The Iron Master (40 page)

‘The servants … your companion … callers!’ said William.

The thought of them was horrific.

‘They would not dare to interrupt. They have their orders,’ she said superbly.

He could imagine her confronting them thus, even in her nakedness, and staring them down, staring them away. And what nakedness! Beneath the flimsy gauze gown she was unexpectedly sturdy: bell-breasted, narrow-waisted, her sooty triangle mounted between splendid thighs. It came to William as he started, weakly, to undo his black and white cravat, that he had never viewed a woman in this way before. Zelah was modest, suggested rather than seen. His girls squealed and giggled, daring him to tear their clothes (since he would also pay for them), or clutched the covers to their bosoms and swore they had never done such a monstrous thing previously. Hannah had been natural, unashamed, but gentle and womanly. Whereas this Amazon stood there, giving him look for look, as though the shaft stood between her legs instead of his.

‘Oh, how slow you are!’ she cried, and stepped forward to help him, laughing as she proved to be a better valet than he, rubbing her belly against his to provoke him.

Then all the man and yeoman rose in him. He gave her a clout across the buttocks that left the mark of his fingers on her flesh, and thrust her down on the floor. She made so much noise over her pleasure that he prayed no one would hear, and he wished to God that he could spend all afternoon rutting on Lord Kersall’s best Axminster carpet, for she gave as good as she got. They wrestled breathlessly, like adversaries, and without respect. But their appointed time must of necessity be brief, so he shot his bolt home and they lay in a muck sweat, drawing in air fast and short. He felt a little ashamed of himself as he got to his feet, but Clarissa looked better than ever, though somewhat blown and bruised in the contest.

‘Pah, how we stink!’ she said frankly. ‘But Cousin Bea will not notice. She has never dropped her drawers for any man, poor devil. I often wonder if she knows what I am up to, but I doubt it.’

‘You have distributed your favours elsewhere?’ William asked carefully.

‘Mind your business, ironmaster!’ said Lady Kersall, but smiled the sting out of the rebuke.

His pride was piqued, but he liked her far too well to offend her. So Cousin Beatrice wandered downstairs, innocent spinster, to laugh at all their jokes and eat heartily and play chaperone. Her role in life was to guard the Kersall stable long after the mare had run loose, for which services his lordship gave her a home and a modest allowance. What else could the poor lady have done? She was plain, penniless and unmarriageable, though of good station. So she took care not to offend anybody, and they were all well satisfied.

Today Clarissa’s colour was richer than usual, her conversation more delightful and impulsive, her appetite sharper. William did not linger over this light and fashionable meal. The purpose of his visit had been fulfilled. He had work to do. Nor would the lady grieve in his absence. Each had asked and received no more and no less than they desired, which was highly satisfactory.

Picking his way down Millbridge High Street on his white horse, the ironmaster thought to call upon his sister, partly from affection but mostly out of curiosity. He had not seen her in quite a while.

Behind her back the family had discussed Charlotte, as families are wont to do, and long since come to the conclusion that she would not re-marry until Ambrose and Cicely had left home. It was understandable, Dorcas had said, that Charlotte did not wish to disturb the children with yet another change of place and way of life. So they had let her be, as Ned advised. But Ambrose and Cicely had gone long since, and still Charlotte remained single. Her suitors continued to pay court, growing older and greyer and more pernickety and fixed in their ways. And she continued to receive them, and to give no encouragement, and obviously no discouragement either since they kept on visiting. The headmaster, it was once whispered, had joined this select little band of middle-aged bachelors. But as it became increasingly apparent that the interest between himself and Mrs Longe lay in educating the unfortunate, folk set romance aside. And when The Millbridge Society for the Furtherance of Literacy among the Working People was formed, and its meetings held alternately at Thornton House and the headmaster’s rooms at Millbridge Grammar School, respectable ladies washed their hands of Charlotte altogether. True, the working people who attended twice weekly seemed to be of the decent sort, but it was not proper, it was not done, it all came of perversity and lack of respect for the
class
system. No wonder, folk said, that Mrs Longe did not re-marry, for who would risk such a misalliance? And if Quaker Scholes and Solicitor Hurst and young Dr Standish persisted in wooing this eccentric lady, well, only death is stronger than habit, and perhaps they felt safe with her, after such a long refusal.

But it was all very odd, and William could not understand it, so he called upon his sister as he was passing by, to see if he could solve in a few minutes the mystery which Millbridge tea-parties had been pondering for years. As he stood upon the scoured threshold of Thornton House, settling his chin into his cravat, Charlotte peered through the parlour curtains, irritated. She had been distracted by first one person and then another all morning. Some days were like that. On others she could work from breakfast to supper-time without interruption.

‘It is my brother William, Polly!’ she called down the hall, hastening to open the door. ‘I will see to him. Pray fetch up the Madeira. It is too early for tea. And to what do I owe this honour, Willie?’

‘Why, madam, I have come to be Improved by your Society,’ he said impudently, ‘for I am not half-learned enough!’

And he deposited his fawn beaver hat upon the hall table, and read the cards on the little silver salver, pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows.

‘On that score I would agree with you,’ said Charlotte coolly, ‘but we only accept working men.’

‘I am a working man,’ he replied, walking into the parlour, rubbing his hands and standing over the fire, for there was a nip in the air on this fine afternoon. ‘Indeed, I work a deuced sight harder than your precious labourers.’

‘And are paid better, too,’ she observed. ‘Will you drink Madeira?’

‘What? Let me look at the bottle first!’

‘It is one of Grandfather Wilde’s. You need not fear for your palate.’

‘Why, it is better than mine,’ he cried, tasting. ‘How many bottles have you left?’

‘I do not know. Not many, I think. I keep them for gentlemen callers.’

‘Ah Penelope and her suitors, as Ambrose used to say! Lottie, put us out of our uncertainty. When are you going to marry again? Surely you do not want to mope alone all your life? What do you do with yourself in this place all day?’

She folded her arms. She was already nettled, and saw that he intended to provoke her further.

‘I am glad you asked,’ she said sweetly. ‘I had been wanting to consult you on the matter, Willie. How would you like Mr Ackroyd as a brother-in-law?’ And laughed at the expression on his face. ‘There you are!’ she accused him, amused and annoyed at once. ‘You dislike the idea intensely. What a thorn in your side he would be, diametrically opposed to everything you stand for. But let us not stop at him. How if I married Nicodemus Hurst?’ She puffed out her lips in mock horror. ‘No, of course not, for you have quarrelled with him already. What of Caleb? Oho! I am not so sure what reaction you might have to that Quaker piece upon your iron chessboard — though you would be bound to smile on him. So, would Hamish Standish please you?’ Her brows lifted, she looked down her nose, crying, ‘What? A piffling country doctor who attends my children when they have the measles? No, no, Willie. I am better not to embarrass you, my dear!’

Now she had annoyed him, and it was with some sharpness of tone that he said, ‘Well, can you not do better for yourself than those four dummies, Lottie?’

‘At three-and-forty a woman has no market value, Willie,’ she said ironically. ‘Even
you
could not buy me a husband worthy of you!’

She had picked her words carefully, as usual, and aimed each one at him for all her smiles and lightness. His temper rose.

You take life too seriously, Lottie. Stewing over your books. Teaching sweaty bumpkins. Why cannot you enjoy yourself?’

‘Perhaps your idea of enjoyment and mine are different,’ she replied, colder now. ‘I have a circle of good friends, who would not interest you. I have reasonable health. And I value my freedom.’

‘Zelah says she never sees you!’ he accused.

‘No, you say that,’ Charlotte replied, obdurate. ‘Zelah and I meet as often as we can. She is mother to six children, hostess to Kingwood Hall, mentor of your industrial village, and wife to yourself. She is not seeking a fellow-gossip, and I have never had much time for gossip anyway.’

The colour ran into his cheeks until it was as high as Clarissa’s after mating. But his eyes lit with fury rather than gratification.

‘Has Zelah been complaining to you?’ he asked.

Now Charlotte flushed in turn, lest she had compromised her sister-in-law.

‘Of course she has not! What, Zelah complain? Zelah be disloyal to you? Dear God, I had thought we abolished slavery in this country two years since, but when I see how she works I realise that women were not included in the edict!’

‘Oh, this is too much,’ he cried. ‘I did not come to be lectured. I shall take my leave of you!’

He set down his Madeira and rose, adjusting his waistcoat, and found one button undone. It must have been in that state since the morning’s engagement. Hastily he set it aright, but it cooled his temper and when he next spoke his reply lacked edge, though he continued to make his way into the hall.

‘I believe that rogue Toby set his mark on you for life, Lottie,’ he said, ‘you are still a-pamphleteering. But what times we had then!’

‘Well, I must not preach,’ said Charlotte penitently, ‘only I am fond of Zelah, and how I wish she would trounce you now and then!’

He laughed good-humouredly, knowing she was right. ‘You are like Mrs Dorcas,’ he observed, ‘teaching everyone their place.’

‘And you, like God Almighty, expecting every place to be below your own!’

‘You speak too sharp,’ he said, displeased. ‘There is something about this house which sours a woman. My mother always said that Thornton House was full of spinsters. You were as sweet as Zelah once, but now must argue. Well, I have work to do.’

Charlotte was silent for a moment, bearing the full weight of his personal disapproval, and that volume of public disapproval which seemed to hang about her. But the truth, as she knew it, was her only antidote.

‘My dear Willie,’ she said, as steadily as she could, ‘you were out of humour with yourself when you arrived, and I am out of sorts today, so there’s an end to it. Come, kiss me. Do not let us quarrel over nothing. But do not make game of what troubles me, neither.’

He put his arm about her waist and set his lips to her forehead.

‘You are wrong about one matter at least,’ he said, clapping the tall hat jauntily to one side of his head. ‘I have never felt in a better humour than today!’

‘I am glad of it. Give Mrs Dorcas my love.’

She stood on the doorstep, shivering, smiling, waving as he rode away, then went slowly into the house again, while he puzzled over her perception.

How had she known of his dissatisfaction, since he was only just aware of it himself? A profound displeasure stirred within him. He wanted to hit, to hurt, to perturb. And yet, God damn it, why should he feel like that?

He reined in at the smithy on Flawnes Green and sniffed the odours with a certain nostalgia. Stephen strode out to greet him, wiping his hands on his leather apron. A burly man in his late thirties. He spoke reverently to William, as became a blacksmith in the presence of an ironmaster. And Mrs Stephen, running into the dark shop after an escaping infant, managed to drop a curtsey while clutching her half-naked son to her bosom. William observed the baby’s dimpled bottom and sturdy legs, the little tassel that proclaimed his father’s immortality in however humble a capacity. He bowed gravely. He rode gloomily away.

Turning into the lane leading to Bracelet, seeking comfort, he remembered his sister’s final remark. ‘Give Mrs Dorcas my love.’

‘Now how the deuce did Lottie know I would visit my mother?’ he asked himself.

William walked the length of Bracelet’s parlour and peered irritably through the back window at the walled kitchen garden.

‘Why do you not allow me to extend this cabbage-patch of yours?’ he cried. ‘Are you not weary of the same view?’

Dorcas sat very erect in her chair, hands folded. Her hair was quite white, but her eyes still sparked fire on occasion. She had not changed fashion, preferring to keep to her own style of full skirts and trim corsets, and so seemed part of time past but all the more reassuring for that. She had been reading when he came, but had put aside her book and was now taking off her spectacles.

‘But it is not the same view,’ she said reasonably. ‘If I turn round I see the rose garden and the lane from my front window. From my bedroom I have a most excellent view up the hillside of Kingswood Hall. And when I walk about the house each vantage-point gives me a different picture.’