The Black Mountains (61 page)

“And what's so funny about that? She's flesh and blood like you and me. And not so stuck-up as some. Now, I've got my shopping to do, Mercy. You won't mind if I get on.”

As she marched into the butcher's and joined the queue, her heart was thumping so hard she had to loosen the neck of her blouse, and she felt on fire with exhilaration, disappointment and indignation. Why in the world had Mercy Brixey had to poke her nose in and say about Jack being engaged to be married? The fact that it was true was beside the point. That girl was interested in Jack, not a doubt of it, and from what Charlotte could remember, Jack had been interested in her too.

Not that he'd actually said much, of course. That wasn't Jack's way. But there'd been a look about him when he'd mentioned her name that had told her more than any words could have done.

She'd be just right for him, too—a nice girl with a thousand times more in her than Rosa Clements, and a touch of class into the bargain. If she could have got them together maybe he would have seen that.

Charlotte shook her head impatiently. Why couldn't he see it for himself? How was it he could be so clever about some things and so stupid about others? Well, she wasn't going to give up this easily. If anything, she was more determined than ever to stop the match.

She stood in the butcher's queue, waiting while he gossiped to his customers about everything from the shortage of meat to the new motor ambulance that had been placed at the town's disposal by the War Office now that it was no longer needed for wounded troops, but Charlotte heard not a word. Instead, she planned the next stage in her campaign to put an end to Jack's ridiculous plan to marry Rosa Clements …

THE OPPORTUNITY arose a week or so later. It was a cold May afternoon when the wintry weather made a marked contrast to the warm spring sunshine of a few weeks earlier. Charlotte was alone in the house, and so, she supposed, was Rosa. The youngest Clements boy, who had been away from school with whooping cough, had now returned.

When she finished clearing up her baking things, Charlotte set the kettle on the hob, and went around to tap on the Clements' door. “ Rosa, I'm just making a pot of tea. You're welcome to come in for a cup if you've got a minute.”

Rosa was surprised. She was used to hostility from Charlotte these days, and her first reaction was one of caution. Then she pushed it aside. Jack wanted her to get on with his mother. However much he might try to pretend it made no difference to him, she knew it did. And she owed Jack his happiness, at least.

“All right, Mrs Hall,” she said. “I'll be round in a moment.”

Charlotte nodded, a little frightened by the way everything about Rosa grated on her nowadays, but only the more determined to do what had to be done. She got out cups, milk and sugar, and waited. A few moments later, Rosa came in, Charlotte poured the tea, and they began to make small talk. Then, as if she could keep up the pretence no longer, Charlotte set down her cup with a clatter.

“Why do you want to marry our Jack?” she asked directly.

Rosa, taken by surprise, frowned and half-rose. “ Mrs Hall …”

“No, sit down, Rosa. It's time we had a talk, you and I, and I'm no good at beating about the bush. Now you can tell me it's none of my business—most likely you will behind my back if not to my face—but it's my boys involved, so that's a risk I'm prepared to take.”

Rosa's eyes narrowed, but she sat down again, straight-backed and composed. “
Boys
, Mrs Hall? It's only one of them I'm marrying.”

“Yes, but you're in love with the other,” Charlotte said. She saw the flicker of hurt in the dark eyes and knew she had hit upon the truth. “I've got eyes in my head,” she went on. “ I've seen you with Ted, and I've seen you with Jack, and I know which one it is you really want. And he wouldn't have you, would he? So you turned to Jack. For spite, Rosa, or for consolation? Not that it matters much. Either way, I won't stand by and see him hurt.”

Rosa's face had turned quite white, apart from two spots of dark colour burning her cheeks.

“I don't know what you mean …”

“Oh, yes, you do, Rosa,” Charlotte told her. “You know as well as I do you've had eyes for nobody but our Ted since you were just a little mite. You've chased after him for years. And now he's gone away, you've started on Jack. But not because you care for him, Rosa. He's just a stand-in. And he deserves better than that.”

Rosa put down her cup with hands that trembled and got to her feet.

“I think I'd better go, Mrs Hall. I don't want to quarrel with you, but, like you said, it really isn't your business, is it? It's between me and Jack. He wants to marry me, and I'll make him a good wife. That's all that matters.”

“It is not all that matters,” Charlotte managed to position herself between Rosa and the door. “What do you think it'll do to him when he finds out it's not him you wanted but his brother?”

“He won't find out,” Rosa said, and Charlotte threw up her hands.

“I gave you credit for more sense, Rosa. How can you keep a thing like that to yourself for thirty years—if it lasts that long. For on second thoughts, I can't imagine that it will.”

Rosa stopped, her brows coming together.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he'll get tired of you, Rosa. He won't have it at the moment, of course. He's too taken with the idea of making love to you. But how do you think you can keep up with him, and the life he's going to lead, eh?”

Rosa tossed her head. She was back on familiar ground.

“I don't see the difficulty, Mrs Hall. We were brought up next door to one another. Our fathers are both down the pit. Only mine is going to be a deputy.”

Her tone, implying that Walter was a better man than James, infuriated Charlotte. She had one card left up her sleeve, and she hadn't been sure whether to play it or not. Now, by her own words, Rosa had forced her hand.

“You think so, eh, Rosa?” she asked, her voice rising. “ Well, let me tell you something. Your father and Jack's have nothing in common at all. Nothing. You know who your father really was, eh?”

She saw a shudder run through the girl's body. The arrogance had gone now, leaving only fear, a fear that had lurked at the back of her mind all her life. She shook her head, trying, to back away from Charlotte, but somehow she was unable to move.

“All right, I'll tell you, Rosa, whether you want to know or not. Walter Clements isn't your father. He just happened to marry your mother. Your father was one of the men on the fun fair—a gypsy, you know? One of the ones whose children come to the school in winter with their feet hanging out of their shoes and their noses running. The children who can't even read or write …”

She broke off at the sight of Rosa's face, her anger suddenly dissolving into remorse.

She shouldn't have said it, she knew. All her life she'd told her family that people who lived in glasshouses shouldn't throw stones, and now, in the heat of the moment, she'd done it herself. Shame filled her, and she took a step towards the girl, holding out her arms.

“I'm sorry, Rosa, I'm upset. Take no notice of what I just said. I'm out of my mind with worry about you marrying Jack, or I'd never have told you. But it doesn't alter anything …”

“You're right, Mrs Hall, it doesn't.” Rosa had recovered her composure. She stood, straight-backed and beautiful, so that for a moment Charlotte saw clearly what it was about her that entranced Jack. “I'm going to marry him, and there's nothing you can say, however cruel, that's going to change that. Good afternoon, Mrs Hall, and thank you for the tea.”

She crossed the room with such determination that Charlotte had no choice but to move out of her way. As the door closed after her, Charlotte collapsed on to a chair.

Well, she'd done it now and no mistake. She'd said things she should never have said, and when Jack got to hear about it, he'd most likely want nothing more to do with her. And who could blame him?

I've lost him, she thought, and it's all my own doing. But even if it comes to that, if I have done the smallest thing to break up the match, it will have been worth it.

ROSA'S composure lasted until she was out of sight of the house. Then she felt her knees go weak and her head spin with unshed tears.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to be alone and undisturbed. And there was only one place she could think of that would do.

Stopping only to fetch her coat, Rosa made for the woods.

As soon as she was in sight of the trees, she let the tears come, choking out of her in great, body-shaking bursts, and when she could cry no more she leaned against a tree trunk, her head sunk on to her chest, her arms wrapped about herself.

A gypsy. That was what she was then. The dreams she had woven about who she might be could hide the truth from her no longer. The only surprising thing was that no one had told her before. She stared, unseeing, at the tracery of new green, and her heart seemed to burst inside her, sending shivers of pain through every part of her body.

A gypsy. One of the fair folk. A wanderer, dirty and illiterate. No wonder Mrs Hall had not wanted her to marry Jack. Only one thing puzzled her. She had not seemed so opposed to her being with Ted. Or was that because in her heart of hearts she knew they belonged together?

Yes, it was Ted with her. It always had been, and it always would be. She'd tried to put him out of her mind and replace him with his brother—the very thing Charlotte had accused her of. But in reality, she had not changed a thing. Jack had never been more than a substitute.

Oh, she'd been proud to be seen with him, it was true. He was clever and a bit of a hero into the bargain. And he seemed a cut above the rest, how she was not quite sure, but he was, all the same.

Perhaps Charlotte had been right in that, too. She and Jack weren't suited. She had attracted him, yes, but how long could she have held him? How long would it have been before he wanted more than she could give him?

Rosa shivered. She had known all the time all the things Charlotte had said to her. She just hadn't wanted to face them, pretending to herself that it didn't matter that she was marrying Jack for all the wrong reasons.

But it did matter, all the more now that she knew the truth about herself for certain—conceived because Ada, her mother, had gone with one of the fair folk, that despised breed. No wonder her mother had never quite been able to forgive Rosa for having been born! No wonder she had hated to look at the dark cause of her shame!

And how many other people in Hillsbridge knew the truth? A good many, Rosa guessed. It explained the whispers and the sniggers and the pointing fingers that had warned other children away from her. She had pretended to herself it was because she might be a witch, but it wasn't that at all. It had been because she was a gypsy's bastard.

I should have known, she thought. They only treated me the way they treated the children from the fair, but I was too proud to see it. And if I married Jack, it would begin all over again. And the fingers would point at him, too, and his children. If I loved him, maybe it wouldn't matter. But I don't love him, and so it wouldn't be fair to either of us.

She stood in the wood, weeping, but gradually even as she wept she became aware of the sweep of the trees and expanse of sky above her, and a sort of wonder began to run through her veins like shivers of hope.

The gypsies might be all the things people said of them, but they were something else besides. They were free. They moved where the fancy took them, they were not confined by the four walls of a house or tied to a job they hated. They had the very thing that Rosa had always prized most in life, next to Ted. Their freedom.

It came to her then that she had been granted a most miraculous escape. Willingly she would have traded her freedom for Ted's love. And Ted, being Ted, and almost as wild as she, would not have asked it. But Jack was different, and he would not have been the only one who was unhappy when the novelty wore off.

There and then, Rosa made lip her mind. She would go away again, quickly and quietly before anyone could try to persuade her otherwise. Her father and the boys would be all right. They had Molly Hamblin now. And a clean break would be best for Jack, who still thought, mistakenly, that he loved her. She would go tonight, or tomorrow. And she would go not to Bristol, the city that could cage her, but to the countryside. Somewhere, she would find the space and freedom she loved, and then maybe she could discover at last who she really was.

Her face alight with a strange, new-found excitement, Rosa walked back through the woods for the last time. Tomorrow, Jack would find her gone. He would miss her for a little while, but not for long. She had been a crutch to him, proof to him that he was still a man in spite of his disability. Now, he no longer needed her.

As she passed Charlotte's house, she looked towards the window with mixed feelings. She would never forget Charlotte's cruelty, never forgive her for her destructive outburst. But in a strange way, she could not help admiring her.

You got your way, Mrs Hall. But God help us both if I ever get you as a mother-in-law, she thought—and knew that even now her hope of winning Ted would not die. It was, after all, the root of all her plans.

In September, rationing was stepped up—a result of the railwaymen's strike.

“Only an ounce of butter each a week!” Charlotte complained, unloading her shopping basket one wet autumn afternoon. “And an eighth of a pound worth of butcher's meat. That'll go nowhere at all!”

“They're blaming the miners, too, aren't they?” asked Dolly, who had come down for the afternoon. “Captain Fish had some visitors the other day, and they were talking about something called The Triple Alliance, and saying the miners should be on strike as well, by rights, and the transport workers, whoever they are.”