in."

As Martha followed her across the narrow hall and into a long and

beautifully furnished room she saw that the young woman was much

smaller than herself, and somewhat plump.

In the drawing-room Mrs. Mear did not ask Martha to be seated but,

facing her again, her hands now gripped at her waist, she repeated,

"He's dead? John's dead, you say?"

The mention of her father's Christian name, the manner, the voice

which had a high artificial ring to it as if its owner were imitating someone, the look on the face which was now screwed up in disbelief, caused Martha's whole body to stiffen. It was as if she had been

suddenly frozen.

"But he can't be, he was hale and hearty...." She now tossed her head to one side. Then swinging about, she walked to the end of the room, and there stood looking out of the window on to what was evidently a long back garden.

It was a full minute before she again turned, and as she walked rapidly towards Martha she said, "Did he leave me any message... a letter? What did he say?"

Her heart thumping against her ribs in agitation, Martha was unable to speak, she could only stare wide-eyed at the woman before her until the woman once again demanded, "Well! What did he say?" and then she replied flatly, "He left you no letter. He said nothing about you except to give me your name, and--' Swallowing deeply she added now, "

Swear me to secrecy concerning you. At the time I was at a loss to

know why, but now I'm no longer at a loss. "

"Oh, don't take that attitude with me, young woman." Perhaps it was the tone, perhaps it was the look of the woman that made Martha rear, for now she cried back at her, "And don't you dare speak to me in that manner! It is very plain to me what you are; that girl, your maid,

said my great-uncle has been dead for four years. May I ask how you

came into possession of this house?"

Tou may ask but I'll please myself whether I tell you or not. But on second thoughts, aye, yes, I'll tell you, it'll take some of the starch out of you. Your father bought it for me. No, no, that isn't quite

right, it was left to him and he passed it on to me as a deed of gift.

Satisfied? This house is mine and all in it. Oh, don't faint. "

There was a deep note of derision in the last words.

"I have no intention of fainting and I'll tell you this, you're a bad woman, an evil woman. My father has ruined himself and his family

because of you."

"Now you look here!"

It was noticeable that the person's voice was becoming coarser, almost like Peg's.

"Whatever your father gave me he got well paid for. By! he did ... I couldn't move, mustn't have friends case he popped in, and"

"Be quiet!" 'you don't tell me to be quiet. Who d'you think you are?

"

The white plump hand was extended towards her, one finger wagging, and Martha's eyes concentrated on it and the ring it held. It was her

mother's ring, the ring which she herself was to have on her

twenty-first birthday. Her voice had an ominous quiet to it now as she said, "That ring, that ring you're wearing."

"Yes, what about it?" The woman turned her hand and looked at it.

"That was my mother's and should have been mine at my coming of age."

"Huh! At your coming of age! Well now, isn't that a pity he should think better of it and give it to me! And he did give it to me, for me birthday."

Martha felt she was about to collapse, not because her sensibilities had been shocked, but from a swift rush of anger such as she had never before experienced in her life. She actually spluttered as she cried,

"And pearls and ... and a locket? ..."

"Aye, yes, an' pearls and a locket." The plump chin was up now, the head wagging and the voice had lost its refined twang altogether. They were all presents from your father in exchange for years of me young life. And what you seem to forget, miss, is that they were his to

give. "

They weren't. They were left in keeping for us, my sisters and me. "

-.. " Well, it's just too bad on the lot of you, isn't it, that. he found abetter use for them? "

Now Martha was being possessed of another strange emotion. She had

never hated anything or anyone, but at this moment she became so afraid of the intensity of the, feeling that was causing sweat to open her

pores that she dropped her gaze from the young woman and stood

looking

down ai ner own ugnuy Clasped DiacK-glovea nan ds that were gripping each other so that her knuckles showed like points through the

material.

She had ceased to see the person before her, for her gaze had turned inwards and she was seeing herself. It was as if she were witnessing the birth of a new creature, someone being born out of these

frightening emotions. The urge that was rising in her was horrifying, for all she wanted to do was to take her hand and strike the creature across the face, not once but again and again. She wanted to see her fall to the floor, she wanted to stamp on her, hard, hard. Oh!

dear God, get me out of here. Like a child now she asked this, and as if her prayer had been heard she turned about and walked towards the door, but so blindly that she stumbled against a chair and put her hand out and gripped the handle on a tall ebony cupboard, thinking it was the door.

As the bell tinkled behind her she turned again and almost instantly the door opened as if the maid had been standing on the other side

waiting for the summons, and she heard the woman's voice, with the

high-faluting note to it once more, saying, "Show this lady out, Alice."

The maid stood aside and Martha walked stiffly into the hall, and as the door closed behind her she put her hand to her throat and a wave of blackness assailed her. The young girl, now taking hold of her arm,

said kindly, "You feelin' faint, miss?"

When she did not answer the maid looked back towards the drawing-room door, and as she did so the front door bell rang and she murmured in agitation, "Oh dear me!" then almost pulling Martha along the hall to where a chair stood in a shallow alcove, she said, "Sit yersel down there a minute an' get your breath."

As Martha closed her eyes and lay back she heard the maid open the

door, then exclaim, "Oh. Eeh! Eeh! you, Mr. Fuller?"

Tes, me, Alice. "

It was the voice that roused Martha and brought her head to the side.