Saint Christopher and the Gravedigger

by Catherine Cookson

  The time moved slowly. Gran had taken a seat in sulky silence. Linda was once again pretending to read, and Florrie stood at the window until the light went completely and she could see nothing but the radius illuminated by the street lamps and the lights behind the curtains in the house opposite.

  It was sometime later when Arthur came to her and said gently, ‘Come and sit down. I’ve made a cup of cocoa.’

  ‘No. No.’ She almost jumped round. ‘I’m going to look; I must. Where’s my hat?’

  She had just pulled her hat and coat from the cupboard when the knock came on the back door, and before any of them could go to answer it, they heard it open and steps in the scullery and there was Moira standing in the doorway looking at them.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Florrie quietly, staring fixedly at her.

  ‘Nothing.’ Moira shook her head then said, ‘Well, I mean there’s nothing to worry about.’ She looked at Florrie’s hat and added, ‘You needn’t go out, Aunt Florrie.’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Moira nodded again. ‘He’s all right, there’s nothing to worry about,’ she repeated. She moved further into the kitchen now then asked, ‘Has Dr Spencer been back the night?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Florrie impatiently. ‘He was here about eight, but where’s John? Where did you see him?’

  Moira did not answer Florrie but went to the table, and there she stood and addressed her remarks to Gran as she said, ‘I used to like Dr Spencer but not now. He’s got a bee in his bonnet bigger than any…’ She paused and did not go on to make mention of the comparable bee in John’s bonnet, but added, ‘He seems bent on causing trouble, making mountains out of molehills, I think.’

  ‘Look, Moira, stop beating around the bush.’ Florrie swung Moira roughly by the arm towards her, which was a very unusual action for her to make. But Moira showed no resentment, she just looked her full in the face and said, ‘Mind, Aunt Florrie, if I tell you where Uncle is you’ve got to promise to leave things be and that goes for all of you.’ She cast a swift glance round the rest of the company. ‘He’s all right and he’s settled down and he’s quite content to be there, for he seems now to realise the danger he’s in. He didn’t believe afore that the doctor meant just what he said, that he’d have him taken away. In fact, put away would be a better name for it. But Uncle sees this now and he says to tell you that he’s all right and to leave him be.’

  Florrie groped at the top button of her blouse and undid it, then buttoned it up again before she asked in a distraught voice, ‘Where is he, Moira? Tell me child, where is he?’

  Moira dropped her eyes from Florrie’s face then looked quickly in Arthur’s direction before she said, ‘He’s in my room. At this minute he’s asleep in my bed.’

  ‘Your room,’ whispered Florrie.

  ‘Your room.’ It was a grunt from Gran and although you couldn’t hear Arthur repeating ‘your room’ his lips framed the words, and it was apparent that they all would not have been more astonished had Moira said that John was at this moment perched on the top of Penshaw Monument.

  The eyes on Moira brought a wave of colour to her face and she said defiantly, ‘It’s the only place I could think of. Me ma and me da were for it from the minute I mentioned it. Me da was all for it for the doctor went at him like a sergeant major this afternoon trying to trip him into saying it was Uncle John who got dressed up last night and went to the cemetery with the sole idea of scaring the wits out of him, and he had brought Mr Fowler along with him—I mean the doctor—and you know what he is? He’s a Justice of the Peace.’ Moira paused for breath and Florrie unbuttoned and buttoned her blouse once again. Then she sat down and, still looking at Moira, she said lamely, ‘But… but John to go into… into your house.’

  ‘Our house is all right, Aunty.’ There was a note of rebuff in Moira’s voice.

  ‘Oh, lass, I’m not meaning that, nothing like that, of course your house is all right, but you know John and your da have never hit it off.’

  ‘Perhaps not. That was because Da’s a joker and Uncle John couldn’t take it, but now that they’re landed in the same boat, sort of, and seeing the same things, it might work out… It’s as if they’ve got something in common like.’

  ‘And how long does he intend to stay in your room, may I ask?’ This question, of course, came from Gran. Moira, turning to her, said, ‘I don’t know, Gran, but he can stay there as long as ever he wants. I don’t mind sleeping in the kitchen, and our house is the one place they won’t look for him. Anyway, I think he should bide there until the doctor cools down, or Dr Sanderson gets back from his holiday, or until… until he gets better a bit.’

  ‘That could be a very long time. He mightn’t come out until he’s ready for his pension, because knowing my son, if he wants to see things, he’ll see things, just to be contrary.’

  ‘Oh, listen to her. There you go again, Gran.’

  ‘Be quiet, Linda.’ Florrie almost bawled at her daughter, and in the uneasy quiet that followed she turned to Moira and taking hold of her hand, said, ‘Tell me how all this came about, lass, how did you get him there?’

  Again Moira’s eyes flicked to Arthur who was staring at her, his love now patent for all to see, and as her fluent tongue became hesitant over her part in the affair that had brought John to the house next door just a short while ago, Arthur made a vow he would marry Moira McNally or nobody. The Duckworths could take him up for breach of promise if they liked, but he would tell them he was finished.

  When Moira ended her tale, Florrie stared at her for a time then she stood up and bending forward she touched her on the cheek and whispered, ‘You’re a good girl, Moira. A good girl.’

  Moira did not laugh or say anything flippant, but with her head cast down she turned about and bidding them all goodnight with a muttered ‘Be seeing you’, she went quietly out of the kitchen.

  A temporary silence fell on the kitchen and Gran, leaning one hand against the mantelpiece and with the other hugging her waist, proclaimed loudly, ‘Now I’ve heard everything, there’s no need to go to the pictures and see the cowboys dodging the posse, and what do we want a television for?’ Her chin worked. ‘John skulking in that chit’s room, aye, I’ve heard everything now.’

  ‘Then you can go to bed then, can’t you?’ Linda flounced by her grandmother and with a hurried peck at her mother’s cheek, she said goodnight under the hail of Gran’s tongue.

  ‘That one needs takin’ in hand, if you don’t want more trouble.’ Gran’s jaw was out to its limit.

  ‘Look, Mam,’ Arthur interrupted at this point. ‘You get off to bed and,’ he added as if on an afterthought, ‘and you an’ all Gran, and I’ll stay up and wait for Frankie.’

  For a moment Florrie considered this proposal in silence and then she said quietly, ‘There’s no point in doing anything else, is there?’ She flicked her eyes in the direction of the McNallys before walking slowly out of the kitchen. Then from the hall her voice came back wearily saying, ‘You coming, Gran?’ And Gran, her chin still working, reluctantly obeyed.

  Arthur was now left alone and he spent the time waiting for Frankie’s return not thinking of his father’s plight, but of the girl who, to him, appeared so clever—almost brilliant—and kind. Aye, she was kind. It was her kindness that had got to him, not her figure, as his dad had suggested, and now he loved her so much that his whole being was burning to proclaim it to the wide world; which meant simply the Duckworths.

  It was nearly an hour later when Frankie came in and his condition had not improved, for apart from a quick look round the kitchen he made no reference to the emptiness of it. It was Arthur, for a change, who did the talking. Briefly he explained the situation to date and not until he had finished his story did Frankie make any comment, and it couldn’t have been more brief. ‘So now what?’ he asked flatly.

  ‘Well…’ Arthur, slightly nonplussed by Frankie’s lack of interest, pondered a moment. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.
Moira seems to think that Spencer’s got a personal spite in for Dad—why, God alone knows. I don’t see that Dad’s done anything to him.’

  ‘No, I can’t see that he has either. It’s me that’s entitled to the personal spite; it’s me that he’s done things to.’

  ‘Oh, come off it,’ said Arthur impatiently, getting to his feet. ‘Don’t go all dramatic about that business; you’re the same as ever you were. Because you know about it now that can’t alter you or things.’

  ‘That’s all you know,’ returned Frankie harshly. ‘I watched her the night and I couldn’t take it in that she was me mother, yet all the time I knew that she was and it made me feel awful. She’s painted up like a prossy.’

  ‘So that’s where you’ve been?’ Arthur was uneasy. ‘You’ve been talking to her?’

  ‘No. No, I haven’t.’ Frankie turned his back on his brother.

  ‘D’you mean to say you’ve just been watching her then?’

  ‘Whatever I’ve been doin’ is me own business.’

  ‘If she sees you, or somebody else sees you, at that game there’ll be some explaining to do, and we’ve got enough trouble here. Don’t you realise that that doctor’s trying to run Dad into the asylum?’

  ‘And I should cry, shouldn’t I?’

  Arthur was momentarily speechless at Frankie’s callousness but he checked the quick retort that jumped into his mouth as he watched him shambling listlessly across the room towards the hall. He could be magnanimous because he was in love… and added to that his mam was his mam. By, yes, taking this thing seriously, it must be awful to find out that your mam wasn’t your mam.

  Chapter Seven

  What, asked John of himself, for the countless time, was he doing here anyway? Sitting in this little glamourfied, half-clean bedroom, which was permeated with the smell of cabbage and the stife of fat from the kitchen below. To allow himself to be aimlessly cooped up in here seemed to him more evidence of unbalance than the visitations of the Saint.

  It was over forty hours now since he had had any visits from him; the longest spell since their first meeting. But he did not delude himself for a moment that he had seen the last of the Saint. And it was this very fact that kept him here in McNally’s house… Of all the houses in the world, it had to be McNally’s that was sheltering him in his trouble. Yet, he had to admit to himself, however reluctantly, they were kind; they were all very kind. That was the remarkable thing about it, that they should be so kind and understanding—even McNally himself. But his particular kindness, John thought, had likely come about because of the eye-opener he had got up in the cemetery. Anyway, whatever had caused his change of front didn’t much matter, for John found that he couldn’t take to him any more than he had ever done, and if he wanted proof of his own absolute normality this was it.

  The door opened and Katie entered into his thinking. She had a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of cake in the other.

  ‘I’ve brought you a drop of tea and a piece of me spiced loaf. Are you comfortable, John?’

  John had lost count of the cups of tea she had brought him since early morning, and if he saw any more food he would be sick. As to the question, was he comfortable, she had asked it on each of her visits. As she put the plate and cup of tea in his hands she said, ‘That’ll put you over till teatime; it isn’t far off, and you’ll feel brighter when Brod comes in and has a chat with you, eh?’

  All John could do was move his head in a downward direction.

  At that moment the sound of the garden gate clicking brought Katie from her hovering position over him to the window, and as she peered down below the slit of the curtains, she exclaimed loudly, ‘Mother of God, it’s Moira and she has the child with her. Well now’—she turned to John eagerly—‘she’s likely the bearer of news. I’ll away down and relieve her of the child and she can come up and have a word with you. I bet it’s something to do with that devil of a doctor.’

  She hurried out, her slippers flapping, and within a few minutes Moira’s high heels came tapping rapidly up the stairs and John was on his feet when she came into the room.

  ‘Hullo,’ she said.

  John nodded, then added to it, ‘Hullo, Moira.’ He liked this girl.

  ‘I just thought I’d slip home and tell you a bit of good news. She sent me out for the child’s constitutional.’ She pulled a long face. ‘It’s good news. After surgery closes for the night, the doctor’s off to Newcastle. He’s staying there until the morrow because he’s the big noise in this hospital’s raffle. It’s not being drawn till three so he shouldn’t be back until the morrow evening at the earliest. And he won’t be on duty on Sunday unless he’s called out, and by Monday morning he might have… well…’

  Moira could not bring herself to lie blatantly and say that the doctor would have forgotten about this business because she knew he had got his back up about it—he had even questioned her this morning. It must have just dawned on him that she lived next door to Uncle John. He had put his questions in a jocular, quizzing way but she was up to him and had played dumb.

  John pulled at his collar. ‘It would be all right to go in, then?

  ‘I wouldn’t until after tea, Uncle. He’s still out on his round, but once his surgery’s over at seven, it’ll be OK.’

  He nodded and sat down. As long as he hadn’t to stay another night here, he could put up with a few more hours.

  ‘Drink your tea,’ she said.

  He drank it obediently and handed the empty cup back to her, quietly saying, ‘Thanks, lass.’ Then giving her a little smile, he added, ‘For everything.’

  ‘That’s all right, Uncle. I’ll be seein’ you.’

  He nodded his farewell and when she had gone he sat thinking about her. She was a nice lass, he had to admit that now, and she would have been fine for Arthur. It was a pity he was in this fix and there wasn’t much that could be done about it. If what he himself had done to Duckworth hadn’t broken the thing off then nothing would… except… He moved his head from side to side and dropped his hands between his knees. That would involve Florrie, and Florrie had had enough on her plate this week without adding any more to it. Of course, there was the possibility that Freda might blow the gaff; but Freda was a cat and mouse worker and by the time she had made up her mind to do it, it would be of little use to Arthur. No, he could see no way out of this any more than he could out of his own trouble. It was all a matter of time.

  It was as he sat thinking this that his steady normal feeling began to slip, or, as he tried to explain it to himself, he seemed to step up out of it before the airiness enveloped him completely. He protested loudly inside himself, ‘No, no, not here.’ But he might as well have spat against the wind for all the effect his protests had on the rising ecstatic feeling. He closed his eyes again and told himself there was one thing he must do; he must speak in the lowest of whispers for he did not want Katie passing out in his arms.

  ‘Don’t try to shut me out, John, it’s no use.’

  As John slowly opened his eyes there was a look of surprise in them, for the voice he had heard held no laughing depth and immediately he saw that the face of the Saint was not one broad beam as he had come to expect, instead his whole countenance was constrained.

  ‘You’re not the only one who’s in trouble.’

  This remark caused John to draw his brows questioningly together but he did not speak.

  ‘This is what comes of showing favouritism and not carrying out my duties according to rules.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ John remembered to keep his voice just the semblance of a whisper.

  ‘My stupidity in allowing myself to be guided by you.’

  ‘Me?’ This was a little louder.

  ‘Yes, John, you. I should never have shown myself to McNally. For you see there was no point; there was nothing to gain by it. I had nothing to convince him of. But because of the bargain I made with you in a moment of weakness, I did it, and got myself into hot water…
A lot of hot water.’

  John wanted to laugh and say, it would take quite a drop to cover you, but instead he whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ And he realised he was sorry. ‘He won’t be seein’ you again, then?’

  ‘No, most certainly not, John.’

  ‘That’s a pity, a real pity. You know…’ John rubbed his hand across his mouth. ‘I never had such a laugh in all me life. You did a good job that night but I’m sorry you got it in the neck over it.’

  ‘But you’d like me to do it again.’

  John gave a low chuckle. ‘Aye, I would, no use sayin’ one thing and thinkin’ another.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to disappoint you. And for my part, as I told you before, I think your choice was wrong. If you had asked me to have a word with your doctor friend you wouldn’t be sitting here now.’

  ‘Oh, him. ’Twould take the Devil in Hell to convince that one.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I would have proved a bad substitute.’ The Saint smiled for the first time then went on. ‘Now about our bargain, John.’