More Tales of the West Riding (7 page)

“You're right. Perhaps I'd better put the deeds in your name.”

“And do you think I could hold out against Lucy if she
wanted to use them? Don't put me in a position to have a family quarrel over a house! If I own the house, Edward and Lucy will hate me. If I'm poorly off, Edward will slave to see me put right.”

“You like Edward more than you say.”

“He's a good husband to our Lucy. Couldn't be kinder. That's what counts with a woman in wedlock, they say.”

“Ah,” sighed Hallam mildly.

But now at this moment when Lucy and Kate met, ten years after they married, Edward's affairs were in rather a muddle again. This time it was not his fault. The United States had slapped on a tariff to protect their own nascent textile industry, and textile imports from England dropped by more than half. The whole of the West Riding was there-fore in trouble. Large firms like Cloughs' scowled, gritted their teeth, and lowered salaries and dividends to weather the storm. Smaller firms closed weaving sheds, and some firms staggering in difficulties went bankrupt.

“They say grass will grow in the streets of Bradford,” said Lucy to her father, her voice shaking in spite of her efforts to be calm.

“It's a bad time but it will pass. The effects of tariffs never last very long,” said Hallam. “The price inside the tariff wall soon rises to equal the price of the imports.”

“I don't understand any of that,” said Lucy impatiently. “Edward is worried to death, father. He can't eat or sleep. If you saw him!”

“I'll have a word with your bank manager,” said Hallam.

He was doing precisely that at this moment, and Lucy was to call at the Hallam home for a midday meal to hear the result. What with this anguish of suspense, and the oncoming of this third child, unwanted, expensive, and so late, Lucy was in a state of acute nervous tension. The sight of Kate, so handsome and elegant in her expensive dress, with her landau and coachman and above all that odious Dog—
it just could not be borne. She had never needed Kate so much. It was too humiliating. It was all Edward's fault. For Edward's sake she could not bear it. Accordingly she rejected Kate's proffered friendship furiously, crying: “No! Never!”

They parted.

Kate, as her dress, her carriage and above all her Coach Dog showed, was not harassed by financial troubles. The recession had not affected the great Clough firm uncomfortably as yet, and at Clough Lea money seemed to abound pretty much as usual. Nor was Kate anxious about her offspring's physique. Her one son, Benjamin Garrett Clough, was in solid, not to say blooming, health. But she had trouble of another kind. Garrett was Ben's father's name, and Ben's son was named after him.

“I should like Milner for a second name, Ben,” Kate had said the day after the child's birth, in the tone of a woman accustomed to loving acquiescence from her husband.

“I don't love old Josh so much I want to enshrine him in my son's name,” said Ben unexpectedly. He paused and continued: “He gave me some very peevish looks just before we got engaged, Kate. So did you, by the way.”

It was Kate's cue for a loving response, especially as she admitted to herself that she had indeed been slightly peevish on the afternoon of Ben's proposal. But she was vexed by “my son” from her husband in relation to a joint product, and by his depreciation of her father; besides, she had not forgiven Garrett for his bad behaviour at her wedding reception, when he became so drunk and noisy that he had to be persuaded to leave. Her tone was therefore not quite mild as she said, though she was careful to laugh as she spoke:

“Better my father's name than yours.”

“Who says so?” retorted Ben. “I'm fond of my father. My grandfather spoiled my father by being too strict with him.”

“Something spoiled him, certainly,” said Kate, still laughing.

“Now, Kate,” Ben rebuked her, his tone unusually heavy. “We won't do the same with our Ben. I mean that, Kate.”

Now at last, just a little too late—it was their first open tiff—it occurred to the surprised Kate that when her husband spoke in that tone it might be best not to thwart him. Accordingly, young Benjamin Garrett was baptised as such and was not strictly disciplined; indeed one might say he was not disciplined at all. Any efforts Kate made in that direction were at once nullified by Ben, for if his son cried demandingly:

“Need I go to bed now, Father?”

Ben at once replied: “No!” and added: “Why do you bother him so, Kate? You're too fond of your own way. Let the child alone.”

This sort of thing was the source of many small disagreements, which only needed a slightly increased acrimony to become quarrels. The sharper tone was provided presently by the habit Ben developed of coming home late at night, slightly drunk. Far from being softly welcoming on these occasions, for that was not her disposition, Kate was shocked and disgusted, and said so. Ben's excuse was always that he had been drinking with James, or Fred, or Charlie. These were names new to Kate, for it seemd Ben had given up playing rugby shortly after his marriage—or perhaps the local rugby team had given up Ben, on account of growing obesity and “lack of puff”, as Annotsfield said. Kate, out of pride eager enough to clear him of fault, threw the blame of the glass-too-many on these new companions, and urged Ben to give them up. Ben thereupon snapped:

“You want me to give up all my friends, do you?”

“Of course not! I've never asked you before—”

“What about Edward? You choked him off pretty neatly, didn't you?”

“No, I did not.”

“I couldn't have him for my best man, choose how.”

“That was Lucy's fault.”

“You were jealous of Lucy.”

“I was
not
jealous of Lucy.”

“There's two opinions about that.”

“But what could I be jealous of Lucy
about?”

“An interesting question.”

“Don't bait me like that, Ben Clough!” cried Kate, crimsoning as she lost her temper.

“Now we see the Milner temper in full display. Or perhaps your mother's?”

“What about
your
temper, Ben?”

“What, indeed!” shouted Ben, and uttering some oaths which in those days were regarded as an insult to a woman, he flung out of the room, slamming the door.

As the years went by and Ben became more used to, and therefore less struck by, Kate's beauty, his responses to her taunts became coarser and louder, and hers to his became shriller and keener. Mrs Clough, unable to bear their increasing bitterness, retreated to the South Coast, thus removing one check on their battles. Then old Mr Clough died. Garrett Clough, perhaps hoping for reinstatement, returned to Annotsfield for his father's funeral and showed a disposition to make his home there. Ben, wisely or not, kept his father out of the mill by bringing in a cousin to make up any of his own deficiencies. But Garrett Clough's presence in the house brought an air of dissipation which Kate could not endure, though Ben seemed almost to welcome his father's presence, so long as he kept out of the mill.

“Turn him out of the house or I'll leave you.”

“
You'
ll leave
me
! You've turned very moral of a sudden,” sneered Ben.

“And why not? I'm your wife, think on.”

Ben gave a jeering laugh.

The cousin made strong representations to Ben, for Garrett too often “dropped in”, and Garrett soon left for London. But about this time it began to be said in Annotsfield that Ben Clough was going the same way as his father. Wine—and unfortunately women, too.

“Why do you stand it, Kate?” urged Joshua. “Put up a fight, lass. Go to Mrs Clough in the south.”

“I have a son,” said Kate coldly.

She had become very quiet and cold of late, and her displays of temper were nowadays rare. Annotsfield grew almost sorry for her. Presently it began to be rumoured that things at Clough Mills were not just as perfect as they had been of old. Ben knew cloth up to a point, of course, though not like his grandfather. But he seemed not to care, and so grew careless. As for the cousin, he was not really a textile man.

“Well, they've a long way to go, have Cloughs, before they're in the red.”

“True. Some people have all the luck.”

If only Edward had not left Clough Mills, reflected Kate, at first not very seriously, but later with increasing anguish and remorse. She had nothing definite against the managing cousin, except that he was tactless and irritated Ben. But if only Edward had been in his place, if only … how different everything would be. Then she began to dream that Edward might return. How it could be effected she could not imagine; but she imagined clearly the results of such a return: Ben happy with his old friend; abandoning his new dissipated acquaintance, giving up drink, staying at home; the two couples, Ben and Kate, Edward and Lucy, sitting peacefully side by side in front of a blazing Clough Lea hearth. Yes, if Edward returned everything might yet be well. Ben would reform, the mill return to its former perfection. If she could only make up the quarrel with Lucy! How? She had no idea. She did not even know where Lucy lived, nowadays. No doubt she could find out from Mr Hallam, through her
father. But what a humiliation, to make such an enquiry! No, she could not bring herself to such abasement. She just dreamed, and hoped. Given the blessing of the chance meeting, she tried for a reconciliation. But old sins have long shadows, and proud Lucy refused.

The Clough-Hallam story continued for quite a long period after this meeting, for life goes on and actions continue to produce results, sometimes even to the third and fourth generations.

Thomas Hallam, as I said, died a few years after I was born. The property and investments he bequeathed to Lucy, though by Clough standards contemptibly small, were just enough to see the Hallams through the American tariff crises. Old Mrs Hallam, my grandmother, came to live with us. This was not a very comfortable arrangement, as Hannah and Lucy Hallam were both too spirited for their mutual comfort, and my father, Ned and myself, though we loved Grandfather Hallam, had no great fondness for Grandmamma. Fortunately, however, Grandmamma Hallam took a fancy to Harry, that lively spirited, undaunted boy, who teased her and made impertinent jokes to her, and read the newspaper to her and brought her Doncaster butterscotch, in a way she enjoyed.

(On Ned and myself devolved the more onerous tasks of providing her with library books and on myself the caps I have before referred to; we served her faithfully enough but she found us too meek for her taste.)

The Great War came upon us; Ned volunteered, was taken instantly into the army, and—as so often, alas, happened with the best of our youth—was killed before the year was out. Harry likewise presently enlisted, but being younger never actually reached France. Grandmamma Hallam, her hair, though slightly faded, still red to the last, died; at which
event, I am sorry to say, all of us except Harry rejoiced. The post-war period brought prosperity for a while to the textile trade; we quietly flourished. Then the slump came. Harry now ran the mill admirably and with immense gusto, and pulled it through after some agonising but daring brinkmanships; he married a nice girl and had a son. Then presently the General Strike struck us a fearful blow.

It was during the year 1926, and in the very days of the strike, that Joshua Milner died. In Annotsfield it was said that the anguish of the strike killed him. As to this, I do not know, but believe it to be well possible; such a stubborn rejection of his hopes and plans, such total opposition to his will, might well have set up a stroke, as these occlusions were called in those days. On the afternoon after Joshua's death, my father and I were sitting miserably together in our front room—the mill was closed, so there was no work for him to go to—when the telephone rang, and immediately after answering it my mother came into the room.

“Harry wants me to go down there,” said she.

We all knew that this delicately cryptic announcement referred to the imminence of labour for Harry's wife, who was, as we said in those days, for the second occasion, “near her time”.

“Will you come with me, Rose?” said my mother.

Her tone was less assured than was customary with her, and when I looked at my father I guessed why. His face was pale and drawn, and for a moment the horrifying thought crossed my mind that if the strike could kill Joshua Milner, it might kill my father too.

“No—I think I'll just stay here this afternoon,” I said.

My mother nodded agreement, gave a troubled glance at my father and left. A few moments later we heard her close the front door and step briskly down our gravel path. My father and I were left alone together. I pretended to read; my father tried to smoke a pipe.

After a time he gave up this attempt, and springing up from his chair began to pace up and down the room.

“It's no good, it's no good,” he muttered. “It's no good, Rose. Probably nobody will ever know. Besides I think Ben knows already. It Wouldn't do any good to tell. Your mother could triumph—but what good would it do her? Or she might be distressed. Make her even more bitter, perhaps. If the names are all right in the will, everything will be all right. If not, I don't see what they can do.”

He gazed at me in piteous appeal.

“I don't know, father,” I began—I was about to say: “what you're talking about,” but it struck me that this sounded impertinent and unsympathetic, so I substituted stiffly—“to what you refer.”

My father stared at me.

“She's not his wife,” he said. “Ada, I mean. Not legally, you know. And so Kate is not his legal daughter.”

“What!” I exclaimed. I was so dumbfounded and horrified that I really could not think of anything to say. “It can't be!”

“Yes, it is. Ada was a girl in his mill, very handsome, and Joshua—well, I suppose he got her with child,” said my poor father, blushing with agony at this, in those days unheard-of, communication to a daughter. “His first wife had a couple of miscarriages, and then she was expecting again, and ill, and Joshua sent her off to the south coast—he Packed Her Off to the South Coast,” cried my father, suddenly almost shouting in his indignation, “leaving your grandfather Hallam in charge of the mill, of course. But the poor thing didn't die quick enough, so Joshua couldn't marry Ada before Kate was born. It was more than two years when he came back to live in Annotsfield, you know, and when he came he brought Ada as his wife and Kate as their baby girl. But he couldn't marry her in time, you know.”