The cups rattled slightly as Mrs Schofield poured out the tea. Mary Ann took Mr Lord’s cup, putting in the required amount of sugar, before placing it on the little table to the side of him.
It could not be said that any one of them enjoyed the tea, and no-one partook of the hot buttered scones.
Mrs Schofield had scarcely finished her tea before she gathered her gloves and bag towards her and, standing up abruptly, said, ‘Goodbye, Mr Lord.’
It was evident to Mary Ann that her quick departure had nonplussed him, for she saw his lower jaw working agitatedly. But he did not answer Mrs Schofield until he heard the door open, and then moving only his head, he said, ‘Madam.’
‘Yes?’ She had the door in her hand and she turned and looked at him.
‘Thank you for coming.’
Mrs Schofield made no answer to this, she merely inclined her head just the slightest, then went out and closed the door softly behind her.
Mary Ann could not see the door because the tears were full in her eyes. She could not even see Mr Lord, but she spoke to him, saying quietly, ‘She’s nice. Tony will never get anyone nicer than her. You’re being very wrong in stopping them.’
‘I am not stopping them.’
‘You can say that, but you know you are. She’ll make Tony come back, she’ll promise him this, that and the other, so that he’ll come back. As soon as he does, she’ll go off where he can’t find her.’
The tears cleared from her blinking eyes for a second as his voice came to her with the old cutting quality, saying, ‘I would keep your romantic fiction for the books you intend to write.’ For a moment she could have laughed, but only for a moment.
He said, now, ‘Stop crying and come here.’
She went to him and stood by the arm of his chair, and his thin, mottled-skinned, bony fingers touched hers lightly as he said, ‘Were you telling me the truth when you said that you didn’t care enough for Tony to marry him?’
‘Yes, the absolute truth. Nothing would make me marry Tony. You sent Corny away because you thought if I didn’t see him, I would turn to Tony, didn’t you?’ She didn’t wait for an answer but went on, ‘You see, you cannot make people like people…or love people, or turn liking into love. Tony and I…well, we like each other, but that’s all, we’d never be able to love each other. But he loves Mrs Schofield, and if you don’t let him have her, he’ll likely marry somebody eventually who’s entirely opposite to him and who’ll drive him round the bend.’ She just restrained herself from adding, ‘Like you were when you married somebody who didn’t suit you.’
‘Mary Ann.’ His voice cut in on her.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m very tired.’ He withdrew his hand from hers and slumped back into the chair. Then looking at her, he said, ‘Would you like to tell Ben I want him?’
This was dismissal, and she nodded at him. Then bending forward she laid her lips against the blue cheek. When she straightened up his eyes were closed again, and she put her fingers gently onto his brow and lifted to the side a wisp of thin white hair, saying, ‘You’ll sleep better tonight. I’ll be over first thing in the morning.’
When she reached the hall Ben was waiting, and she said him, ‘He’s tired, Ben.’
‘I guess he would be.’ He moved past her towards the drawing-room door, then turning his bent shoulders round towards her, and beckoning her with a finger as bony as his master’s, he whispered, ‘Here, a minute.’ And when she came to his side his head nodded with each word, as he muttered, ‘If you see Master Tony tell him Ben says he liked madam.’ And then he gave her the reason for his swift and open championing of Mrs Schofield. ‘There’s no telling, I might go before he does, and what then?’
‘Oh, Ben! You’re going to live a long time yet.’ She smiled at him. ‘But I’ll tell him what you said, Ben. I know it will please him.’
But as she went out of the house she thought dully, ‘How can I? I don’t even know where he is, or even where Mrs Schofield is staying.’ And as she went down the hill she chided herself for her lack of inquisitiveness in this particular case by saying, ‘You are a mutt. Why didn’t you go after her and ask her?’
Nine
Early in the morning of Christmas Eve Mary Ann brought her mother to a dead stop as she was crossing the kitchen. She said to her, ‘Ma, what am I going to do with me life?’
‘What?’ Lizzie had heard what her daughter had said. But this was Christmas Eve, and a mountain of work staring her in the face. It was no time to discuss life, particularly Mary Ann’s life.
Mary Ann, aware that her mother had heard her remark, went on, ‘I’ll never be able to write, not to make anything of it. Everything I do reads like rubbish, and I don’t want to go into an office…not stuck indoors all day.’
‘Look,’ said Lizzie slowly, ‘it’s Christmas, and me up to my eyes.’
‘Well, I don’t feel it’s Christmas,’ said Mary Ann bluntly.
‘You mightn’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘It may surprise you that I don’t feel it’s Christmas either. But there are other people to consider; and when you are grumbling about your future life just remember you’ve still got the use of your legs.’
‘Oh, Ma, that isn’t fair.’
Lizzie, coming towards her daughter, now said softly, ‘Look, Mary Ann, you’ve got to snap out of this; what can’t be cured must be endured.’
‘It isn’t only me, Ma.’ Mary Ann was looking at her feet. ‘It’s everybody. Nobody seems right.’
‘That’s life, and you’ll find you’ve got to accept it. You never used to go on like this. What’s really the matter with you?’
Mary Ann lifted her head and stared back at her mother, until Lizzie turned away sharply, saying, ‘Well, I’ve just got no time to bother with you and your fad.’ But as she neared the hall door she looked over her shoulder, and said quietly and patiently, ‘Why don’t you go down and see Mrs McBride. We can’t get at the decorating until after tea, and Sarah is going to help with the last bit of baking this afternoon.’
‘I’m not going to Mrs McBride’s.’
‘Very well.’ Lizzie closed her eyes and lowered her head in a deep bow, and the irritation was back in her voice as she said, ‘Do what you want to, only don’t go round with a face like that, because when you’re like that, he’s not far behind.’
Mary Ann looked at the closed door. It was true what her mother said. Her da too wasn’t particularly joyful these days. Although he didn’t say so, she felt that he was concerned about Mr Lord, and not only him, but Tony. He had parted in anger from Tony, and her da wasn’t the one to hold his anger. But he had been unable to do anything about it, because from the morning Tony left the house no-one had seen or heard of him since.
With what she felt was righteous indignation, Mary Ann asked herself now how her mother expected her to go about grinning from ear to ear when everybody was at sixes and sevens. And anyway, if the rest of the family were falling on each other’s necks, she would still feel the same. She had not had the scribe of a pen from Corny, and threaded through her longing, and hurt, was a strong feeling of bitterness against him. He could have written her, couldn’t he, and told her he wasn’t coming back, not left it to those pictures, which he knew Mr Lord would show her. It was a cowardly way out, and she had no use for cowards of any sort…But oh! Oh, she wished…
She heard the telephone ringing in the hall and her mother answering it. Then the kitchen door opened and Lizzie, her tone lowered and slightly puzzled, said, ‘It’s Ben, he says Mr Lord’s asking for you…But you’ve just come down, haven’t you?’
‘Asking for me? Yes, Ma. I’ve just come down because he wasn’t awake. Ben said he was dozing. He had been on the prowl about the house half the night again.’
‘Well, he wants you, so you’d better go right away.’
‘Did he say he was bad or anything?’
‘No. No, he didn’t sound worried. He just said that Mr Lord wanted you.’ Lizzie smiled now. ‘Ver
y likely he’s going to give you your Christmas box.’
Mary Ann raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes as she shook her head. It was as if she had never heard of Christmas boxes. And truth to tell, she was not interested in Christmas boxes, not the ordinary ones anyway. She pulled on her coat and went out, and she didn’t slide on the thin patches of ice covering the flagstones, along the path, nor yet scrape the sprinkling of frosted snow into a ball and pelt it into the air. The joy of breathing, of being alive, had slipped its hold; she felt very old. And she had once imagined that nothing could happen to her to make her want to die. How wrong could you get?
Ben said, ‘Go up. He’s still in bed.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘No different from what he was yesterday, or the day before, as I can see.’
She mounted the thick carpeted stairs, crossed the wide landing, and tapped on Mr Lord’s bedroom door, and was immediately bidden to enter. He was sitting, as she had so often seen him before, propped up in bed, his white nightshirt buttoned up to his chin, his face, like a blue-pencilled etching, above it.
She said immediately, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m all right. Sit down.’
‘Did you have a good night?’
‘I have had some sleep.’
‘I think we’ll have more snow, it’s enough to freeze you.’
‘We won’t waste words talking about the weather. You’re wondering why I sent for you.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She could be as blunt as himself.
‘I’m very tired, Mary Ann.’
Although she was looking at him she jerked her body now more squarely to him. ‘You’re not feeling…bad, or anything?’
‘I’m no worse, or no better, than usual. I’ve just said that I am very tired. Tired of fighting, tired of wanting, tired of desiring, tired of hoping. I am very tired of life, Mary Ann.’
‘Oh.’ It was a small sound and again it came, ‘Oh.’ She knew how he felt but she said, ‘Don’t say that.’ She reached out and grasped his hand between her own, and he looked down at them, and placing the long thin fingers of his right land on top of hers he actually smiled as he asked, ‘Are you happy, Mary Ann?’
She stared into the pale-blue eyes for a moment before saying, ‘Not very.’
‘I have been rather cruel to you. What I did, I did with the best intention in the world…Selfish men always use that phrase, and I can’t think of a better one to replace it…Yes, I have been cruel to you.’ His fingers tapped hers. ‘And now I doubt whether I shall be able to rectify my mistake. You know what I mean?’
She knew what he meant. He had sent Corny to America. He had had him housed with a charming family, and the charming family had a daughter. Oh, she knew what he meant. But she said now soothingly, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Don’t worry.’
His fingers patted her hand again and he lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes, and after a space he said, ‘You have a big heart, Mary Ann. It was bigger than your body when you were a child. It hasn’t grown any less, that is why I love you.’
She nipped at her lip and blinked her eyes but kept looking at him. Never before had he said outright that he loved her. She had the desire to drop her head onto his knees, but she refrained because he wasn’t finished, there was something more he wanted to say. And after a short space, during which he kept moistening his lips, he said it.
‘I want to see my grandson, Mary Ann. I have waited for him coming, forgetting that he is so much a part of me he won’t give in. If there had been only himself to consider perhaps he might have come back…But there…there…Will you tell him, Mary Ann?’
‘Yes, oh yes.’ The words had to leap over the lump wedging her gullet, and now she dared to say, ‘And Mrs Schofield?’
‘With or without her.’
The words were so low she could scarcely catch them, but she squeezed his hand tightly, and getting immediately to her feet she bent towards him, saying, ‘I’ll bring him.’
He did not open his eyes. She felt he dare not. He was not Mr Lord at this moment, not THE LORD. He was just an old man, a lonely old man, and he was weak as old men are weak.
She managed to pause in her rush through the kitchen and cry to Ben, ‘He wants me to get Tony.’
‘Thanks be to God.’
‘Yes…yes, thanks be to God.’ She was out of the door and running down the hill—she actually slid on a stretch of ice—and her running did not stop until she came to the cowshed and heard Mike’s voice calling to Michael at the far end. And then she herself called, ‘Da! Da!’
‘What is it?’ Mike turned about and, seeing her bright face, added, ‘Hello, what’s happened this time?’
‘He…he wants to see Tony. He told me to fetch him…and Mrs Schofield…and Mrs Schofield, Da.’
‘No!’
‘Yes, yes, it’s a fact. He said, Da’—she shook her head—‘he said he was tired.’
‘Poor old boy.’
‘What’s this?’ Michael came up and joined them, and Mary Ann said, ‘He wants to see Tony. He wants me to go and fetch him. And Mrs Schofield an’ all.’
‘No kidding?’
‘No kidding, that’s what he said.’
‘Well, what’s holding you?’
Mary Ann didn’t move, the smile slid from her face. She looked from Mike to Michael then back to Mike again. Her first finger and thumb were jointly tapping at her teeth as she exclaimed on a high note, ‘But, Da, where will I look? I’ve no idea where he is.’
‘You’ve hit something now.’ Mike nodded his head at her.
‘You could try phoning places, that would be a start,’ Michael said. ‘Try some of the yards first, he’s bound to have a job of some sort.’
‘Can I use the office phone, Da?’
‘Go ahead.’
Mike pushed her, and she ran out of the byre.
It could be a Dickens Christmas Eve. She did not like to think of Mr Lord as a Scrooge, but part of her mind was commenting, ‘It’s funny what Christmas does to people.’
By five o’clock Mary Ann had not only made thirteen phone calls, she had been into Newcastle as well. Michael had been going in to pick up some goods from the station, and he had run her out to Mrs Schofield’s old home, only to find it completely empty. So empty that it looked as if it hadn’t been inhabited for years. They even visited Mr Lord’s yard, but the chief clerk in the office could give them no help. He hadn’t seen Mr Brown for weeks, but he said that Mr Connelly might be able to help them. Mr Connelly was works manager, and they went out to his house, but without success.
And now Mary Ann was tired, and Lizzie said to her, ‘Sit down there and get your tea, you’re not going out again unless you have something to eat. The next thing I know I’ll have you in bed.’
It was Sarah who said, ‘Have you thought of going to Father Owen?’
‘Father Owen?’ Mike screwed up his face. ‘It isn’t likely that Tony would go to the priest; he’s not a Catholic, you know, Sarah.’
‘I know that, but you did say that Mr Lord and Father Owen used to be friends in their young days. It was just a thought, and Mary Ann seems to have been every place else.’
Mary Ann, jumping at this pleasant possibility, gulped at her tea and said, ‘It’s an idea, Sarah—there are very few people around that Father Owen doesn’t know.’
‘That might be in Jarrow and thereabouts’—Lizzie moved her head slowly—‘but don’t forget Tony is more likely to be living in Newcastle.’ She did not add ‘because Mrs Schofield will be there’.
‘And don’t you think Father Owen would have said something when he was up to see Mr Lord last week?’ Lizzie again was using her reason.
‘No, Liz. I don’t think he would have,’ Mike put in. ‘He knew how the old boy felt, and he wasn’t likely to talk about Tony, not even to mention his name. He knew that one thing might lead to another, and before you could say Jack Robinson something would be said that woul
d be better unsaid. For he’s not without his share of temper, is Father Owen, and whatever some people might imagine to be the reverse, priests are not infallible.’
On this remark Lizzie’s expression became prim, and she was just about to make some sharp comment when Mary Ann startled her by jumping up from the table, saying, ‘Well, look, I’m going to see him anyway.’
‘Sit down and have your tea first.’
‘Oh, Ma, the time’s getting on and he’s been waiting all day…Will you run me in, Michael?’
‘Okay.’
‘It will be a wild-goose chase, if you ask me.’ Lizzie looked around at the tea—hardly anything had been touched—and Mike, following her gaze, leant towards her and, patting her on the shoulder, said, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll all have disappeared afore the night’s out…Go on.’ He turned towards Mary Ann and Michael, and pushed at them with his hand, saying, ‘Get yourselves away. And don’t come back without him.’
As Mary Ann ran to the hall once again to scramble into her coat, Lizzie exclaimed on an indignant sigh, ‘I get sick to death of this family and the things they get up to…always something happening, Christmas Eve and everybody going mad.’
‘You want the old boy to go on living, don’t you? Or do you?’
‘Mike! The things you say.’
‘Well then, hold your whisht.’
Michael with head reverently bowed, spoke out of the corner of his mouth, saying, ‘We’ll be here all night, there’s half Jarrow waiting to go in.’
Mary Ann turned her head slightly on her clasped hands and answered in a whisper, ‘I’ll go to confession and ask him there.’
Michael made no comment on this. Trust her to do something that other people wouldn’t even dream about. Using the corner of his mouth again, he said, ‘You’ll be a good hour, I’ll slip home and come in again.’
She made a slight motion of assent with her head, and when Michael left her side she too rose, and crossing over from the aisle that fronted the altar of the Holy Family, she went and joined the sombre throng waiting to go into Confession.
Life and Mary Ann Page 18