The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  There was a thin sleet forming as, after leaving the station, she made her way to Northumberland Street. She had felt it unnecessary to take a cab from the station for such a short distance, for her destination today was her agent’s office. She walked well away from the kerb and close to the shop fronts, because the traffic on the road was thick and consequently the mud was being sprayed onto the pavement. It was as she was passing the door of a tobacconist’s shop, her head bent, her eyes directed towards her feet and ankles, the latter well exposed, as she was holding her skirt up away from the wet pavement, that a hand caught at her arm and a voice said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, madam.’

  When she looked up at the man who, on leaving the shop, had dunched into her, she said in surprise, ‘Oh, hello, Bright.’

  ‘Good afternoon, madam. I’m…I’m sorry. I nearly had you over. Pardon me.’

  ‘Oh, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I—’ She glanced towards the road now, saying, ‘I should have taken a cab but I wanted some fresh air.’ And she laughed, ‘All I’ve got is mud.’

  She stepped back into the shop porch, saying now, ‘You are well out of your way today, Bright, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, madam, I’m doing a little shopping. I…I like a little tobacco’—he turned his head and nodded towards the bottled-glass door of the shop, then added, ‘and I purchase a few cigars for the master.’ He did not go on to say, ‘And such an errand is very humiliating when, at one time, the shop would have been pleased to send them by the box.’

  ‘How are things at…?’

  Her voice was cut off as a customer pressed between them. And when he had opened the door and another customer emerged from the shop she stepped back onto the street. ‘Would you care to have a coffee?’ she asked him.

  ‘I should be honoured, madam.’

  ‘There’s a good coffee shop further along, let’s make for that.’ She smiled widely at him, and he, gallantly placing his hand on her elbow and taking up his position on the outer part of the pavement near the kerb, assisted her, as if she were a delicate lady, to ease between the passers-by until they came to the coffee shop. And there, in the warmth and aroma, he pulled out a chair that was placed against a small round table, inviting her to sit before seating himself opposite.

  The conversation from then on, at least until they had drunk half the cups of steaming coffee, concerned the merits of coffee and the pleasantness of this room, and how interesting Newcastle was, and had he ever walked through it on a Sunday when it was, or seemed to be, deserted?

  It was only after a lull in the small talk that she asked quietly, ‘How are things at the house, Bright?’

  ‘Oh, miss—’ The man now took hold of the handle of his cup and began to trace its shape between his finger and thumb before he said further, ‘I wouldn’t know where to start, miss, to describe the change.’

  ‘My co…Mrs Filmore, how is she?’

  He was looking straight across the small table and into her face as he said, ‘I’ve witnessed some changes in people in my long career, first a boot boy, then a hall boy, leading to footman, and finally to my present station, and during that time, to use an expression, many people have passed through my hands in that I have helped them off with their outdoor apparel, but never, never have I witnessed such a change as in the young mistress. To put it plainly, Miss Mordaunt, when she came as a bride into that house just a matter of months ago, she appeared a bright, yet shy, reticent young woman. In fact it was the opinion of the staff that she would never learn to rule it because she made so many mistakes. She wanted to take over the housekeeper’s post, you know. Apparently she had run your establishment and, I should imagine, well, and I’m sure your own staff obeyed and respected her, but you see, our people have worked under different rules for years, and I won’t say they ignored her commands, but they went about things as they always had done. And they have managed very well, too, I would say exceedingly well since the staff was depleted some years ago. So, that was the situation she found, and I don’t think it was a happy one for the mistress, but, nevertheless, she still seemed to remain herself. That was up to the night when Master Douglas and Master Lionel indulged in that unfortunate exchange which came to blows, and could have been fatal for one or other of them had the master not intervened. I think it was more than unfortunate that the mistress should hear the maids chattering as they crossed the gallery because she came downstairs and…dear, dear, whatever happened in the library caused her to faint. But –’ He now lowered his head and remained silent until she said, ‘Yes, Bright? Please go on. Tell me all you know.’

  The man’s voice was low now as he said, ‘Well, Miss Mordaunt, the following morning there were words which I overheard. I…I sent the maids down from upstairs, but such was the commotion that I could not help but overhear. And I must tell you, miss, I was ashamed of Mr Lionel, but at the same time amazed at the unexpected spirit with which the mistress met his verbal onslaught, for onslaught it was. So, knowing the situation, I fully expected the mistress…well, we all, miss, fully expected the mistress to pack up and return to your care. But no; we couldn’t have been more surprised in the change in that young girl. And the change, I’m afraid, has not diminished but has increased, so much so that Mrs Pullman has left. She was ready for retirement, I know, but she also knew, unfortunately, she would have no pension. Still, she had been a saving, caring woman, and she was intending to spend the rest of her life with her sister, that was after she herself should decide to go; but…well, we couldn’t believe it when the mistress indicated that the duties of a housekeeper were unnecessary: whatever had to be done in that way, she would see to it. And, dear, dear, dear, she said that Mrs Pullman didn’t do any actual work; which, of course, was quite right because as a housekeeper, ordinary work didn’t come into her duties: her work was to see to the running of the house; her work was to do with the staff. Of course, again, there are very few staff to control. I think’—he smiled wryly now—‘if it wasn’t that I am very necessary to the master I, too, might get my walking orders.’

  ‘Oh, Bright, I am simply amazed, and dreadfully sorry.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, miss. I know, and it won’t go any further, of your kindness in financing Mr Lionel. I should imagine it was about that very thing that the brothers fought. There must have been a reason, a good reason, and that, I suppose, was as good a reason as any.’

  ‘Do you hear anything of Mr Douglas? Where he might have gone?’

  ‘Oh yes, I know where he’s gone, miss.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. But of course I didn’t at first. It was when a hired cart came, driven by his mason, and took the stone away that they had been working on. He had to make two journeys and have the help of the yard man to load.’

  ‘Where did they go? I mean, where has he set up his business?’

  ‘Well, as far as I can gather it’s in a sort of barn-like place belonging to a farmer yon side of Fellburn. I think the farmer’s name is Pearson or Pearman…no, Pearson. It’s odd, but we all agree that we miss Mr Douglas from the house. He was never a one to make demands. I think it was because…well, as you’re not of the family, miss, I can say this, that he felt he had no right to make demands. It was impressed upon him as a boy, because, you know, he didn’t really start growing until he was about fourteen; and then he had an illness and was in bed for some time. It was from then he began to sprout, so to speak…upwards’—his face went into a little smile now—‘but never sideways, and although he had a real good appetite he never seemed to put on any flesh, not even to this day. Yet I have been amazed at his strength: I have seen him lift a piece of stone that I couldn’t even move. Then of course—’ He gave a slight hunch to his shoulder now as he said, ‘We both had different training…in all ways.’

  When she looked at her watch he said quickly, ‘I am keeping you; but it’s been so nice to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh no, Bright, you haven’t kept me; I’m so p
leased to have met you. Will you do something for me?’

  ‘Anything, anything that I am capable of, miss.’

  ‘Your mistress must be near her time. When the baby comes will you inform me, please?’

  ‘I shall. I shall, miss. But that is another thing that is…well, not worrying the staff, but causing comment, because when Kate spoke to her about a nurse and asked if they should prepare a room for her, she said, not permanently, just for the confinement. She means to look after the child herself, miss.’

  Bridget would have liked to say, ‘Well, that isn’t a bad thing. Tens of thousands of women are doing that every day.’ But such an occupation was, she knew, in this man’s eyes attributed only to the lower orders; ladies who lived in houses such as The Grove could not possibly manage without a nurse, besides the wet nurse. Yes, they would indeed be shocked if Victoria decided to feed the child herself.

  She now leaned over to one side and took up from the floor the satchel that she had been carrying together with her leather handbag, and, under the pretext of taking her gloves from the handbag, she slipped out the letter from an envelope that was addressed to her in Shields and, taking a number of sovereigns from the middle pouch of the bag, she placed them in the empty envelope, straightened up and handed it to Bright, explaining, ‘That is my address,’ and, lowering her voice, added, ‘Please accept half the contents for yourself and the rest divide among your staff.’

  ‘Oh, miss, miss.’ His hands covered the envelope. ‘What can I say?’

  She smiled widely at him and when getting to her feet she said, ‘Just a happy Christmas.’

  He, too, was now standing, and his voice was sincere as he murmured, ‘We all wish you that, miss. And…and I shall keep you informed about the mistress’s condition, and anything else I think you should know.’

  ‘Thank you, Bright. Thank you very much. You have eased my mind. And now, do you think I would be able to get a cab? I was about to go to my agent’s office, but I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll see you get a cab, miss.’

  And he did. And after he had opened the door and helped her in, he asked, ‘What address shall I give him, miss?’

  And she looked straight into his face and without any hesitation, she said, ‘Mr Pearson’s farm, Fellburn.’

  And he repeated, ‘Pearson’s farm, Fellburn. Very good, miss.’

  He closed the door on her, shouted the destination to the cabby, then stood back; and as he watched the cab move away down the muddy road, he said to himself, ‘Well, well!…Well, well!’

  She could see immediately that it was a poor farm. The cabby had got down from the box and opened the door for her, and now he was saying, ‘Want me to wait, miss?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, please.’…

  It was the farmer’s wife who, after weighing her up from top to toe, said, ‘Aye, we have a Filmore here. He rents an old barn in Long Field. Works the stone, he does. Will you come in and I’ll go and send somebody for him?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She didn’t like the look of the woman, or the smell of the yard; it had likely permeated the house. ‘If you will kindly direct me I will find him.’

  ‘Aye well; that’s easy. Along the yard there, past the piggeries, through the gate. But be careful of the planks across the burn, they’re slippery. Then you can’t miss him.’

  She knew that the woman was watching her as she followed her directions.

  Before she came to the planks across the burn, she could see what looked like a tumbledown building to the right of her.

  The planks themselves indeed were slippery and after crossing them she found herself impeded by the heels of her shoes sinking into the sodden field. Then she was standing outside the weather-beaten double doors of the barn.

  An intermittent sound was coming from behind the doors. It wasn’t loud, not loud enough, she thought, to obscure her knocking; but after she had knocked twice and the door hadn’t opened she now pressed one side of it forward. It swung easily from her hand and she was looking into a long structure, and she took in immediately not only the man standing with a mallet poised over some stone and the man on his knees rubbing at another piece of stone, but also that the roof at the far end of the structure showed daylight.

  Douglas did not immediately come towards her because the sight of her so surprised him she could have been an apparition. When he did make a move it was slow. He laid down the mallet and a chisel onto a bench, then stepping across the roughly paved space, he exclaimed simply, ‘Why, Bridget!’

  ‘Hello, Douglas.’

  ‘How on earth did you get here? I mean…’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean. How did I find you? Quite simple; I ran into Bright.’

  ‘Oh, Bright.’ He smiled now; then turning to where the man had risen from his knees, he said, ‘This is Sam. You remember?’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes, indeed. Hello, Sam.’

  Standing up now, Sam touched his forelock and replied, ‘Good day to you, ma’am.’ Then looking towards Douglas, he added tactfully, ‘I’ll take time for me bait, sir, and stretch me legs.’

  ‘Yes, do that.’

  It wasn’t until the man had passed through the barn door and closed it after him that Bridget, continuing to look about her, now allowed her gaze to rest on Douglas as she said, ‘Oh, Douglas, what a place! You must be frozen.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Not a bit of it.’ His voice was light. ‘Can’t you feel a difference from outside? Look.’ He pointed to the other end of the room from where the rafters were letting in light. ‘That old stove gives out a mighty heat.’ He walked towards it, and she followed him; but her eyes weren’t so much on the stone as on what lay to the side of a wooden partition: a bench on which stood a spirit lamp, and a pan and some odd bits of crockery; and beyond, an erection that appeared to be a bunk standing four feet off the ground and on which were some neatly folded but coarse-looking blankets.

  In utter amazement now she turned to him, and she actually stammered as she said, ‘Yo…you…you’re not…what I mean, living here? Oh, Douglas!’

  ‘Madam, I’ll have you know that my bed is very comfortable. And I am learning a new trade; I might open a restaurant any day.’

  ‘Be quiet! Don’t make fun. Why didn’t you let me know?’

  ‘Let you know what?’ His tone had changed. ‘What was there to let you know? That I had fought with Lionel and that life had become unbearable there? And would you please do something about it for me as you always do for everybody you come in contact with?’

  His head dropped and he muttered now apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Bridget.’

  After a pause she said, ‘So you should be, making me out to be a busybody or do-gooder maiden lady.’

  He smiled faintly now as he repeated her words, still muttering: ‘Do-gooder maiden lady.’

  ‘May I now ask,’ she said, ‘what started the trouble at the house? It must have been something drastic to cause him to give up that amount of money.’

  He looked away from her as he said, ‘Yes, it was quite drastic.’

  She waited, then said, ‘Well, can’t you tell me what it was?’

  ‘No. No, Bridget, I can’t. It is something that is best left dead and buried.’

  His head gave a little jerk: he was immediately aware of the simile he had come out with, for Joe Skinner was definitely well dead and buried. He’d had nightmares thinking about the poor fellow. One lately had caused him to wake up screaming. In it he had yelled at the poor man, telling him he was going to cut him down. The simile seemed not to have struck Bridget, for she was saying, ‘It must have been something pretty bad to have the reaction it did on Victoria. She’s an entirely changed person.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that’s for the better, because she needed to shed her little girl image.’

  ‘Have you see her since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then, I can assure you, at least to my mind her change isn’t for the better, because she
has turned into an embittered woman. There seems to be nothing left of her former character.’

  He let out a long sigh; then said as though in explanation: ‘Our family’s fate seems to have hung on money for the last two generations, on money that we have never earned. We have lived in debt for so long: we have eaten in debt, we have been waited on in debt. Yes, many a time I knew those servants hadn’t been paid. That’s why they left, they weren’t dismissed. And all the time I partook of the whole; yet I must admit, with shame at times. But’—he now looked along the length of the old building—‘I am now earning my living, and it has got to keep me and pay a man. And I can sleep easy at nights.’ That, he thought, was a stupid thing to say. But it could have been so, for without the knowledge that he had unearthed…literally unearthed, this work, and even making this derelict building his home, would certainly have afforded him peaceful sleep.

  ‘You rent this?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I rent it.’

  ‘They should pay you for occupying it.’

  ‘Oh, not this particular farmer. As Sam says, “That man would skin a louse for its hide.”’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t consider that I myself would come into that category with the places that I let. But I do have a building to let.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes. And you’ve seen it.’

  ‘Oh, huh!’ He wagged his hand at her. ‘Now you are playing your lady bountiful. No way, Bridget, no way. Not that I wouldn’t like to be working near you, because it’s always nice to have someone to fight and argue with at times.’ He smiled; but then the smile sliding from his face, he said, ‘Thank you all the same, Bridget, but no.’