The River Folk (19 page)

Mary Ann ran her tongue around her lips, which were suddenly dry, naïvely unaware how provocative her action was to the man kneeling before her. ‘It doesn’t now,’ she said. ‘It must have felt worse when . . . when I did it than it really was.’

Randolph smiled in the dim light. ‘I’m sure it did.’ He spoke the words so softly that she was unable to tell whether he believed her or not. He was still kneeling in front of her, stroking her foot with his fingers in a caress that suddenly became stronger, more urgent. ‘Perhaps a little massage will help,’ he murmured.

He was stroking the area around her ankle and then smoothing the top of her foot and gently wriggling each of her toes. His touch, intended to heal her imaginary hurt, was, in fact, driving that other hurt from her heart and her mind. He leant towards her, looking up into her face. ‘Is that better?’ he asked, his voice soft and deep.

‘Yes . . .’ Mary Ann gulped at the strange feelings enveloping her. A tingling sensation was coursing through her, making her feel as if she was blushing all over her body. Her heart was beating faster than normal and now it had nothing to do with having run the last few yards to the back door of The Hall. ‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

She tried to pull her foot out of his grasp, but his hands held it and his fingers continued to fondle her toes. ‘You have a very delicate foot, Mary Ann. And such trim ankles. I wonder – I long to know – are your legs as perfect? Are you every bit as perfect all over?’ His hand was creeping once more beneath her petticoat.

Mary Ann reached forward and pushed away his searching hand. ‘Please, sir. I must go.’ With a sudden, sharp movement, she wrenched her foot away from him and bent forward to retrieve her boot and stocking, but before she could reach them, he had taken her by the shoulders and was drawing her gently up.

‘Can you stand on it without pain?’

Pretending to test her weight upon it, Mary Ann nodded. ‘Yes, sir, I think so. Thank you for your kindness, but I must . . .’

The rest of her words were silenced as he bent his head and found her mouth with lips that were hungry for the taste of her. ‘You sweet, pretty little thing,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘What kind Fate brought you to me?’

It was the first time that anyone had kissed her with the passion a man has for a woman. It frightened her, yet at the same time exhilarated her. The blood was pounding in her ears, her heart was thudding beneath her ribs as Randolph kissed her and stroked her hair.

Then he was straightening up, drawing away from her and leaving her bereft, washed upon the shore by the tide of a shared passion and then abandoned. He took both her hands in his and gently, reverently, kissed each of her fingers in turn. The touch of his lips sent a shudder through her.

‘My dear, I would not hurt you for the world. You are far too sweet and innocent. Come, sit with me.’ He sat down in the huge armchair himself and drew her, unresisting now, on to his lap. ‘I’ve seen you about the house, Mary Ann, and oh . . .’ He rested his cheek against her breast and she felt sure that he must hear her heart, taking wild, leaping somersaults. ‘How I’ve longed to hold you, to touch you. And then, tonight, there you were. A damsel in distress and me, your knight in shining armour. Sweet, sweet Mary Ann.’

Mary Ann said nothing. She did not know what to say. She had not the words to express the excitement, the heady emotion that filled her heart and tore her rational mind to shreds.

Somewhere a door banged and Mary Ann jumped, pulling away from him. He reached out and caught hold of her. ‘Don’t be afraid. No one will come in here, I promise you.’

‘I . . . I must go, sir. I must.’

He nodded and stood up too, towering over her. Resting his hands lightly on her shoulders, he looked down into her upturned face. Then he traced the outline of her cheek with his forefinger.

‘Sweet, sweet girl. This is our secret. You know that, don’t you?’

Mesmerized, Mary Ann nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’

Tenderly and with great gentleness, he kissed her once more, then held her hand as he led her across the room. He opened the door a little to stand listening for a moment before whispering, ‘The coast is clear. Off you go. And remember, this is our secret. Our very own wonderful secret.’

Blushing, Mary Ann smiled and passed through the doorway, carrying her boot and her stocking. The door closed behind her and, as she paused, she thought she heard his deep, soft laugh beyond the panels. She smiled and hugged her arms around herself. She, too, felt like laughing aloud and shouting with sheer joy. Instead, she crept away, hurrying swiftly along the passages and corridors with the silence of a wraith until she reached the safety of her own room.

Luckily for Mary Ann, Clara was asleep, lying on her back, her mouth wide open and snoring noisily.

Mary Ann wrinkled her nose in disgust. It seemed so unfeminine for a girl to snore. True, Clara had adenoidal trouble and couldn’t help it, but still . . .

Mary Ann stretched her arms above her head and let out a sigh of sheer delight. Slowly, she began to undress in the moonlight shining in through the skylight that afforded the only natural lighting in their attic bedroom. Running her hands over her body, savouring the feel of Randolph’s hands upon her, Mary Ann smiled to herself.

I can do better for myself than you, Daniel Ruddick.

The following morning Mary Ann was disappointed to find that Randolph was not in the dining room waiting for her to serve his breakfast.

Keeping her tone devoid of any particular interest, she asked, ‘Will Mr Randolph be in to breakfast, Miss Edwina?’

‘I don’t think so, Mary Ann. I understand he left early this morning for Yorkshire. He’ll be gone a few days.’ Edwina rose from her place at the table and smiled. ‘Would you like to come to the school this afternoon? I was wondering if you would like to teach the little ones a few basic embroidery stitches.’

Mary Ann swallowed her disappointment and smiled brightly. ‘I’d love to, Miss Edwina.’

‘Good. Then we can walk home together later and call to see Bessie.’

Mary Ann nodded, although the smile faded from her mouth. She avoided meeting Edwina’s gaze and busied herself clearing away the breakfast dishes. She would love to see Bessie, but, for the first time ever, she hoped that the rest of the family would not be at home.

That afternoon, Mary Ann sat surrounded by seven eager little girls. Each held a piece of linen, some coloured wool and a needle.

‘Now,’ Mary Ann began, smiling around at them all. ‘I don’t know all your names, so each time I speak to you, you must tell me what your name is until I can remember it for myself. All right?’ Seven small heads nodded. ‘First of all, I must warn you about the needle. You must be very careful not to hurt yourself or anyone else. When you are not working with it, you must fasten it on to the corner of your piece of work. Like this.’

She held up a small piece of linen and threaded the needle in and out of the material until it was securely fastened. ‘Never leave your needle lying about and always keep a piece of thread in it and attached to some material. Now, let’s begin . . .’

For the next hour, Mary Ann worked happily with the children, showing them firstly how to make small, neat running stitches about an inch in from the edge of the material. Then she taught them how to do buttonhole stitch about the very edge of the fabric. Some of the tiny fingers found this very hard, pulling the thread too tightly so that it puckered the material. Mary Ann seemed to spend most of her time picking out the stitches and then showing them again and again.

Towards the end of the afternoon, Edwina slipped into the room and sat at the back of the class watching and listening. As the bell sounded and Mary Ann allowed her charges to put their work away, Edwina moved forwards.

When the girls had trooped from the room to retrieve their coats from the cloakroom, she smiled and asked, ‘Now, did you enjoy that?’

Unable to keep the surprise from her voice, Mary Ann said, ‘Yes, I did. I didn’t think I’d have the patience, but they were so keen and willing to learn.’ She pulled a face. ‘Even though some of them don’t seem to have held a needle before.’ She blushed a little as she remembered. ‘Still, I can’t say much about that, can I? I didn’t do any sewing until I met Bessie and then you.’

Edwina smiled kindly. ‘You have a natural talent for it, Mary Ann. Always remember that not everyone is lucky enough to have your gift. You must be very patient with those who have not.’

Mary Ann nodded. ‘Do you mean you want me to do it again?’

‘Would you like to?’

Mary Ann’s eyes shone. ‘Yes, please, Miss Edwina.’

With school over for the day and the children gone, Edwina and Mary Ann walked along River Road towards Waterman’s Yard. For a while they walked in silence for Mary Ann’s thoughts were busy. At last she said, ‘Do you think I could be a teacher?’

To her, a teacher was someone of standing, someone to be admired and looked up to. It would make her more equal to Miss Edwina. More equal with her brother, Mr Randolph.

Carefully, Edwina said, ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t. But it would mean a lot of hard work, Mary Ann.’ Edwina did not like to tell the girl that because of her background, Mary Ann’s early education had been badly neglected, and that to become a fully fledged teacher, one had to pass examinations. But the girl had intelligence and was quick to learn. There was no telling what Mary Ann could do if she put her mind to it.

When they arrived at Bessie’s home, she and Minnie were sitting in the kitchen enjoying a cup of tea.

‘I’ll be going,’ Minnie said, standing up at once.

‘Please don’t let us drive you away, Mrs Eccleshall,’ Edwina said, but Minnie insisted.

‘No, no, miss. It’s time I was going. If my Stan’s tea isn’t ready when he steps through the door . . .’ She pulled a comical face, but they all knew that she was only joking. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Bessie. Going into town, are we?’

‘Of course. It’s market day.’ Bessie heaved herself up. ‘I’ll be ready. Now then.’ She turned to Mary Ann with her usual greeting. ‘How are you, love?’

‘Fine, Auntie Bessie,’ Mary Ann said, and plunged into recounting her afternoon at the school, ending by saying, ‘Miss Edwina thinks I might be able to be a teacher, if I work hard.’

She saw the two women exchange a glance, but all Bessie said was, ‘That’d be nice, love.’

They drank tea and ate a slice of Bessie’s plum bread. Then Edwina rose and pulled on her gloves. Mary Ann, too, put down her cup and made to rise.

‘You can stay for the evening if you wish, Mary Ann. I’ll tell Mrs Goodrick I’ve given you permission. But please, be home by nine o’clock.’

Instead of leaping at the chance to remain in the Ruddick household, and especially taking the opportunity to see Dan, Mary Ann hesitated. If Duggie had told the rest of his family about her feelings for Dan, then she could expect to be teased unmercifully. And if Dan knew, then she would wish the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Then Mary Ann raised her head defiantly. What did it matter now, anyway? She could laugh it all off as one of Duggie’s japes. For Dan was seeing Susan again, and hadn’t she, Mary Ann, got someone now who was really interested in her? Someone far more handsome and dashing and eligible than a man who sailed up and down the river on a barge. You’ve missed your chance, Dan Ruddick, she thought. I’ve got better fish to fry.

She smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss Edwina. I’d love to stay.’

‘Right then,’ Bessie said. ‘You can make yourself useful and lay the table.’

They all laughed as Edwina said, ‘I’ll be on my way before I’m given a job. Please give Mr Ruddick and the boys my regards.’

‘I will,’ Bessie said going to the door with her. ‘And I know they’d send you theirs.’

The Ruddick menfolk came home one by one, each greeting Mary Ann in their different ways. Bert with quiet affection and with serious enquiries as to her health, her wellbeing and her happiness in her situation, Ernie with shyness and only a few, hesitant words and Duggie with his usual ebullience. But now, there was an extra twinkle in his eyes that teased her without a word being spoken.

And then Dan, the last to come home, how would he greet her? Mary Ann held her breath.

His pleasure at seeing her unexpectedly was genuine and his manner towards her the same as ever. Affectionate and concerned for her – just like any elder brother. She knew now – now that she had experienced how a man behaved when he was attracted to her – that Dan looked upon her as he would a sister. He had never kissed her or touched her in the way that Mr Randolph had. He didn’t love her in the way that Mary Ann had imagined she loved him.

Had she really loved Dan or had her adoration of him been just because he had shown her tenderness when she had been starved of love?

‘Hello, fancy seeing you here!’ He was smiling down at her. ‘Everything all right?’

Mary Ann nodded and swallowed. He was the same as ever and it seemed that perhaps she had maligned Duggie in thinking he had told his family about her feelings for Dan.

As they all sat down to eat, Mary Ann began to tell them about her day, her visit to the school and the class of little girls to whom she had begun to teach embroidery.

But she was careful that not once did she mention Mr Randolph’s name.

Randolph returned to The Hall three days later.

Mary Ann, passing through the great hall carrying a tray, heard his boots echoing on the tiled floor behind her.

She stopped, turned to face him and waited whilst he glanced around him to make sure there was no one else there. Then he came to her.

‘Have you missed me?’ His left eyebrow rose in question.

‘Oh yes,’ she breathed, her knees trembling. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Just away,’ he said idly. ‘On business.’ He glanced around again and then leant closer, his lips brushing her hair. ‘I’ve thought about you every minute I’ve been away. Come to my room this evening. I’ve brought a little present for you.’

There was the sound of voices and he turned from her abruptly and strode away.