The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  There came a pressure from Douglas’s fingers within his hold, then his breathing became easier, and he said, ‘Keep an eye on Malcolm, Joseph. He is the spit of Lionel, but I don’t know how much is inside.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. Yes, I promise I’ll do that.’

  ‘And promise me something else?’

  Joseph waited, and then Douglas said, ‘Whatever you feel bound to do to Amy, try to do it in a kindly fashion. Unfortunately, she’s only ever had one aim in life, and that is to have you. Possess you, as you said, but nevertheless, that was her aim, and when she’s deprived of it, well, God knows then how she’ll cope.’

  They sat in silence for all of three minutes; then Douglas slowly turned his head towards the window, saying, ‘It’s a nice day,’ and at that moment the door opened and Bridget entered, and when she came to the bedside and Joseph stood up to give her the seat, Douglas, holding out his hand to her, said, ‘I was just remarking to Joseph that it is a very nice day.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is, dear.’ Then, looking up at Joseph, she said, ‘Amy’s having her cup of coffee in the breakfast room,’ and he answered, ‘Well, I’ll join her. Then I’ll slip through to the office and set things moving; but I’ll be back by dinner time.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ She nodded at him, and he, bending now towards Douglas, said, ‘I’ll see you later. Behave yourself.’

  When he had gone from the room Bridget looked at her beloved Douglas, but she didn’t ask him what had transpired between him and Joseph because she felt that he was really too ill to talk; had she thought otherwise she would have never left them together.

  Nine

  ‘But, Joseph, we’ve never had a walk along the pier for a long time.’

  ‘I’ve told you, Henrietta, I’m very, very busy.’ He now took her hands away from the lapels of his coat and went to press them gently back, but she snapped them from his hold, crying, ‘You…are…always…making excuses. You…never…even talk to me. What’s the matter? You don’t…like me. You…don’t…like me…any more.’

  ‘Now don’t be silly, Henrietta.’

  ‘Well, do you…like me?’

  He had to force himself to say, ‘Of course I like you. You know that.’

  ‘You’re…not the same. You’ve…changed. Everybody’s…been against me; and now…you. You’ve changed.’ Her voice was rising higher and he looked past to where Nell was standing waiting for a signal, and he gave it to her, saying, ‘There’s Nell waiting. Now she wants to take you for a walk.’

  ‘I don’t…want to go.’ Now the hands were moving rapidly and he read, ‘I don’t want to go with Nell. I don’t need Nell. She treats me as if I’m a prisoner, as if I didn’t know what I was doing…Why don’t you take me out any more?’

  His tone changed too, as he wagged his finger at her, saying, ‘I’ve got a business to run, Henrietta; everybody has to work. And what you want to do is to practise your speech…therapy. Nell will help you.’

  ‘Damn speech!…Damn Nell!…Damn everybody…! Take me for a ride…now!’

  Nell came forward and caught Henrietta’s flailing arms, allowing Joseph to make a quick retreat, and as he went out of the door Bridget came down the stairs, crying, ‘Stop that, this minute! All that noise! You know your uncle is very ill. Go to your room and dress.’

  When Henrietta swung pettishly round from her, Bridget looked at Nell and did a pantomime of putting something into her mouth, at which Nell nodded…

  Henrietta had, long ago, known how to pretend to swallow a pill. It was simple: you tucked it under your tongue; you gulped once or twice in your throat as the water passed down; then you sat quiet, and after a while you pretended to be drowsy and to go to sleep. But she had also learned not to let the pill lie too long under the tongue, else it would melt, and so she sometimes had a bout of coughing or went to the toilet and deposited the offending pill in the pan.

  Today the ploy had worked. She knew that when she pretended sleep Nell would go down and get her own dinner, and the others would be in the kitchen, too. Usually, Aunt Bridget would be sitting in the drawing room with Uncle, but today she would be upstairs beside his bed. There was a special way she could go out. She would go down the back stairs. She wouldn’t cross the yard, though, because the men would see her, but she could take the passage that led from the staff quarters into the far end of the conservatory: it was the way the men used to take out the plants so they wouldn’t have to go through the house or round about it.

  And this is what she did. She put on her hat and coat, picked up the bag in which she jealously kept her allotted pocket money, together with any presents of money she might have been given, and she went down the attic stairs, along the passage and was just about to open the door leading into the conservatory when she caught sight of her Aunt Bridget already there and talking to Amy. She eased back and pressed herself tightly against the wall. The passage was dark; the sunlight didn’t penetrate it, but it was filling the conservatory and she could see enough of her Aunt Bridget’s face to read her lips. They were saying, ‘Never! Never!’

  Amy was not fully within her vision and so she was unable to read her further words. But then Bridget’s lips were moving again and she was saying, ‘The woman in the off-licence? Oh no!’ Then she was nodding, saying, ‘Yes. Yes, I knew there was a daughter, and you mean to say she is whom he is consorting with?’

  There was more talk from Amy now, and then Bridget’s lips were saying, ‘Oh, you didn’t, my dear! You didn’t!’

  Amy was talking again and she had moved her position slightly so that more of her profile was visible to Henrietta, although not enough for her to distinguish what Amy was saying. Cunningly, she slithered back along the wall of the passage, then crossed to the opposite one and slithered back to the door. She could now see Amy more clearly and what she read was, ‘An outdoor beer shop, off-licence, they call them, and in an awful little street. It isn’t even a street, it is a passage in the lower quarter called Downey’s or some such, and there was his car outside. I saw it. I don’t know how I stopped myself from going in and confronting them.’

  Henrietta could now not see what Bridget was saying, but Amy’s reply was, ‘Oh, a couple of weeks ago. I…I feel I cannot bear to look at him. What am I going to do, Mammy? I’m…I’m just waiting for him to come…and tell me he’s leaving, or…or he wants a divorce, because I know now this has been going on for some time. And you know Bradford Villa, the house he bought last year and had done up? Well, that’s just near. And you know what I’m wondering? I’m wondering if they are living there. You remember, he was very keen to have that place, and it was supposed to be let to some very old people, theatrical people, and they left without paying last quarter’s rent. You remember? He told you the strange letter the man left, saying they had taken some of the furniture but the rest could stand in lieu of what was owing. That was some weeks ago, but I haven’t heard him mention it since. I recall he used to tell the boys about the couple and the weird colours they had painted the rooms and spoiled the nice decorations he’d had done. But for some weeks now he hasn’t spoken of it.’

  When Henrietta saw Amy fall into her mother’s arms, and realising they would now probably move from the conservatory, she made her way back along the passage and ran half way up the back stairs again to where it curved towards the upper landing, and from where she could see if they were to come through the passage; otherwise they would go into the morning room.

  After some minutes, and there being no movement in the passage below, she went cautiously down the stairs again, and looking through the glass door and seeing that the conservatory was clear, she opened the door, then hurried through to the opposite one that led to the back lawn. From here, she went into an ungainly, shambling run along a path that would lead onto the drive and then to the bridle path, and she didn’t stop running until she had reached the main road.

  Liz gazed around the room at the great splashes of coloured paint worked into weird s
hapes; then turning from looking at the two men who were busily scraping the paper off the walls, she said to Joseph. ‘I can’t believe it. You had it done so beautifully. It looks crazy.’

  ‘It’s a new form of art.’

  The two men now turned their laughing faces towards them and one said, ‘I have another name for it, sir, but there’s a lady present.’

  Joseph smiled as he remarked, ‘No doubt, no doubt.’ Then taking Liz by the arm, he led her into the hall, saying, ‘That room’s nothing, you should have seen the sitting room.’ He pushed open the door and as he did so a woman got off her knees, exclaiming, ‘Oh! Hello there, sir. I’ve almost finished this one.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Adams.’ He looked up the room. ‘You’ve made a good job of it. But there’s a number yet facing you upstairs.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind that, sir; it’s just work.’ She grinned at them, and as they went out to go up the stairs Liz remarked, ‘Just work, and on her knees all day. Is she the woman who cleans all the houses for you?’

  ‘Yes; and apparently glad of the job. When she came after it I remember saying to her. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit too heavy for you?’ And she said, “Are you meaning to say, I’m too old for the job? I’ve been on me knees most of me life. I’ve got caps on them as thick as horse’s saddles.”’

  They were laughing when they reached the landing; then as Joseph led her from one room to the other, she exclaimed in dismay, ‘Oh, it’s a scandal. They must have been real cranks. Weren’t you mad when you saw it first?’

  ‘Yes and no. It was one of those days when other things were pressing on my mind and I think I must have gone a bit hysterical because when I entered the main bedroom, that was supposed to be this one, I sat on the window sill over there and I began to laugh. I think I really was a bit hysterical.’

  ‘Yes, I remember: you were still laughing when you came to us. And that was the day…’ She stopped abruptly, and when she lowered her head he put his hands on her shoulders, saying, ‘Yes, that was the day I asked you, if it was put to rights again, like it was before, sometime in the future, would you live here with me, and your answer was, you didn’t know. Now’—he spread his hand around the bare room—‘seeing how beautiful it is, have you changed your mind?’

  ‘Oh, Joe.’ She now put her arms around him. ‘I’ve got to say it. I could live here with you from this minute, in this room as it is now. All my moralising seems to have gone by the board. I love you. That’s all about it. If we can keep the matter quiet and it’s not going to hurt your family then…well, so be it.’

  They were holding close now, their lips tight. The kiss was long and hard and hungry and when it ended he looked into her eyes and said, ‘I had a feeling about this house the first day I saw it, the same as I had the feeling about you. Now—’ he gripped her chin and wagged it as he said, ‘I’ll put another two men on tomorrow and they’ll have this place scalped within a week, and within another week it’ll be back to what it was.’

  They kissed again, long and lovingly, before making for the door. Their arms about each other, they were laughing as they stepped onto the landing; but there he froze…He was aware of two things: the telephone bell was ringing downstairs, and Henrietta was standing at the top of the stairhead.

  After swallowing, he cleared his throat and put his hand over his mouth as he muttered, ‘Henrietta. I’ll introduce you. Just smile.’

  They walked slowly along the landing and as they neared her Joseph said, ‘How did you get here, Henrietta?’ But Henrietta didn’t answer, she was staring at Liz.

  They were within an arm’s length of her when they stopped and Joseph, mouthing the words slowly, said, ‘This is…Elizabeth…a friend…of mine.’

  ‘No! No! No!’ Her voice came out high, almost like a screech, and her eyes held an almost maniacal glare as she cried at Liz, ‘Mine! Mine!’ and saying this, she put out a hand to grab Joseph’s arm, but he slapped it sharply away. This caused her to be still for a moment, but then, her body jangling, she screamed, ‘Joseph’s mine! Joseph’s mine!’

  The next instant Joseph was just too late to stop her attack, but luckily Liz had leant backwards to avoid the impact and Henrietta’s hands just missed her face but clutched her shoulders, and as she swung Liz round Joseph brought his fist into the side of her head. It seemed that instantly there was a concerted cry: as Henrietta released her hold she thrust Liz from her, and Liz’s scream as she tumbled down the stairs was joined by Henrietta’s high gabble and the yell that came from Joseph.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs there was no movement from Liz. Her legs were twisted under her, her arms were outspread. The two men were bending over her and Mrs Adams was screaming as she looked up the stairs, crying, ‘She’s mad, that one! She knocked me over, an’ me pail, an’ the telephone’s been ringin’. It was her mam from the off-licence; she said she was comin’, her up there.’

  Nobody took any notice of what Mrs Adams was saying because the men were looking down on Joseph, where he was kneeling on the floor holding the inert figure of Liz to him; and without looking up at them, he muttered, ‘Phone for a doctor, will you?’

  ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do it. An’ the pollis. An’ the pollis.’

  As Mrs Adams ran out of the hallway Joseph, glancing up the stairs, saw that Henrietta was about to descend, and so he gently laid Liz’s head back on the floor; then, rising quickly, said to the men, ‘Help me to lift her to one side,’ and it was just as they did so that Henrietta reached the hall. Her arms were flailing, her head was wagging and she was yelling again as she made for the door but Joseph, springing towards her, grabbed her. Thrusting her against the wall, he cried, ‘For two pins I would do for you this very minute! You mad, crazy, vicious bitch!’

  Henrietta now no longer saw the man before her as her dear Joseph, the one person she felt who belonged to her: he was Malcolm; he was Amy; but most of all he was her father; and he had a woman; and she was lying on the floor.

  Her hands clawed at him, and as they did so he brought one of his own across her face. But it seemingly had little effect. And when the two men came to his assistance, there was a mêlée for she kicked and flailed while screaming at them, until they managed to bear her to the floor, and there, bundling her onto her face, one of the men knelt on her legs while he shouted to his mate, ‘Get some rope; it’s in the cart outside!’

  Joseph was actually holding her down by the neck, so that all her hands could do now was to claw at the floor. A minute later, the man returned with some pieces of rope and they tied her legs together and her arms behind her; yet still her body writhed…

  It was still writhing when the police arrived, and they not only immediately telephoned for an ambulance but also for a police van.

  The police van happened to arrive first and the policeman asked of Joseph the address of the woman whom they had now pulled to her feet, and who was gabbling in a high screeching tone, and he gave it to them. Then he was asked if he knew the woman. Was he any relation to her? He did not answer that she was his half-sister but said, ‘Distantly. She lives with her aunt and uncle.’

  The policeman now asked quietly, ‘Has she been in an asylum, sir?’

  ‘No.’ He did not keep his voice low as he answered the policeman. ‘But she should have been and she will be from now on.’

  They had naturally removed the rope from Henrietta’s legs and as the two policemen went to lead her to the door she kicked out at them, causing one of them to react by pushing her none too gently forward and through the doorway.

  When the sound of her screeching voice had died away, Joseph said to Mrs Adams, ‘Will you run down the road to Mrs Dunn, in the off-licence, you know, and tell her what’s happened? Tell her to close the shop and come up here straight away.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll do that. I’ll do that. By, I’m shaken to the core. D’you think she’ll be all right?’ She was backing away as she spoke; and then she looked at one of the men and said, ‘
Talk about things happening. By, your face is in a mess,’ then to the other, ‘Look at your hands, Sydney. By, she had nails like talons.’

  The two men stood awkwardly looking down on Joseph, who had his hand on Liz’s chest, and one of them said, ‘How’s it going?’ And in reply Joseph simply muttered, ‘It’s all right.’

  It was at this moment that Liz opened her eyes and Joseph found himself unable to speak, until she said, ‘Joe.’

  ‘Yes, dear. You’ll be all right.’

  ‘Mam?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve sent for her, dear…Are you in pain…do you feel your legs or…?’

  ‘No. No.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s good.’

  What a damn silly thing to say. It was when the back was broken that they didn’t feel any pain. Oh God! No! Don’t let that happen!

  ‘Joe.’ It was a whisper, and he whispered back, ‘Yes, dear? What is it?’

  ‘It hadn’t to be, had it?’

  Ten

  Something had gone wrong with the delivery of the papers for the past two days, they had told him; they had sent a different paper. But on the third day his own had arrived and Douglas had scanned the headlines dealing with the trouble in Parliament, the state of the unemployed, officers and men still tramping the country for work. He had smiled at that heading and remarked quizzically to himself that in the search for work, all the officers would have merely returned to men.

  He turned the front page and read bits here and there; then his gaze became riveted on a column down the side of page three. It was headed, ‘Woman’s back broken in attack by madwoman.’ His glance might have passed over the rest except that he caught sight of a name in smaller print just below the heading, which read: ‘The attack by Henrietta Filmore on Mrs Elizabeth Lilburn has resulted in the latter being paralysed from the waist down. The attacker is the half-sister of the estate agent Mr Joseph Skinner, who was showing his client, the above-mentioned Mrs Lilburn, around the house in Botany Drive, Gateshead. It has also become known that this is not the first attack made by the woman Filmore, and it is being questioned why her guardians have not had her under strong detention. She is now confined to the asylum.’