The Wingless Bird

by Catherine Cookson

  Charles’ head came up sharply. ‘Well, you know yourself why she went away. She got Father to take his leave, supposedly because he was tired and needed a holiday, but it was to get away from me and…and the marriage. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?’

  Reg came back at him now, his voice low and bitter, saying, ‘Well, you knew how she felt about it, didn’t you? Right from the beginning. She was made that way. But you can comfort yourself with the thought that she would have been the same with whomever you chose; with the exception of Isobel, because Isobel offered no competition to her supremacy. Let’s face it. And you’ve got to face it: Mother was a man’s woman; she couldn’t stand other women. Isobel was plain, horsy and, if not quite stupid, dull. She could have ruled her and kept her in her place. She would have shown the same reaction to me or to Henry had either of us taken a girl home.’

  Besides sorrow there was surprise on Charles’ face as he stared at Reg. He himself had never seen his mother like that, but now he knew that his brother was right. His knowledge of women had been garnered from his experience of them. He said now, ‘Henry?’

  ‘He’ll be here today. They got through last night; the War Office. But Elaine can’t make it, she’s on her time again. God, that man!’

  They were both on their feet now, an arm’s length from each other; then suddenly they were embracing, holding tight, their bodies shaking.

  When they separated their cheeks were wet and Reg said thickly, ‘You’ll…you’ll have to come back with me. There are so many things to be seen to. I’ve got an extension of leave, but it’s only an extension; I’ll have to go back. And Henry too. That just leaves you to see to things at this end. Arrangements will have to be made but that can be talked about later. You’d better go and tell Agnes.’

  He made a small motion with his hand towards the door.

  Charles said nothing; he just turned from his brother and went out and up the stairs to where he knew he would find her.

  The bed had been made and she was packing two cases that were now lying on it. She gave no sign as he entered the room, not until he put his arms about her; then swiftly she turned to him and pressed her head into his shoulder.

  Five

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Alice was in the kitchen; in fact, the whole family, as it was now, was in the kitchen, including Jessie and Robbie, and the baby.

  ‘You would think she had done it on purpose. God forgive me for saying that.’

  Agnes looked at her mother and with difficulty stopped herself from saying, ‘You’re not alone with that thought.’ She knew that the woman had disliked her, even at times hated her. It had been a cold hate that had emanated not only from her eyes but through every gesture whenever she herself had been in her presence. She knew that the woman had been treating her as she wouldn’t have treated one of her own servants, classing her so far down the social scale that she wasn’t even to be recognised. But now she was gone and the weight of her death was on her Charles: she knew he would be thinking if it hadn’t been for his marriage his mother would never have gone on that so-called holiday from which she had been quick enough to return. So her death and his father’s death was to be laid at his door; the batman didn’t seem to come into it. He was dead, but he wasn’t important, not to them anyway, perhaps to no-one, for he had been a widower.

  The question was, would this tragedy shape their lives in the future? Well, it might not shape them but it would have a lasting effect on Charles and therefore on herself.

  Alice was speaking again. She was saying, ‘Things always happen in threes: Robbie’s brother Jimmy being missing has made him determined to join up. Now this.’

  Agnes looked at Robbie. His glance was averted from her, but he said, ‘Well, they’re at me; and anyway, there’ll be conscription shortly, an’ I’m not goin’ to wait for that, I’d never be able to live it down. Anyway, the war’ll likely be over afore I get me trainin’.’

  ‘And yes, you’ll likely be sunk as soon as you do your training.’

  ‘Oh, Mother! Fancy saying that,’ Aggie remonstrated.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Alice looked at Jessie’s distressed face, then said, ‘But with one thing and another, who’s going to look after the factory, I ask you? It takes us all our time to see to the shops. That Arthur Peeble’s getting too big for his boots: you’d think he owned the place at times, the way he talks to the customers.’

  ‘Mother, do you think I might have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, Aggie, lass, I’m sorry, I’m sorry; but your news has knocked all the stuffing out of me. Look, I’ll get you a meal.’

  ‘No, no. I’ve got to meet Charles at the station at three o’clock. He insists I go back to the house with him.’

  ‘To stay?’

  Three pairs of eyes were on her now.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what they are going to arrange. Only one thing I think I can be sure of, that is we’ll see very little of the cottage in the hills from now on.’

  ‘Is there anybody else to see to the place? I mean the big house?’

  ‘There’s another brother. He’s a minister and he’s at the front, but he’ll be home today.’

  ‘But how will you manage in a big place like that?’

  There was an almost imperceptible lift of Agnes’ shoulders and her voice had a stiff note in it as she replied, ‘That will be the least of my worries, if I’m called upon to manage that house, at least until Reginald comes back.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t?’ It was a quiet question from Robbie, and she looked at him for quite some time before she answered him: ‘I have never imagined that contingency, Robbie,’ she said, then turned about and walked out of the kitchen; and Alice, looking at Jessie, said, ‘My God! The things that happen. Do you know, once she’s in that house I bet she’ll never come back here again.’

  ‘Oh, Mam; yes she will. I know Aggie and she will.’

  ‘Nobody knows Aggie, least of all herself at this moment.’

  ‘Mr McCann’—the housekeeper always gave the footman his full title when she was annoyed with him—‘I am telling you that is what Mr Reginald said: Mr Charles is bringing his wife back to the house to stay for a while, and his words were, “You will give her all the help you can, won’t you, Mitcham?”’

  ‘But she’s a shop-girl, at least she was.’

  Patrick McCann had never thought of raising his voice to Jane Dixon, ever, but now he almost barked at her, ‘She is not a shop-girl. As far as I understand she owns two shops and a factory. There’s a difference.’

  ‘I’m sorry I spoke, I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh.’ McCann seemed to toss his body from side to side before he said, ‘Look; what we’ve all got to realise is, if she’s coming here to be mistress until Mr Reginald comes back, we’ve got to recognise her as the mistress if we want to keep our places.’

  ‘Here’s one that’ll never recognise her as that.’

  They all looked at the coachman, and it was McCann again who said, ‘Well, that’ll be your loss likely, John. And that goes for you an’ all, Peter.’

  Peter Pratt hunched his shoulders, saying, ‘Well, I don’t suppose she’ll affect us much, being as we are outside.’

  ‘But I’m inside.’ His wife Rose thrust her face towards him. ‘Don’t forget that.’

  ‘I forget nowt except we’ve been sitting pretty for years, and there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go on doing so if we keep our place.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll keep our place all right.’ It was David Williams, the gardener, speaking now. ‘But will she?’

  ‘Well, you’re well out of it, livin’ down in the lodge.’ It was the first time the cook had voiced her opinion, and she went on, ‘What people seem to forget is that I’m part of the indoor set-up, of no consequence really, just being the cook, but what I say is let’s wait and see. She’s from Newcastle, isn’t she? And it isn’t the best end, not Spring Street, if I remember anything, so she’ll likely be so overawed that
she’ll become manageable. We’ve just got to wait and see, and then we can set to work, pointing out to her that there’s been no change in this household for years till the war, and even that hasn’t altered the running much till now. So, let’s all wait and see.’

  There were nods and murmurs and, ‘Aye, yes; that’s the best plan. And anyway, we can do nothing about it until she comes.’

  She came at half-past four, accompanied by her husband and brother-in-law.

  It was Charles who introduced her to the housekeeper, saying, ‘This is Mrs Mitcham, dear, our housekeeper of long standing. Mrs Mitcham, my wife.’

  Agnes had been about to extend her hand but something in the woman’s mien prompted her merely to incline her head. ‘And this is McCann, our footman. Patrick, my wife.’

  McCann bowed from the shoulders and Agnes again inclined her head; then Charles said, ‘You will meet the rest of the staff in due course, dear.’

  As Charles took Agnes by the elbow Reginald, having handed his coat to McCann, said, ‘Get Rose or Katie to show Mrs Farrier to her room, will you please?’

  He was about to turn away but hesitated and, looking at McCann again, he said, ‘Don’t keep all the blinds fully drawn, just at half-mast on the ground floor, those upstairs not at all.’

  There was a longer hesitation before McCann could answer, ‘Very well, sir.’ Later, in the kitchen they said, ‘Did you ever! And that from Mr Reginald. It’s lacking in respect, to say the least. None of them to be pulled upstairs. Well, well; what are things coming to? I wouldn’t have expected that from him…’

  Charles did not wait for either Rose or Katie to show Agnes their room, nor did he ask which room had been prepared for them, but as soon as he led her into his old room and saw the cases lying unopened on the bed, he told himself the girls hadn’t had much time to fix things up, although Reginald had instructed them all this morning what was to take place.

  As he helped her off with her coat he said, ‘This is my old room. They…they haven’t had time to make other arrangements, but they will. Oh, yes, they will.’ It was the way he spoke the last words that made her say, ‘Please Charles, don’t take up any cudgels. Let things rest as they are for a time. If we are to take over the household, and that is apparently what Reg wants us to do, then for my part, I shall do it in my own way, and with as little fuss as possible. So please, leave it to me, will you?’

  ‘Oh, my darling.’ He put out his hand and thrust the cases back into the middle of the bed, then drew her down onto the edge of it and, putting his arms about her, he said, ‘I won’t go into it, not at this time, but you know how I feel, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, my dear, I do. And, as you say, we won’t go into it. Yet I will say this to you now: there is no blame attached to you, nor do I attach any to myself. To some extent, we govern our own lives, plan out our own destiny, and your mother planned out hers. I…I know she didn’t think I was a suitable person for you to marry, but you thought I was and I thought I was; through my love for you I thought I was. So, neither of us must take the burden of blame.’

  ‘Oh, darling, darling.’ He dropped his head onto her shoulder. ‘What would I do without you?’

  As she stroked his hair she didn’t say what she was thinking: perhaps it would have been better for you if you had never met me nor I you. Yet no, no; he might still have married out of his class, and his mother would have had a similar position to face.

  In a way, at this moment it seemed she had arranged her own death in order to wreck their happiness by laying a burden of guilt on them for the rest of their lives. But she wouldn’t let that happen. No.

  He raised his head from her shoulder, saying, ‘We needn’t; at least, we’re not going to stay here all the time. We’ll stay at the shop for a night or two and the weekends at the cottage. We’ll divide our life up.’ She forced herself to smile at him before she said, ‘Yes, dear. Yes, that’s what we’ll do, we’ll divide our life up.’

  Six

  A notice had appeared in the local and national newspapers to the effect that Captain Reginald Farrier thanked all those who had sent condolences on the death of his parents, Colonel Hugh George Bellingham Farrier and his wife Grace Mary Farrier, but wished to notify all sympathisers that the interment would be a private one and that he requested no flowers. Also that the Colonel’s batman, Mr George Arthur Banks, would be buried on the same day in the Fellburn cemetery…

  The funeral was over. The service had been attended by all the staff and the close family friends, namely, the Pickerings, the Combeses, and the Hammonds. Agnes knew nothing about Isobel Pickering, but she recalled seeing a big woman with a plain face and nice eyes introducing herself by saying, ‘I am Isobel.’ She had wondered, Isobel who? But the young woman seemed to think that she must have heard of her at some time or other.

  She had said, ‘How do you do?’ and the young woman had then said, ‘It’s a rotten deal for Charles,’ to which she had answered, ‘Yes,’ without knowing why it was such a rotten deal for Charles.

  It wasn’t until the mourners were leaving and she was standing beside Henry that she happened to say, ‘Who is that young lady in the blue straw hat?’ and Henry had glanced at her sideways, saying, ‘Don’t you know? Well, that’s Isobel.’

  To this she had answered, ‘Yes, I know. She told me she was Isobel. But…but which Isobel? What Isobel? Should I know her?’

  Henry sighed, then smiled softly as he said, ‘Well, she was Mama’s chosen one for Charles. Didn’t he ever tell you?’

  ‘Oh. Now I understand. She seems a very nice person.’

  ‘Yes, she’s a good sort, is Isobel. She’s very fond of horses.’

  Agnes thought that was a strange answer.

  A short while later, the family were in the drawing room. The fire had been lit because it had turned chilly, and Agnes was sitting to one side of it, Reg at the other, Charles and Henry on the couch. It was when Henry, leaning back and sighing, said quietly, ‘God’s ways are strange,’ that Reg sprang up from his seat and actually yelled at his cleric brother, crying, ‘Don’t start that claptrap here, Henry! Keep it for the bits and pieces that are shovelled out of the field ambulances, the bits that are afraid to cross the border.’ Then looking at Agnes he muttered apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  Charles too was on his feet now, his hands on Reg’s shoulders, pressing him back into his seat, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, old chap. There’s nothing to be sorry about.’

  ‘I’m sorry too, Reg.’ Henry’s voice was quiet. ‘It’s…it’s become a habit. But I’m not apologising, yet I’m sorry for hurting you. I understand what you mean. Nevertheless, it’s those pieces, as you say, that are my business. I’m all they have to hang on to, and if I can help some of them over that border, well…it’s all I can do. It’s all I am good for.’

  When Henry’s head drooped, Agnes got up from her chair and went and sat on the couch close to him. She didn’t speak: it was impossible for her to voice a word of sympathy to a man who was crying; a minister who was crying. ‘That’s all I’m good for,’ he had said. The humility was too much. In character he was, she imagined, to be considered the weakest of the three brothers, yet of the three, she guessed, in this moment he was the strongest, because amid the carnage he still had to believe in God, hang on to his belief in God. That must take courage.

  Charles sat down in the chair she had vacated and, looking from one to the other, he said, ‘It’ll be the solicitor’s business tomorrow. When did you say you were due to go back, Henry?’

  Henry was blowing his nose loudly as he muttered, ‘At the end of the week, Saturday.’

  ‘And you, Reg?’

  Reg seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing, but after a moment he said, ‘As soon as possible. I…I could sail tomorrow night.’

  ‘You don’t need to go so soon.’

  ‘Charles, I am going back tomorrow night.’

  ‘All right. All right
. If you say you’re going back tomorrow night nobody’s going to argue with you. But tell me, what do you want us to do, Agnes and me, here, because nothing’s been settled so far?’

  ‘I didn’t think it needed any more settling. I thought you’d understand that you should carry on and see to things until I…I come back, or Henry here.’

  ‘Oh, count me out, count me out,’ said Henry, sitting straight up now and shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t want to come back here and run this place. No, never! My work is with people. I know that, I know that. So, count me out of your plans.’

  ‘What if you marry?’

  Henry looked at his brother and said quietly, ‘I shall never marry, Reginald; I consider myself a priest.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be in Rome before you finish.’

  ‘As I’ve said to you before, I shouldn’t be a bit surprised.’

  The brothers stared hard at each other; then they exchanged a faint smile, which broke the tension. And now Reg said, ‘When we see the solicitor tomorrow, Charles, I’ll make a statement which will give you carte blanche to carry on here as long as I’m away. Will you do that? And you, Agnes? Oh, definitely you, because you’ll have to bear the brunt of it.’

  They all looked at her now, but she turned her face towards Charles and said, ‘Whatever Charles wants me to do then I’ll conform; but I don’t think it’s going to be easy running this place.’

  ‘Well, I’ll say to you now, don’t stand any nonsense, not from anyone.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Reg’—it was Charles nodding towards him—‘I’ll see to that, believe me. Oh yes, I’ll see to that.’

  ‘Well that’s settled.’

  Reg again got to his feet, but slowly now, saying, ‘I think we could all do with a very, very stiff drink.’

  ‘No more for me.’ Henry wagged his hand in refusal in front of his face. ‘I had three glasses of wine at dinner.’