The Silent Lady

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘My mother did not die years ago. Under your treatment my mother lost most of her mind and became a vagrant. And for more than twenty-six years she would have remained as a vagrant had it not been for the kindness of a poor woman who took her in and has looked after her all these years. And such was the condition of my mother’s mind that she never left the little house where that woman lived but four times in all those years. And during all that time she wore the same clothes she had worn the night you attempted to murder her and her friend.’

  ‘Her lover! He was her lover. I saw them.’

  ‘You saw them meeting after years of separation. He had come to the theatre on a surprise visit, just as you had. But long before then you had not only bruised her body, but tortured it! And also tortured her mind, and to such an extent that she became afraid of men. Her only shield against them was the coat and hat she had bought herself, and which you didn’t approve of. Remember? It was too striking; it brought men’s attention to her more than usual. You couldn’t stand it. But she defied you and wore it. Here it is, sir!’ and, bending down, he opened the case and brought out the dirty coat and the hat, and swung them before his father’s eyes, saying, ‘Look at it! It’s in a terrible state; but how else would you expect it to look after all this time? You will recognise the shape, at least that of the hat, the French hat you forbade her to wear. But she defied you, as she did in many other ways.’

  ‘That could have been anyone’s coat and hat. Somebody found it. The woman is an impostor.’

  ‘Such an impostor sir, that she still has nightmares, which have been witnessed by two doctors, who have sometimes to hold her down because she continues to fight you off. You! With your filthy, rotten, perverted hands. That is just what you are, a filthy pervert. All your life you have been one.’

  ‘How dare you?’ It was a scream that filled the room and echoed from the walls.

  ‘I dare! And I’ll go on: it is known that you as good as murdered your first wife. I have talked with her maid, who saw you ignore the dead son she had just pressed from her dying body, then take the poor woman by the shoulders and shake her, almost throttle her, until you were dragged from her. But she, too, had defied you, hadn’t she? She died within hours, and what did you do? You left the country. People talk and you couldn’t bear it. You should have been locked up then.

  ‘But my mother’s case was worse; oh, much worse. You must have instilled in her the fear that burnt into her brain: you commanded her not to talk. “Do not speak!” You ordered her. And those words, after all these years, she still repeats. And added to them is a description of the things you did to her body. You are vile!’

  ‘Shut up!’ It was another scream. ‘It’s you who are mad! How dare you say such things? You know nothing about it; you were only a child.’

  ‘But she wasn’t, was she, Father? She wasn’t a child. You married her when she was twenty-three. Following that she had five years of torture with you, at least after the first year, when you started to show your true self. Your toothmarks are still on her body, faint maybe, but still evident to two doctors.’

  ‘I will not have this! I shall go and see her and prove she is—’

  Now it was Richard’s turn to raise his voice, ‘You move one step towards her, you make one enquiry as to her whereabouts and I’m telling you, believe me, I shall see that the whole story is in every paper in this country, as well as in France and Germany and Italy where so many of your assets lie, and where you are known as a great businessman. I shall tell the world exactly what you are: a filthy pervert who used a young woman so vilely, and the mother of your child at that, that you turned her brain. Now I promise you: make one move out of this house and I shall do as I’ve said. I shall see your story reaches America – there first. So, I’m warning you, for the rest of your life you will live in this same cage in which you have tortured two women.’

  ‘Do you know what you are doing? I’ll – I’ll disinherit you.’

  The laugh that came from Richard was scornful and he cried, ‘Disinherit me! Do that by all means – you’ll be doing me a service, for I am no longer under your control, your ownership. That’s what you think, don’t you? That you own me, as you owned your poor wife. Well, you made a mistake with me because – let me tell you now: yes, you are my father, and I’ve feared you, but I have never, never liked you. Now, sit and think about that. I no longer fear you, nor do I even pity you; and this is going to be your gaol, this house, which, if you are wise, you won’t leave, because once I know you have I’ll do as I promised and carry out my threat, and there won’t be a country in which you’ll be able to hide your head under your money-bags any more.’

  He gazed around the room now as if looking for something, and then his eyes fell on the Ming vase standing on a tall carved-wood Indian pedestal. This vase, he knew, was one of his father’s greatest treasures, because he had won it from other collectors who had gathered in London many years ago at an auction to bid for it. It had cost a fortune then, and today it would be priceless. So much did his father value the vase that he would not allow even Trip to dust it. Only he himself handled it.

  With a dive, Richard grabbed the precious object, and lifted his arms high, before bringing it down on the marble-tiled hearth.

  It was with a cry of rage that his father now sprang at him, but Richard’s arms were up and his fists ready.

  Of a sudden the great man, who was now almost towering over Richard, stopped. His face had lost its fiery colour and had drained to a sickly grey, and when slowly his arms dropped to his sides, Richard turned from him, grabbed Irene’s coat and hat, thrust them into the case, then made for the door.

  In the hall, huddled together, were three maids, Trip and Mrs Atkins.

  Edward Baindor tottered backwards and fell into a chair. There, gasping for breath, he brought out a sound that was recognisable only to Trip. But it was only with measured tread that he entered the drawing room. When he saw the condition of his master he hurried forward, saying, ‘I’ll ring for the doctor, sir.’

  At this the great head was shaking and the word that came out was ‘Solicitor.’

  Trip gazed in amazement at the pieces of china splayed all over the hearth rug and the hearth, and he thought, Oh, my God! That vase. It will kill him. But he turned and hurried to the phone and rang Alexander’s office. ‘Let me speak to Mr Armstrong straight away, please,’ he said.

  When Alexander came on the line he said, ‘This is Trip, Mr Armstrong. The master wants you. I will take the telephone to him.’

  When he handed the phone to the gasping man, Edward Mortimer Baindor said, ‘Get here! Now!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Baindor, but I can’t, not just now.’

  ‘Now, I said, Armstrong,’ and then there were only gasps to be heard before the voice came again, ‘Listen! I want you now.’

  ‘I have to be at a meeting in fifteen minutes’ time. It’s very important. I am sorry, I can’t be with you today at all. Perhaps tomorrow.’

  ‘Don’t dare!’ There was another silence before the voice came again: ‘Leave meeting, everything. Get here now!’

  The phone at the other end was put down, and only then did Edward Baindor turn his head towards Trip and gasp, ‘Doctor!’

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon and Miss Fairweather was sitting at the end of Alexander’s desk taking down in shorthand a letter he was dictating when the door swung open and a very presentable young woman bounced in, saying, ‘Sweetheart, I just had to—’ At the sight of Miss Fairweather rising quickly to her feet she said, ‘I’m very sorry, my dear. You’re busy.’

  ‘I’m always busy, but not too busy to see you. Come and sit down, you . . .’

  What the end of his sentence would have been Miss Fairweather did not wait to hear. She gathered up her notebook and swiftly left the room, closing the door noisily behind her.

  ‘I’ve annoyed her – you were busy?’

  ‘No, no. But what on earth are you doing her
e?’

  ‘I’ve come to look for my intended.’

  ‘Well, I too would like to know where he is.’

  Jackie’s tone changed now as she said, ‘I’m getting a bit worried. I knew he had gone to see the old man and that he had made arrangements with Trip to have all his things brought down to his car. Well, I’ve been to his flat and can’t get in. And then I went along to Glenda’s and she, like you, hasn’t seen hide or hair of him since he left the house just after nine this morning. And you know, as she says, he has hardly left his mother’s side for . . . well, not for this long anyway. Glenda was a bit worried that she hadn’t heard from him. She phoned Trip and he said Richard had left the house by car with his luggage as arranged just after eleven this morning.’

  After a moment, Alexander said, ‘He phoned me . . . the old man. It must have been just after Richard left, and he told me he wanted me there immediately. Well, I knew what that meant, the changing of the will, and he meant it all right. In fact, Trip phoned not fifteen minutes later to say that I had to bring documents and my clerk. I had already told him that I had a meeting and that I wasn’t coming today, but you know him: he speaks and you obey or else. Well, this time it’s or else: I told him I wasn’t able to get there until tomorrow.’

  Jackie sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and said, ‘One tries to put a cheerful face on things but, oh, I really am worried about Richard; he was in such a rage inside. I’ve been saying to him, do your blows with your words, they’ll be more effective, but I’m afraid that something may have happened and they came to blows and . . . well . . .’

  ‘You needn’t worry about that,’ put in Alexander, ‘because as I said, Trip told me he had left the house.’

  Jackie said slowly, ‘I saw her yesterday.’

  Alexander had no need to ask whom she had seen but said, ‘Yes, and what did you think?’

  ‘I . . . I seemed to stop thinking. It was a shock to see the face so emaciated. Twenty-six years of living in the dark, you could say, being afraid to speak. Probably the fear kept her from recalling the past, which Glenda tells me she’s doing frequently now and also talking a little more clearly, linking her words together as she hadn’t done earlier. But, oh dear, dear! What a tragedy; what a wasted life! I wanted to cry just looking at her.’

  ‘Did she speak to you?’

  ‘Yes, she did; and it was odd how Richard transmitted her meaning, because when she put out her hand towards me and said, “Nice,” I didn’t know how to answer, but Richard, looking at her, said, “Yes, isn’t she? She’s very nice,” to which she again nodded and repeated his words, “Very nice.” When Richard said softly, “She’s going to be your daughter-in-law and you’re going to be at our wedding,” she turned to him and her face was very sad when she said, “Soon.” He looked at me then, and said, “Yes, soon.” It was too much; I just had to get out of that room. I knew I was going to cry, as he had.’

  Alexander’s voice was low and soft as he leant across the table, saying, ‘You’re a very nice person, Jackie, and Richard is a lucky man to have found you.’

  ‘I’m lucky, too, Alex. My work takes me among a lot of men, especially in offices, and some of them are . . . well, pigs; they are the kind that look down on women as an inferior species and, being so, won’t object to a little mauling.’

  ‘No-o.’

  ‘Oh, yes. You in your small world don’t know what goes on in the big one. I learnt how to give an upper-cut by the time I was twenty.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I did. But, going back to your remark, I know, Alex, I’m a lucky girl in finding Richard.’

  At this there was a buzz from the button at the end of his table and a voice said stiffly, ‘Miss Armstrong on the phone for you, Mr Armstrong.’

  He picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello there.’

  ‘He’s back.’

  ‘Oh, good! Where on earth has he been?’

  There came a short laugh; then, ‘Two places. To a locksmith to have the lock changed on his flat, because he wouldn’t put it past the old fellow to send somebody down to clear it, for he, too, has a key and, of course, it’s his property. The other is’ – here she began to laugh as she continued – ‘he went and had a drink. It must have been more than one. Oh, he’s not drunk, although he’s not far from it; he would need something after that ordeal, I should think. I wish you had been here. He went in to his mother and, Alex, I’m sure she nearly laughed.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Because after apologising to her for being away so long, he said, “Mother, I’m drunk. I’m drunk because I’ve achieved something today that I’ve wanted to do for years.”

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t know what he was talking about, really, but she made a sound like laughter in her throat and put her hands up to his face and held it, before drawing him gently into her arms. It was good to see, Alex. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

  After he put the phone down Alexander looked at Jackie and said, ‘Did you get the gist of all that?’

  ‘He’s had a lock changed or something and he’s drunk.’

  ‘Yes; and that’s about the whole of it,’ said Alexander, laughing.

  ‘Poor Richard. He must have gone through it. I’ll go now, because I’m dying to see what he looks like tight.’

  As he led her towards the door, she said softly, ‘I love him so, Alex.’

  He had opened the door and now, when she lifted her head up towards him and kissed him, she added, ‘And I love you too.’

  ‘Go on!’ he said, pushing her, and she went past Miss Fairweather’s desk, meaning to give the woman a smile, but Miss Fairweather had her back towards her and was doing something at the filing cabinet.

  For the next half-hour or so Alexander got on with the special business of the next day, when he must go to see that damned man. As the will stood, there were no other beneficiaries; everything was simply left to his son, Richard Mortimer Baindor. Alexander rang for Miss Fairweather to come and take the dictation on the rest of his letters.

  After about three minutes, when there had been no reply to his signal that he was waiting for her, he rang again; and when, once more, there was no reply he got up and looked into the next room and towards her desk. She wasn’t there. At the end of the corridor there was a rest room where the staff had their breaks, but he didn’t like to go in. However, he had no sooner seated himself at his desk again than his door opened and James came in.

  James did not sit down but addressed his father straight away: ‘What have you done or said to Miss Fairweather?’

  ‘Me! What have I said to whom?’

  James’s voice rose, ‘To your secretary.’

  ‘What did I say to her? I only dictated the letters. What are you getting at?’

  ‘She’s going to give her notice in. That news to you?’

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘You heard what I said, she’s going to give her notice in. She says she’s had enough, over fifteen years of it.’

  ‘Had enough of what?’

  ‘Enough of you, Father.’

  James pulled a chair close up to the desk and sat down. ‘You are sometimes very blind and stupid about other people’s needs behind that keen law-filled mind of yours.’

  ‘Would you mind telling me what you are talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about your secretary and your conduct towards her.’

  ‘My conduct? It has been impeccable.’

  ‘Yes, damn you, and I mean that . . . too impeccable. You’ve never unbent with her all these years: Miss Fairweather this and Miss Fairweather that. Miss Fairweather will see to this and Miss Fairweather will see to that. Yes, and Miss Fairweather, let me tell you, will be a very great loss to the firm. Go down into the storeroom and look at the files. She can lay her hands on anything, right back practically to the day she came. She was twenty-five years old then, and a highly trained secretary, and since that time she has looked after our
interests in a way nobody else would or could. Do you know that?’

  Alexander sat back in his chair. Then he said, ‘What in the name of God are you getting at?’

  ‘I’m getting at you, Father.’ James’s voice sounded weary. ‘Even when Mother was alive that girl had a crush on you.’

  ‘What?

  ‘Well, call it what you like. As I said, it started before Mother died, and that’s ten years ago.’

  ‘But what have I done today to make her change her mind?’

  ‘Only that you are, she understands, about to marry a girl who is young enough to be your granddaughter.’

  ‘I’m what? I’ve never said anything to her about marrying again or—’

  ‘No; but you’ve had a young lady in here today, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I have, and that young lady was Richard’s fiancée. She came looking for Richard, just as we’ve all been doing.’

  It was James’s turn now to sit back and he spluttered as he said, ‘Oh, that’s it, is it? How did you part with her?’

  ‘Part with whom?’

  ‘With Jackie, of course.’

  Alexander sat thoughtfully for a moment, then he suddenly began to chuckle and he said, ‘Oh, my God! Just before I opened the door she’d told me how much she loved Richard and we’d had a long talk about this and that and then . . . well, as I opened the door for her, she leant up and kissed me and said she loved me too.’

  ‘Well, that must have done it. Miss Fairweather’s been in the rest room crying her eyes out. But she means it about leaving. Even when she knows that it was Richard’s girl, it won’t make any difference. I think, as she said, she’s had enough.’

  ‘And what d’you expect me to do?’

  ‘Melt.’

  ‘Melt?

  ‘Yes. You treat her like a machine. She is Miss Fairweather. She is the one who can lay her hands on anything you want at any moment. Because of her you can walk out of this office at any hour of the day and the work will get done. She is just Miss Fairweather.’