Justice is a Woman

by Catherine Cookson

  He now turned away from her and his step, as he walked towards the dressing room again, was slow and heavy. It had lost its spring; he walked like a man well on in years and heavily burdened.

  PART TWO

  One

  Beatrice Hughes-Burton joined the Remington household at the beginning of November. Elaine was now four months pregnant and apparently had accepted her condition, if not joyfully, then at least without any outward show of hostility.

  From that particular Tuesday morning when Joe had frightened her—and she had admitted to herself that she had been frightened, not so much by what he might do to her person, but by his threat that he would throw her off; she knew him well enough by now to realise that he had an aggressive side to him and against all his personal feelings he would have carried out his threat if she’d had an abortion—from that morning she had done a lot of thinking, and all centring around herself and her needs. She knew the one thing she couldn’t face was life without certain of its comforts, and the thought of being on the open market again, with the stigma of separation attached to her this time, was not to be borne; that particular market was flooded with a great many women of her class, young widows and disappointed brides, the residue of dead young officers. Those men who had escaped had nothing to offer in marriage except love, and as she had witnessed, that love brought little comfort in a third-floor flat in Bloomsbury. So she had allowed Joe to bring her round to accepting the disaster that had befallen her.

  And she also deemed it expedient to change her tactics insofar as expressing her opinion of the people in whose midst she had found herself, for she was being forced to recognise that her husband was the son of his father and that they both stemmed from the working class; in fact, they had never left it, and in a way this was a matter of pride with them both. Even Joe’s education, she was finding, was but a thin veneer, and there were times when he took no pains to hide it, when he seemed to take pride in stripping it off by resorting to the idiom of the area. What it all amounted to, in his case, she had concluded, was a deep feeling of inferiority; you had to be born of the middle class, or the upper class, you couldn’t be born into it. Even though his mother had been a lady, so she had been given to understand, he himself in no way showed evidence of it; on the contrary, he seemed to take a delight in hob-nobbing with menials. That objectionable being who lived in The Cottage, for instance. Oh, how she disliked that man; it put her teeth on edge every time she saw him with Joe. If the man had been white, Joe’s attitude towards him would still not have been natural, ordinary, for he seemed to go out of his way to placate the fellow. It wasn’t as if he was afraid of him, no, not that, but as if he held him in high esteem, as one would a very close and well loved friend.

  And then there was the man’s wife. That creature, Egan’s daughter. She was much too familiar with Joe, and Joe with her. Yesterday she had seen him put a hand on her shoulder.

  She had walked down the drive to meet the car. She was finding she had to do such ordinary mundane things to fill in her time and stem the feeling of utter boredom. She had just turned the bend in the drive when she saw the car inside the gate, and there was Joe going into the cottage with the girl, and they were laughing together, quite loudly. The girl was in her outdoor clothes and it was apparent that she had ridden with Joe in the car.

  She had turned on her heel and marched back to the house, determined she would have something to say to him when he came in. Yet before reaching the front door she had asked herself what she would say, and how she would say it; after all, he had probably merely given the girl a lift back from the town. Yes, but why had he to escort her into the cottage? Well, his answer could be: ‘Why not? I couldn’t leave her to find her way in alone, could I?’ Such a flippant attitude on his part had shown itself of late; it was his idea of humour.

  Before she heard him come whistling into the house she had decided to adopt the adage regarding discretion being the better part of valour…

  But today she gave no thought to the girl or her coloured husband. Today she was feeling happy, even excited, for today Betty would be here; and oh, how she longed to see her and to have someone of her own class to talk to.

  It was strange, but until now she had never really thought of her sister as being of her own class, nor even of her generation; there was six years between them, and Betty’s war service had seemed to coarsen her and make her more voluble. Nevertheless, she was her sister and her volubility was spoken with a recognisable accent; and they both knew the same kind of people. Moreover, Betty was wonderful at nursing and so sympathetic. Oh, she was glad she was coming.

  Suddenly she put her hands on the dressing table, bowed her head and laughed softly to herself as she thought, Good Lord! I’ll have her growing wings in a moment; I really must be bored. After all she’s still Betty, as she was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be…

  ‘Are you ready?’

  She looked through the mirror towards the door where Joe was standing, and adjusting her hat she nodded at him, saying, ‘Yes, I’ve just got to put my coat on.’

  When she picked up her coat from the chair he helped her into it, then tucked the fur collar close under her chin, saying, ‘Keep warm, the wind’s enough to cut you in two.’ Then, bending his face to hers, he kissed her slowly on the mouth, and as he traced his finger around her lips he said, ‘You’ve got the most beautiful mouth I’ve seen on a woman.’

  ‘Is that the only beautiful part of me?’ She looked at him coyly.

  ‘The only beautiful part?’ He put his head to the side as if thinking. ‘No; but it’s the best bit of you, apart, perhaps, from that.’ He gave her stomach a sharp tap, and she turned from him, saying, ‘Oh you!’ and he laughed as he followed her out of the room, saying, ‘And you, and it—or them.’

  As they crossed the landing he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him and muttered under his breath, ‘Wouldn’t it be marvellous if it was them; two, or three of them?’ And when, almost violently, she pushed him away he let out a deep throaty laugh that resounded through the house, right down to the kitchen and up to the top floor, where Mike, hearing it, nodded slowly to himself as he said aloud, ‘That’s good.’

  When they reached the station the train had already arrived and they espied Betty at the far end of the platform talking to someone, which caused Elaine to move her head impatiently even while she laughed gently, saying, ‘Trust Betty to pick up somebody on the journey.’

  Beatrice Burton had her back to them, and she turned a delighted and wide-lipped smile on them when they appeared at her side, saying, ‘Oh, hello, Joe. Hello, Elaine.’ She bent forward impulsively and kissed Elaine; then she held out her hand to Joe, saying, ‘Nice to see you again, Joe. Oh, by the way’—she turned to the person to whom she had been speaking—‘this is Mrs Ambers.’

  ‘How do you do, Mrs Ambers?’ Joe inclined his head towards the elderly woman who, from her appearance, looked as if she were on her way to a Victorian tea party. The coat she wore was long, the skirt being gored, taking its lines from a narrow waistband, while the bodice was buttoned up to the neck, the same being covered by a fur stole that seemed to be made up entirely of tails. Her hat was of faded green velour and her perky face seemed lost under its enormous brim.

  Her reply to Joe’s acknowledgement could have been heard as far away as the ticket barrier, ‘Oh, how do you do, Mr Remington. You’re the brother-in-law, aren’t you? Yes, yes. And’—she now turned and looked at Elaine—‘this’ll be the sister. Well, well, no resemblance, no resemblance whatever. Ha! ha! it goes like that. Now I wonder if Hammond is outside. Would you be kind enough, Miss Hughes-Burton, to see if he’s there? He’ll have a carriage, no motor. Sarah doesn’t believe in motors; she’s old-fashioned, as old-fashioned as the hills.’

  ‘Yes; yes, of course, I’ll see to it.’

  As Betty was about to dart away Joe caught her arm, saying, ‘Leave it to me’; then turning to Mrs Ambers he asked, ‘Whe
re are you for?’

  ‘The Hall. The Hall, of course; Menton’s place.’

  ‘Oh. Oh yes.’ He showed no surprise; unlike Elaine, who stared at the odd creature, thinking ruefully: Isn’t it just like Betty to meet up with Lady Menton’s cousin; she had now remembered the name Ambers and its connection with the Mentons. This weird-looking individual was Lady Mary Ambers and known to be as flush with money as were the Mentons, and all too old to enjoy it.

  The three women were walking towards the ticket barrier now and Elaine, in her most gracious manner, asked of the old lady, ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Journeys are never pleasant but this one was relieved by your sister here.’ Lady Ambers turned her head abruptly and nodded towards Betty, who answered bluntly, ‘Well, it worked both ways.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you. It’s unusual to find an intelligent talker who doesn’t turn out to have been a suffragette. You did say you weren’t a suffragette, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  Joe was standing beyond the barrier, and at a respectful distance behind him stood David. However, standing in front of David was a smartly liveried middle-aged man and over the dividing iron railings Lady Ambers called loudly, ‘Oh, there you are, Hammond. Good. Good.’

  Inclining his head respectfully the man said, ‘Yes, milady.’

  And now there was a hold-up because her ladyship couldn’t find her ticket. Having been forced to stand aside to let the other passengers through the barrier she fumbled with her handbag, and then with her purse, until Betty came to her side and said quietly, ‘I think you put it down your glove.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Good Lord, you would think I was senile.’ The reply was meant to be in a whisper and it amused the line of passengers.

  They were outside now. David, carrying Betty’s luggage, was shepherding them towards the car, while Hammond led the way along the kerb towards the shining but elderly carriage.

  He held the door open wide for her ladyship to enter, but with her foot on the step Lady Ambers hesitated, stepped back on the pavement, looked along to where Betty was about to enter the car and cried, ‘Miss Burton! Miss Burton! You must come and have tea with me. Do you hear! You must come and have tea with me.’

  ‘Oh, thank you very much. Yes, I will. Thank you. Goodbye.’

  Settled in the car, Joe let out a low rumbling chuckle. ‘There’s a character for you. I wonder what connection she is to the Mentons?’

  ‘Oh, she’s a cousin.’

  Joe turned his head towards Betty as he said, ‘Really!’ Then he twisted further round in his seat as Elaine put in, ‘She happens to be Lady Mary Ambers.’

  ‘Lady Mary Ambers!’ Joe nodded his head to each word. ‘Well, well, this is the eccentric one. I’ve heard of her. She lives up to her name. Travels the world, doesn’t she?’

  He turned again towards Betty and asked, ‘How does she do it? She didn’t even know where she’d put her ticket.’

  ‘Oh, she would have found it or someone would have found it for her. She’s one of these people who’ll always get by…But I didn’t know she was Lady Mary. Nice of her, don’t you think, not to press it. She said her name was Ambers, but that was all.’

  ‘She looked slightly mad,’ Elaine muttered.

  Betty slanted her eyes towards Elaine as she said, ‘Don’t you believe it; nobody’s mad who can survive three rich husbands.’

  ‘She’s been married three times?’ Joe turned around again.

  ‘Yes, and by all accounts they all adored her,’ said Betty.

  ‘You mean by her accounts,’ was Elaine’s response.

  Again Betty gave Elaine a slanting glance, and she shook her head now, saying, ‘No, she never mentioned them. But I’ve met her once before, although I don’t think she remembered me and I didn’t know even then who she really was. It was at a bun-fight Lena Bradshaw was holding for some charity or other, and Lena referred to her as Old Mary.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been invited to tea and that’s a double honour, if you did but know it.’ Joe was now looking straight ahead through the windscreen, and after a slight pause he ended, ‘You’ll be the first one from Fell Rise to enter the portals of Menton Hall.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t take it up; it was just her way of being polite.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool! Of course you’ll take it up,’ said Elaine. Now Betty’s head came right round and she stared at her sister for a moment before she said on a small laugh, ‘I’ll send you in my place.’

  There was an awkward pause, until Joe cried, ‘I forgot to introduce you to David, Betty. Betty, David.’ He bobbed his head from one to the other, and when Betty leant forward towards the open partition and said, ‘Hello, David,’ and he answered pleasantly, ‘How do you do, miss?’, Elaine closed her eyes tightly while pressing her back deep into the upholstery of the car, and behind her clenched teeth her tongue clicked the roof of her mouth as she exclaimed to herself, really! really! and the intonation had the sound of a curse. He was impossible, impossible. Introducing Betty to the chauffeur. What next! What next indeed! Betty might be cosmopolitan in her outlook but what must she think of the master introducing his sister-in-law to the chauffeur, and a coloured one at that?

  Two

  Betty had been at the house for a week and, as Mike remarked to Joe, she fitted in like an old glove. And Betty, too, felt that she fitted in. She loved the house and garden; she loved the food—well, who wouldn’t after having sampled Cousin Kathryn’s fare for the past six months—and she liked the people about the place. In a way she liked Mike most of all; his bluntness caused her to erupt with laughter. And, of course, she liked Joe.

  Elaine, she considered, was very lucky. But then Elaine had always been lucky; everything always turned out as Elaine planned it should; just as she had planned that she herself should and would stay with her. And at the present moment she had to admit she could wish for nothing more, for she was tired of moving from one place to another; she was tired of waiting on old ladies, and reading aloud; and she was tired, very tired, of condescension.

  Relatives, she found, were the worst offenders in this respect, except, of course, Elaine. She could never remember her being so sweet, or so grateful; in fact, she couldn’t remember the slightest feeling of empathy ever existing between them, but now all that seemed to have altered.

  That there was a reason for her sister’s changed attitude towards her had very quickly become apparent: Elaine was feeling lonely and lost amongst these people. As she said, they didn’t speak her language, and she could never speak theirs and, what appeared to be very trying to her, Joe’s friends weren’t of the class to which she had been accustomed.

  She had wondered more than once during the past few days if her sister had grown to love her husband. She couldn’t possibly have loved him when she married him: she wasn’t the kind of person to fall in love at first sight; and anyway, she was still suffering from the Lionel Harris affair. But she had done better for herself in marrying Joe than ever she would have done with Lionel Harris; or Major Lionel Harris, as he insisted on being called.

  She was an early riser and it was just turned half-past seven on the Saturday morning when she made her way downstairs. The sun was shining, throwing broad shafts of light through the stained-glass windows on the landing. She had decided to take a walk round the garden before breakfast and was crossing the hall towards the front door when Ella came from the morning room carrying a brass, helmet-shaped coal scuttle. Seeing her, she stopped for a moment, exclaiming, ‘Eeh! miss; you’re up early.’

  ‘It’s a habit, Jane, and I can’t get out of it.’

  ‘Well, the fire’s blazing away in the breakfast room, miss, and I’ll get your breakfast early if you want it.’

  ‘No. No, thank you. I’ll have it at the usual time; I’m going to take a walk around the garden.’

  ‘Do that, miss; it’s a lovely morning, shar
p though.’

  ‘Yes, it is lovely. It’s been a beautiful autumn; but we can’t expect this kind of weather to last much longer.’

  ‘No, you’re right there, miss. Oh, and when the winds start an’ the snow, my! it would freeze a brass monkey.’

  ‘I bet it would. Well, I’ve got that to come.’ She smiled at Ella now, then opened the door and went out, the while Ella, moving to one of the hall windows, watched her stride across the drive towards the terrace, before she herself turned and hurried to the kitchen.

  ‘She’s gone out, the miss, for a walk in the garden. By! but she’s pleasant, isn’t she?’

  ‘Aye, she is that.’ Mary nodded her head slowly. ‘She’s plain but she’s very pleasant.’

  ‘Well, I’d rather have her than some I could mention.’

  ‘Now, enough of that. There, drink your tea and then get about your work…But what did you say? She’s gone walking in the garden?’

  They both turned now and stared at each other as the same thought struck them.

  Betty had stopped by the lakeside. But rather than looking down into the water, she raised her head to the sky and drew in deep draughts of air, and as it filled her lungs she likened it to wine, for it made her feel heady, and good. It was odd, she thought, as she now walked round the lake, that she had disliked Cousin Kathryn’s garden, and yet she already loved this one. But, she told herself ruefully, the reason wasn’t really hard to find: Kathryn had had her digging or weeding, working like a horse every day. Here, everything was neat and tidy and you could walk round and enjoy it.

  She made her way through an arch in the privet hedge and took a path to the left. It was new to her and led away from the kitchen garden and the greenhouses and into a narrow belt of woodland.

  When she came to the end of the strip of woodland she found she had also reached the extent of the grounds, for here she came up against a fence. It was low, only three and a half feet high, and made of staves wired together. The path itself ended at the fence but to the right of her was a patch of rough scrubland, with hawthorn and bramble, that had overgrown the fence in places.