‘Who’s them for?’ Tony’s look and voice were a laughable imitation of his grandfather, and, shaking herself, she said, ‘Oh, you, Tony, you know what I mean. Who-are-they-for? There, will that suit you?’
‘At least it’s better. They are for your friend.’
‘My friend? You mean Corny?’
‘Yes, Master Corny.’
‘Oh, Tony. Oh, thanks, Tony.’ She grabbed his hand. Then her head on one side, she looked up at her mother and said with sudden caution, ‘Isn’t it nice of Tony, Ma?’
When Lizzie seemed too occupied to answer she turned to Tony again, saying, ‘Oh, Corny will love them, Tony.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’ Tony jerked his head. ‘It all depends if they’ll fit him—he’s a great lump of a fellow. I’d like to bet that already he’s got a bigger chest measurement than me. He’ll be as big as you, Mike, before long.’ Tony cast a laughing glance over towards Mike, where he sat smoking at the side of the fireplace, and Mike replied, ‘I haven’t seen the lad in years.’
‘But isn’t it nice of Tony, Da?’ Mary Ann went and stood by the side of Mike’s chair, and Mike, nodding at her, replied, ‘Very nice, very nice.’ But he did not sound enthusiastic and he did not look at Mary Ann as he spoke but at Lizzie’s back where she was standing at the table. Then, bringing his gaze onto Mary Ann again, he stared at her before giving her an almost imperceptible nod.
Mary Ann, reading the message, turned about and went over to the table and, fingering the clothes that Lizzie was folding, asked softly, ‘Can he come then, Ma?’
Lizzie went on putting the seams of a pair of trousers together and her voice was low when at last she replied, ‘Well, it would be a shame to waste all these things, wouldn’t it?’
Mary Ann’s arms went swiftly round Lizzie’s waist and she laid her head against her side for a moment. Then, lifting up a pair of almost new brown shoes from the assortment, she asked, ‘When can we take them, Ma?’
‘Oh, I don’t know; I’d better drop Mrs McBride a card. Corny will have to come across—the suit might need a little altering.’
Mary Ann nodded in approval. Her mother was a dab hand at altering, she had been a dab hand at trouser-making—she had made Michael’s for years.
Suddenly Mary Ann felt warm and happy. Everybody was nice. It was her birthday on Wednesday, but the great day would be Saturday when she had her party. And Corny could come. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Corny’s presence at her party promised it an aura of glamour, which quality had not been suggested by the persons of any of her posh friends, male or female. It was a very odd situation, which, although she did not know it, had to do with natural, very natural in her case, selection.
Mary Ann retained the nice feeling until Monday morning, when, sitting at breakfast, she watched Mike open another sealed letter. It was a longish envelope and the paper was thick and stiff and she felt a fleeting return of anxiety as she watched him reading it. But the anxiety fled when he did not place it in his pocket but, putting it on the table, laid his hand flat on it and stared down at it as he asked grimly, ‘Who do they think they’re trying to frighten?’
‘What is it?’ The apprehension Lizzie was feeling came over in her voice and Mike answered without looking at her, ‘A solicitor’s letter.’
‘Let me see it here.’ Lizzie held out her hand, and Mike, after a moment, passed her the letter.
The letter was headed: Ringmore Chambers, Purley Street, Newcastle-on-Tyne, and at the left side were the names Bristow, Yates and MacFarlace, Solicitors, and the letter began:
Dear Sir,
Our Client, Mr Henry Johnson of Moor Farm, has acquainted us with the events which took place at Moor Farm, Fellhurst, on Saturday, May 20th.
We are instructed that at that time and place you seriously assaulted our Client, knocking him to the ground and occasioning him to sustain a broken ankle in addition to bruisings and shock, as a result of which he has had to seek and receive medical attention.
We are writing, therefore, on his behalf to inform you that he proposes to seek redress in the courts for what has occurred.
It is not possible for us at this stage accurately to quantify his claim until it is seen how he recovers from the injuries which he sustained and whether or not there is likely to be any permanent disability, and it therefore will be a little time before the proceedings which we have instructions to commence are served upon you.
In the meantime if you have any proposals to make concerning the matter you may care to communicate with us, and if you wish to take legal advice before doing so no doubt you will do so.
Yours faithfully,
Charles Bristow
Mary Ann watched her mother put the letter slowly down on the table and, almost as if she was copying Mike’s attitude, lay her hand on it and with a notable tremor in her voice ask, ‘What will be the outcome of it?’
Mike did not answer for a moment but rose from the table and, going to the mantelpiece, he took his pipe from the rack and prepared to fill it. Not until it was almost full did he speak. ‘They’ll take me to court,’ he said. ‘And if I lose the case I’ll have to stump up, that’s all.’
He came to the table, picked up the letter, then took his coat from the head of the couch, but before making his way to the door he paused for a moment by Lizzie’s chair and said quietly, ‘Don’t worry, things’ll pan out.’
Mary Ann watched them looking at each other. It seemed as if they looked at each other for a long time before her mother’s eyes dropped away and her da left the kitchen.
‘If he loses, how much would they make him pay?’ Michael was looking earnestly at Lizzie, who, rising from the table now, said, ‘Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, why should he lose? He’s got a good case. Come along, get ready for school.’
Michael did not pursue the subject as Mary Ann would have done, but in his thoughtful, serious way he got his things together and after saying goodbye to Lizzie left the house.
Mary Ann hadn’t to leave for another fifteen minutes and she made up her mind to go and find her da—he hadn’t said goodbye to her. But she was forestalled in this by Lizzie saying, ‘You’ve got time to run up with these eggs to Ben. They’ve never had any since Friday, they must be out.’
Mary Ann made no protest; she might see her da on the way. She followed her mother into the stone larder and took the wire basket in which lay a dozen eggs, and, hurrying almost at a run but carefully so she wouldn’t trip, she went up the hill, through the side gate, round the courtyard and towards the back door. But long before she reached the door she heard Mr Lord’s voice, and she knew he was going at it, and likely at Tony. Her last surmise was confirmed when, with finger on the bell, she was about to press it—she never dared to enter Ben’s kitchen without permission; she could walk straight into the drawing room through the French windows, but never into the kitchen—when the door was wrenched open and Tony marched past her, only to draw up quickly and turn an anger-suffused face towards her.
Looking at him in amazement, she saw that he was right mad about something, and then she sensed that the anger in his look seemed to be directed towards her, and there was not only anger in the look. What it was she couldn’t put a name to, but she found she wanted to turn her face away from it, it was as if Tony hated her. But she had done nothing, nothing at all. After a swift searching of her mind and finding her conscience clear over the last few hours she went to speak about a quite irrelevant matter, the eggs. Her mouth open and the wire basket held up, she was about to draw his attention to them when he swung away from her and strode towards the gate.
What was up with him? He needn’t take it out on her because Mr Lord had gone for him.
‘Give them here.’
She turned to find Ben’s hand extended towards her, and was further amazed to find that his expression bore some resemblance to Tony’s. When he grabbed the basket from her she curbed her natural reaction to demand, ‘What’s up with you all?’ and
asked, ‘Can I have the cage back?’ and her face stretched in indignation when she heard his reply.
‘You should be in a cage, along with the rest of them…All women should be in cages.’
She watched the old man shamble into his kitchen. What was the matter with him, saying she should be in a cage? Ben and her were usually all right; he was nicer to her than he was to anybody on the farm. Of course that wasn’t saying much, not for Ben. But still, to say that she should be in a cage …
When he returned with the empty basket she demanded stoutly, ‘What’s up? I haven’t done anything.’
‘You’ll be doin’ things till the day you die. Go on. Go on now.’ He flung his arm widely over her head.
And Mary Ann went. She went backwards for a number of steps, for her amazement was unbounded. She hadn’t done anything, she knew she hadn’t done anything, and she told herself all the way down the hill that she hadn’t done anything. She was so disturbed she even forgot to look for her da.
When she reached the kitchen she said to her mother, ‘Has Tony been in, Ma?’
‘No.’ Lizzie turned her head and looked at Mary Ann, her eyes narrower as she asked, ‘Why, what’s the matter? Why are you looking like that?’
‘I don’t know, Ma.’ And she didn’t know. ‘They were going at it up there, Mr Lord and Tony, and Tony passed me without speaking. And then Ben went for me. I’ve done nothing, have I, Ma?’
Lizzie stared at her daughter and then she asked softly, ‘Well, only you know that. Have you?’
‘No, Ma, honest. Look, on the Sacred Heart.’ She made the sign on her chest again. ‘I swear, Ma. Well, I’ve never been out, have I?’
‘No. No, you haven’t, not since teatime yesterday, anyway.’ Lizzie stood thoughtful for a moment and then said briskly, ‘Well, if you haven’t done anything there’s nothing to worry about. Go along and get your coat on and get off.’
A few minutes later Mary Ann left the house and she turned into the farmyard determined to say goodbye to her da and, incidentally, to see if he could throw any light on the matter of Tony. But this solace was denied her, for on nearing the office she heard Mr Lord’s voice. He was talking to her da and what amazed her now still further was that he wasn’t shouting, his voice was quiet. Although she couldn’t catch what he was saying, she seemed to detect a sympathetic note in it which was even more puzzling still.
But as nothing would induce her to face Mr Lord this morning, even in spite of his quiet-sounding tone, she turned about and made her way to the bus and school. It was Monday again and the pattern of the week was set…at least for her.
The day seemed interminable to Mary Ann, although during break and lunch hour she was hovered over and made much of by her two friends who wanted to talk of nothing but the party and those who were likely to be present—Roy Connor for instance and Alec Moore. Oh, Alec Moore was the tops. Janice hugged herself at the mere mention of Alec Moore.
Mary Ann simulated interest; she did her best because a certain standard of enthusiasm was expected of her, but all the time her mind was back at the farm and the incident of this morning.
For a short space Beatrice did catch her attention; it was when she said that her Aunt Connie had been inquiring after her.
Mary Ann had thought quite a bit on and off about Mr Quinton since Saturday, and she had come to the conclusion that if his coming to her party only resulted in her being able to accept the pound note, then somehow his visit would be wasted. To settle this matter once and for all, Mrs Quinton should be there. But she didn’t know where Mrs Quinton lived and she was averse, somehow, to asking Beatrice for this information, and should she tell her to bring her Aunt Connie to the party Beatrice would laugh. Aunt Connie was all right, but she was grown-up and Beatrice had voiced the opinion more than once that all grown-ups were stuffy. Mary Ann had always agreed with her, so you could hardly ask anybody who was stuffy to a party. Yet unless she came and…got kind with Mr Quinton, things in a way would remain as they were, and Mr Quinton at large without a wife was, even after the reassurance of Saturday morning, still a potential danger to her da.
It was a chance remark of Beatrice’s that gave Mary Ann the solution. ‘I was on the phone to Aunt Connie on Saturday night,’ she said, ‘and it was then she asked about you.’ If Beatrice could phone her Aunt Connie, why shouldn’t she? The only snag was she had never used a phone in her life. There was one in her da’s office, and when occasionally she would put her hand on it her da would say, ‘Now, now, leave that alone’, as if it was alive and would bite. But now the time had come, she told herself, when she must try it.
This matter settled as far as she could take it at the moment, her mind returned to the farm again and the question, What had happened up at the house this morning? And when school was over and the usual gushing farewells exchanged she couldn’t get home quickly enough to ascertain if her ma had found out anything.
Apparently Lizzie was no wiser than when Mary Ann had left her, for to her immediate inquiry, ‘Have you seen anybody?’ Lizzie replied, ‘No, not a soul today. Only your da, of course.’
Mary Ann looked at her mother and was able to see right away that things between her ma and da were also as she’d left them this morning. They hadn’t made it up.
It was Michael who brought Tony’s name up at teatime, saying, ‘What’s the matter with Tony?’ He looked towards Mike as he spoke. ‘He went along the road in the car as if the devil was after him.’
‘Didn’t he stop?’ asked Lizzie.
‘Well, he didn’t actually pass me; I saw him turning up the lane. He took the hill as if he was in the races.’
When Michael’s gaze turned slowly onto his sister and he asked gruffly, ‘Have you been up to something?’ she flared round on him. That was after banging her cup onto her saucer and gulping a mouthful of tea. ‘No, I haven’t, our Michael. Why should I get the blame for everything?’
‘Now, now, that’s enough of that.’
‘Well, Ma, he blames me for everything.’
Michael turned again to his father. ‘Do you know what’s up with him, Da?’
Mike’s eyebrows went up and his gaze went down and, shaking his head, he said slowly, ‘No, I don’t; I’m in the dark as much as you. I’ve never clapped eyes on him the day and that’s unusual. I don’t think that’s happened all the time he’s been here except when he was on holiday. But the night’s young, he’ll likely look in later.’
But Tony did not look in later. And when it was time for bed and Mike had locked up for the night he stood in the middle of the kitchen winding his watch, and after a time, during which he contemplated the banked-down fire, he remarked, ‘There’s something fishy about this. I don’t like it.’
‘Do you think it’s to do with Lorna Johnson?’
‘I just don’t know, I haven’t a clue.’
‘Did he…Mr Lord say anything?’
‘Not about Tony, but he was as smooth as butter with me. I always feel he’s up to somethin’ when he’s smooth. When I showed him that letter this mornin’ he said, “Oh, not to worry.” He says he knows Bristow personally and will have a talk with him; the matter might be dealt with out of court…for a stated amount. He seemed sure that I’d lose the case if it came up, and if I let it go on I’ll be up to my neck, he says. He’s very likely right an’ all. Hell!’ Mike abruptly walked towards the fireplace now and, putting his foot on the fender and gripping the rod under the mantelpiece, went on grimly, ‘I hate to think of Johnson getting a penny of mine. I’ve never saved in me life until now and it’s to go on him. My God!’
‘Mike.’ Lizzie’s voice came from close behind him and he turned slowly and confronted her. ‘I’ve got a little put by. I saved it out of the housekeeping and the presents you give me. It’s about thirty pounds. You know it’s there for you if you want it.’
After a short while, during which they gazed fixedly at each other, Mike exclaimed thickly, ‘Liz.’ His arm came out and around h
er neck and pulled her close to him. When her face was hidden from him he put his mouth into her hair and muttered, ‘I don’t care a damn really about Johnson, or his courts, or the old boy. It’s us. Let’s talk this out, Liz…now, for I can’t stand much more of that angelic acceptance of yours, it wears me down. You think I went off on a personal spree on Saturday, don’t you…that’s what’s worrying you, isn’t it?’
When Lizzie’s head moved against him but she made no comment, he said, ‘Look at me,’ and when he had pulled her face level with his she felt a stab of pain go through her as he said, ‘I don’t want to tell you this at all because it’s going to hurt,’ but when he added, ‘but not so much as if I’d gone off to meet Mrs Connie Quinton,’ the pain subsided and her lips parted questioningly. ‘But I went to see a Quinton all right—Bob.’
‘Bob! You went to see Bob on Saturday?’ Lizzie’s face was screwed up now.
‘Aye, I did. That letter I got was from him. Your mother had written to him about…about his wife and me…There now, there, don’t look like that; I told you it wouldn’t be pleasant.’
‘Oh, Mike!’
‘Don’t worry, Liz; she’s done her worst and failed. It didn’t upset me; nothing really upsets me but you and me not being at one.’
Love and Mary Ann Page 13
