Katie Mulholland

by Catherine Cookson

  It was now two o’clock. The music from the orchestra could still be heard in the kitchen. Cook held her candle in one hand while she supported herself against the table with the other. She was dead on her feet, she told herself. ‘You two ready?’ She spoke over her shoulder, and Dotty was the first to say, ‘Aye, Cook.’ She, too, held a candlestick in her hand.

  ‘Katie.’

  Katie came running out of the pot room, saying, ‘Yes, Cook, I’m comin’. I’ve just banked the fires down. I’ll just wash me hands.’

  ‘Come on this minute, girl. Don’t try me any more, I’ve had enough for one day.’

  Katie grabbed up her candle from the mantelpiece, lit it from the glowing embers of the fire, then followed Dotty, who followed the cook. In procession, they went out of the kitchen, along the long corridor that led to the butler’s pantry and the housekeeper’s room, and through the door that led to the back staircase.

  They had just reached the first landing when the green-baize door connecting with the gallery was pushed open and Mrs Davis came through, and with her a loud swell of music. Closing the door behind her, she said in a thick whisper, ‘Oh, I was just coming down…Would you like to have a peep?’

  This was the moment Katie had been waiting for, but the work of a long day and a longer night had swamped her interest; all she wanted to do now was to reach the attic and throw herself down on her bed; she doubted if she would be able to take her things off. She knew a sense of relief when she heard Cook say in a stilted tone, ‘Thank you all the same, Mrs Davis, but I’m done up. All I want is me bed.’

  As she finished speaking she raised her candle just the slightest and peered at the housekeeper, at her flushed face and bright eyes, which told her that Mrs Davis had drained a number of not quite empty bottles already and would doubtless drain a few more before she went to sleep.

  She was about to move on when Mrs Davis said, ‘But you would, wouldn’t you?’ She was bending towards the two girls.

  Dotty Black stared at Mrs Davis dully. She knew on which side her bread was buttered. The housekeeper might have power in the house, but she was in the kitchen under Cook, and she didn’t intend to get on the wrong side of her and have a life like Katie Mulholland, so she said, ‘I’m tired, Mrs Davis.’

  Mrs Davis straightened her back and her lips took on a set line, and her eyes stayed on Dotty some seconds before she looked towards Katie and asked, ‘Well, you, Katie; you would love to have a peep, wouldn’t you?’

  Katie peered up at her benefactress in the dim light. She always wanted to please Mrs Davis—she had promised her mother she would—and she knew now that if she refused her invitation she wouldn’t please her. Mrs Davis seemed bent on showing off the scene in the hall as if it was a personal triumph of her own. Katie sensed this, as the housekeeper’s wine-laden breath wafted over her; and so, while knowing that tomorrow in the kitchen she would suffer the consequences of her choice, she said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Davis, I’d like to.’

  ‘I knew you would.’ Mrs Davis, not quite herself, put out her hand and caught at Katie’s, saying, ‘Put your candle down and nip it.’

  Katie did as she was bidden, and as she was taken through the green-baize door she was aware that Cook and Dotty were standing still, their faces dark with disapproval, watching her.

  Mrs Davis now led her along the short passage to where it opened out into a corner of the gallery, and there she brought her to a halt, whispering, ‘We’ll wait here a minute until they start dancin’ again.’

  Katie stood blinking in the light from the chandelier hanging over the hall and from the four lamps hanging along the length of the gallery. After the dimness of the kitchen, and latterly the stairs, the light was dazzling. And then there was the smell—scenty, warm, like the smell from the flower garden late at night.

  ‘There, they’ve started.’ Mrs Davis glanced about her, then, saying to Katie ‘Stay still,’ she went along the gallery until she came to the last of the big windows and there she stopped, looked around her again, then beckoned Katie towards her.

  Slightly more awake now with the excitement, Katie scurried across the strange ground of soft carpet, past the wide passage that led to the bedrooms; then, hugging the wall, she went swiftly past the four long windows and came to where Mrs Davis was standing pointing.

  There was an open balustrade edging the gallery, and through it, from where they were standing, Katie could only see a quarter of the hall below and the odd dancing couples. One, two, three steps forward, one, two, three steps back, then the men bowing and the ladies dipping; then twirling round and again one, two, three steps forward, and one, two, three steps back. She glanced up at Mrs Davis and found that Mrs Davis was looking at her.

  ‘Aren’t they lovely, Katie?’

  ‘Oh yes, Mrs Davis. Oh yes.’ She was gazing down on the dancers again before she finished speaking. Oh, if only her ma and da and their Joe could see them. But somewhere at the back of her mind, even as she thought this, she got the impression that her da and Joe might not have viewed the scene through hers, or her mother’s, eyes.

  How long she stood entranced she didn’t know, but she almost jumped from the ground when Mrs Davis caught her arm tightly and pulled her backwards, then stood looking in the direction of the main passage as she whispered low, ‘Someone’s coming.’

  The next minute Katie found herself gripped by the collar of her frock and thrust between the long curtains of the gallery window.

  ‘Sit on the sill,’ Mrs Davis hissed at her, and Katie, always quick in emergencies, hoisted herself up on to the broad, padded window sill, and there she knelt stiffly, waiting.

  It seemed dark in here after the light of the landing; yet, glancing through the window without moving her head, she saw that a moon was riding high behind fluffed clouds. She was also aware that Mrs Davis was still standing in front of the curtains. Then she heard a voice, which she recognised instantly as belonging to Mr Rodger. She heard him say, ‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Davis; I was just going to look for you. It’s Miss Theresa; she’s feeling upset. It must have been something she ate that has disagreed with her. I wonder if you’ve got a minute to look in on her.’

  When Mrs Davis’ voice came to her she knew that she was no longer outside the curtain but along the gallery. She heard her make some answer but she couldn’t make out what was said. Following this there was just the music again, soft now, muted.

  After waiting for some minutes she sat back on her heels, careful not to touch the curtains. She wished Mrs Davis would hurry and get her out of this. The tiredness was overpowering her again, and sitting on her haunches was a strain, yet she was afraid to alter her position in case she touched the curtains. She knew if she had been one of the parlourmaids, or a chambermaid, she could have walked across the gallery to the green-baize door and it wouldn’t have mattered very much if she had met one of the guests, or even a member of the household, because she would have been dressed for inside the house. But the way she was, with her dirty frock and apron, and crumpled cap, she knew she was no fit person to be in this part of the house at any time, but especially tonight.

  Minutes passed, which seemed like hours, and Mrs Davis did not return. Daringly now, she inserted a finger between the curtains and squinted along the gallery. It was empty, and they were still dancing down below…Slowly she let herself down from the sill and, creeping close to the panelled wall between the windows, she had almost reached the last one when the music stopped. At the same moment she heard a door open along the corridor and from the direction of the stairs came voices, and she must cross in front of the stairs to get to the passage that led to the green-baize door. For just one second she pressed herself against the panelling, and then, with the quickness of a lizard, she was behind the curtain and on to the sill of the last window.

  On her hands and knees now, she remained motionless, and her breathing almost stopped when she heard her master’s voice. He must have been only a foot or two away from
the curtains; it was as if he was shouting in her ear. He was talking in a hearty, laughing way to someone. Then came other voices, ladies’ voices and a lot of rustling sounds as they walked up and down the gallery. After an eternity when she found she couldn’t remain on her hands and knees any longer she held her breath as she slowly let herself down on to her side; and there she lay with her head on her arm not daring to move.

  The sill was not long enough to take her stretched-out length, but it was broad enough to allow her to bend her knees without them touching the curtains. She told herself that when the music started again they would all go downstairs, then she would fly out and get away. But when the music did start there remained the sound of voices, and the one on which she concentrated her attention was the loud boisterous voice of her master. It went on and on until it became mixed up with the music. The music was slow now and lovely, and soothing; becoming softer and softer, it gradually faded away altogether and she was asleep…

  It was about ten minutes later that the gallery emptied and Mrs Davis hurried to the end window, only to find that Katie wasn’t on the sill. She drew a deep breath of relief. Katie was quick, bright; she had taken the opportunity to slip away when all was quiet.

  Half an hour later the ball came to an end and the guests came upstairs for their cloaks and the hall rang to the sound of goodbyes and congratulations to the happy couple, not forgetting the master and mistress of the house who had put on such a splendid show for them. The last of the guests to leave were the Talfords. James Talford shook George Rosier’s hand, saying courteously, ‘I only hope I do them as much justice at our little affair next month as you have done them tonight.’

  ‘Oh, I have no doubt but that you will excel anything that I have attempted, no doubt at all,’ said George Rosier heartily, beaming up at the tall man. And he hadn’t any doubt.

  Agnes Rosier was now embracing Mrs Talford as if they were devoted sisters, and when she came to say goodbye to her future daughter-in-law she hovered over the blushing girl as if she was finding it hard to restrain her affection for her, and then with a gracious gesture of her hand she passed her over to her son, and Bernard accompanied his future wife down the steps to the carriage. Once there, however, he was quick to turn aside to assist her mother into her seat and bow gravely to her father before bending over his fiancée’s hand and raising it to his lips.

  Not until the carriage had disappeared round the curve in the drive did he enter the house again. He walked slowly through the vestibule, crossed the hall and looked to where his father and Rodger were standing talking. Then he turned his gaze to his mother where she was standing in the doorway of the small parlour, and as he went towards her his father and brother joined him.

  Once inside the room, and the door closed, they all stood looking at each other. It was Agnes who spoke first. ‘Well,’ she said, looking directly at Bernard, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘You mean, how it went?’

  She inclined her head impatiently.

  ‘Oh, excellently.’

  ‘You think they were impressed?’

  ‘Who can tell? He’s as close as a clam.’

  ‘You’re right there.’ George Rosier walked to the mantelpiece and rested his hand on it, and, looking down into the almost dead fire, said, ‘You never can tell with types like him, the holy Joes, but I think he was impressed all right. Nothing was too ostentatious, everything just as it should be. Don’t you think so?’ He had now turned his head sharply and addressed his younger son.

  Rodger undid the second pearl button of his waistcoat as he replied, ‘I thought everything went marvellously, and the food was superb.’ He would have never dared say what he was thinking; that if tonight’s show hadn’t been ostentatious he wondered to what extreme they would go to put on something they did consider ostentatious.

  ‘Good; good.’ George Rosier returned his gaze to the fire, and Agnes said, ‘I must remember to tell Mrs Davis to congratulate the cook tomorrow…Ah, well!’ She heaved a deep sigh. ‘We can do no more at present, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll retire.’

  Her husband made no comment on this, not even casting his glance towards her, but her sons went to her and, one after the other, kissed her on the cheek; then Rodger opened the door for her. But before she had actually passed through it George Rosier turned from the fireplace and asked, ‘What happened to Theresa? Where did she get to half the night? And she wasn’t there at the end.’

  Agnes turned her head and, looking over her shoulder towards him, said, ‘I don’t know what happened to her’; her tone implying, ‘Nor do I care.’

  ‘She felt sick and had to go to her room,’ Rodger put in. And now both his parents turned and looked at him, and, glancing from one to the other, he said, ‘It must have been something she ate, the lobster perhaps; it never did agree with her.’

  Agnes continued to look at Rodger for a moment, but she made no comment, and when she turned away he watched her walking across the hall to the stairs, her dress spreading like a peacock’s tail behind her.

  ‘Well, I’m off too. Goodnight, Father. Goodnight, Bernard.’ Rodger nodded to each in turn, and they both answered, ‘Goodnight.’

  The father and son left together now, there was silence between them until Bernard, stroking the hair on his cheekbones with his spread finger and thumb, said, ‘He was more affable than I expected.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that; in fact I found him surprisingly civil. But don’t you take anything for granted. Be wary. And mind—’ George Rosier now turned fully around and faced his son, and wagging his finger at him he said darkly, ‘Keep your nose clean. You understand?’

  Bernard moved slowly away. His father’s expression was distasteful and it angered him, for he understood its implication only too well.

  ‘God, I’m tired, and that’s putting it mildly. You coming?’

  ‘In a moment or so.’

  George Rosier turned to go, then stopped and asked, ‘What do you make of Palmer?’

  ‘I don’t really know except that he’s playing the father figure already and he’s too young for it.’

  ‘He’s too young for nothing. He’s as wily as a cartload of monkeys. Did you notice they went off early? You would have thought they’d have waited for Ann and her people, seeing they’re friends of theirs and are giving them hospitality for the night. You didn’t talk big to him, did you?’ When Bernard looked at him he added, ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it past you, even sober.’ And on this show of confidence he marched out and into the hall, where he stood for a short while watching the men quenching the candelabra, and putting out the lamps.

  Back in the parlour, Bernard brought his staring gaze from the door; then, dragging a chair towards the hearth, he dropped into it and, bending forward, poked the fire and threw on a log. As he sat back he shivered. He’d had very little inside him since yesterday to keep him warm; for having been cautioned by his father to take his wine in moderation when in the company of the Talfords, he had gone even further and hardly drunk anything at all. But now the time for moderation had passed. He leant towards the bell rope, but, remembering that there would be no-one in the kitchen at this hour, he rose from his chair, went to the door, pulled it open and called softly across the hall to Kennard.

  The butler left his two assistants and came to the door, saying, ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Bring me a tray and bottle.’

  ‘A wine, sir?’

  ‘No, brandy.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’

  A few minutes later Kennard returned to the room and, placing a small table near Bernard’s side, he put down the tray holding a bottle of brandy and a glass.

  ‘Pull them off.’ Bernard nodded to his feet, and Kennard, standing in front of him, lifted one foot after the other on to his bent knees and gently eased off the soft leather boots.

  Bernard now said, ‘You needn’t wait up, I may be some time. I’ll put out the lamp.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.�
� Kennard walked with his stately step towards the door, giving no sign, at least in his posture, of his utter weariness.

  Bernard poured himself a large measure of brandy, placed his feet on the top of a tapestry stool and lay back with the glass in his hand. He swirled the liquid around the glass once or twice before putting it to his lips; then he contemplated the now glowing log on the hearth as he let his mind travel into the future.

  She’d be like clay in his hands, and through her he’d win the approval of her father; he had no doubt in his mind but that he could achieve this. Yet he was aware that he would have to be cautious; all the while he would have to be cautious. He did not really know what she would prove to be like behind the four-poster curtains, and he doubted very much if she’d be entertaining in that way, for already she was much too pliable. He knew that he would soon sicken of her adoration, in fact it tired him already, but the price he would have to pay for what she would bring to him would be in proving to her that his ardour was sincere. He did not minimise the fact to himself that this pose would be hard to sustain.

  He favoured two kinds of women; one that could turn lovemaking into a wrestling match, and, at the other end of the scale, the clever, intelligent woman who could spar with her tongue. His future wife belonged to neither of these categories. His mind now dwelling on a lady of the first kind that attracted him, his body moved restlessly in the chair. He hadn’t visited her for over a month, but, by God, he would rectify that within the next twelve hours, come what may.

  He refilled his glass and set to wondering how long James Talford had before him. He was much older than his wife—nearing seventy, he would say; he had married late. He hoped he would not leave his demise too late. The bulk of his money would be left to his wife. Well, that wouldn’t matter; she was just an older edition of her daughter. He would enjoy managing them both. She was attracted to him too. He knew this; he had always appealed to older women.