Miss Mary Martha Crawford (5 page)

Slowly he straightened himself up. His face looked white and drawn and now his words cut her to the bone as he said, "I'm sure it wouldn't concern you much if I was."

"You're being unjust, Papa; I... I was only telling you .. I was only speaking, bringing into the open things that should have been discussed a year ago, two years ago."

He walked slowly from her and lowered himself into a chair by the fire, and now he brought her literally to her knees at his side when, leaning back, he put his hand to his head, closed his eyes, and said, "You're right, you're right in everything you say. I haven't done my duty by you or any of you, but... but what you must remember is that the state of the market and things are not as they were a few years ago. Prices have risen; everything is dearer; there are Roland's fees to be set

aside every quarter, and now his personal demands are double what they used to be for he's a young man and he must dress and act as other

young men, and this requires money, and more if he's to go to Oxford next year."

"I'm sorry, Papa, I'm sorry."

"You have no need to be sorry, my dear." He stretched out his hand and patted her cheek.

"You have done so much for me over the past' years so much, but at the present moment I'm in a tight financial corner.

That is putting it mildly. But given a little time everything will be all right. "

"Have ... have you no available money at all. Papa?"

"Hardly any.

What I get from the shops I have to pay in wages and, of course, buy new stock, and whereas I have to wait for people to pay their bills, others won't wait apparently for me to pay mine. "

"Papa!"

"Yes, my dear."

"Mother's jewellery. I ... I know that you put it into the bank after she died, couldn't... I mean, I'm sure she would understand if you were to sell one or two pieces. There were the pearls and the diamond

brooches and the rings, my grandmother's rings. I know that I was to have the diamond

and sapphire on my twenty-first birthday, also the gold pen dant with the ruby in the centre. Well, seeing that they are in a way mine,

couldn't you take them out and sell them? It would help you over this bad patch and Mama would under stand.

I.

I even think that this is what she has been telling me of late to say to you. "

Again his hand was pressed against his right side, and now he pushed her gently backwards until she fell on her heels and he rose from the chair, saying, "No, no. Anyway, they would be of little help, they weren't of any great value."

"But ... but Mama said the ring, the ring alone was of great value."

"Yes, sentimental value. Your mother was apt to lay too much stock on sentiment. Of course, there's nothing wrong in that."

She watched him go towards the table and pick up a candelabrum and it was evident that his hand was shaking be cause the three candles

spluttered and one of them almost gutted itself.

She rose quickly to her feet and, running before him, opened the door, and as he passed her she said, "I'm ... I'm sorry. Papa, I'm very sorry I upset you," He stopped now and in the light of the glowing candles he looked at her, and it was a strange look. She couldn't put a name to it. Was there fear in it? Was there dislike in it? Was it

created by pain, for he still had his hand held against his right side?

But his voice was soft as he said, "We all do things we're sorry for.

Go to bed now;

everything will be all right, don't worry. I shall go in tomorrow and see to as many bills as I can. "

"Thank you, Papa. Good night."

He had walked to the end of the passage before he answered softly,

"Good night, Martha Mary."

martha got her coal. Mr. White's cart rumbled into the yard a week

before Christmas, and although the ton of coal barely covered the floor of the coal-house it was a most welcome sight. Then Mr. Grey's van

followed the next day with a stock of groceries that warmed Martha's heart. There were even one or two luxuries among them, things that she would never have dared order, such as a jar of preserved ginger and

three one-pound boxes of jellied fruits, one for each of them.

Moreover, there were currants and raisins and desiccated coconut,

besides walnuts and almonds, and fresh fruit, two big bags of fresh

fruit.

It was going to be a wonderfol Christmas; Martha felt it in her

bones.

She even used that expression to Nancy, and they both laughed and hung on to each other.

Nancy was happy. Even having failed to gain permission to ride Belle because the roads were so slippery, she still appeared happy. She was happy because she saw that Martha Mary was happy, happier than she'd seen her for months past.

She loved Martha Mary, better, she told herself, than anyone else in the world. Well, that wasn't quite true . but no matter. It was

Christmas and Martha Mary had lost that worried look, and her face had softened and she looked pretty again. But then Martha Mary wasn't

pretty. She herself was pretty, but Martha Mary was either plain or

beautiful. What an odd thing to discover! But it was true. She

pounded now up the stairs in such a way that it sounded as if she were wearing clogs, then ran across the landing and mounted the almost

vertical steps that led to the attics; and there she put her head

around the old nursery

door, crying, "Come on, Mildred! We're all going down to the bottom pasture. Nick is sawing up a tree, we're going to carry the logs."

"Aw no! Look, I've only just started to embroider the front panel."

Mildred held up a length of stiff blue taffeta, and Nancy, scrambling towards her now, bent down and hissed, "You've got all this week, and all Christmas week, and right into the middle of January to get it

ready." She did not add, "That's if you get the opportunity to wear it," but said firmly, "Martha Mary had to do a lot of talking to persuade Papa to open that last trunk. And what's more, she spent

hours and hours making the skirt and the bodice. All you have to do is a bit of fancy stitching on the panels. Now it's as little as you can do to come and give a hand. Anyway, it'll be fun. And there's a

frozen patch in the meadow where we can slide. It's over twenty feet, a long stretch. Aw, come on." She held out her hand and Mildred, with a sigh, but no show of temper, laid the taffeta carefully aside; and she even laughed a quite gay young laugh as forgetting to be dignified and proper for once, she scampered after Nancy down the attic stairs, across the landing, down the main staircase and into the hall. There, still running, she went to an oak cupboard in a recess and pulled out two hooded cloaks, one of which she threw to Nancy. But as they donned them, Mildred ex claimed, with chilling practicality now, "Carrying logs is heavy work; she should have waited until Roland came home."

"Nonsense!" Nancy, hurrying towards the kitchen, called over her shoulder.

"He won't arrive till Christmas Eve, and after spending a week at his friend's grand house in Scarborough I cannot imagine him rushing to

carry fire wood. In any case I cannot imagine him carrying firewood at all. If I remember our lordly Roland, he's very disinclined to dirty his hands, he's much the same as..." Oh dear, she had almost said

"You'. She must be careful with her tongue, she mustn't say anything to spoil Mildred's good humour be cause Mildred could create an

atmosphere that chilled you more than the frost did. Yes, she must be careful because nothing, nothing, must mar this wonderful Christmas.

As she dashed through the kitchen she slapped Dilly on the bottom,

tickled Peg in the ribs, and amid, loud exclamations from both ran into the yard with Mildred close behind her.

It was the sight of Mildred running like an ordinary human being that caused Peg to look at Dilly openmouthed and exclaim, "Eeh! did you see that? Wonders 'll never cease. What's got into her, I mean Miss

Mildred? By! she'll be speakin' civil to people next."

"That's enough, miss, that's enough of your old buck."

Yet even as she chastised Peg, Dilly thought, she's right;

something's got into her. It can't be that she's still laying stock on getting an invitation to the Hall; she wouldn't be so daft. The only day any of them'll get an invitation there will be to Sir Rupert's

funeral, and then even that isn't very likely. Still she pounded the dough in the big brown earthenware dish standing on the table it was good to see them happy, especially Martha Mary. And she was glad too himself would be back the night, for that would mean he'd got his

journey over for another couple of weeks or so. And she would pray God it would snow so hard that even ten dray horses couldn't pull that trap to Newcastle. Aye, she would.

On this last thought she took her fist and thumped it into the centre of the dough, and it was as if she were striking someone full in the face.

John Crawford always arranged his journeys, even his daily one from

Hexham, so that he should arrive before it was completely dark, for the by-roads were such that even in summer a horse, especially a tired one that had done the twenty miles from Newcastle, could stumble in a

pothole and both it and the driver end up in a ditch, and they'd be

fortunate if they found it dry.

But it was now turned six o'clock and he hadn't put in an appearance.

He was two hours overdue for there had been no daylight since four

o'clock, and he had promised

faithfully he would arrive in the afternoon; anyway, not later than

four o'clock.

When Martha Mary and Nancy once again came into the kitchen Dilly did not say to them this time, "Oh, stop your worritin'. Look, I've told you, it's a dry night, sharp clear an' frosty, the only snow about is that on top of the hills. The sky's full of stars." Nor did she say,

"Old Gip knows every inch of that road blindfold." But what she did say now was, "I'd go out if I was you and catch Nick afore he's away off home and get him to take a lantern along the road."

As Martha made for the door, Nancy said, "I'll come with you," but Martha, thrusting her hand back, answered, "No. Look' she turned to Nancy 'go up on and sit with Aunt Sophie, she's restless, she's been talking a lot this last hour or so."

"She's not going to...?"

"No, I don't think so; she's never even attempted to take her comb out of her hair. She's just restless. It'll be all right. Go on." As Nancy turned away and Martha made for the door, Dilly bawled at her as if she were a mile away, "Are you mad, goin' out there with nothing on!

Here! put that around you if you don't want to be cut in two." On this, she snatched a large black shawl that was draped over the back of the rocking chair and with an expert flick of her hand she threw it

across the table towards Martha. In its flight it spread out into the shape of a great black wing, and as Martha caught it Nancy exclaimed, almost in horror, oh, that looked awful. "

"What looked awful?" asked Dilly.

"Don't be silly." Martha pulled the shawl over her head.

"Go and see to Aunt Sophie. Go on, now." On this she hurried from the kitchen and into the dark, where the frosty air caused her to gasp and cough. The light from the kitchen window guided her to the stables.

The main stable was empty and the half-door was shut on Belle's box.

Before she reached the harness room she called, "Nick! Nick!" but there was no answer. Nick's time was from six in the morning till six at night, but it was barely six now, and apparently he had gone.

Usually she never blamed him for leaving before his time in the winter for if he couldn't cross the river by the stepping-stones he had a long walk home, but tonight she felt annoyed that he had taken advantage of her leniency.

She groped her way into the harness room and to the shelf where the

lanterns and tallow candles were kept, and there, still groping, she found a box of matches. She struck one and lit a candle, and from that a lantern, and then she hurried out into the yard again, past the

house, down the drive that turned at right angles and away from the

river until it met the by-road. Here she paused for a moment holding the lantern high, and she looked to the right and then the left.

There was no sign of any living thing on the road and there was no

sound of any kind. The night was still as if the frost had frozen the wind, for not a breeze stirred the branches of the trees or wafted

through the stiff grass. The night was like the shawl as it had spread in a black canopy towards her back there in the kitchen. Yet, as Dilly had said, there were stars in the sky. And she looked up at them for a moment before scurrying along the road.

The by-road leading from the drive went straight for a good half mile before it curved towards the main road, but its entire surface was

pitted with potholes large and small. There came to her mind the time when this part of the road had been maintained in good condition, that was when her mother was alive and there were three men in the yard.

Something would have to be done about it; you could break your neck in the dark. Yet who walked in the dark? It was the first time she could recall ever being outside the gates in the dark. She should be feeling afraid but she wasn't, just apprehensive. If she'd had any fear in

her, her concern for her father would have obliterated it. Before she reached the main road there came to her the sound of a horse's hoofs, and she made a small laughing sound as she hurried forwards to round the bend. Here, lifting the lantern high, she saw in the distance

coming towards her a shape that could be no other than Gip going his own s-mmmo-c 4. 1 gait. She again hurried forward, but stopped

herself from running in case she should fall on her face, and she

called out in relief, "Papa!

Papa! "

When Gip came into clear view in the light of the lantern she stopped dead on the side of the road, for, looking beyond the horse, she saw no driver sitting upright in the seat of the trap. She gave an audible