Outcast Page 2

  When Agnes Crowther was satisfied that her niece was safely on her way, she resumed her steps. On entering the drawing-room she immediately crossed to the fireplace where, with a short impatient tug on the bell-pull, she summoned a maid. Presently a small round female of about forty years appeared. She was bedecked in dark attire, save for the frilly white cap resting on top of her greying brown hair and a little collar of the same sparkling white, fastened loosely at her neck.

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’ spoke the homely little figure, as it bent at the knee and brought its enquiring brown eyes to bear on the lady of the house.

  ‘Miss Grady is confined to her room. She is to be denied all meals until dinner tomorrow evening.’ When the eyes looking upon her grew wide with surprise, Agnes Crowther took a small step forward and, with her head high and her hands folded in that familiar pose of prayer, she added in an impatient voice, ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Very well, ma’am.’

  ‘Good! . . . You may go.’ She gave an impatient wave of her hand and was obviously pleased to see the figure depart in great haste. She would not have felt so satisfied if she had witnessed the scene which took place below stairs on the housekeeper’s return. Mrs Manfred relayed the mistress’s instructions, which were at once greeted by a barrage of protest.

  ‘T’aint fair!’ declared Amy, the little dark-haired scullery maid who, despite Mrs Manfred’s efforts to cultivate her in knowing her place in the hierarchy of a gentleman’s house, had never acquired the instinct to keep certain opinions to herself. ‘Them two’s allus picking on poor Miss Grady.’

  ‘Hey!’ remonstrated Cook, a large and squashy, domineering woman, with a rolled halo of iron-grey hair and bright hazel eyes which, at this very moment, were sending warning signals to the pouting Amy. ‘You’d do better not to wag that busy little tongue of yours, my girl. If the master should set foot in that door and catch you being disrespectful, you’d be out on the streets and begging fer yer living.’ Here, Mrs Manfred intervened.

  ‘Amy, isn’t it time you began preparing the vegetables for dinner? . . . Go on, child!’ she urged when the girl showed hesitation. The look on the housekeeper’s face told the young maid that she’d gone as far as was wise.

  ‘All right . . . I’m going!’ she declared indignantly.

  When the scullery door was closed, it was Cook who spoke first, saying in hushed tones as she poured herself and Mrs Manfred a small measure of good dark port, ‘That one’s a cheeky little bugger! But the lass is right all the same. Poor Miss Grady does seem allus to be in their bad books.’ Pointing a thumb upwards and rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, she carefully lowered herself into a stout chair. Laying her chubby arms across the pine table-top, she began rolling the glass of port between her hands to warm it. ‘The Lord only knows what’ll become of Miss Grady when Mr Grady goes.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side and, lowering her voice, she leaned forward to face the housekeeper who was now seated at the opposite side of the table. ‘They’ll have a free hand ter to do as they likes then, won’t they, eh?’ By the fearful look in her bright wide eyes, and the quick manner in which she threw a great gulp of port into her mouth, it was clear that the thought horrified her.

  Not being one to readily participate in gossip below stairs, the housekeeper sat quietly, taking intermittent dainty and careful sips from the port glass, all the while thoughtful, her eyes downcast and with a deeply troubled look in them. She had no liking for the master and mistress. Indeed, if the truth were to be told, she positively disliked them. It was extremely difficult for her to regard them as her employers, for it was Mr Grady who had taken her on as housekeeper when he had resided in the smart area of Blackburn, up by Corporation Park. Five years she’d been with him and Miss Grady, five satisfying and happy years during which she had been much more than just housekeeper. She’d grown close to Miss Grady, caring for her affectionately because the child had no mother to love her – Mrs Grady having lost her life some years before in scandalous and unfortunate circumstances best forgotten. But what a sweet darling girl Miss Grady was. A little hot-headed and wayward at times, maybe, but that was all part of her charm. For all her obstinacy and exuberance she was a caring creature, gentle of spirit and warm of heart; it grieved Mrs Manfred to see how desperately unhappy the girl had become. The only light in her life was her father – and he was fading fast. Mrs Manfred wondered why it was that the good Lord had seen fit to weaken and cripple such a good man – so much so that, in appointing his sister and her husband as both executors of his affairs and wards to his only child, his judgment had been severely impaired.

  ‘I’ve allus said what a wrench that must have been fer you to come and bide in this house. One minute living in town, and the next, being fotched ter the countryside of outer Breckleton, at the beck and call of them two.’ Here, Cook jerked a thumb upwards again. ‘They may act proud and superior,’ she went on, ‘but I’m telling yer, Mrs Manfred, I’ve said it afore and I’ll say it again, if it hadn’t been fer Mr Grady and his money, well, them two would be no more than beggars! Y’remember the state o’ this place when yer all arrived? I were the only one left ter mek the best of an impossible job. All the silver gone. Money owed everywhere. Y’know, m’dear, fer all ye’ve been here over a year now, there’s still things I could tell yer. Things ter shame the pair of ’em!’

  ‘Excuse me. I must go.’ Mrs Manfred had no wish to hear yet again how Caleb Crowther was a womanizer and a gambler who had squandered the fortune his father had left him – a fortune built up in the City through sound business sense, for it was not his rector’s pittance that had lined Crowther senior’s pockets. Nor did she care for another long and detailed account of how Agnes Crowther was a woman of disgracefully extravagant tastes, having a most unhealthy appetite for expensive jewellery and fine parties. She had heard it all before – and it had sickened her.

  Thadius Grady had worked ceaselessly to build up his holdings in the cotton mills hereabouts – an ailing heritage he’d received from his father but one which now, thanks to his persistent efforts, was a thriving industry. How unfortunate that the two mills were to be entrusted to the Crowthers.

  There was one other viper in this nest, and that was Martha Crowther. She was the same age as Miss Grady, but as different in character from her as chalk from cheese. Mrs Manfred for one would not be sorry to see that spoilt young madam shortly depart for the grand expensive school for ladies somewhere down south. Good riddance to her, that’s what she said!

  ‘I’ve been such a fool! Such a blind, stupid fool!’ Thadius Grady looked up, his pale eyes glittering with tears. ‘I’ve betrayed her . . . done her a terrible wrong that can’t be put right. It’s too late . . . too late, don’t you see, Mrs Manfred?’ As he struggled to pull himself upright in the bed, the effort proved to be too much and, after a severe bout of coughing, he allowed Mrs Manfred to make him more comfortable. ‘I’ve let her down,’ he murmured, as though to himself, ‘I’ve let my darling daughter down!’

  ‘No . . . no.’ Mrs Manfred tucked the bedclothes about him for, despite this being a warm summer’s day, she could see him visibly shivering. ‘You did what you thought was best for the child. You always have.’

  ‘But I’ve turned it all over to them, don’t you see? There was no one else and Mrs Crowther is my sister after all. Half the inheritance would have been hers anyway if only she hadn’t angered Father with her choice of husband.’ His voice grew quieter, and he continued in a more intimate tone, as though he was afraid they might be overheard, ‘There were other reasons also why I entrusted my daughter to Caleb Crowther . . . and to his wife.’ His voice strengthened, as he pleaded, ‘Oh, Mrs Manfred, if only they would show more understanding towards her, more tolerance. Will she be all right when I’m gone? Oh, I fear not!’

  Mrs Manfred smiled encouragingly, ‘Don’t you fret now, Mr Grady,’ she told him in a firm voice, ‘Your daughter is of strong character and well you know it. She’
ll be fine . . . just fine.’ But however much she wished that to be so, there was little belief of it in her heart and even less conviction in her voice.

  A silence followed. Then, suddenly, Thadius Grady let out a great heart-rending sigh, followed by the murmured question, ‘What date is it?’

  ‘Why, it’s Sunday, August 16th.’

  ‘What year?’

  ‘Bless you, Mr Grady . . . it’s the year of our Lord 1860.’

  ‘Almost a year to the day we came to this house . . . you, me and Miss Grady. Oh, dear God! Would that I were strong again!’

  There were tears in Mrs Manfred’s eyes as she comforted him. ‘Ssh now.’ She was tempted to say how he would be strong again, but it was Sunday and such lies would be tantamount to blasphemy. Instead, she went to a drawer in the dark elaborately-carved sideboard, and took from it a bottle of medicine and a spoon. Returning to the big brass bed, she poured a measure of the brown liquid into the spoon, stood the bottle on the small circular table by the bed, and then eased one hand beneath Thadius Grady’s thin bony neck, while with the other, she touched the spoon against the blueness of his lips. ‘Come on now,’ she coaxed him, ‘sip it down.’ That done, she crossed to the long casement window where she gently pulled the heavy tapestry curtains part-way together to shut out the bright sunlight. She took a final glance at the now-sleeping figure, before, on tiptoe, she left the room.

  A few moments later, Mrs Manfred hurried along the dark corridor which led from Thadius Grady’s room, and into the brighter hall. From there she climbed the broad impressive staircase, hurriedly, before peering eyes might see her and sharp tongues find questions to put to her.

  Meanwhile, Emma gazed out of the window, her trim figure leaning against the window-frame, her small fingers playing with the curtain-tassle and with a pitifully forlorn expression on her face. Her thoughts wandered: first they were downstairs with her papa, then they were back at their old home in Blackburn town where, from the window of her bedroom she could see the rolling splendour of Corporation Park. How could she ever forget that wonderful day in October 1857, less than three years ago. It was her thirteenth birthday – the very same day on which Corporation Park was opened. What memories! The mayor and other dignitaries dressed up in the regalia of office and thousands of people from all over the borough assembled to see the park opened. After the opening ceremony, they all surged through the arcuated gateways, some of the women wearing clogs and shawls, others dressed in finer fashion and the men sporting an assortment of flat cloth caps and tall black hats. Oh, the excitement of it all!

  Emma missed the old house, and her nostalgia was heightened by the fact that, in those early days, her papa had been well – always laughing and ready to play games with her, always enterprising at his work and filled with enthusiasm.

  Making a weary little sigh, Emma leaned forward into the window, her attention drawn by the sight of a threshing machine in a nearby field. For a moment she was enthralled by it, her eager gaze following its trail of steam as it got underway. Such things had always held a fascination for Emma, and it was that same curiosity which had caused all the terrible fuss today – innocent though the little adventure had started out.

  Now her thoughts came back to her papa and a wave of guilt swept over her. ‘Oh, Papa!’ she murmured, a tremble in her voice, ‘I’m sorry.’

  So engrossed in her thoughts was she that, when Mrs Manfred’s voice murmured in her ear, ‘Will you never learn, Miss Grady!’ she gave a start, before realizing who it was, and threw herself into the little woman’s arms.

  ‘Did you see him, Manny?’ she asked, addressing the woman by a familiar nickname. ‘It was my fault that he got up from his bed. Oh, Manny, he looks so desperately ill – and I can’t go to him! They won’t let me go to him!’ She was crying bitterly now, more from anger than from sorrow.

  ‘I know, child . . . I know.’ Mrs Manfred took Emma towards the settle, where she gently eased her away, to hold her at arm’s length. ‘Oh. child . . . child! What are we going to do with you? What on earth possessed you to go wandering away over the meadows? And then, to hob-nob with the river-people?’ She raised her eyebrows sharply and shook her head from side to side as she chastised in a lower voice, ‘You know how your Uncle Caleb – yes, and your papa – dislike those people!’ She did not explain how Thadius Grady’s animosity towards the river-folk had come about, how it had been common talk for some fifteen years back when Emma had been no more than a wee bairn in arms. She hoped Emma would never learn how her mama had taken one of the river-men for a lover, and how the cruel gossip had labelled Mrs Grady a ‘loose and shameless woman’ who thought so little of her husband and tiny daughter that she could blatantly ‘flaunt herself at other men.’ It was during one of her illicit visits to her lover’s arms that there had been a terrible event which had had such tragic and far-reaching consequences.

  ‘But why does he dislike the river-people so much, Manny? Why?’

  ‘It isn’t for you, nor me, to ask the reason, my girl. All you need to do is to respect his wishes. It’s a good thing for you, my girl, that he thought fit to see this morning’s escapade as an impulsive prank!’ Mrs Manfred’s tone of voice betrayed her absolute disapproval of Emma’s behaviour.

  ‘Oh, Manny, are you so shocked? Are you so ashamed of me?’ Emma asked. What she had done must have been dreadful or Manny wouldn’t have chided her like that. She had no business even talking to the river-people knowing how her papa felt towards them. Emma’s heart shrank within her. Why was she always so disobedient?

  ‘I have to say I am shocked, Miss Grady, though, after knowing you this long while, perhaps I shouldn’t be. Oh, but to be found with a young bargee, boldly laughing together on the banks of the canal! You, with your bare legs dangling in the water and he stripped naked to the waist!’ Mrs Manfred’s expression reflected the utmost despair. ‘But worse! Oh, my dear, much, much worse . . . today is the Sabbath! And you straight from church!’

  Emma fully realized that it was a bad thing she had done, but, at the time, she hadn’t seen it like that at all. After the stuffy confines of the church, the sun had struck warm against her face, the breeze had moved the fields of grass so that they looked like a rippling sea of green, and, drawn further and further into nature’s splendid beauty, she’d wandered away from the familiar footpath, towards the cool flowing canal, where the colourful barges bobbed about on the water and the sound of laughter emanated from every one. Laughter of the kind she had not heard in such a long while; laughter which infected and brightened her heart with rare happiness; laughter which reminded her of a different world than the one which now held her securely bound and caged. In that special moment, she had felt unfettered; and when she had seen that dark head skimming the surface of the water, something deep within her had cried out to be free also. ‘I did it without thinking, Manny,’ she said now, although she had given no such explanation to her uncle. She had felt too much anger at how he had embedded his walking-stick in the young bargee’s back again and again until the flesh split open and the blood covered his shoulders like a mantle. Emma was convinced that if the men from the barges hadn’t heard her screaming and dashed out to pull the young man safely away, Caleb Crowther would have beaten every last breath from his body. The enraged bargemen might have done the very same to Caleb Crowther had it not been for the intervention of the men from the village, together with Caleb Crowther’s threat to bring the authorities down on every man-jack of the river-people.

  ‘Have you no idea of the trouble you caused, child? Frightening ordinary god-fearing villagers who answered the alarm that you were missing! You said nothing , child! . . . You told no-one of your intention to wander away from the path between the church and home!’ Mrs Manfred’s voice was unusually harsh, but, on seeing Emma’s eyes brim with tears and her auburn head fall in despair, she wrapped her two arms around the girl’s shoulders and drew her into a loving embrace. ‘You’re only a child,’ she murmured.
‘I know you meant no harm, and thank the Lord you came to none!’ Then, she gave Emma a little shake, saying, ‘But soon, you won’t be a child. You’ll be a woman . . . in a few months, when you’re sixteen. When your papa’s taken from us, you’ll find the need to be more disciplined of yourself, for, there’ll be no allowances made. Not any more!’ She eased Emma away from her and, still gripping the girl by the shoulders, she levelled an anxious gaze at those sorely troubled eyes. ‘Miss Grady . . . do you understand what I’m saying?’ she demanded in a serious voice.