The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  As if he had indicated to the dog that a bolt-hole was on the opposite side of the tree the dog now ran round and began to scratch amid thick tangled roots. And Douglas, smiling now, said again, ‘You’re wasting your time, laddie.’

  Sensing this was a game, Gippo again moved part-way round the trunk and once more started scratching. And now Douglas cried at him impatiently, ‘Come on! Come on! You’ve had enough,’ and, bending down he gripped him by the collar, just as the dog’s paw, having caught on something like a piece of paper, pulled it slightly upwards.

  ‘Come on with you!’ He took his hand from the dog’s collar and slapped it on the hindquarters, pushing it away, and had taken two steps from the tree when he stopped, stood still for a moment, then looked over his shoulder at the dirty piece of paper. Now he was bending over it and, delicately, his finger and thumb touched it and drew it from the ground. His heart racing as if it would leap from his mouth, he pulled at what he saw to be a soiled and stained handkerchief, and as the last part of it left the hole there lay a knife. As if the material had burned him, he lifted his hand quickly away from it, the fingers spread taut; and then the hand was outstretched against the trunk of the tree for support. His eyes were closed and he was saying aloud, ‘God Almighty! God Almighty!’ while all the time his eyes were staring fixedly on the handkerchief and the knife.

  How long he stood there he didn’t know, but he had to force himself now to bend and pick up the articles: first, the handkerchief. He held it by the hem, then moved his fingers to a corner, and there, dark-stained but evident were the embroidered initials, L. F. His mother had spent, not only days and weeks, but years with her needle. Everything in the house in the way of linen was embroidered or initialled.

  He looked at the knife: the blade was still open, it was rusted. This was the kind of knife that most riders carried.

  He now took a handkerchief from his own pocket and carefully wrapped the two things in it. Then looking down on the dog, he said, ‘You don’t know what you have done this day, Gippo. I could have let it slide while knowing in my heart the guilty one, but not any more.’

  Five

  He stayed late in the workshop. He knew that Lionel had returned home and he knew, as was his wont, he would be sitting drinking in the dining room after Victoria had gone to bed and the servants, too, had retired. He was often accompanied in this pastime by his father. Well, tonight he hoped his father wouldn’t be there. But even if he were, he couldn’t keep this to himself any longer. He had been over his approach again and again; he knew exactly what he was going to do. It wasn’t, however, what he wanted to do: he wanted to take his brother by the throat and bring him to the same end that he had brought that man. And then there was that poor fellow. He could think of him now as that poor fellow, stressing his innocence all along. And all the while he was imprisoned and then the case going on, his dear brother had got on with his life as though ignorant of it all. He had dared to go to the altar rails and take a wife, a young innocent girl, just hours after he had murdered a man. What kind of an individual was he? A fiend?

  He now put out two of the lanterns in the workroom, picked up the third, and went out.

  He entered the house by a side door that led into the hall. The drawing-room door was half open and he could see his father shambling towards the couch. As far as he could see there was no-one else there, which meant that if Lionel wasn’t in the smoking room he had already gone upstairs, likely to pacify his wife for his absence.

  Slowly he made his way along the corridor and as slowly and as quietly opened the door of the smoking room. Lionel was there.

  Lionel had turned his head in a lackadaisical fashion to see who had entered the room, and espying his brother, he said, ‘Here comes the workman, one of the busy bees of this world. God has niches for us all, the high and the low and…’

  ‘Shut your filthy mouth!’

  Lionel brought his head from the back of the hide-covered chair and his large eyes became slits in the high ruddy colour of his face. He stared at the figure standing stiffly in front of him before he said on a kind of tolerant laugh, ‘Did I hear aright? Is my little brother once again getting on his moral hind legs? What has he heard this time? Does he want to say, where have you been, you naughty boy? And what naughties have you…?’

  When his whole body was knocked back tight against the chair and hands came on his throat, his eyes nearly popped out of his head for a moment. And his own hands, gripping Douglas’s wrists, took a number of seconds before he could wrestle them from his flesh; yet his release had actually been brought about by Douglas himself: he was again standing taut. And now Lionel growled at him, ‘What the hell’s got into you?’

  For answer, Douglas thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a clean handkerchief, unfolded it and held it out towards Lionel, allowing the contents to lie between his two palms. And now he watched the colour drain from Lionel’s face; then his Adam’s apple flutter in his throat, and his chest heave; and only after further swallowing did he draw in a long breath and gasp, ‘It…it was an accident.’

  ‘You don’t cut another man’s throat by accident.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about it. He was at me, he was blackmailing me. He was…’

  ‘Yes, I know what he was about to do, he was going to reveal that your son had just recently been born through a young, innocent girl and that would put a stop to your security, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t have minded losing Victoria, but not two thousand a year. Oh, you couldn’t bear to think of losing that. You dirty rotten swine, you!’

  ‘It wasn’t…it wasn’t like that. He was…Anyway, what are you going to do?’

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’ And Douglas’s anger was such that he couldn’t stay the vehement words. ‘I’m going to see that the same is done to you as was done to that man Joe Skinner.’

  ‘Begod, you’ll not!’ Now Lionel was bringing the words out through his clenched teeth. ‘I’ll do for you first. By God, I will! And give me that here!’ As his hand went out to grab the handkerchief and its contents Douglas sprang back, thrust the articles into his pocket, then stood, his slim body bent forward, his elbows away from his sides and his fists doubled. So when Lionel came at him, his fists flailing, he was checked by a blow to the stomach and then one to his face. But such was his bulk and height he was only momentarily staggered, and he now almost threw himself bodily on Douglas and with such force that they both toppled to the floor, upsetting a table with a decanter and glasses on it, then they rolled over the rug and towards the fireplace, each aiming for the other’s throat, and it was the pressure of the filigreed steel fender against the side of his head that made Douglas aware that the life was being choked out of him. In desperation he twisted and groped for the poker he knew was resting at the end of the fender. Finding it, his immediate reaction was to aim it at Lionel’s head.

  Into the deepening blackness came a pale light. He could breathe. He heard a voice screaming above him: ‘God in heaven! Blazes!’ Then he felt himself being lifted from the floor and Bright was saying, ‘Come on, sir. Come on.’ Bright was dabbing at his neck with a napkin and when he slowly put up his hand to it, it was wet. He licked his fingers and they tasted salty. His vision was still blurred, but now he could make out his father standing over Lionel, who was lying back in the chair again as if he had never moved out of it. But the blood was running down the side of his face, and his father was yelling at Bright now, ‘Bring a dish of water and some towels, and keep the women out!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Yes, sir.’

  The man ran from the room and William Filmore, looking from one to the other, said, ‘My God! We’ve come to something now, out to murder each other.’

  ‘For…for a second time.’ The mutter came from Douglas.

  ‘What?’ His father was leaning towards him. ‘What d’you mean, a second time?’

  ‘He…he was out to finish me as he did the man in the wood.’

&nbs
p; William Filmore straightened his back and it seemed for a moment that even the bulge of his stomach receded, and his voice was a whisper as he said, ‘What are you saying, son? What are you saying?’

  For answer Douglas put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the handkerchief and, the other hand now letting go of the napkin, he spread the evidence on his palms as he said to his father. ‘He…he buried these in the wood. The dog unearthed them.’

  ‘No! No! Never. It must be a mistake. He couldn’t.’ He now turned and glanced to where Lionel was lying back in the chair, his eyes closed, his hand still to the side of his face, and he muttered, ‘A man swung for it. A man…’ He now gripped the back of the chair; then shambling to the front of it he lowered himself slowly down, one hand clutching the edge of the table as if to steady himself, his mouth opening and shutting as if he were gasping for air.

  When at this moment Bright came hurrying into the room carrying a dish of water and with a number of hand towels slung over his shoulder, the old man turned his head and looked at him. His mouth remained open for a time and as if he were about to say something, then he pointed towards Lionel, at the same time becoming aware of the female figure standing in the doorway, and in a croaking bawl he cried, ‘Get out! Away!’

  After the door had banged shut he looked again towards Bright, who was now wiping the blood from Lionel’s face; and he cried to him, ‘Give me a towel!’

  The butler swiftly brought a hand towel and handed it to his master, saying as he did so, ‘It’s a laceration above the ear, sir,’ indicating Lionel with a movement of his hand; ‘the hair should be cut,’ to which he received for answer only a sharp nod of assent.

  William now pulled himself slowly to his feet, went to Douglas and, taking his hand away from his throat, he wiped the blood from his neck and when he saw the oozing jagged line, he said as if with relief, ‘It’s…it’s just a surface tear,’ then he glanced back to where one of Lionel’s hands was lying on the arm of the chair. And now he added, ‘’Twas his ring. Always said it was like a knuckleduster.’ Then dabbing again at Douglas’s neck, he muttered, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. ’Tisn’t serious.’

  When Douglas now muttered bitterly, ‘’Tisn’t his fault,’ and would have gone on, his father stopped him with a grimace and a slight jerking of his head towards where Bright was still dabbing away at Lionel’s wound.

  The old man now went over to the butler and, pushing him aside, said, ‘Let me see.’ And he parted the hair above Lionel’s ear, then said abruptly, ‘Bring me the scissors.’

  After Bright had scurried from the room William stood back from his sons and, his voice holding a note of sadness, he said, ‘This house is fated. Indeed to God, it’s fated.’

  A minute or so later Bright returned with the scissors, and the hair having been snipped from behind Lionel’s ear to reveal the extent of the wound, he said, ‘It needs attention, sir, don’t you think?’ And in answer to this, after a long pause, his master said gruffly, ‘Get Mrs Pulman to tear some sheeting and bring some of that carbolic stuff. That’ll settle things till tomorrow; then we’ll see about a doctor.’

  It seemed that the word ‘doctor’ revived Lionel, for, aiming now to pull himself up in the chair, he said, ‘I want no doctor. I’m all right.’

  ‘Aye, begod, you’re all right! You’ve got enough whisky in you to sterilise any cuts, but for how long do you think you’re going to be all right after this night’s work? And your previous work. My God! I can’t believe it. If that comes out, I can’t imagine how you’ll be able to talk yourself out of it.’

  ‘And he won’t!’

  At this Lionel’s head jerked in the direction of his brother, and he growled at him, ‘It’s a pity I didn’t do for you, too. You bloody sneaking, crawling wasp!’

  ‘Enough!’

  The door opened again and when Bright appeared with the sheeting and the carbolic, his master said, ‘Get rid of all that lot out there. And’—he pointed towards the door now—‘and tell them to mind their tongues. In fact, tie them up. There has been a little quarrel, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Yes, I understand.’

  ‘Well, lay it on strong. And tell ’em if I hear a word outside, they’ll go outside with it.’

  The butler just stared at his master for a moment before turning and hurrying out of the room.

  William, seemingly now had to drag himself over to see to Douglas, who was standing by the side of his chair, his hand still holding the towel to his throat, but when his help was brushed aside by Douglas, saying, ‘I’m all right. I’m going to the closet, but I’ll be back presently,’ his father said, ‘Go to bed. I think you should go to bed, son. We’ll talk about this in the morning.’

  Douglas came back with a growl, ‘We’ll not talk about this in the morning, Father. We’ll talk about this tonight. I have an ultimatum to offer my brother, and he’s not going to like either way. But he’ll take one or the other, and I’ll see that he does, and this very night…now! He’s not going to get the chance to wriggle out of it by scooting in the morning, because—’ Looking now from his father’s face to the white but blazing countenance of his brother, he said, ‘I’d have hunted you down. Do you hear? Hunted you down.’

  The quietness that immediately descended on the room became eerie, and in it he turned from them and went out.

  Lionel, now pulling himself to the edge of the chair and looking at his father, said, ‘It’s a pity I didn’t do for him.’

  ‘God in heaven! I cannot believe my ears.’ William’s words were now hissing through his teeth. ‘You admit then…? But what am I talking about? I’ve seen the evidence. You killed that fellow. Why, in the name of God?’

  ‘He was blackmailing me. He was going to tell that stiff bitch that I was the father of the child just born. His brother had apparently married her to save her face.’

  ‘Well, why in the name of God didn’t you pay up?’

  ‘Because I hadn’t the money.’ The words came out like grit through Lionel’s teeth. ‘Remember, we were penniless; couldn’t even pay for hay.’

  It was characteristic, his father thought, that at this moment, he should think of his horse and its feed.

  ‘There was two thousand pounds a year at stake. You yourself welcomed it, jumped at it, grabbed at it. Was I to lose that? What would you have said? Pay the bugger. That’s what you would have said. Keep him quiet. Again I say, with what? And anyway—’ his face twisted into a grimace and he put his hand to the side of his head before adding, ‘He was scum, and his brother, too, the one that went. They were all scum, else why should he take her? Yes, why? I’ve asked myself, and the answer is, I’m sure, both of them had it planned to squeeze me, one or the other.’

  His father stared at him. His spirit-befuddled mind was working clearer at this moment than it had done for many a long day. And this showed itself when he said, ‘Then why did the man who was hanged not split when he was cross-examined? That would have given his counsel another lead. And, as I see it now, the lead would have been easy to follow. God! I never thought I would say this to my firstborn, but I regret the night that I put you into your mother. I do indeed. There’s been a weakness in you and a nastiness that I wouldn’t recognise. I’ve despised your brother, aye, I have, but if his character had been in your body, you would have been a man. And even now I could say that I wouldn’t have been ashamed of you if it had been one of your own class you had killed, and in fair fight. But no; you had to sink so low as to cut the throat of one of the lower orders just for two thousand pounds.’

  Lionel was on his feet and it looked as if the nails of the hand that was still pressed against the side of his head were penetrating his skull, for the knuckles were standing up white as he cried, ‘Two thousand a year, Father, and five hundred of her own! Two thousand five hundred, Father, a year!’

  William Filmore’s nose was actually wrinkling when the door opened and he turned towards it to see Douglas coming back
into the room. He had changed his shirt and coat and round his neck was a white scarf, and he now approached his father, saying, ‘Will you come into the library, Father? There’s a desk there, and there’s some writing to be done.’

  William said nothing, but just stared into Douglas’s face for a moment before turning to Lionel and saying, ‘Come along.’

  It was full thirty seconds before Lionel put a foot forward to follow his father and brother, half-turned and waiting at the door, out of the room and into the library.

  Beyond the long table and under the tall window, which was covered now by the heavy faded embroidered curtains, stood a davenport and, on it, sheets of paper, a brass inkwell and an ornamental boot made out of the skin of a deer from which were protruding a number of steel pens.

  Douglas walked towards the desk, stopped within a yard of it and, pointing to it, said, ‘Sit down and write.’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I will!’

  Douglas seemed to leave the ground as he swung round and cried, ‘Listen to me, and I mean every word of this: you’ll write what I dictate, else I’ll not wait until tomorrow morning but I’ll ride into town and tell the authorities that they made a mistake in hanging Joe Skinner. And don’t think that you’ll be able to stop me in any way, for, let me tell you, if anything happens to me unexpectedly they’ll come for you quicker than you could shoot a gun, because I’ve put it in writing. Oh, yes’—now he turned to his father—‘what I lack in my body I’ve got in my brain. In this house nobody seemed to recognise that. But knowing what that skunk’—he thumbed towards his brother—‘is capable of doing, I was taking no risks. Now, you have a choice’—he had turned back towards Lionel again—‘and I’m not going to bargain or parley with you. You sit down now!’ He had bawled the word, and his father cried, ‘For God’s sake, Doug, keep your voice down, please! If you must have retribution, all right, have it, but it’ll be no use if this spreads through the house. I could trust Bright, but not one of the other lot, inside or out.’