The Other Cathy (5 page)

Emma stared at them in shocked bewilderment. ‘You have
invited him after all to dine at Bracklegarth Hall?’

Randolph nodded. ‘I have, and he’s accepted.’

‘Then you need not expect me to be present at table,’ she
said mutinously.

‘You’ll do as you’re told, girl!’

‘I will not! Not when it offends against everything that is right and decent and civilised.’

Randolph, glowering down at her, felt urged to box her ears. Curse the girl for her stubborn spirit! Yet he felt a
sneaking pride and respect, too. It was only in Emma that the
true grit of the Hardakers revealed itself. It certainly wasn’t
to be found in Blanche’s pair of spoilt brats; nor in poor little
Cathy, the replica of her frail and beautiful mother. But
Emma’s spirit had to be broken, just as a wild mare’s did. He could not have a mere girl flouting his authority.

He glared round at them all. ‘You are not to say another
word, any of you,’ he rapped out. ‘Now
,
back to the wagon
ette. We’re going home.’

On Sunday morning, after the emotional excitement of the fair, Cathy felt too tired to get up for breakfast, and Emma seized upon this excuse to avoid the dining room. She was
still furious with Uncle Randolph and doubted if she could
bring herself to speak civilly to him. She was not permitted
to postpone the encounter for long, for at ten o’clock Hoad
came with a summons to attend the master in his study. Emma
dared not refuse, but as a minor act of defiance she decided to
go just as she was, without troubling to tidy her hair or
straighten her lace collar and sleeve engageantes. Uncle Ran
dolph expected her to take pains with her appearance, as he
had every right to do, having insisted when she came to live at the Hall on making himself responsible for her wardrobe and other expenses, thereby leaving her own modest inheritance untouched.

The study was a small room adjoining the parlour. As
Emma entered Randolph was standing at the long window,
from which he obtained an unimpeded view of his mill buildings down by the river. He half turned his head to acknowledge
her presence, then glanced away again. Standing there with his
legs splayed and hands clasped behind a straight, unyielding
back, he looked every bit as formidable a figure as Grandfather
Hardaker, whose full length portrait in oils hung above the
fireplace.

‘Are you going to apologise to me, Emma?’

She was startled, though what else could she have ex
pected? She waited until she had command over her voice, then began,
‘
If I was rude to you, uncle, I —’

‘Of course you were rude!’ he roared, spinning round to
face her. ‘Damnably rude! And I expect you to beg my pardon
for it.’

‘Then I do! But I cannot retract the other things I said.’

Her back erect as his, she went on, ‘Uncle Randolph, your
attitude towards Matthew Sutcliffe amazes me, bewilders me. When you first discovered who he really was you were very
angry, as I would have expected. Yet last evening at the fair you seemed to greet him as a friend.’

‘Not as a friend, as a neighbour. Don’t you know that it ill becomes any man to quarrel with his neighbour?’

Emma wanted to retort that it ill became any man to
associate with a vicious criminal. But instead she said in a
tight, choked voice, ‘I have no intention of quarrelling with
Matthew Sutcliffe. I despise him utterly, and I shall take care
to avoid meeting him in the future.’

‘You’ll have to meet him,’ said Randolph curtly. ‘As your
aunt told you, he will be eating here on Wednesday night.’

‘I shall keep to my room.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ he rapped. Then taking a grip
on himself, Randolph came and placed his hands on Emma’s
shoulders, and looked down into her face. ‘Don’t let the two
of us fall out, lass. I’ve a very high opinion of you, d’you know
that? This house has been a sight more cheerful since you’ve
been living here, and I’m well aware of all you do for Cathy.
It doesn’t go unappreciated, I promise you. But on this ques
tion of Sutcliffe you must be guided by me. I know it’s hard
on you, Emma, but these old enmities can’t be kept up for ever,
don’t you see?’

‘But Matthew Sutcliffe killed my father,’ she protested,
‘your brother, Uncle Randolph! ‘

‘Aye, and he’s paid the penalty for it. Fourteen years’ trans
portation he was sentenced to. The slate’s been wiped clean
and he has a right now to be accepted into decent society.
”

Emma said huskily, ‘How can you ask me to overlook that
it was his hand which struck my father down?’

‘But not with any intent to kill him, lass, and that’s what
makes all the difference. There was never any question of it
being murder. The court’s verdict was plain. No malice aforethought, and therefore manslaughter.’

‘Are you sure there was no malice? For weeks and months
beforehand Matthew Sutcliffe had been openly threatening
my father because he had some twisted notion in his head that
papa stole the credit for an invention which really belonged
to his father. To have called it manslaughter instead of mur
der was a travesty of justice. There cannot be the slightest
doubt about what happened. On that dreadful night when
poor papa went late to the mill to make some adjustments to
one of the looms, that evil man followed him and brutally
stabbed at him again and again with the pointed end of a fly shuttle, then ran off leaving him covered in blood and dying,
In the name of heaven, uncle, how can that be called anything
but murder?’

Randolph was amazed by her preciseness. He had not
realised she knew so many details.

‘You were only four years old, Emma, surely too young to grasp such things?’ he said,

‘Children grasp far more than adults imagine. Mama was
always reticent when speaking about papa’s death, but little
by little I came to know the whole story. Odd remarks and curious looks made me ask questions, and the servants some
times let things slip. It all added up,’

‘I see.’ Randolph was thoughtful, wondering how best to
deal with the situation. From his desk he picked up a hand
some silver snuff box that had belonged to his father, flicking the lid open and closed.

‘We live in a civilised country,’ he said at length, ‘and we
have to be governed by the laws of that country. In the eyes
of the law Sutcliffe has paid the price for his crime. He has squared his account with society.’

‘But not with me! Never with me, as long as I live! ‘

‘You’ll come to see things differently, lass, as I myself have
had to do. I freely admit that my first reaction was much like your own. I was furious when I realised that Sutcliffe had
returned to the district. But I soon came to see that I’d been
over hasty. A man can’t be treated like a pariah for ever.’

‘Why did he have to come back?’ Emma said wretchedly. ‘Why couldn’t he have stayed out there in Australia, like
most of the convicts do after they’re freed?’

‘Only because they haven’t got the money to return to England. But Sutcliffe seems to have made his fortune out
there, a sizeable fortune at that.’

‘And if he hadn’t made a fortune but come back a poor man,’ she flared, ‘would you still be preaching Christian forgiveness like this?’

The instant the words were out, Emma wished them un
said. She watched in dismay as Randolph’s face darkened
with anger.

‘You’ll take that back, girl!’

Emma lowered her head, ashamed. ‘I am sorry, uncle. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

There was a weighty silence, then, putting down the snuff
box, Randolph said stiffly, ‘We’ll say no more about it. But
let’s have it clearly understood that while you live under my
roof, you do as I say. You’ll be present on Wednesday evening
when Mr Sutcliffe comes, and you’ll treat him with civility.
I ask no more of you than that. Now off you go and get your
self ready for church, before I regret being so soft with you.’

* * *

Emma hesitated over her wardrobe, then drew out the grey
and white taffeta gown that dated from her period of half-
mourning for her mother. Cathy, she recalled, had told her
at the time that it made her look drab and dowdy, so it would
be eminently suitable for this occasion. But a few minutes
later, surveying herself full-length in the cheval glass, her
defiant spirit flared again. Why should she have to go down
stairs and be polite to Matthew Sutcliffe? If she pleaded a
severe headache, her uncle might even now relent and permit her to be absent. Almost as the idea formed in her mind there
came a tap on her bedroom door, and Randolph’s voice called,
‘Emma, are you ready?’

Her heart plummeted, ‘Yes, Uncle.’

‘Then come downstairs with me, lass.’

She went to the door and opened it. Her uncle stood there, handsome in his well fitting evening clothes. ‘But what about
Cathy? She will be expecting me.’

‘I have asked your aunt to see to Cathy. Come along, it’s almost seven-thirty. Our guests will be arriving in a few
minutes.’

As they descended the staircase which was solidly built of English oak, like a symbol of the Hardakers’ solid worth, his
hand was firmly gripping her elbow as though he suspected,
even now, she might make a bid to escape. He led her into
the drawing room, where very soon Chloe and Cathy joined
them.

Cathy looked ethereal in rose-pink tarlatan with a sash of
matching silk ribbon. The dress had been made for her by Mrs Spratchley in the village at Easter time, and Nelly had spent yesterday afternoon putting tucks in the bodice so that
Cathy’s loss of weight would not be too distressingly apparent.
Chloe’s choice was a sad mistake; she had not learnt the art of managing a cumbrous crinoline cage, and in her wide-necked
crimson silk gown with its flounced skirts and pagoda sleeves
festooned with Nottingham lace, she was overdressed and
more ungainly than usual.

The first to arrive were the Dr Paget Eade, who were both
portly, though Jane, having the advantage of the Hardaker
height, appeared slightly the less so of the two. Clad in a rich brown velvet and lace which had seen much service, her
plump round face was set in disgruntled lines. Paget, who
brought with him a reek of whisky, was fingering his straggly
side whiskers, and his bulbous eyes darted nervously round
the room as he entered. The girls went to kiss their uncle and
aunt, Cathy with innocent warmth, Emma more coolly from
her still smouldering resentment. Chloe and Jane exchanged
mere pecks on the cheek.

Blanche came next, the widow of the middle Hardaker
brother, William, who had died of a stroke nine years ago after
a long and tedious illness. Chloe and Jane greeted their sister-
in-law even more perfunctorily than they had each other. Unlike Chloe, Blanche had no difficulty in coping with the
fashionably wide crinoline, having spent a good deal of time
practising before her looking-glass. Her moire silk gown was
decollate, in a rich shade of purple trimmed with bands of
delicate green ribbon; around her throat was a gold necklet inset with pearls, and clusters of pearls hung from her ears.

‘You look magnificent tonight, my dear Blanche,’ said
Randolph gallantly.

She accepted her brother-in-law’s compliment with a gracious smile, but it was plain to Emma that the youngest of her aunts was not at her sparkling best this evening. Was she,
too, antagonistic to the idea of meeting Matthew Sutcliffe
socially? The thought made Emma warm slightly towards Blanche, with whom she seldom had anything in common.

‘Tell me, Randolph,’ Blanche was saying, ‘is Mr Sutcliffe
very much changed?’

‘Well, naturally! Fifteen years is a long time and no doubt
we’re all greatly changed. But even more so, I imagine, when
those years have been spent as Sutcliffe has spent them. It was no picnic in the colony, Blanche, by all accounts.’

‘No, I suppose not!’ she said with a visible shudder.

Bernard Mottram was ushered into the drawing room, and after a round of greetings he took up a stance behind the red plush sofa upon which Emma sat with Cathy.

‘It promises to be an interesting evening,’ he observed in
an undertone.

‘Interesting!’
Emma directed a look at him, ‘I am only long
ing for it to be over.’

‘Yes, of course,’ he murmured apologetically.

‘Look, here he comes!’ She felt a nudge in the ribs from
Cathy, and bracing herself, glanced across the room, but
the double doors from the hall remained closed.

‘You’re mistaken, Cathy,’ she said faintly.

‘No, look!’ Cathy indicated Seth, who had entered through the service door beside the fireplace and was waiting with a
tray of filled glasses, ready to hand round the whet-cup at Randolph’s signal.