The Forgotten Story

by Winston Graham

  She waved a hand. ‘Your uncle. Personally … boy’s place is with his father. Should go to school in Canada. Or he should come home. Evading responsibility. Your uncle must see a doctor. That Mr Treharne … No right to spread such stories. So unkind. Get back to Joe and then he’d think perhaps it was true. Hi shall speak to Mr Treharne.’

  ‘Has Uncle Joe got the letter?’

  Patricia entered the kitchen. Aunt Madge peered at her.

  ‘He seems better,’ said the girl. ‘What happened, Madge? How long was he like that?’

  ‘Fanny,’ said Mrs Veal, shaking her earrings. ‘Always dawdling down there. Dawdling over a few things. Everything left to me. Where’s your Uncle Perry?’

  ‘He went out in a rage. How was it –’

  ‘He saw him. He just said: “ Perry, help me upstairs.” When I went up he hardly knew me. Just said his limbs were numb.’ Aunt Madge took out her handkerchief again. Her short fleshy nose disappeared into it. ‘But Mr Treharne has no right. He only needs a few days in bed.’

  The girl looked perplexed. ‘What has Mr Treharne to do with it? Did he help?’

  Mrs Veal went back to stir the stew. ‘Must have a doctor. Tomorrow morning. Can’t go on. What time are these men coming?’

  ‘Tonight? In half an hour, Joe said.’

  ‘The pasties won’t be ready. Have to wait. Persuade him to go to bed. Hi can’t.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Pat. ‘ I’m afraid it’s a hopeless case, though.’

  She went back into the shop.

  Aunt Madge tasted the stew.

  ‘Another carrot,’ she said. ‘In the scullery. And Anthony … see what Fanny is doing.’

  What pressure was brought to bear upon Joe – unless it was his own feelings – Anthony never knew; but the next day the doctor was summoned. He was a tall, elderly man with muttonchop whiskers and he was upstairs for an hour.

  When he came down a cloud had been lifted from the house. He had been not at all discouraging, Pat said. Joe must spend at least a week in bed. Milk food was to be his only diet and he must neither smoke nor drink. Absolute rest and quiet; then perhaps a little change of air. He’d give him some ointment for his eczema and some pills to be taken after meals. There was no reason why there should not be a big improvement before the month was out. Joe lay in bed, looking smaller and more dog-like than ever in his nightshirt, and watched the doctor out of shrewd inimical eyes.

  The business of the house was arranged to meet the new situation. To assuage her father’s restless spirit, Pat promised to take over his vigil behind the counter; but she found this task even more tedious than she had anticipated, and two or three times each day she risked the Wrath by handing over charge to Perry. Perry was quite undeterred from doing this by any memory of the quarrel he had had with Joe. The morning after the quarrel he had turned up for breakfast at eleven o’clock, laughing his usual laugh and cracking his accustomed jokes as if nothing had happened. The memory of what had occurred had run off him like water off the champion swimmer he claimed to be.

  On the fourth day The Grey Cat was seen lying in the roads, and Joe sent out his daughter to ask Captain Stevens to call on the morrow.

  Anthony always enjoyed these visits to his uncle’s ships but today was a special treat. Patricia could in fact row as well as any man, but she had no objection to sitting in the back of the dinghy and trailing a hand over the side if that suited her cousin better.

  She was very simply but very charmingly dressed today, and Anthony wondered if the extra care she had taken was on Captain Stevens’s account or was directed at his mate.

  The effect was certainly more obvious upon the latter. They had been under observation as they approached, for Ned Pawlyn was down the short ladder to meet them, his clean broad face a-beam, the breeze ruffling his black hair.

  ‘I could hardly believe my eyes,’ he exclaimed. ‘I said to myself, “That can’t be the Old Man; is it my eyes that’s wrong? Or have I a fairy godmother?” Hold on, son; ship your oar; steady up; make her fast; that’s the way. Now take my hand, my dear.’

  Patricia laughed at his eagerness. She stepped upon the gunnel of the boat, and then climbed swiftly and easily up the ladder with a flutter of lace petticoats. Anthony fumed a little at the unnecessary instructions which were offered him, but soon was climbing the side after the other two.

  ‘Where’s the captain?’ said Pat. ‘ Dad’s not well and I have a message for him.’

  ‘In his cabin. When I saw who it was I didn’t tell him of your coming. Well, and I’m sorry to hear about the Old Man; but ’tis an ill wind that blows no one any good. Otherwise I’d not have seen you before this evening. I couldn’t have got away until then. Don’t tell me you’re engaged to do something else.’

  Patricia turned her face to the breeze and smiled. ‘The ill wind does not bring all good. With Joe in bed I must stay in and help. I am deputising for him behind the counter.’

  Ned Pawlyn made a face.

  ‘Then I’ll help you there. I’ll sit behind the counter too! I am sure I can carve a chicken better than you.’

  She shook her head, pursing her lips a little. ‘ Joe wouldn’t allow it. The only time you will see me will be when you are ordering your evening meal –’

  ‘I’ll order everything in the place,’ he threatened. ‘And eat it. And come back for more. You’ll not get rid of me so easily as that –’

  She laughed again, enjoying his easy good-tempered banter; but at that moment Captain Stevens came on deck and approached them.

  ‘Mister Pawlyn; ye did not tell me we had a distinguished visitor.’

  ‘Beg your pardon, sir; I was so astonished myself –’

  ‘I hope your father’s well, Miss Patricia.’

  ‘Well, no, he isn’t. I’ve brought you a message from him.’

  ‘Will you step down into the saloon, please …?’

  Anthony was left alone with the tall, good-looking mate. There was silence for a time, for the boy was taking in all the shipping which lay around him. One of the great windjammers on the Australian run had arrived in Falmouth yesterday after the worst passage in her chequered history. Anthony had heard the story in snatches last evening when the master had had a meal at Smoky Joe’s. She had limped into Falmouth after a passage of 197 days from Brisbane, having faced consistently adverse weather and having been partly de-sparred off the Portuguese coast near the end of her long ordeal. So instead of riding silently and proudly out in the bay she had accepted a pilot and come into the harbour to lick her wounds.

  ‘Well, son, and how have things been doing at Smoky Joe’s while I’ve been away? I hear that the threepenny gaffs are here again.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should go to Liverpool, son. They have proper theatres there. ’Tis not many days since I was at a handsome music-hall show.’ Ned Pawlyn began to describe it.

  ‘Did you have a good voyage?’ Anthony said, still looking at the battered windjammer.

  ‘Eh? Voyage? Oh, it was all right. Head winds off the Carnarvon coast. Has that fellow Tom Harris been round plaguing your cousin’s life out since I left?’

  Anthony looked up at the mate. ‘Not really … We’ve seen him once.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope we don’t see him while I’m ashore,’ said Pawlyn. ‘Else I shall be tempted to pull his tall hat down over his ears. I’d dearly like to have him aboard this ship for a voyage or two.’

  They chatted for some minutes until Patricia reappeared, escorted by the captain.

  Anthony climbed over the side and got into the boat.

  ‘Goodbye, Captain Stevens. Goodbye, Mr Pawlyn.’

  ‘Goodbye, ma’am.’

  ‘I hope I can have the pleasure o’ calling upon you tonight,’ said Ned.

  Patricia smiled. ‘I hope you’ll be hungry.’

  A moment later she had joined Anthony in the dinghy, and he was pulling away.

  Ned waved from the side and the girl waved b
ack.

  None of them would have been quite so light-hearted had they known all that the evening was to bring.

  Chapter Ten

  While they were away Dr Penrose had paid his third visit, and he seemed very cheery and much encouraged by Joe’s improvement – so much so that when he had gone Joe announced his intention of getting up that evening. This went so far beyond the medical sanction that Aunt Madge and Patricia did their utmost to dissuade him.

  But as usual he was adamant. This was Saturday night; there might be a big crowd; the whole place would need his supervision; besides, he felt better, the doctor had said he was better; this staying in bed was no more than the usual physician’s fad, instructions designed to increase the doctor’s importance so that he could charge an extra two shillings a visit. As it was, three visits in little more than a week was pretty tight going; he should think Penrose thought they were made of money, coming so often and doing so little. Anybody could stand by a bedside and look important at so much a time. They were all the same; Penrose was no better than Dr Barrat Clark with whom he had quarrelled over the bill for his wife’s last illness. Had Fanny done enough potatoes for tonight? It was wasteful not to give customers enough potatoes.

  He was helped into his alpaca coat and high white collar and assisted downstairs. They brought him a drink of patent milk food which he swallowed with many grunts and grimaces. Then before they were able to stop him his hand was fumbling with his bizarre old pipe and a match trembled and flickered at its bowl. A cloud of blue smoke hid his thin, wasted face, and when it emerged there was a different and more satisfied expression on it. Smoky Joe was himself again.

  The restaurant began to fill up. There were many ships in the bay, the summer gales of last week having forced the smaller ones to run for shelter. The crew of the windjammer had also been allowed ashore, but so far only the three mates had arrived at JOE VEAL’S. The rest were celebrating their release in a succession of public houses.

  Ned Pawlyn arrived about five-thirty, and when he knew that Joe was about again he pressed Patricia to go out with him for the evening. This she agreed to do, but only for a limited time, and they were back soon after seven. Pawlyn then went with her into the kitchen, anxious to help. Later in the evening nine of the windjammer crew, all Finns or Swedes and all in a merry state, arrived for supper. They ordered a slap-up meal and tramped into the upper restaurant; but finding the three mates there they turned round and tramped, laughing and talking, down to the lower restaurant where they would be free from the oppressive influence of authority.

  Shortly after this Anthony had to take another milk drink into Joe and was told to stay while he drank it. All this week he had been anxious to ask his uncle for details of what his father had written, but there had been no opportunity to do so. Now, with some trepidation and spoken apologies for troubling the old man, he brought up the subject.

  Joe peered at him with watery eyes over the top of the repulsive glass.

  ‘I’ve only met your father once,’ he said, ‘so how can I tell what he means? Of course he’s offered to pay for your schooling, for I haven’t the money to spare. But I doubt if what he offers will cover the cost. And a young fellow like you eats up a pretty penny in the way of food; then there’s clothing and what-not. We’ll have to see.’

  ‘Doesn’t he want me to go out to Canada at all?’

  ‘I went prospecting once in my young days,’ said Joe. ‘It isn’t a time when you want somebody attached to you. You’ve got to be free. You’ve got to travel light and travel rough. He says he’ll be in Winnipeg in the spring; maybe you’ll be able to join him then. But you can’t just do nothing here all winter; he sees that. Your aunt’ll see about a school, see which we can afford on what your father’s sent. ’Tisn’t a lot he’s sent; we’ve got to cut our coat according to the cloth. Can’t be ambitious on a few pounds.’ He put down the empty glass and shuddered. ‘Pah! Pobs … Babies’ food. No stuff for a grown man. That’s what this life does for you: when you’re young you feed on milk; then when you grow up you grow to know what’s good; when you’re old you have to go back to milk again …’ He hastily re-lit his pipe.

  Two customers entered. They were the bosun and sailmaker of the windjammer, both Germans. The sailmaker was an inoffensive, pleasant little man; but Todt, the bosun, square-built and fair-haired and mean, although one of the best sailors afloat, was hated in his ship. They parleyed for a few minutes in guttural tones, then paid for their meals and went in. Following almost on their heels came three more men off a Penzance tug which had brought in a damaged brig that afternoon. Two were weather-beaten west-Cornishmen; the third, who had had a little too much to drink, was a red-haired Scottish engineer. While they were discussing what they should have, a single customer entered. It was Tom Harris.

  He stood back while the other men were being satisfied. There was not so much of the dandy about him tonight, Anthony thought; he was wearing a cap and a tweed suit.

  Joe had bristled at the sight of him, but he said nothing until they were alone. As the other three men disappeared he put down his carving knife and fork and took out his pipe to wipe down his moustache with the mouth-piece.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m glad to see you up,’ said the younger man in an uncontroversial tone. ‘ I’d heard you were unwell.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Joe. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘A meal. It’s not Sunday today.’ Harris glanced along the counter. ‘This is a clever way of running things. There’s something about an array of cooked meats and fowl and other tasty dishes that appeals to the glutton in us all. The sight of them together –’

  ‘I don’t want any of your advice,’ Joe said, trembling with weakness and annoyance. ‘If you’ve come to see Patricia you’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘I want a meal,’ Tom Harris said. ‘Nothing more. I’m in Falmouth for the evening and have come to the place where I can get the best meal. It’s a matter of business. I think it’s against your principles ever to refuse a customer, isn’t it?’ He took out a sovereign and put it on the counter.

  ‘I can look after my own principles, thank you,’ Joe muttered. ‘I don’t want a legal opinion on them.’ But his eyes wandered to the gold coin.

  There was silence. Tom looked at Anthony and smiled slightly.

  ‘Are you full?’ he asked. ‘I can wait.’

  ‘It’s just a trick to see Patricia. I know you. It won’t do you any good.’

  ‘She’s under no compulsion to see me. It’s quite outside my control. Is that pheasant you have there? I should like some of that, with a little steamed fish before it. Come, take the money and give me what change you please.’

  ‘I’ve my fixed charges,’ the old man said aggressively. ‘ You needn’t think I profiteer on anybody. Have you come here to spy?’

  Tom Harris looked mildly exasperated.

  ‘My dear sir, your daughter happens to be my wife whether we like it or not. I’m not likely to wish to bring you into disrepute while that’s the case.’

  Smoky Joe picked up the coin and rang it on the counter. Then he put it into the till and slid a half-sovereign and some smaller change across to the younger man.

  ‘Lower restaurant,’ he said. ‘You’ll get your first course in a few minutes.’

  Joe’s reason for directing Harris to the lower floor was that he knew Patricia to have been helping on the upper one, which had rapidly filled up. What he did not know was that, with the immediate rush over, Pat had gone down to the lower one to begin her own supper at a table with Ned Pawlyn.

  When Tom entered they had just been served at a small corner table near the window. His eyes went as if by a magnet towards them, but his expression did not alter and he walked across to the other side of the room and took an empty table next to that occupied by the nine Finns and Swedes.

  When Patricia saw him her colour changed, as it always seemed to do when he appeared unexpectedly, and Pa
wlyn, following the direction of her gaze, uttered a growl of dislike.

  ‘What’s the matter with the fellow?’ he said. ‘Always skulking around. Don’t he know when to take “no” for an answer?’

  ‘He’s not here at my invitation,’ said Pat. ‘I told him last week; I was quite straight about it. He said …’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Oh, it was nothing important. Let’s forget about him.’ She suddenly realised it would have been dangerous to mention her husband’s objection to Ned Pawlyn in front of Ned Pawlyn. ‘Dad should never have let him in. He must know that it’s embarrassing to me to have him calling here.’

  ‘What he needs is a lesson in how to take “ no” for an answer. I’d dearly like to give it him. He’d stop skulking if he felt the weight of my boot.’

  ‘Hush, hush. Eat your supper like a good boy and talk of something else.’

  The meal progressed. Tom Harris was served and ate his meal very slowly. So did Patricia and Ned, for they were talking and joking between themselves. The girl paid more attention to the sailor than she had ever done before, in order to show Tom her complete freedom and independence. Ned was enchanted to find he was making progress at last.

  Tom finished his second course and ordered cheese and coffee. This ordering of more food when the other dishes had been eaten was something ‘not done’ at Joe’s. David, the young lascar waiter, was nonplussed and went into the kitchen to ask for instructions. Presently he returned with a large piece of bread and cheese on a plate, but no coffee. Tom gave him a shilling and lit a cigarette.

  All through the meal one of the Swedes at the next table, a big, blond, pasty-faced man, had been giggling at Tom Harris. There was nothing specially funny in the solicitor, but the Swede was in such a state that anything would amuse him. The episode of the coffee and cheese was altogether too much. His laughter shook the room, then he choked and knocked over a glass of beer and all his comrades fell noisily to smacking him on the back and laughing and arguing among themselves. The German bosun, eating an enormous plate of roast pork near the door, put down his knife and fork and shouted at them a command to make less noise.