She didn’t comment on this and her face could have been made out of plaster cast when she said stiffly, ‘I went there to see a midwife because I thought I was expecting a bairn – Rupert Wood’s bairn. I thought it was a case of history repeating itself.’
For a moment the enormity of what she’d said didn’t dawn on him; it was as though he was transfixed by her words. Numbly, he said, ‘What did you say?’
‘I thought I was pregnant again by Rupert.’
It was the ‘again’ which brought him to life. Rage as hot as molten metal surged through him, taking the numbness with it, and he sprang forward, grabbing her arms and yanking her to her feet as he shook her so violently her head bobbed like a rag doll’s. ‘You dare to sit there and tell me that, as if it’s nothing. You and him, all this time.’
When she went limp in his grasp he thought for a moment she was feigning. It was only when her head lolled and she slipped to the floor that he realised the faint was real. Anger was blinding him and he could, without the slightest compunction, have put his hands round her throat and throttled her where she lay. Her and that little runt of a postmaster, it was unbelievable. And him with a sick wife and umpteen bairns. When he had thought about Rebecca’s father he’d always imagined it to be a young lad like himself. For years he had stared into the other men’s faces at the mine, looking for a flicker in their eyes which would have told him they were the one. And he’d let her take up her whoring for a second time. He’d allowed her to go and work for that conniving so-and-so because at bottom he’d felt sorry for her. Aye, and a bit guilty, he admitted it. But he needn’t have bothered, need he. No, by hell he needn’t.
The urge to do her harm was so strong he didn’t trust himself to touch her, but when after a minute or two she still hadn’t come round he felt obliged to pick her up off the stone flags. He carried her over to the settle and placed her on it, positioning one of the flock cushions under her head. As he did so it came to him she was little more than skin and bone. When had she lost all that weight? And her skin, it was a sickly-looking colour.
Her eyelids flickered as he stood staring down at her and when her eyes opened he didn’t turn away. He said the obvious: ‘You passed out.’
She shut her eyes again, but when a tear slid down her ashen face he said gruffly, ‘I’ll get you a drink.’
‘No, no, I need to talk to you.’
‘You can talk to me, but over a cup of tea. I need one if you don’t.’
She said no more, lying as still as a statue as he boiled the kettle and made the tea. He put plenty of sugar in hers and when he took it to her she swung her feet down on the floor and sat up, taking the cup from him as she mumbled, ‘Thank you. I need to explain—’
‘Drink that first, all of it.’
She looked like a little old shrunken woman sitting there, and so desolate and alone he found the anger was evaporating, even as he reminded himself she’d made a fool of him for the second time. But then again – he hadn’t wanted her, so could he really blame her for going elsewhere? How many times had he seriously considered seeking relief for the torment his body had put him through over the years? Too many to count. He’d even got as far as the doorstep of a whore-house he’d heard about in Lanchester, the next village west of here, half a dozen times but had found himself unable to take the final step and go in. It hadn’t been the fact he was a married man or anything Father Duffy preached from the pulpit which had stopped him, nor yet any finer feelings about right and wrong or paying for it. He had simply known he would never be able to look Constance in the face should they ever meet again, and it was this which had sent him walking home on leaden feet, telling himself he was every kind of fool.
When Tilly finally put the cup down on the seat beside her, he said quietly, ‘How long has it been going on? Or perhaps I should ask if it ever stopped?’
‘It did stop,’ she said quickly. ‘When we got wed it was over, I swear it, and for years it remained like that, but when I went to work for him again . . .’ She looked down at her hands gripped together in her lap, the knuckles showing up like bleached bones. ‘I’ve no excuse, Matt. I know that.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘No.’ It was definite. ‘I thought I did once, when I was a young lass, but no.’ She drew in a long breath, raising her head and glancing quickly at him before looking down at her hands once more. ‘You probably won’t believe this, and I don’t blame you, but before I thought I was – was pregnant, I’d told him I wanted nothing more to do with him in that way. I’d finished it, once and for all.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me – in the early days, I mean? Admit you’d tricked me into marrying you? Why did you keep up the pretence even after you knew I knew?’ It was something that had puzzled him for years.
Colour suffused her thin cheeks then ebbed almost immediately. ‘At first I was frightened.’ She gulped, her hands twisting in her lap before becoming still once more. ‘And I thought if I kept to my story you just might believe me. Stupid, I know. But after a while it wasn’t that, but because—’
‘Because what?’
‘I – I realised I loved you and I knew you would never love me if I told you the truth.’
Matt put a hand to his mouth and rubbed it slowly, pulling his lips first one way and then the other. Dear gussy, what a mess they’d made of things. What an unholy mess.
‘I knew you wanted Constance.You did want her, didn’t you?’ And then before he could reply she went on,‘Not that that matters, not now, but at the time I imagined if I told you about Rupert you’d go looking for her. I hated you and I loved you and. . .’ She shook her head. ‘And time went on and I couldn’t back down, I suppose.’ She leaned against the high wooden back of the seat, her voice but a whisper as she said, ‘I couldn’t believe you’d keep it up, the not touching me, not after how you’d been when we were courting. I thought you’d come round eventually.’
There was something nagging at the back of his mind and then he realised what it was. ‘You said you thought you were expecting again. You’re not then? There’s no bairn?’
‘No, there’s no bairn,’ she said flatly.
‘So why tell me? Not just about tonight but any of it?’
‘The midwife examined me.’ Her voice expressed a kind of terror. ‘She said I’m ill, that I need to see a doctor. This’ – she touched her stomach and for the first time he noticed a roundness that was at odds with the thinness of the rest of her – ‘is a growth. That’s what she said.’
He stared at her. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I haven’t felt right for a long time but in the spring it got worse. I – I think she’s right.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you go and see the quack before?’
‘I don’t know. Some days I didn’t feel so bad and then I’d tell myself I was all right. Other times I put it down to – to women’s trouble. I thought it would pass.’
‘You thought it would pass.’ He repeated her words.
‘You know me, I don’t like doctors,’ she said defensively. ‘If you’re not sick before you see them you are after, the things they put in your head, and all to sell you a bottle of medicine that’s coloured water, like as not.’
‘Tilly—’ He stopped abruptly, and when he next spoke the note of exasperation was gone. ‘You’re seeing Doctor Fallow tomorrow. He might be young but that’s to his advantage. He’s fresh out of medical school apparently and full of all the newfangled ideas and advances that are happening.’
She didn’t reply immediately, and when she did speak it was to say very quietly, ‘I’m frightened, Matt.’
Again he stared at her in the dim light from the oil lamp in the middle of the kitchen table. It was probably a trick of the shadows but her eyes looked lifeless, like a corpse’s in her white face. He wanted to say there was nothing to worry about, but it wasn’t a night for useless platitudes. He wondered how it was that his anger had vanished, to be replaced by a wish to comfort as he said softly, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
The look of surprise on her face heaped coals of fire on his head. Still more were added when she murmured tremblingly, ‘Would you? Would you come?’
He nodded. The need to say he was sorry for how he had behaved towards her over the years was strong, but under the circumstances it would smack too much of the hypocrite. Anyway, as his mam was fond of saying, actions speak louder than words. He would see her through this, however it turned out. He owed her that at least. He owed her a lot more but it was too late to turn back the clock, and maybe he wouldn’t act any differently if it was possible, being the pig-headed man he was.
His voice even softer, he said, ‘Come on, lass. Let’s get you to bed. You look all done in.’
Chapter 18
Two months later, on a bitterly cold November day when the cavalry were called to ride out to restore order in Welsh coal-fields, Tilly Heath died. According to Dr Fallow, the disease had gone into her liver, which had precipitated her sudden end. And this, the young doctor said privately to Matt, was actually a blessing in disguise. He had seen people linger on for months in unbearable pain and anguish, and Tilly had been spared that.
Matt knew the doctor meant well but he had looked into the dead face of his wife and his heart had cried out in protest, a remorse gripping him that was comparable with nothing that he had felt in his life before. Even the torments of his love for Constance paled before this terrible regret and guilt. He had made Tilly’s life miserable for sixteen years.
True, he had provided for her and unlike some men he knew he had never asked her to account for every penny of the housekeeping he gave her each week, or quibbled if she bought this or that for herself or Rebecca. Indeed, compared to most of the women hereabouts she had lived very comfortably. With having only the one bairn it had been rare they had had to scrimp and save or go without, and he had often worked double shifts to make sure they had money put by for the rent and food should he fall ill for a bit or one of the strikes drag on. But that was just material wellbeing. And right now it didn’t mean a jot.
He had been holding Tilly’s hand and talking to her when she had slipped away in the middle of the night, although according to the doctor she had been unable to hear or feel anything since she’d fallen into a coma two days before. Nevertheless with his conscience crying loud he had sat in a chair by the bed every moment when he wasn’t at work, dozing now and again but most of the time pouring out his heart in a way he had to acknowledge he would never have done if she had been conscious. He had cared for her the best he could since the morning after her visit to Chester Le Street. Dr Fallow had confirmed the midwife’s diagnosis and Tilly had gone rapidly downhill. It was as though in knowing what was wrong, her body had given up.
And now she had gone. It was too late to make amends, too late to start afresh. He had known she wanted more bairns in the early days and he had deprived her of that, along with so many other things.
Rebecca cried when he woke her in the morning with a cup of tea and told her the news, and she continued crying for most of that day. When she was still crying the next day after a sleepless night, Matt called Dr Fallow to the house. The doctor spent a few minutes alone with Rebecca and then came downstairs to where Matt was waiting in the kitchen.
‘I’ve given her a strong sedative. She should sleep for a good few hours once it’s taken effect, but you might like to have a chat with her in a moment before she goes to sleep. It’s only natural she is upset about her mother, but I feel there’s something more bothering her – something she needs to get off her chest. Are the two of you close?’
‘Yes. No.’ Matt shook his head to clear his mind. ‘What I mean is, we were up until a while ago. There’s a lad she likes and who likes her, it caused a bit of bother as her mother and I didn’t think she was old enough to start courting. But aye, I’d say me an’ the bairn are close.’
Dr Fallow placed a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Rebecca is a young woman, Mr Heath, not a child. And young women can be emotional, very emotional. It might be as well to remember that when you speak to her.’
Matt saw the doctor out, then stood in the hall for a moment, looking up the stairs. He’d got Tilly laid out in the front room and Rebecca beside herself upstairs. What had happened to their humdrum going-on? And that about Rebecca being a young woman; what had the doctor meant by that? He didn’t think she could be . . . His heart stopped and then raced so fast the blood thundered in his ears. No, no. Rebecca was a good girl.
But bonny, bonny as a summer’s day, and lads would always be lads. Maybe they’d all but thrown her into Larry Alridge’s arms by taking the stance they had? And with Tilly being so poorly he hadn’t had time to concentrate on anything else over the last couple of months. Come to think of it, Rebecca had flitted about the place like a silent little shadow when she hadn’t been taking a turn with her mam, once she was back from the shop.
He took the stairs two at a time but stopped on the tiny landing to compose himself before he tapped on the door. Her dull, ‘Come in,’ had him swallowing against the panic gripping his vitals.
‘Doctor Fallow said he’s given you something to help you sleep.’ He smiled a brittle smile. She looked so small lying there in the narrow iron bed as though in contradiction of Dr Fallow’s statement that she was a young woman. But the doctor was right. Rebecca would be seventeen soon and Tilly had already been seduced by that piece of scum in the post office by then. She had been barely fifteen when he had first taken her.
Fifteen
. Matt had wanted to go round and smash the postmaster’s face in when Tilly had told him that. And him acting the respectable pillar of the community!
Matt sat down on the chair by the side of the bed, reaching for Rebecca’s hand which remained limply in his. ‘Doctor Fallow thinks there’s something more than this with Mam bothering you, lass. Is he right? You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is.’