More Tales of the West Riding (5 page)

At these Readings Kate was always well attended by young men. She was beautiful, she was well dressed, she was not too serious, she could pick up a joke and snap out a reply which made the speaker feel witty, her father was comfortably
rich. So, she was a suitable match for any textile young man. It was at one of these Readings—one-penny admission—that the encounter between the pair took place.

Ben Clough was undoubtedly the matrimonial catch of Annotsfield. His ancestors had been clothiers for some three hundred years, progressing from a single loom in a many-windowed weaver's cottage to the massive mill buildings in the valley, known not only in Annotsfield but all over the world, which produced hundreds of thousands of yards of fine worsted cloth every year, and sold them. Ben had a tough old grandfather who knew everything about textiles, a handsome rakish father (rarely seen in Annotsfield) who was rumoured to be too fond of wine and women, a stiff mother of great propriety. Ben himself was not particularly good-looking; rather stocky and sturdy than tall, he had a solid determined face, pleasant enough if you didn't cross him; not attracted by any of the arts, he was yet generally reputed to be no fool. His temper was nothing like as bad as Joshua's, his impulses on the whole were kindly and certainly not mean if you took him the right way; he didn't talk too much, but what he said was always practical. Kate liked him. She met him at a Reading and then at several Readings and at chapel, and at one or two private parties. Seeing how things were going, and pleased by the prospect of such a desirable son-in-law, Joshua urged his wife to give private parties of her own. The rooms in the Milne Thorpe house were large. The Milners rolled up the carpets, pushed back the furniture in one room, set up a very lavish buffet supper in the other, and invited all Kate's young friends by word of mouth. Lucy, with various others similarly qualified, chiefly elderlies, of course, played for the dancing. (Many, I have been told, could play a waltz or a polka; but Lucy, wonderful to relate, could provide a whole set of lancers.)

One January afternoon, when they were skating together on the frozen Clough mill dam, Kate said lightly to Ben:

“You'll come on Thursday, Ben?”

“Of course.”

He paused; Kate with unusual sensitivity perceived that there was more to come. She waited.

“Do something for me, Kitty,” said Ben at last. “Will you?”

Kate was delighted to be called Kitty, particularly as Ben used this pet-name only in private. But remembering her mother's warnings, she said, though careful to use a flirtatious note: “Depends what it is.”

“Ask Edward Randal to your party.”

“Which is Edward?”

Ben pointed out a tall slender boy, dark with waving hair, decidedly handsome, who at this moment chanced to shoot past them, skating admirably and smiling at them as he went.

“He skates well,” she said in a neutral tone.

“Aye. He is good at rugger too,” said Ben. “And dances fine. He's a friend of mine. In fact,” he added with an air of taking the plunge, “he's my best friend. He's apprenticed at our mill.”

“Oh, really,” said Kate coolly, not in the least interested in a mere apprentice.

Ben however proceeded to narrate Edward's history. His father had died young, leaving his widow and children rather scantily provided for, but with a small fund particularly allocated to pay for his son's apprenticeship to some great textile firm. The two lads, Ben and Edward, were as different in their souls as in their fortunes. Edward kind, gentle, quiet, but full of mild fun, pleasant-tempered, over-generous, honest and honourable and loving towards every thing and person that lived, as well I should know, seeing that he is my father. Why and how these two different natures clung to each other I do not know. Everyone liked Edward, but
why should Edward like Ben? But so it was; they were true friends.

And so Edward came with Ben to the Milners' house, and danced. (As Ben said, he was a brilliant dancer.) Lucy, delicious in her well-cut cotton frock, sat at the piano (grand) for most of the evening, dutifully playing dances. For her aunt Ada kept calling out cheerfully to her:

“You'll play this one for us, won't you, love?”

So what else could she do but sit at the piano, playing? All the same her pretty face took on a tinge of melancholy—or rather cross and sulky—air, for Lucy adored dancing. (“And I danced better than Kate,” she told her daughter later, seriously. “Kate was too heavy.”)

Embarking on the second set of lancers, sadly because with those various figures to get through a set of lancers was a long job, Lucy found herself actually sniffing with vexation. “If I don't take care I shall cry,” she told herself angrily, tossing her bright head to shake away the tears.

This action brought into view the figure of a young man, leaning against the piano and gazing down at her from very kind brown eyes.

“Aren't you going to dance at all?” he enquired in a compassionate tone.

“My aunt likes me to play,” said Lucy, telling the whole story in her tone without a word.

“But it's not fair to keep you at it all the time. You've hardly danced at all,” said Edward. “Don't you like dancing?”

Lucy laughed, and her face cleared. (She was a very pretty girl.)

“Dance with me next time. I'll wait here. You stand up as soon as the lancers end, and we'll move off together. Yes?”

“Yes,” said Lucy.

“And,” as Lucy years later often told her daughter, “I always liked him best after that.”

In a word, at that moment Edward and Lucy fell in love, and remained in love for the rest of their lives.

At first the double courtship was highly convenient. On many an evening, Ben and Edward presented themselves together at Milne Thorpe House or Number 3 Hill Road, and somehow the two girls always seemed to be about together somewhere. The two couples thus chaperoned each other, to the satisfaction of their respective parents. They skated, walked, danced, attended concerts and the theatre, picnicked, ate high tea at one or the other's homes, and were happy.

After leaving the girls at the doors of their respective homes, Ben turned off down to the neighbouring valley where that massive Victorian Gothic mansion Clough Lea, the home of the Cloughs, stood, and a comfortable bed awaited him. Edward, on the contrary, walked briskly up the hill to the Clough mill, had a word with the night watchman, who knew him well, entered the warehouse, and throwing himself down on a handy piece of damaged cloth, slept the night there till the morning buzzer, thrilling the air at five-thirty a.m., woke him to the morning's work. He was never late for work, as old Mr Clough had duly noted.

The Hallams smiled, but Joshua did not altogether approve of Edward's courtship.

“He's a very nice lad, Tom,” he said seriously. “A very nice lad is your Edward. Quick in the uptake. Kind, and pleasant. And honest. You might say good. Yes, I grant you that. But he hasn't a ha'penny of his own, and he's a mother and two sisters to keep. What he and Lucy are going to live on, I really don't know.”

“He knows cloth,” said Hallam.

“True, true.”

“And Ben Clough is his friend,” thought Hallam. He did not say this, but he was not the only man in Annotsfield who
saw Edward as the manager of Clough Mills, with Ben as overlord, in the days to come.

Just for a moment, however, Joshua had other views. That night he put them to his wife.

“How do you say if I put that Edward lad into Milners' as manager?” he said.

“Never!”

“Why not? We've no son to carry on, love. He knows cloth. He's going to marry Lucy you know, my sister's child. She's my niece.”

“That's why. Don't you see, Kate would always be jealous of him? In her father's business! Lucy's husband? She'd hate it!”

“Jealous?” pondered Joshua. “Why jealous?”

“Kate and Lucy are jealous, surely you know.”

“Nay, I haven't seen owt. Why should they be jealous?”

“Well, they are.”

“Don't worry, love,” said Joshua sardonically. “Yon Edward'll be managing Clough's before you know where you are.”

“As to that we shall see.”

“It's time young Ben said something to me about Kate,” grumbled Joshua, releasing his braces. “If he doesn't come up to scratch soon I shall give him a hint.”

“You'll spoil all if you do.”

“Well, I'll roll my eyes at him a bit, choose how,” said Joshua, laughing.

“You can do that,” said Ada cheerfully.

Unfortunately, however—and in the event it proved bitterly unfortunate for all concerned—Joshua, who was not a man for fine shades, rolled his eyes so heavily that Edward perceived it. As the two young men walked off together one summer evening to join the main road Edward said:

“Why was old Milner rolling his eyes at you like that? As if he suspected you of making off with the silver!”

His tone was puzzled. But Ben laughed.

“He thinks it's time I said something to him about Kate, I daresay.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can't go dangling after a girl for ever without coming out with honourable intentions, or something of the sort. Otherwise it might compromise her.”

“Compromise!” exclaimed Edward in horror.

“Well, spoil her other chances, like.”

“But it would be the same with Lucy!” cried Edward.

“Of course. Kate has been hinting a bit to me lately, I've thought. Has Lucy said anything?”

“No! No!”

“Well, of course you aren't in a position to marry, yet.”

“No. But still—what shall you do, Ben?”

“I'll talk to grandfather. He's quite keen about Kate really. Well, good night.”

Edward was left in agony. Compromise! Spoil other chances! People hinting! His darling Lucy!

He dashed to the nearest wall, climbed its low rough-cast hurriedly, knocking off a stone or two, rushed up two hilly fields of rough grass, and pressed the bell of Number 3 hard and long. Thomas Hallam opened quickly.

“Something wrong at the mill?” he cried. Then more calmly: “Oh, it's you, Edward.”

“May I have a word with you, Mr Hallam?”

“Of course.”

“May I have your permission to pay my addresses to Lucy?”

“Seems to me you've been doing that a long time already, my boy.”

“Yes. Well. May we be engaged?”

“You were out of your apprenticeship last New Year's Day, so you're free to get engaged if you want to.”

“Yes.”

“But you'll have to find a decent income from somewhere before you think of getting married.”

“I'll find one!” cried Edward. “I love Lucy, Mr Hallam.”

“Oddly enough, I believe you.”

“May we be
engaged,
Mr Hallam?” implored Edward with emphasis.

“Well. Yes.”

“Thank you, thank you!” cried Edward, seizing his future father-in-law's hands and wringing them so earnestly as to be painful. “May I, could I, see Lucy just for a moment?”

The sound of a sob made Mr Hallam turn. There, in the doorway of the sitting-room, stood Mrs Hallam and Lucy, both weeping.

“Here's Edward come wanting to be engaged to Lucy,” said Hallam drily. “I've consented.”

Edward and Lucy fell into each other's arms.

Accordingly next morning Lucy, radiant with happiness, ran down the hill to tell her cousin her joyous news.

Kate, naturally, was furious. To be outrun at the post, like this, was more than she could bear. She controlled her rage sufficiently to offer suitable congratulations, a suitable kiss. But her face was still white and her eyes burning when in the afternoon Ben, having had a most agreeable interview re income, house, shares and so on with his grandfather, arrived to formalise his suit. Practical as ever, he tackled Joshua in the mill, then came across to the house smiling, entered the room where his love was waiting for him alone (forewarned), took her hand and exclaimed briskly:

“Marry me, Kate.”

“You've been a bit slow in the uptake, my lad,” Kate told him. This was risky, but she was too angry to care.

“I
am
slow in the uptake, love,” admitted Ben. “But when I get there, I'm there. What have I not done now, eh?”

“There's that hateful little nincompoop, Lucy Hallam, my cousin, got engaged last night. Got engaged before me.”

“Well, good for Edward,” said Ben laughing. “Edward's my best friend, after all.”

“But it's so humiliating for me, Ben; it is really.”

“Not a bit,” said Ben. “It'll be years before they can get married.”

“True. And when were
you
thinking of getting married?”

“How about September?”

“Ben, you are always so sensible,” said Kate, smiling.

They kissed, enjoying it a good deal.

Discussions of the most delicious kind about the wedding arrangements now went on between Kate and her mother. Joshua intended the wedding of his daughter to be the biggest and finest ever seen in Annotsfield, and if this cost money he was prepared to spend it. Kate and Ada entirely agreed—that is to say, Ada yielded to all Kate's wishes. On one point, however, Kate was awkward.

“How many bridesmaids do you think, love?” said Ada. “Two, or four?”

“Six!”

“That's going to be costly for Ben, six presents. But I daresay he won't mind. Let's see, there's his cousin Alice, and our Lucy, and—”

“I won't have Lucy.”

“What?”

“I will not have Lucy,” shouted Kate with a grimace.

“But you'll have to have Lucy, Kate,” objected Ada. “She's your father's niece.”

“I will not have Lucy.”

“But from being children you've always said you'd be each other's bridesmaids.”

“I will not have Lucy.”