No Name Lane (Howard Linskey)

by Howard Linskey

‘What makes you so sure about that?’

  Helen opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted.

  ‘Because you’re dying,’ the male voice came from the doorway behind her and she spun round.

  ‘The door was unlocked,’ Tom explained, ‘so I let myself in.’ The look in his face told Helen he’d had enough of the usual niceties too. Tom looked grimly determined. ‘I was going to call but I heard voices and, yes, I’ve been listening at the doorway. You can ask me to leave if you like.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ Mary challenged him.

  ‘Because Helen’s right, you want to tell us what happened,’ he sat down opposite her. ‘My Nan had rheumatoid arthritis for years and she never had a tenth of the doctor’s appointments or hospital visits you get through. I thought it was some fancy private health care scheme at first but then you had the visit from Graham Heath yesterday,’ his tone was hard, unbending. ‘I’m assuming our local solicitor was updating your will?’

  Mary turned to Helen, ‘Oh, he’s good,’ she said as if she was particularly impressed by a young protégé, ‘he’s very good. What a sharp one, he’s so sharp he’ll cut himself one day, he will. I’d keep this one if I were you, young Helen. You two could go far together.’

  ‘So it’s true?’ asked Helen, ‘you are ill?’

  ‘Small cell lung cancer,’ said Mary, ‘sounds almost harmless, doesn’t it? But those small cells are killing me. It’s inoperable, at my age at least,’ and she shook her head dismissively. ‘Everybody smoked in my day. We didn’t know any better and by the time we did it was too late,’ she said the last part as if she really didn’t care one way or the other.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Helen.

  ‘Don’t be,’ she replied firmly, leaving them to draw their own conclusions about her desire to continue living, ‘so, what’s Sam Armstrong got to say about me?’ she asked, drawing the subject to a close.

  Mary didn’t bother to deny any of it this time. Instead she listened without offering any response until they were done. Tom and Helen recounted everything they had learned from the farmer, expecting her to pick Sam Armstrong’s account of her young life apart when they were through but instead she just said, ‘The devil finds work for idle hands, as my father was fond of saying.

  ‘He wanted me to be a lady and ladies didn’t work. He wanted me to marry, keep house and stay out of trouble but it left me with too much free time. Teaching came later, during the war, when the men went off to fight.’

  ‘What did you do all day?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Helped Mrs Harris, baked, read my books,’ she said listlessly, ‘and I used to go for a long walk every day on my own – a woman could back then and she’d be safe. My walks often took me down No Name Lane. Sean Donnellan was always by the river. I would stop and talk to him, little by little I got to know him and I realised I had been hasty in my judgement.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He was kind and considerate, he cared about my opinion on things, which was rare for a man in those days, still is, and he knew so much. Sean had read so many books, he had travelled, he knew writers, poets, artists and he had such big plans for his future. We became close. It was a gradual thing that happened slowly, over a whole summer.’

  ‘What about Betty? They were courting weren’t they?’

  ‘Hardly,’ she said dismissively. ‘Sean stepped out with Betty for a while but it was never …’ her voice trailed away then she said, ‘men were expected to sow their wild oats before they settled down. Girls like Betty were foolish enough to let them. Sean never made her a promise of anything.’

  ‘At least that’s what he told you,’ said Tom but she ignored this. Helen was trying to understand a society that expected men to sow wild oats while condemning the girls that granted them the opportunity.

  ‘Sean wasn’t courting anyone when it started and nor was I,’ Mary insisted primly, ‘I broke it off with Henry when I realised I had feelings for Sean.’

  ‘How did Henry take it?’ asked Tom, knowing the answer already.

  ‘Badly.’

  ‘Sam Armstrong said he pinned all his future hopes on you and when you broke up with him, he pretty much lost his mind.’

  ‘He kept saying he had done it all for me,’ she assented, ‘made himself into something so he could be with me, pleaded with me to give him another chance but I just couldn’t,’ she said, then added, ‘not then.’

  ‘Most teenage romances end dramatically,’ said Helen, ‘but this was different wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mary admitted.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Nothing for a while,’ she told him, ‘I stopped seeing Henry, much to my father’s disapproval, and started to walk out with Sean.’

  ‘Did your father know?’ asked Helen.

  Mary shook her head. ‘He would never have allowed it,’ her eyes widened, ‘the vicar’s daughter and the Irish Catholic boy? But it’s impossible to keep a secret for long in a village.’

  ‘There was gossip?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Someone saw us out walking together by the river and that was that; the fire was lit and Betty poured on the coals. She made sure everyone in the village knew I ended things with Henry so I could steal her man. Soon Mrs Harris heard about it and then of course my father.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He told me never to see Sean again.’

  ‘But you saw him anyway?’ said Helen.

  ‘I was a wilful girl,’ she explained, ‘and he could hardly keep me locked up.’

  ‘You were in love with Sean?’ Helen prompted her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he was in love with you?’ asked Tom.

  ‘So I thought.’

  ‘You don’t sound sure,’ he said.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ and she looked down at her shoes as she spoke, ‘for such a long time I wasn’t.’

  ‘Until they found his body in Great Middleton,’ said Tom.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, looking up at him as if he had finally worked it all out, ‘I thought he had left me, all those years ago and gone off to America without me.’

  ‘Why did you deny it, Mary?’ he asked her. ‘If you loved this man, if he meant that much to you, then why not admit it when we asked you?’

  ‘Because I was ashamed!’ she told him, ‘I married Henry and spent years living with that shame, hoping everyone would eventually forget about it or find something else to talk about behind my back.’

  ‘Did Sean ask you to leave with him?’ said Helen.

  ‘He told me there was nothing for either of us here and I believed him. He said it was the only way we could be together. He asked me to leave in the night when everyone was asleep. We knew if we walked across the fields we could reach town by the morning and catch the first bus to Newcastle then take a train to Liverpool and a boat to America. He had just enough money to get us there but no more.’

  ‘Is that why you stole the money from your father?’

  ‘What?’ her voice sounded distant.

  ‘The sovereigns,’ prompted Helen, ‘we know about the gold sovereigns that were stolen from the vicarage in 1936. It was in the newspaper.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘yes, of course, but I didn’t take them.’

  ‘Did Sean ask you to?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted and the admission cost her.

  ‘You told him about them?’

  ‘It just came up. We talked for hours about many things. One day I told him my father didn’t trust banks and he asked me what he did trust. It sounds foolish to think about it now but we were talking about America and money. I was frightened we’d starve. What if no one wanted his drawings? What if he couldn’t find work of any kind? We’d be in the gutter. Sean asked me if I could get money from my father.’

  ‘When he said get, did he mean steal?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Well he wasn’t going to give us any, was he?’ she answered caustically. ‘Sean said it would be like get
ting a portion of my inheritance early. He said I’d be disinherited for running away with him anyway so I should just take some.’

  ‘But you didn’t take the sovereigns?’ asked Helen.

  ‘How could I steal from my own father?’

  ‘So Sean took them anyway,’ Tom offered by way of explanation, ‘he took the money because he knew where to find it.’

  ‘That’s what everyone thought,’ she admitted, ‘it’s what I thought.’

  Tom contemplated this for a moment. ‘Where were you supposed to meet Sean?’ he asked Mary, ‘on the night you were going to leave with him.’

  ‘At the end of No Name Lane,’ she answered.

  Tom looked at Helen. ‘The lane runs right through the farms and carries on for miles, halfway to town.’ Then he turned back to the old lady. ‘What happened, Mary?’

  ‘You want me to tell you what happened to Sean?’ she asked. ‘Well I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ asked Helen. ‘Who are you protecting?’

  ‘Or did you do it yourself?’ Tom said. ‘That’s the first thing the police will ask.’

  Mary shook her head as if Tom was a very dim pupil indeed. ‘Do you actually believe I could have killed the man I loved, for any reason. Do you really think so little of me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be the first.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t,’ she assured them, ‘though I don’t suppose you’ll take my word for it.’

  ‘That depends,’ answered Helen. ‘Somebody killed him.’

  ‘And if you tell us who it was, maybe we’ll believe it wasn’t you,’ added Tom. ‘Was it Henry,’ he asked, ‘or was it Jack Collier? We know all about him.’ When she did not reply, he continued, ‘Perhaps Stephen killed him, or your father?’ he was offering up names so she could rebuff the more outlandish choices and at least narrow it down.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think I want to know the truth myself? Do you imagine I have thought of anything else since they found Sean’s body in that field?’

  ‘Then tell us what you do know,’ urged Tom, ‘give us the scraps Mary and let us piece them together, we’re the only chance you’ve got of ever learning the truth.’ When she didn’t contradict him, he said, ‘what happened?’

  ‘It was such a long time ago and …’ She waved a hand airily.

  ‘I think you remember everything,’ Helen told her firmly and when Mary looked affronted, Tom spoke to her.

  ‘Try,’ he urged, ‘please.’

  ‘I was going to leave with him,’ she explained.

  ‘So what happened, Mary? Why didn’t you?’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  1936

  ‘Do you no longer knock?’ asked Mary sharply.

  ‘I’m glad I didn’t if this is what I find,’ replied Mrs Harris. She had entered Mary’s bedroom to discover her packing a suitcase.

  ‘It doesn’t concern you,’ Mary told her, ‘you are not my mother.’

  ‘Maybe but it would concern your father if he were here.’

  ‘He’s not here. He’s staying with the Dean and it wouldn’t matter if he was.’

  ‘He’d forbid it.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Mary, ‘and I’d still go.’

  Mrs Harris seemed to lose all the fight in her then. ‘Please Mary, I’m begging you not to leave with this man. He’s not the right kind for you.’

  ‘Why? Because he’s not an Englishman, because he hasn’t had my education, because he doesn’t want to be a school teacher?’

  ‘Because he’ll tire of you!’ she shouted at the young girl but then her shoulders slumped and she continued in a pleading voice, ‘then where will you be? In ruination, that’s where.’

  ‘He won’t tire of me.’

  ‘He tired of Betty quick enough.’

  ‘And what man wouldn’t?’

  ‘Is that any way to speak of your friend? You might be many things Mary, but you were never cruel. We didn’t raise you that way. It’s only since you’ve taken up with him. And what will happen to Henry? You’ll be the ruin of him too. You’ve already broken him.’

  ‘I can’t help that!’ protested Mary. ‘Must I marry a man I don’t love to spare him a broken heart? You stand there and say I’m cruel but I have no worse an opinion of you or Betty than you have of me. I know what they are saying about me in the village and I won’t stay here. I won’t!’

  ‘So your mind is made up?’ she asked. ‘Are you leaving now?’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘When then?’

  Mary sighed, ‘Soon. Go to bed. When you wake in the morning, I’ll be gone.’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ urged Mrs Harris, ‘he’ll trample on your heart. I know he will.’

  ‘How?’ asked Mary, ‘how do you know it? Because someone broke yours long ago and you’ve not had a proper life since? Are you jealous because I have a chance of happiness and you never did?’

  ‘Yes, a man broke my heart long ago. He tired of me quick enough and went the way of the drink instead, like so many others, and yes, Sean Donnellan reminds me of him but that’s not the only reason. You’ve got stars in your eyes right now Mary and you can’t see because of them. Don’t throw your life away. Don’t turn your back on your family because of this man you hardly know.’

  ‘I do know him,’ Mary wailed, ‘and he’s a good man. He makes me happy. He will make me happy. Now leave me alone!’

  ‘I will, if that’s what you want. I can see there is no reasoning with you and I’m sorry you think I’ve not had a good life but I have, living here with you and your father and that’s why I don’t want you to ruin everything for him. But if you’re determined, there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. I won’t lock you in here but I will pray for you Mary. I will pray for you.’

  Mary rounded on her then in fury. ‘You’ll pray for me! How dare you offer me your prayers like I’m some fallen woman!’ Mrs Harris flinched at the ferocity of her words. ‘Do you think I don’t know about you? Do you really imagine I still believe you skulk round the house at night because you can’t sleep. I know you’re warming my father’s bed and that’s why he lets you stay but he won’t marry you, will he? He’s happy enough to lay down with you but he doesn’t think you’re good enough to be a vicar’s wife, does he? Look to your own sins and save your prayers for each other. You’re both hypocrites and he’s the worst kind!’

  Mrs Harris backed away from Mary’s words, flinching at them as if they were blows. Mary pursued her until she was outside the room then she closed the door in the housekeeper’s face, turned and flung herself on the bed, grabbed a pillow and brought it to her face to stifle the sound of her sobbing.

  Moments later she heard a door slam but she did not go after Mrs Harris. Instead she lay for a while, revisiting the words they had spoken to one another in their anger and realised there was no going back for her now.

  Mary got up and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief then forced herself to concentrate on the task in hand. The argument with Mrs Harris had delayed her and she was not even half packed. She would be late if she did not attend to the task,

  Half an hour later, Mary had packed then re-packed a single suitcase, for that was all her lover would permit her to bring. When she was finally happy with the contents she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, picked up her suitcase then slipped quietly out the back door of the vicarage to join Sean, experiencing a strange combination of fear and exhilaration at the thought of their new life together, far away from this one.

  She followed the empty, dimly lit road till it took her up the hill, past the church then down the other side. There were no street lamps here. Mary stumbled in the dark and almost fell but as she straightened she found herself at the entrance to No Name Lane. Her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom by now and there was just enough moon that night to light her way. Mary had walked the lane so many times she knew every curve of it, even in darkness. The only sound was the river as it hurried along beside her
with a great rushing that drowned out animal noises and the wind as it rustled the trees.

  It took Mary a few minutes to reach the meeting spot they had agreed upon: a gnarled old tree that hung over the river as if stooping to take a drink from it. She rounded the bend fully expecting to see Sean standing there, for she knew she must be a few minutes late and assumed he would be early so he could wait for her. Mary squinted into the gloom but there was no one there and she immediately felt a surge of panic. She told herself not to be so foolish. She had been late herself and Sean must have been delayed too. He would be there presently, for had he not sworn to her that he would come? The thought comforted her as she waited by the tree.

  Mary told herself not to worry. Sean was a man after all and the very best of them were never that reliable. He had been delayed leaving his lodgings, waiting for his landlady to fall asleep, and had encountered someone on the way and even now was hiding behind a hedge until they passed or instead he was making some excuse to them for his nocturnal wanderings. She didn’t yet dare entertain the notion that he might not come. She had to believe he would, for the alternative was too dreadful to contemplate. There was no way Mary could return to the vicarage, not after the way she had spoken to Mrs Harris. She had said things that could never be unsaid and made it clear that Mary considered the older woman a fool. She had declared Sean her saviour. Mary forced herself to banish uncertainty and reject the humiliation she would experience if Sean had somehow changed his mind. It would be too much to bear if he was as feckless as Mrs Harris judged him to be.

  No, there was no way he would let her down like that. Mary knew Sean too well and he wasn’t the kind of man to lack the passion to see something through. They were leaving tonight and nothing would stop them. She told herself this when a quarter of an hour had passed, then again after half an hour and there was still no sign of Sean. He had a reason, she assured herself, he would still come.

  Then it began to rain and Mary was forced to endure it, for there was little shelter from the old, gnarled tree. It rained hard and before long her shawl became drenched. The night turned cold too and she hugged herself for warmth. Where was he? She had begun to feel exposed out here and was eager to get going before they lost half the night but where was her Sean?