The Other Cathy (13 page)

‘Emma! How nice to see you. Do have some of these cherries, they’re quite delicious.’ So saying, she picked up a small handful. ‘We will count them to see whom you are to
marry – tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor – oh, but there is no
doctor on that list, I fear, so it will be pointless in your case.’

Exasperated, Emma kissed her aunt’s plump cheek and sat down, protesting mildly, ‘Really, Aunt Jane, you must re
frain from coupling Bernard’s name with mine. He is very
agreeable and I like him well, but I haven’t the slightest inten
tion of becoming his wife.’

‘Oh, my dear, how can you say that? Bernard is so hoping, you know, it is his fondest wish. And you would have to go a long way to find a more suitable match. He is steady and
reliable, sober and industrious; and these things, you can
depend upon it, are most important in a husband.’

‘I am sure you are right. Nevertheless, Bernard is not for me. Kindly remember that, aunt, and do not embarrass
me any more.’

But even as she spoke, Emma knew it was of no avail. Jane
had set her heart upon the match, and would not give up so easily. Emma took the pot of blackcurrant jelly from her
basket and put it on a chenille-covered table.

‘Aunt Chloe sent you this, with her love. She made it
yesterday.’

Conveying two Pontefract cakes to her mouth, Jane
chewed as she nodded her thanks. ‘Chloe is a fool to bother
with making preserves when she has a perfectly good cook in
Mrs Hoad. I wish mine was half as competent. But, there,
she is always trying to prove to Randolph how invaluable she is to him.’

It was an aspect of Aunt Chloe that had never occurred to
Emma. She pondered it for a moment, then said tentatively,
‘I have gained the impression that of the three Hardaker
brothers, the only one with whom Aunt Chloe felt any close
ness was my father.’

‘Don’t forget that he was Chloe’s twin. I think it almost broke her heart when Hugh married your mother.’

‘But why? Surely if she loved her brother, she would want him to be happy.’

Jane laughed mirthlessly, and absently ate some cherries. ‘Life is not so simple, my dear. Make no mistake, your mother
was as jealous of Chloe as Chloe was of her. I suspect it rather
pleased Hugh to be at the centre of their rivalry. Of course, it
would have been different if Chloe herself had married, but
that wasn’t to be.’

‘Was there never anyone?’ asked Emma, curious. ‘Sometimes, it’s hard to be sure, but sometimes I get a feeling that
Aunt Chloe altogether dislikes men,’

‘Indeed you are right, but it wasn’t always so. Years ago
there was one man she was very sweet on. It was quite un
suitable, of course, your grandfather would never have coun
tenanced such a match, but that didn’t stop Chloe from hoping and dreaming. Then suddenly he married the girl who’d been
her best friend at the school they both attended at Raxley
Bridge. She was merely a farmer’s daughter, so there wasn’t
the same social barrier to overcome in her case, but that didn’t
make it any easier for Chloe to bear.’

Fascinated by this revelation, Emma enquired, ‘Do I know
them?’

‘No, they were both dead before you were born.’ Jane hesitated an instant, sucking her lips. ‘But you do know their only child.’

‘
Oh? Who is that?’

‘Why, the young man there is all this fuss about, Matthew
Sutcliffe!’

Chuckling inwardly, Jane saw the look of astonishment on
her niece’s face. That had given the girl something to think
about! And it wouldn’t do any harm to take Chloe down a few rungs in Emma’s estimation. That sister of hers was a mite too fond of censuring other people and extolling herself as a paragon of virtue.

‘Chloe was almost demented at the time,’ Jane continued
with relish. ‘I witnessed it all, you see, because we shared a bedroom in those days. All the fondness she’d felt for Arnold
Sutcliffe turned into malice, and she couldn’t find anything
sufficiently obnoxious to say about him – about them both.
Naturally, that didn’t last long. Chloe soon got over her dis
appointment.’

But was she over it, Emma wondered, recalling the bitter
denunciation of Arnold Sutcliffe and the girl who became his
wife. She had suspected there was more to it than Aunt Chloe would admit, but she had never guessed at such an unlikely
explanation. Ardent passion seemed totally out of character
with the Aunt Chloe she knew. But striking through her bewilderment Emma felt a small, warm glow. It now seemed probable that Aunt Chloe had given her a distorted picture of
Matthew’s father, and she found the idea strangely comforting.
Her mind went speeding on to the logical inference: if Arnold
Sutcliffe was not the despicable creature described by Aunt
Chloe, but instead an honest and decent man, then was it
true what his son believed, that he, not papa, had invented the Hardaker Condensing Engine?

She decided to ask Jane the same question she had put to
Chloe the day before.

‘What sort of person was Arnold Sutcliffe? How did he
seem to you?’

Aunt Jane tucked back a few stray wisps of hair under her lace day cap. ‘I scarcely knew the man. As a youth he was particularly handsome, I recall, but I never once spoke with
him in those days. Later on, I met him on one or two occasions
when I happened to go down to the mill for some reason. I believe he was considered very able at his job. Unlike his
successor,’ she added significantly.

‘Surely you aren’t referring to Mr Pudsey, the present over
looker?’

‘No, not Pudsey, there was someone in between – Holroyd,
his name was, Wilfred Holroyd. I’d have forgotten the man
long ago but for the trouble concerning him. Due to his negligence, several days’ output was completely ruined and your
father dismissed him on the spot. After that, no other mill
owner round here would employ him, and he left the district.’
Emma tried to restrain her flying thoughts, fearful they
would rush her pell-mell to a false conclusion. But, irresistibly,
an idea took shape in her mind. It must be so! She was too cautious to voice it to Aunt Jane, so she said, obliquely, ‘Do you think there is the slightest possibility that Matthew Sut
cliffe was wrongly accused of attacking papa?’

Jane sat bolt upright in her rocking-chair. ‘What makes you
ask that?’

‘It was what he said at his trial, wasn’t it? And he still
insists that he is innocent.’

‘Still? And how, pray, did such a thing come to your ears?’

Emma felt trapped. But immediately a way out offered itself
which did not involve too great a falsehood.

‘He mentioned it at the dinner party the other evening. We
were talking, and —’

‘Yes, I observed you talking to him,’ Jane said with a frown,
‘but I had no idea it was on that subject. Upon my soul it was most unwise of you, Emma! It is one thing to meet Mr Sut
cliffe socially – your uncles both feel that his wealth and posi
tion require that we should, though for my part I take leave to
differ – but it is quite another matter to join the man in any
discussion of that dreadful event. I most earnestly hope you
will never again be so foolish.’

‘But Aunt Jane, if there is the smallest chance that what he
says is true, then —’

‘True?’ she interrupted. ‘The Assize Court decided what
was true. It is not for us, or anyone else, to question the court’s
verdict. Now dismiss the thought from your mind and please
do not refer to it again.’

‘But Aunt Jane—’

‘Do not argue with me, Emma! I mean what I say. You are
to remain silent.’

Behind them the door opened and Paget came walking into
the parlour. He stood there slightly rocking on his heels, re
garding his niece benevolently.

‘And what is it, my dear child, upon which you are so
solemnly adjured to remain silent?’

Despite the protest of her aunt’s raised hand and the angry glare she directed at her husband, Emma seized this as per
mission to voice the forbidden subject.

‘I was questioning whether there might be the remotest
chance that Mr Sutcliffe was an innocent man. There were no
actual witnesses to the attack on my father, so his guilt was a matter of conjecture. Could there possibly have been an error?’

In the sudden silence, Emma could feel a throbbing pulse
of tension. Her uncle and aunt exchanged apprehensive glances; but what message passed between them, if any, she
could not know. It seemed to Emma as though they were
separated by a thick glass pane, clearly visible to one another,
yet somehow unable to communicate properly.

At length Paget cleared his throat, and began jauntily,
‘Well, I must be off! I have some notes to write up. But you
must listen to what your aunt says, Emma. She has an older
and a wiser head than yours, you know. Ah, I see you have brought us a jar of preserve. A nice thought, most kind!’

When he left them, endeavouring to close the door smoothly
but not succeeding, Aunt Jane braced her square Hardaker
shoulders with the vigour of one facing a formidable task. But to Emma’s surprise what she said was merely social small
talk.

‘It grows warmer each day, I declare!  Still, do we not deserve some sunshine after that dreadful start to the
summer?’

Emma sat through fifteen minutes of idle conversation before she felt able to excuse herself, saying she did not like to
leave Cathy for too long.

‘Poor little Cathy!’ Jane gave a weighty sigh. ‘But there, she is receiving the very best of care with Bernard attending her.’

‘Oh yes, I’m certain of it. He is a first class doctor.’

Scooping up another handful of cherries from the bowl,
Jane regarded her niece thoughtfully.

‘When the time comes and that poor sweet angel is taken
from us, you will be lonely, Emma. You will have to set about
making a new life for yourself. But the solution is readily to hand, my dear. Do not, I beg you, dismiss it without the most
careful consideration. Ask yourself, where would you find an
other man as eminently suitable as Bernard Mottram?’

Emma carried doubt and indecision to bed with her that
night, but by morning she had made up her mind. The letter,
already mentally drafted a dozen times over, was soon com
pleted.

Dear Mr Sutcliffe,
she wrote
, I have come upon some
information which I think may be what you are seeking, I hesitate to commit such a matter to paper, but if we could
arrange to meet I will relate it to you. Perhaps an apparently
chance encounter would be best, and to that end I shall be
at the library at the Mechanics’ Institute this afternoon for
about half-an-hour from three o’clock. Kindly give your
reply to the messenger. Yours truly, Emma Hardaker.

She read it through carefully, then added as a postcript,

You will not know the Mechanics’ Institute, it being new since you went away. Turn by the Methodist Chapel, and it
is a few yards along Nelson Street.

She made her way downstairs and went out by the back
door and crossed the stable yard. It was a grey, humid
morning, with a fine rain falling soundlessly. Seth had just
fetched a pail of water from the pump, and Emma followed
him
into Kirstie’s stall.

‘Are you busy, Seth?’

‘Aye, I am an’ all, Miss Emma! Laid up wi’ the sciatica again, is Joseph, and I’ve got all his work to do as well.’

‘Oh dear! Never mind, it doesn’t matter.’ She turned
away, absently stroking the mare’s smooth neck. There was
no one else to send, no one she could trust.

‘What was it, miss?’ the boy asked, ‘Does tha want me to
do summat for ‘ee?’

‘I was hoping you would deliver a letter.’ She coloured slightly. ‘To Mr Sutcliffe, over at Oakroyd House. But as
you’re so busy it will have to wait.’

Seth looked at her, guessing she wanted it kept secret from
her uncle and aunt. He liked to oblige Miss Emma, she was
always kind and considerate.

‘Tha won’t be a’going riding in this weather, so Kirstie’ll
need to be exercised like. I’ll ride her over to Oakroyd House
t’first minute I can, and not a soul will be any t’wiser.’

The colour in Emma’s cheeks deepened. After witnessing her meeting with Matthew up on the moor the other day, Seth clearly had his own notion concerning the kind of letter he would be carrying. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

‘If you are really sure?’ she said uncertainly.

‘Aye, that’s all reet, miss.’

Two hours later Nelly brought her a message that Seth
wanted a word with her. He was waiting outside the back door; it was raining heavily now and his sacking cape was sodden, the cap in his hand dripping water. Glancing around
to check that he was unobserved, he slid a letter from inside
his jacket and handed it to Emma.