The Other Cathy (4 page)

Now the man had returned to the Brackle Valley as the
wealthy tenant of one of the grandest houses in the district.
His own father, before his death many years ago, had been nothing higher than the overlooker at the mill; so how was it
possible that Matthew Sutcliffe, a convicted felon, had ac
quired a fortune and the trappings of a gentleman?

The remembrance that she had smiled upon him, viewed
him with approval – much more than mere approval, Emma
bleakly acknowledged – made her wince with humiliation.
Thank heaven her uncle had not been deceived as she and Aunt Chloe had been. Now that the truth was out, Matthew Sutcliffe would be shunned by every decent-minded person. He would soon find there was no place for him here. With
an effort she buried her hurt and went indoors to find Cathy.

Directly dinner was over on this special day all the servants were free to go to the funfair. The family was not putting in an appearance until early evening, after a plentiful supper of
cold dressed meat, fresh herbs, fruits and sweetmeats that was set out on the sideboard. As soon as they had left the table and
donned bonnets and gloves, Randolph settled the ladies in
the wagonette, taking the reins himself. They passed through
the deserted village, the iron-clad wheels echoing hollowly
as they clattered over the cobblestones; everybody had gone
to the fair, and even the beer houses were empty. But from the
direction of Spinners’ Meadow came a drift of music and
sounds of jollification.

‘How disgraceful!’ exclaimed Chloe, her face screwed up
in disapproval. ‘It sounds as if they are well-nigh intoxicated already. It is high time the drinking booths were forbidden
at these fairs.’

Randolph glanced round at his sister with a chuckle. ‘Live and let live, woman! The fair does no harm, and my mill hands work all the better afterwards.’

Cathy was looking palely pretty in her apple-green gown
under a cloak of a darker shade of green, and a straw bonnet trimmed with flowers; an outfit made only four weeks ago for
the Wakes, when the mill was closed for the annual day’s
holiday and Randolph had taken his family on a seaside
excursion train to Scarborough. Already, Emma noted des
pondently, the gown fell loosely over Cathy’s wasting frame, and would need to be taken in before she wore it again.

‘Seth says there is a merry-go-round with golden horses
this year,’ Cathy said, in a quiver of restlessness on the padded
leather seat. ‘He saw the men erecting it yesterday. I’m going to have lots of rides.’

‘We’ll have to see about that, dearest,’ Emma said cauti
ously. ‘Remember Bernard told you not to get overexcited.
But there are sure to be plenty of things you will enjoy seeing.’

At the entrance of the fairground Bernard was hovering in wait for them, and came forward to help the ladies alight.
Randolph beckoned two boys of about twelve, who were em
ployed as scribbler feeders at the mill, and engaged them
to mind the carriage and horses, promising them twopence
each for their pains.

As if by magic, the jostling, nudging, boisterous throng parted at the approach of Mr Hardaker and his party. Ran
dolph nodded amiably here and there as they strolled be
tween the flag-decorated booths. There was a fat lady, the fattest lady in all Europe, a hoarse-voiced patterer assured
them; a ‘guaranteed genuine Red Indian chief and his squaw’;
a sword swallower; a pair of jugglers; and a man with a per
forming bear. They paused outside the tent containing the
incredible eight-legged sheep, but decided the menagerie
would be more enjoyable. Inside, they all stared in fascination
at the zebra, which none of them had ever seen before. At the peepshow they came across Jacob Hoad and his wife, stiffly
smart in their Sunday-best clothes, peering through the eye
pieces at macabre historical scenes from the Tower of London. The couple were abashed to find the family waiting their turns
behind them, and melted away quickly. Randolph bought
gingerbread men for the two girls and the party moved on
towards the corner of the meadow where the merry-go-round had been erected, guided by the wheezy strains of its mechani
cal organ. Cathy was pressing forward eagerly, but suddenly
halted in her tracks.

‘It – it’s too crowded,’ she objected.

And a good thing too, thought Emma, who doubted the wisdom of letting her cousin go on the fast whirling round
about. Then she saw Cathy’s face, a moment ago flushed with
excitement but now drained of colour. Her hands were tremb
ling and tears glistened in her eyes. Following the direction of her gaze Emma spotted Seth, resplendent in his new jacket,
helping a girl to mount one of the golden horses. She was dark-
haired and pretty, with full red lips parted in a laugh, and
Seth’s arms were close around her waist.

Emma sighed inwardly. It really was too absurd for Cathy
to be jealous and possessive about Seth. She ought to realise
she could not cling for ever to their childhood friendship;
sooner or later she must expect him to take a normal interest
in girls of his own sort. Deliberately, in a level voice Emma
said, ‘I believe that’s Will Lister’s daughter – you know, he’s
a dyer at the mill. She’s pretty, isn’t she, Cathy?’

‘
I can’t imagine what Seth can see in her,’ Cathy retorted
petulantly, ‘with that silly turned-up nose
,
and that awful cheap red dress!’

‘Cathy, that’s most unkind! Bessie is one of a large family,
and with all those mouths to feed the Listers haven’t much
left over to spend on clothes. I think her dress looks very nice. Now, come on, if you don’t want to go on the merry-
go-round, let’s find something else to do.’

Later on the party emerged from a performance by a troupe of Hungarian tumblers to find dusk falling, and smoky tallow flares were being lighted all round the fairground. The hubbub was louder and merrier, and here and there scuffles broke out
between men somewhat the worse for liquor. Chloe hitched
her plaid shawl round her shoulders and said disdainfully that
it was time to go. Randolph however was not to be persuaded; conscious of being the most notable figure there and in some sense a benefactor, he was thoroughly enjoying himself and
insisted on another turn of the fairground in case they had
missed anything.

Walking beside Bernard and Cathy a few paces behind her
uncle and aunt, Emma’s attention was caught by a tall figure
among a group of men at the rifle range. He was standing with
his back to her, taking careful aim at his target, but she knew him instantly. As she watched, Matthew Sutcliffe handed the
gun back to the showman and laughingly accepted a prize of
some tawdry glass beads, which he promptly presented to a
small girl in the crowd, to the child’s great delight. Then he
turned away from the rifle range, moving in their direction.
Uncle Randolph would avoid him, of course, or simply pass
by with a freezing nod.

Emma steeled herself to cut him dead if he dared to
claim her acquaintance by so much as a glance. Not that he
would, now the truth of his identity was out. But when Matthew Sutcliffe noticed the party he came boldly up to
them, raising his wide-brimmed felt hat to Aunt Chloe and
bowing to Uncle Randolph. Her heart turning over, Emma
waited to see him contemptuously put in his place, but to her
utter astonishment, her uncle not only returned the bow
but stopped, and seemed to be addressing the man, if not
effusively, then by no means as a person to be snubbed. They
had no alternative but to stop too, and while she stood tense
and trembling, staring her disbelief, Matthew Sutcliffe looked past Uncle Randolph and met her eyes, half smiling, his hand
again reaching to his hat. Emma fought down an urge to rush
forward and berate him, to pour out the bitter loathing she felt.
Instead, dropping Cathy’s arm, she turned her back.

‘Look!’ she exclaimed to Bernard with false gaiety. ‘There’s a gypsy
woman telling fortunes. Shall we let her tell ours?’

‘If you wish.’ Nothing loath, Bernard led her out of earshot, followed at once by Cathy. ‘Why are you so anxious to avoid
that man, Emma? Who is he?’

‘Can you not guess?’

‘Sutcliffe!’ Covertly, Bernard looked back, ‘So that he! I
must say in fairness, he is every inch a gentleman. I am not
surprised that —’ He broke off, not knowing how to continue.

The gypsy wore a grimy red shawl drawn over her head,
framing an old leathery face; her bright-black eyes had not missed Emma’s show of interest in her.

‘Gi’e us a penny, kind gennleman, and I’ll tell yon young
ladies what the future do hold in store.’

Bernard smiled at Cathy who said suddenly, with great
intensity, ‘Yes, please do! Give her a penny.’

The gnarled brown fingers closed like claws over the coin and dropped it into a pocket hidden in the multifarious layers of her tattered skirts. Taking Cathy’s hand she bent over it for
a moment, then looked up sharply into her face. It appeared
to Emma that she shuddered, and her words sounded evasive.

‘Ye’ll have all ye wish for, dearie! Aye, never fear – every
thing ye could wish for.’

Letting go of Cathy’s hand she seized Emma’s. ‘Come on,
dearie, it’s your turn now.’

Emma was suddenly reluctant, but the gypsy’s glittering
black eyes seemed to pierce through her and take away her
power to move. She found the touch of a coarse fingertip trac
ing her palm unnerving, as though her very soul was being
bared to the old crone.”

‘I see a voyage across the sea, dearie. Ye’ll go away from
here to some distant land where no one knows ye.’ Her eyes
sharpened. ‘Is that yer heart’s desire?’

Emma shook her head weakly, wishing she could turn away. But that might be to come face to face once more with
Matthew Sutcliffe, so she submitted to the gypsy’s further
prophesies.

‘I see a dark man – there is bitterness and anger —’ Noticing
that Bernard was fair, she added slyly, ‘Gi’e us another penny,
kind gennleman, and I’ll tell ye the one she’ll wed.’

‘Be off with you!’ he ordered. ‘You’ll get no more from
me.’

Her eyes flashed with spite. ‘Is it afeard y’are to have me tell the naked truth? The future’s dark, aye, and there’s misery
and suffering for y’all.’

‘Here,’ said Bernard, dipping into his pocket for another coin. ‘Take this and be gone. We want no more of your
horrible lies.’

She dropped Emma’s hand and snatched the penny, secret
ing it away with the other. ‘Lies, are they?’ she cackled as she
shuffled off. ‘Ye’ll see – aye, yell come to see if I’m not right!’

Cathy was lost in her private joy. ‘Did you hear, Emma, did
you hear? She said I shall have everything I wish for.’

Emma managed a smile, taking her cousin’s thin arm and
giving it a squeeze. She caught Bernard’s worried glance.

‘Dreadful old hag,’ he muttered. ‘Charlatan! Don’t let what she said upset you, Emma.’

‘No, of course I won’t.’

But she did feel upset, even afraid. The old woman had
somehow reminded her of Ursly and she had an irrational conviction that it was Ursly warning her against the tall dark
man; Ursly foretelling a future of misery and suffering. She
told herself sternly that this was absurd. It was just the
routine patter of a spiteful old gypsy woman, and meant
nothing.

‘Emma, what were you thinking of? It was most rude of you to turn your back so pointedly.’ Her uncle’s voice, from
close behind her, was chilly with rebuke. His displeasure
switched to Bernard. ‘Mr Sutcliffe clearly expected me to introduce you, but how could I when you moved away like that? Fortunately, he was gentleman enough to pretend not to
notice your discourtesy.’

Bernard looked distressed and was at a loss for a satisfactory
reply, but Emma cut in hotly without heeding her words. ‘Uncle, how could you talk to that man? How could you even
acknowledge him? After what you said yesterday, I didn’t
believe my eyes when I saw you stop and speak to him.’

‘I’ll not have you question my behaviour!’ Randolph glared
at Emma from beneath his heavy brows. ‘Happen I know a deal more about the world and its ways than a chit of a girl
like you,’

‘If knowing about the world and its ways means hobnobbing
with that vile man, then I am glad I don’t know very much.’

‘Be silent!’ he ordered, crimson with anger.

Chloe was embarrassed, aware that people were standing
around enjoying the novel spectacle of the Hardakers airing their differences in public, and she tried to pacify them in an urgent whisper.

‘Randolph, please. Emma forgot herself, she scarcely knew
what she was saying.’ She appealed to her niece, forcing a thin smile. ‘I understand how you feel, child, believe me. But you
must accept what your uncle says. He has a far wiser head on his shoulders than you. He has made up his mind that the
Hardakers have no alternative but to meet Mr Sutcliffe on
social terms, because if we don’t others will, if only to score
off us. So we must put aside our private feelings and make
the best of it. Mr Sutcliffe will be dining with us next Wednes
day.’