Justice is a Woman

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Joe. Give my respects to himself. How is he, by the way?’

  ‘Much the same.’

  ‘Pity, pity. Goodnight, sir.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  They separated, going in opposite directions. Joe, cutting across a field, jumped a low drystone wall, climbed a hill, dropped down the other side and so reached the main road that led from the town.

  Once on the road his step took up a slow rhythm. He was worried, and about a number of things, and the most important one rose to the top of his mind. She had found the Egans and their way of living, everything, repulsive. She was of another world, and she wasn’t going to take to this one, which in the long run was bound to prove awkward, to say the least.

  Why did he love her? He had asked himself this question since the first time he had set eyes on her. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about her that attracted him, but attract him she did; and she would likely go on holding that attraction for him until the day he died. Was it her face, her mouth, her eyes…or that hoity-toity manner of hers? He had been amused by that, and still could be if it was directed towards himself alone, but when she imposed it on others and he saw its effect on them he was upset by it. At her uncle’s home in London and her cousin’s in Huntingdonshire her manner hadn’t stood out; all her people seemed to have that air about them, although he guessed they hadn’t one penny to rub against the other; and he imagined that her uncle, Turnbull Hughes-Burton as he was called, didn’t eat as well or didn’t have as much in his pocket as some of the men in the factory here, but he, like the rest of them, put a face on their situation and pretended nothing had changed in their way of living during the past ten years.

  Lady Kathryn Fowley was the only one among them who seemed to face facts. She helped herself by growing quite a lot of her own food.

  And then there was Betty, his new sister-in-law. But then Betty didn’t seem as if she really belonged to that family. He could never imagine her being Elly’s sister. It wasn’t only the six years’ difference in their ages, it was the whole overall look of her. She was a different type altogether. He had the idea that Elly had made use of her over the years, but then she was the kind of person who let herself be made use of. She seemed to like it; she was a cheery individual. She had told him she had worked in munitions during the war and had also driven an army truck, and he could well imagine it.

  When the thought passed through his mind that it was a pity that some of Betty’s robustness hadn’t rubbed off on to Elly, he had a feeling of guilt and he told himself hastily that it was because Elly was who she was that he had fallen in love with her; he could never have fallen in love with Betty. The very thought brought a smile to his lips. Poor Betty.

  He had covered half the journey home when, passing the end of the Menton estate, he saw the unmistakable shape of the old Rolls. David had come back for him.

  ‘Hello, David. You shouldn’t have turned out again.’

  ‘I thought you might get molested on the road; you never know what happens on a dark night.’

  They both laughed as Joe took his seat and banged the door closed.

  ‘Did you have any trouble back there?’ Joe was watching David as he backed the car on to the grass verge, pulling hard on the wheel as he said, ‘No; no trouble; but madam, your wife, said she wanted to be taken home.’ He swung the wheel round again, the car straightened out, and it had gone some distance down the road before Joe said, ‘You haven’t taken to her, have you?’

  ‘Well now’—David’s gaze was still directed ahead—‘that’s neither here nor there. Whether I’ve taken to her or not is no matter. The fact is she hasn’t taken to me. She dislikes me intensely.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  David’s head jerked round now towards Joe and he said flatly, ‘It isn’t nonsense, and you know it isn’t. She sees me as a black man and, what is even worse, married to a white woman; and, added to that, living in a decent house; and what is even worse still, not to mention incomprehensible, is that my master treats me as an equal. He speaks to me as if I were a human being and, of course, one shouldn’t treat servants like that; it isn’t done in good-class society.’

  ‘Stop it, David.’

  For answer, David brought the car to a grinding halt and, his hands gripping the wheel, he bent over it and with his head down, he said, ‘This thing’s got to be faced, Joe. We’re all in a new situation. You yourself are responsible for it. And she’s not really to blame for her attitude; you can’t expect her to understand. If you want peace you have to face up to the fact that I am the chauffeur-gardener and you are the master; and in future you’ll have to add a slight air of condescension to your manner when dealing with me.’

  ‘Don’t talk such bloody rot! Even if I could bring myself to do it, I wouldn’t, not for her or anyone else, you know that.’

  David drew himself upright now from the wheel and lay back against the seat, his hands lying limp on his thighs. Joe sat in a similar position.

  ‘We’re stuck, aren’t we?’

  Joe nodded his head twice before repeating, ‘Yes, we’re stuck. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be.’

  ‘You’re going to have a rough time of it, then.’

  ‘I’ll manage that side of the business, never fear.’

  ‘What does himself think of her?’ The question came low, muttered.

  ‘I don’t really know, but he talks to her and she to him; in fact, she seems to like going up there.’

  ‘Well, that augurs good, I should say, although it’s a bit surprising.’

  ‘Don’t take that attitude, David.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ David now twisted around in the seat and, putting his hand on Joe’s knee, he gripped it and shook it as he said, ‘I won’t make things difficult; I’ll work in.’

  They now looked at each other through the fading light and they both grinned weakly, before David turned to the wheel again and, starting up the car, drove towards the house.

  Three

  On 12 May 1926 the General Council called off the national strike. For nine days the country, the working part of the country, had supported the miners, but now the latter were on their own, and so they were to remain as the weeks grew into months. And that’s what Mary Duffy said to Ella as she stood sullenly by the kitchen table: ‘They’re on their own and likely to remain that way even for a long time yet, so be thankful you’ve got a full belly, miss; you would have something to grumble about if you were like most of them back in the town there; there’s hardly a fat woman left. You’re Jane to her, an’ that’s all there is about it. You should be used to it now. You’ve got to take it as one of the things the likes of us have got to put up with.’

  ‘Me name’s Ella.’

  ‘Aye, we all know it is, lass, but himself has agreed to it. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘She’s got him turned soft.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. He knows what he’s doin’. He’s out to keep the peace, an’ if by allowin’ you to be called Jane he can manage it, then I’m with him.’

  ‘I could spit in her eye every time she calls me Jane.’

  ‘Now, now.’ Mary turned heavily around from the stove and placed one foot firmly before the other as she slowly advanced to the table and, bending across it, thrust her finger out towards her niece as she said, ‘Listen to me, miss. We’ll have none of that talk. No matter what you think about her, you’d be wise to keep it to yourself, an’ the fact that you want to spit in her eye will soon become clear to her if it isn’t already, so use your head, girl, and keep your tongue civil ’cos, mind, I’m tellin’ you this: Master Joe might appear easy but let him find out you’ve been rude to her in any way an’ by God! you’ll wonder which cuddy kicked you. He closes his eyes to lots of things but I wouldn’t answer for your chances to be kept on here if he found you openly cheeked her.’

  ‘He stood up for me about me name that time, I heard him.’

  ‘Aye, you’ve
said that afore; well, I wouldn’t push your luck. The trouble with you is you don’t know you’re born yet; you’ve never wanted for anything, you’ve had life served up to you on a plate. And remember your place, we’re servants here.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll never let me forget that, Aunty Mary. Servants.’ Now Ella poked her face towards her aunt and hissed, ‘that’s all you hear: mind your place, you’re a servant. Well, let me tell you, Aunty Mary, I hate being a servant. And who are they after all? Me da said me granda worked with his granda and himself an’ all; and himself started at the bench an’ called himself an engineer. Labourer he was, with hardly any schooling. But if all tales are true there were some things he didn’t need schoolin’ for, an’ you haven’t to go more than a few yards to prove it. And if he hadn’t any money at the time…’

  ‘Shut your mouth! Shut your mouth this minute, girl! And if I hear you open it again in that direction I’ll go up to the missis meself. It’s a great pity, I’ll say to her, but your mother’s sick and she needs you at home. Now I’m warnin’ you. You say you hate being a servant, but there’s something you hate more, an’ I know it, an’ that’s being one of four in a bed. Now go on and pick up those silks’—she pointed to the small pile of black silk lingerie that was lying on a side table—‘and get them washed, and carefully, an’ towel-dry ’em and iron ’em, and be quick about it. And if I hear another word out of you this day I’ll take me hand and I’ll wring your ear.’

  The look on Ella’s face said plainly, ‘You try it,’ but her lips remained tight as she floundered around and, grabbing up the silk underwear, strode across the kitchen, through the door which she banged after her, and to the wash-house across the yard.

  Mary stood supporting herself against the back of a chair as she drew in one deep breath after another, and when the door leading to the hall opened and her husband appeared she said to him straightaway, ‘That one’s playin’ up again. She’ll say something one of these days and that’ll be the end of her. There’s always something to worry the life out of you.’

  ‘Well, I can give you something more.’ Duffy placed the tea tray, with the silver tea service on it, carefully on the table before he went on, ‘In fact, two things more. Firstly, she wants the bills presented to her every Friday mornin’.’

  ‘But she gets the accounts book.’

  ‘Aye, she gets the accounts book, but she says she wants the things i-tem-ised. That’s the word she used, i…tem…ised. Aye, everything we order has got to be put down in black and white. She’s got wind of something; she must have seen the bairns leavin’ with the bags.’

  ‘Oh, my God! But anyway’—Mary now bristled—‘himself wouldn’t mind; as for Master Joe he wouldn’t give a damn, he’d give them the stuff.’

  ‘Aye, Master Joe might, at one time, but don’t forget he’s married now, an’ that makes a difference.’

  ‘As if I could.’ Mary’s attitude was now quite different from that which she had presented to Ella when speaking of her mistress. ‘There’s never been a moment’s peace since she came into the place. But the other thing?’

  ‘She caught David handing out tomatoes and taties to Dan Egan and another fellow, an’ by the sound of it she not only put a stop to it but she put David in his place; at least, she tried to, and they’re going at it hell for leather up there now about it.’

  ‘Master Joe and her!’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll get the better of him?’

  ‘That remains to be seen. He’s in an awkward position is Master Joe, atween the devil and the deep sea, you could say.’

  And that’s just what Joe was thinking as he sat holding his wife’s hands in the sitting room upstairs. He could see that she had a point. As she said, if she was mistress of the house the expenditure was her business. What was more, she had been used to seeing to household books since she was eighteen. Accounts were the one thing she was good at and the accounts in this house, she felt, when gone into would prove that they were being robbed, and not only inside but outside too. She had emphasised the latter.

  He stroked her fingers gently now as he said, ‘Why worry your head about such trifles? I know they order more than they should but, as I see it at present, it’s for a very good cause. You know, dear, some of them down in the village are near starvation, the women in particular; they won’t eat themselves in order that the children can get a better share.’

  ‘That’s all very well, Joe, but it really isn’t your concern. The authorities and the Poor Law are taking care of them and they won’t starve; there’s soup kitchens and…’

  She was almost thrust from him now as he rose abruptly before going to the window to look out on to grounds that were parched in the midday heat.

  It was impossible to hose all the lawns and the sun was shrivelling the grass. It was a glorious summer. The weather had brought on the fruit and vegetables apace: the greenhouses were bursting with tomatoes; the apple and pear boughs were bending towards the ground with the weight of their fruit; they’d had loads of strawberries, gooseberries, raspberries and blackcurrants; the cellar had shelves full of preserves and jams, and in the house they’d eaten their own fruit every day for weeks, besides which they took for granted a three-course lunch and a four-course dinner every day.

  Sometimes, as they sat eating their fill, he would find it difficult to keep his mind off Fellburn and the villagers; yet she had just said they wouldn’t starve down there. Would she ever understand them? Would she ever fit in?

  Yet she seemed to fit in upstairs well enough with his father, and with Marcus and Lena Levey too. Marcus thought she was great fun, and Lena had said she was beautiful, while Doris, their daughter, had a schoolgirl crush on her. It was strange, but it seemed to be only in the kitchen quarter of the house where she didn’t fit in; and, of course at The Cottage, for she had taken a strong dislike towards David and Hazel, most openly towards David. It wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought, had she detested all the rest of them, even his father, if only she had taken to David.

  Still with his back to Elaine, he spoke David’s name now: saying stiffly, ‘David has my permission to give all the surplus vegetables and fruit to the miners. I’ve told you this before; and you’ve no right to interfere with that arrangement.’

  He sensed she was on her feet now and he could gauge the expression on her face from the tone of her voice: ‘And I told you I didn’t agree with it, at least not in the quantity he gives away, and always to that man Egan, who’ll likely go and sell it and drink the proceeds.’

  Swinging round to face her now and his voice loud, almost on the verge of a shout, he cried at her, ‘ For your information, Dan Egan doesn’t drink. This might seem strange to you, but he’s a man of high morals. He’s got a big mouth and he uses it, but he uses it for a cause. Everything Dan Egan gets from my garden is taken to the club house and shared out.’

  ‘You should have been a miner.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps I should.’

  ‘That gentleman in the railway carriage was right: you’re in one class but you belong to another.’

  ‘Be careful, Elly; I don’t want to fight with you.’

  ‘It appears to me we have done little else for weeks. You thwart me at every turn. You should allow me my place in this house. Your father respects my wishes more than you do: you would never have allowed me to change that girl’s name, but he did; he understood the situation. He doesn’t kowtow to the kitchen; you, I am sorry to say, have no sense of the fitness of things and your place in society, nor do you understand people. You have never given me credit for having a brain. You saw me at Polly Rawlston’s dance as a gay, bobbed-haired, Charleston-swinger with just enough brains to enable me to chatter entertainingly, to tinkle on the piano, to dribble French in restaurants and…’

  ‘I’ve told you to be quiet, Elly; you’re going too far.’

  ‘There, you see, when I bring up something of importance, such as my ability to think, yo
u tell me to be quiet, that I am going too far. I understand that the men in the village and town down there still treat their wives like serfs; they don’t seem to know that women have the vote. There’s one life for the master of the house, which includes his freedom to do as he wishes and go where he likes without question, and another for his wife, whose duty appears to be to rear children by the dozen, such as happens in Egan’s house, and to cook and slave for her lord and master.’

  She stopped abruptly and her face stretched in surprise as Joe turned from her and threw his head back and laughed loudly. When he put his hands on the head of the couch and leant over it, she cried at him, ‘I’m glad to see that I amuse you, although myself I see no humour in what I have said.’

  ‘No?’ He rubbed each eye with his finger; then approached her again and, taking her gently by the shoulders, shook her, saying, ‘It’s wonderful, marvellous: you’re for them, at least the women; you’re on their side.’

  She stared back at him coldly for a moment before she replied, ‘You have misinterpreted my words; you see things as you want to see them. I was merely stating a social fact. And for your information, I despise them because they haven’t got the gumption to alter their way of living. The women must know what they’re in for before they marry such men.’

  His hands slid slowly from her shoulders, all traces of laughter and amusement drained from his face, although his voice sounded level and ordinary as he asked her a question: ‘You would never have married a poor man, would you, Elly?’

  The question brought the colour sliding up over her pale skin. For the moment she seemed lost for an answer, and she swallowed deeply before she said, ‘I…I didn’t marry you for your money. And anyway, you’re not rich as rich men go.’

  ‘No, as rich men go, I’m not a rich man, but I’m what you call comfortably off, comfortable enough to give away the fruit and vegetables from the garden. And in future I’ll thank you, Elly, not to interfere with David’s work; outside is beyond your province.’