The Other Cathy (2 page)

Cutting off in mid-sentence Chloe’s complaint about the
cost of bacon, he remarked to Cathy with a fond smile, ‘I am
happy to see you breakfasting down here this morning, my lass. Were you disturbed by the thunder in the night?’

‘Oh yes, papa! It was so loud that I was quite frightened, but Emma came and read to me until I fell asleep again.’

He gave Emma a warm look of appreciation. ‘What should
we all do without our dear Emma? I would have come to
your room myself, my pet, but I was still out when the storm
broke.’

‘I hope you did not get very wet, papa, or you might have caught a nasty cold.’

Randolph repressed an inward chuckle, reflecting how
snugly he had been tucked up last night. At nearly sixty he
congratulated himself that he could still show a mill lass he was as virile as any young lad of her own class. Under the
damask tablecloth he gripped his firm and powerful thighs and
touched his belly, which was hard and flat. In the sideboard mirror he caught his reflection: a fine head of hair – admittedly greying, but still thick and springy; a wide forehead and bushy brows that almost met above his strong, decisive nose.
As he swept his glance round the table, he saw that Chloe’s
lips were pursed in distaste. His sister was deeply shocked
by his nocturnal adventures, though she never dared say so. A mischievous streak in him almost wished she would, then
he could remind her that passionless virgins shouldn’t inter
fere in things they did not understand.

‘Nay, Cathy, love,’ he said tenderly, ‘I didn’t get wet, so there’s nowt to fret about. And the storm’s brought us fine weather. It was right grand just now walking up from the mill, cool and fresh-smelling and not a trace of mist on the
hills. I reckon it would do you no harm to sit in the garden a
bit this morning.’

‘I’m going down to the village with Aunt Chloe and Emma,
papa. We have to call at the bank for the Donkey Fair
shillings.’

‘I see.’ Randolph thought of the bright new silver shillings
to be presented to each of the servants for their spending
money at the annual village fair. Jacob Hoad and his wife,
butler and cook; two maid-servants; the gardener, Brigg;
Joseph the coachman; and young Seth. Damn
it,
for seven
shillings he could get more than a full week’s work from any
lad or lass down at the mill. His mother had begun the custom
when his father rose in the world and built Bracklegarth Hall,
and it was expected of him to continue it when he came into
his inheritance; it would not look well if he were to drop it
now. The fact was that he could have given more, with trade
so good; and if the
Yorkshire Post
prediction of civil war
across the Atlantic proved correct, there would be a cotton
famine in Lancashire and a bigger boom than ever in West
Riding woollens, but he was not a man to throw money away.

Randolph had gone back to the mill by the time that the
three ladies were ready to set out, and the open carriage was
brought round by the dour Joseph, with young Seth beside him on the boxseat. Both wore the livery of dark blue coat
and tall hat with a crimson cockade, befitting Chloe’s pretensions to the dignity of the Hardakers.

It was one of Cathy’s better days and she chatted gaily to
Seth as they bowled along the dusty valley road. Cathy had a
special relationship with Seth which Chloe, frown and grimace
as she might, was powerless to prevent, This stemmed from the
time when Ursly had brought her dead daughter’s new-born
baby to the attic room she occupied at Bracklegarth Hall.

Emma, in her childhood, had more than once heard a servant remark that the strange gypsy woman up at t’Hall seemed to
have cast a spell over Mrs Randolph Hardaker, ‘always closeted
together, they was, and Ursly’s grandson allowed to play with Miss Cathy just as if they was equals’. The two small children were inseparable and had roamed freely in the gardens and
beyond; and on one occasion there had been a panic when they
could not be found anywhere. Ursly had solved the mystery
in her uncanny way, almost as if she had a vision, and Cathy
and Seth were discovered high up on the moor, happily play
ing among the boulders of Black Scar Rocks. There had been a
rumpus, of course, from Randolph, but even after this episode the children had not been kept apart. Cathy’s mother had
taught her to read and write but was too frail to tolerate
her little daughter’s lively presence for long, and in Seth’s
company the child was always content. At the time of Henrietta Hardaker’s death, four years ago, Seth was already work
ing as stable-boy and Cathy remained as fond of him as ever.
Randolph might well have taken the chance to put a stop to it
then, but he was a devoted father and already painfully sure
that Cathy herself was slowly declining; and so she was
petted and pampered, her every whim indulged.

Now Cathy said excitedly, ‘Seth, have you fetched your
new jacket from your grandmother’s yet?’

‘Aye, Miss Cathy, so I have.’

‘Then why haven’t I seen it? As soon as we get back home
you are to put it on and show me.’ Her imperious manner broke, and she added with childish wistfulness, ‘Oh, I do
hope papa will let me go to the Donkey Fair.’

‘He is hardly likely to do so, remembering that you were
too unwell to attend church last Sunday,’ Chloe pointed out.

‘But I am feeling so much better now. Emma, you will
make sure papa lets me go, won’t you?’

‘If your father says no,’ sniffed Chloe, ‘there will be no argument about it.’

‘Oh, but Emma could persuade him if she tried,’ Cathy pointed out artlessly, thus earning a black look from her aunt.

They crossed the river by the pack-horse bridge, near which stood the old water-driven fulling mill where the first
enterprising Hardaker, Randolph’s great-grandfather, had set
up as a master clothier nearly a hundred years ago, processing
broadcloth from the looms of local hand weavers. Now the building was used as a warehouse for the Hardakers’ big new
steam-powered spinning and weaving mill a little further up
the valley; while the terraced rows of weavers’ cottages with
their long window-lights upstairs had become homes for the
mill workers. From there the village street snaked steeply up
wards, lined with huddled shops and houses which were built
from the local millstone grit, and were cold, dark and austere despite the brightness of the August sunshine.

Their first call was at the seedsman’s, where Chloe dis
cussed with Mr Butterfield her requirements of hyacinth and
tulip bulbs for next spring. A few doors along they collected a
silk parasol left for repair, and then stopped at the provision
merchant’s for Chloe to administer a sharp rebuke for the
inferior quality of the York ham recently supplied to Brackle
garth Hall. And finally to the bank, a small squat building
guarded by iron railings. In the dim interior Mr Purbright
the banker was engaged in earnest conversation with a tall man whose back was turned to them, but when he saw them
he broke off at once and bowed gracefully.

‘Good morning ma’am, how do you do? Good morning,
young ladies. Miss Hardaker, permit me to introduce this
gentleman who is a newcomer to the Brackle Valley. Mr Cliffe
has leased Oakroyd House.’

The stranger turned to face them, and with a shock of
recognition Emma saw that it was
her
stranger. He had ex
changed his riding clothes for close-fitting check trousers and
a double-breasted beige coat with wide revers.

While the introductions continued he gave no overt sign of recognising Emma but politely awaited her explanation
that they had already met while riding on the moor. Emma,
however, was unable to summon the few simple words needed.
She felt a sense of panic and was aware of the colour creeping
to her cheeks. Hastily she glanced down, staring at the braid
ing on the skirt of her green crinoline dress. As the moments
slipped by her opportunity passed and it was suddenly too
late. She could only remain silent and trust to the man’s
discretion.

Aunt Chloe, recognising a person of substance, was effusive.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr Cliffe. We had heard, of
course, that there was to be a tenant at Oakroyd House after
it has stood empty for so long, but we understood you were not
expected until nearer Michaelmas.’

‘My plans were brought forward, Miss Hardaker. I arrived
in Bythorpe yesterday.’

‘And most welcome you are. This district is sadly lacking in the society of our own kind, and the thought of a new neighbour is quite stimulating. Will you be staying per
manently, Mr Cliffe? Are you in business, perhaps, or ... ?’

He declined to satisfy Chloe’s curiosity. ‘I have various matters to attend to here. Exactly how long I shall be staying
remains to be seen.’

‘Doubtless my brother will be calling on you very soon, when I tell him you have already taken up residence.’

‘Your brother?’

‘Mr Randolph Hardaker. He owns the Brackle Valley
Woollen Mill.’

‘Ah, yes. Your brother will be welcome at Oakroyd House,
Miss Hardaker. In due course I shall hope to see all of you
there.’

At last Emma found the courage to raise her eyes to meet his challenging gaze, in which there was a gleam of irony and
amusement; but more, a sense of accompliceship in a shared
secret. When Mr Cliffe took his leave, with a handshake for
the banker and a
bow
to each of the ladies in turn – to Emma last, lingering almost imperceptibly – she was filled with a strange elation. As her Aunt Chloe and Mr Purbright fell to
discussing him she listened eagerly, her heightened senses avid for the scraps of information that might fall. A charm
ing man, they both agreed, a real asset to the neighbourhood. Chloe went on to enquire whence he had come.

‘From London, I understand, though I think that was only
a temporary residence. I suspect that Mr Cliffe made his
fortune somewhere abroad and has come home to enjoy it.’

‘How interesting. Has there been any mention of a Mrs
Cliffe?’

‘None, my dear Miss Hardaker. But then a gentleman often
prefers to establish himself in life before considering matri
mony. All the more credit to him, I say.’

‘To be sure. Clearly he will have no difficulty in suiting
himself when he decides the time is come. A fortune, you say? Most interesting!’

Cathy had not spoken during the whole encounter. But as they left the bank with the new-minted silver shillings chinking in Chloe’s pigskin purse, she burst out in an excited whisper, ‘Isn’t Mr Cliffe a handsome man, Emma? Did you notice how he kept on looking at you?’

Emma coloured, but succeeded in keeping a level voice.

‘He was looking at us all, you little goose. It didn’t mean
anything.’

* * *

Randolph would make it his business to call at Oakroyd House that same afternoon. Coming home for the midday dinner. – not
luncheon, he insisted, despite Chloe’s protests that to dine
in the evening was so much more fashionable – he listened
attentively to all his sister had to tell him about their new neighbour. Afterwards, although grumbling that he could ill-
afford to neglect the mill when they were so busy with uniform cloth for the Rifle Volunteers, he declared his intention
to go and introduce himself to Mr Cliffe without delay.

‘This afternoon?’ exclaimed Chloe in astonishment.

‘I can’t have anyone else getting in first. It’s only right the Hardakers should lead the way. What a pity the man hasn’t
a wife, though. Then it would be up to you to call at Oakroyd
House, Chloe, and save me the job.’

‘Why don’t you invite him here one evening? For dinner,’ she added as an afterthought, seizing the golden opportunity,

Randolph eyed his sister ironically. ‘Happen he’ll not be impressed by the sight of young Seth dolled up in footman’s rigout like an organ-grinder’s monkey.’

Cathy dropped her fork with a clatter. ‘Seth is not an indoor servant, papa! It’s very unkind to make him wait at
table. He hates doing it.’

‘The lad will do as he’s damned well told,’ Randolph snap
ped. Then seeing his daughter’s face crumple, he added in
gentler tones, ‘Young Seth is lucky to have such a good place,
lass, and you have no cause to feel sorry for him. How many other lads get a shilling for the fair on top of their wages? Aye,
and the time off to go there and squander it! Sometimes I
reckon I’m nobbut a soft-hearted fool.’

Randolph and Chloe, temporary allies in their ambition to
entertain the wealthy Mr Cliffe, joined in making plans for the
projected dinner party. One day next week would be best,
they agreed, and just the family for the first occasion. That
meant their sister Jane and her husband, Dr Paget Eade; and
Blanche Hardaker, their widowed sister-in-law.