Rodney said compassionately, ‘What is it, my dear? What’s happened?’
‘Nothing. I only wanted to rest.’ Her voice was level and clipped. She stood straight and her tenseness formed a guard about her.
‘Now, now, Annie; there’s more to it than that. Come, tell me about it.’
Rodney made to enter the room, but pulled up abruptly when she said, ‘I’m not telling you about it, now or at any time, so you can save your persuasion. I just want you to leave me alone.’
She had never spoken to him like this before. All her words to him had been gentle and loving; even ordinary, everyday greetings always held some special tone meant for him alone. The hurt and surprise showed plainly in his face. For a brief second his eyes looked searchingly into hers, then, turning slowly, he brushed past Kate and walked away.
‘Annie, how could you speak to Rodney like that! In fact, how dare you!’ cried Kate. ‘What has come over you? What’s happened, anyway?’
Annie turned back into her room, and Kate followed her, crying, ‘Cathleen Davidson’s done this, hasn’t she?’
‘I’m not going to discuss it, so you needn’t keep on.’
Kate was amazed at her tone. Never before had she heard Annie speak in this fashion. She said: ‘I know it’s Cathleen Davidson. I warned you.’
‘Then tell Rodney,’ said Annie. ‘Not that he’ll believe you.’
‘Annie! My dear, my dear,’ Kate implored, turning Annie round to face her, ‘tell me what it is. Oh, please tell me; you’ll feel better.’ Then she gave a start of surprise: ‘It wouldn’t be what I told you before I went out?’
‘No, it isn’t that…although, for myself, I couldn’t see anything to be joyful over. But I’m not telling you, Mam.’ The coldness of her eyes and the quiet tone held so much firm resolution that Kate dropped her hands and stood away, looking at her daughter. She had always felt there was nothing about Annie she did not know or understand, but this new attitude had a resolution about it and the temper of steel which she could in no way associate with her Annie. This new Annie was strong enough to fight Cathleen Davidson alone. But she wouldn’t, for she was turning all her forces upon herself.
Without another word Kate left her. Gone was the fear that Annie would do something to herself, but a greater fear was taking its place, and as yet she could not place it; she only knew that in some intangible way it was connected with the lighted candles on the altar, the open prayer book, and the rosary lying across her bed.
Kate was awake when the phone rang; it was two o’clock, and she found it impossible to sleep. Rodney lay by her side, moving restlessly, his wounded leg jerking at almost regular intervals. The noise of the bell startled her, and she was more surprised still, on lifting the receiver, to hear Peggy Davidson’s voice. It came to her full of agitation: ‘Kate, can Rodney come up? Peter needs him.’
‘Is he ill?’ asked Kate anxiously.
‘No…but he needs Rodney.’
‘Just a moment, Peggy.’ Kate shook Rodney, saying, ‘It’s Peggy on the phone, she wants you to go up at once.’
Rodney, sleep gone from him in a matter of seconds, took the receiver, and after listening for a while said briefly, ‘I’ll be up as quickly as possible, Peggy.’
Handing the receiver back to Kate, he said, ‘Get Blyth up. Tell him I want the car immediately.’
As Kate lifted the house telephone she asked, ‘What’s the matter? Is one of them ill?’
‘I don’t know. There must be something seriously wrong with either Cathleen or Michael. She wouldn’t say on the phone.’
Rodney was half dressed when he exclaimed: ‘Good Lord, haven’t you got that fellow awake yet?’
‘Yes, he’s coming.’ Kate put the receiver down. ‘He must sleep like the dead!’
‘More likely he doesn’t want to hear. Oh Lord, how I miss Steve! He’d have had the car out by now.’
There was no further conversation between them as she helped him to finish dressing. It was the first time he had mentioned Steve since the night she was told he’d left, and she felt the reference to have been involuntary, slipping out through his annoyance. Nevertheless, after he had gone, she was uncertain in her mind whether it was his allusion to Steve or the urgency to reach the Davidsons’ which caused him to leave so coldly. Since he knew her state of mind with regard to Annie, she felt it unfair of him to leave her like that, but she supposed the coldness was just part of the moods into which he had been falling of late, and which were beyond her power to fathom …
When Peggy opened the door to Rodney, he could not help the exclamation that escaped him. He saw that she was unable to speak; her small face, red and swollen with crying, was sharpened with grief. She led the way into the sitting-room, and to his astonishment buried her face in her hands and wept convulsively.
Rodney put his arm about her shoulder. ‘Peggy, my dear. Peggy, what is it?’
She looked up at him, her eyes weary: ‘Oh, Rodney, why should this happen to us? What have we done? We have worked all our lives for them, given them all we could …’
‘Peggy! What’s happened? Tell me…Where’s Peter? Stop crying now and tell me !’
The sharpness of his voice steadied her and she said, ‘Upstairs with Michael…He doesn’t know I phoned you, but I was afraid for him; he looked as if…as if he couldn’t bear it, and I couldn’t get near him, somehow…You see …’
‘Peggy! What’s happened? Just tell me that!’ Rodney took her by the shoulder.
‘Michael…tried to kill himself.’
‘My God!’
‘He would have done it if Duke hadn’t smelt the gas and come scratching at our door. Peter was just in time. But Michael…my boy’s ill!’
‘My God!’ muttered Rodney again, as he hastily went from the room.
Peggy remained standing where he had left her. She was in line with the piano, and after a while she was conscious that she was gazing fixedly at the photograph of Cathleen standing on the top of it. Her daughter’s eyes seemed to be staring back at her defiantly. Peggy walked to the piano and lifted the picture in her hands and, as she looked down on it, the tears dropped in large blotches on the glass, distorting Cathleen’s face into the semblance of a grinning demon. Peggy returned the photograph to the piano again, but she laid it face downwards and, burying her face in her hands, she leant against the wall and continued to cry bitterly.
It was dawn before Peter and Rodney came downstairs, and by common consent they made for Peter’s small and untidy study. It was Rodney who went to the little cabinet standing on the bookcase and took out the bottle of whisky which he knew he would find there. He poured a generous supply into a tumbler which he handed to Peter, who was slumped in the leather armchair.
Peter shook his head wearily at the proffered glass, but Rodney insisted: ‘Come on, man, get that down you.’ He looked with anxious pity on this friend who had stood by him through the great trial of his own life, and now he felt utterly helpless to do anything that would lift the look of acute suffering from Peter’s face…the face which, during their earlier acquaintance, had annoyed him with its constant smile.
They sat in silence for some time, Peter sipping spasmodically at the whisky, and either passing his hand over the back of his neck or rubbing it hard along his jawbone. Rodney, feeling that it would be better were Peter to talk about the matter, said: ‘Have you any idea what made him attempt such a thing?’
Peter’s hand moved rapidly over his face. He did not reply immediately, and when he did it was in the form of a question: ‘Haven’t you noticed the absence of the other member of the family?’
Rodney had noticed Cathleen’s absence, but he had thought she must be in another room or with Peggy. Yet it was strange she hadn’t put in an appearance, knowing he was there. As he said, ‘You mean Cathleen?’ there returned to him the memory of Kate saying, ‘Cathleen Davidson has been here!’
Peter said suddenly, ‘You know us, Rodney; there wasn’t a
happier family living when the pair of them were young. But these last few years, why…!’ He shook his head despairingly. ‘You wouldn’t believe how unbearable life has been at times.’
Rodney said nothing; he was feeling uneasy. For years he had upheld Cathleen’s actions. He had at times come very near to losing his temper with Kate because of her obvious distrust of Cathleen…But it was Cathleen Peter was referring to now.
Peter heaved himself from the chair and started to walk restlessly back and forward in the narrow space of the room. He talked spasmodically, as though the words were being forced out of him: ‘She’s a devil! There’s something wrong with her; she can’t bear peace. I don’t blame Michael, he’s only a lad, and her taunts would drive a grown man off his head at times…She’s like no-one I know…We can’t understand it.’
He stopped and took another drink of the whisky, and Rodney said quietly: ‘I can’t really believe it.’
‘No, you wouldn’t!’ said Peter with some bitterness; ‘you have always thought she was cute. You’re about the only one she’s managed to hoodwink. But I suppose you’re not to blame for believing in her, for she’s always kept a special side for you. If you had been here last night, though, it might have opened your eyes.
‘When I got in Peggy said she had been at it for hours, taunting, taunting as only she knows how…Do you know, she can keep it up for a week. Every meal, every moment, in a thousand and one ways she can allude to the same thing until you have the desire to throttle her.’
‘Peter!’
‘I’m telling you, man, it’s true.’ Peter wiped the sweat from the palms of his hands. ‘Peggy said she had been at Michael since she came in, at teatime. Michael went out because he couldn’t stand any more of it. But when he came back she started on an old trick of hers, making continuous journeys to the bathroom and voicing remarks as she passed his door. She can do this in a penetrating whisper. It’s uncanny to hear her. I suppose he could stand it no longer, for he rushed out and struck her. Peggy said Cathleen was aiming the bronze Negro head which stands on the landing table at him. Michael dodged it, and then he pushed her and she fell backwards down the stairs. It’s a wonder she didn’t break her neck.’
Rodney looked utterly incredulous. He was really unable to believe all he was hearing, yet it must be true. ‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘In bed with a dislocated shoulder and a broken ankle. And that’s what I came home to, after delivering twins that I’d been working on for hours…Something like this was bound to have happened, it’s the climax of years, but the hell of it is I’ll have to send Michael away.’
‘But what was it over?’
‘Rosie Mullen.’
‘Rosie?’
‘Yes. It appears Michael’s been seeing her. I didn’t know anything about it, and I was a bit surprised because…well, she’s such a little thing and she doesn’t appear to be Michael’s type at all. Also it’s unusual for a lad of his age to take up with a girl older than himself. Anyway, that’s what it was about. And I can imagine Cathleen making the most of her material.’
Peter sat down again. He looked tired unto death, and spoke as if he was thinking aloud: ‘I’ll send him to my brother, he’s always wanted him to go out there for a visit. Yes, I’ll send him there. I would have sent him a couple of years ago if Peggy hadn’t been so against it.’
‘You surely don’t mean the one that’s in Canada?’ said Rodney.
‘Yes.’
‘What! Why, it will break Peggy’s heart.’
‘Something’s got to be done, and he won’t stay in this house after what’s happened.’
‘But Peter! Why not let Cathleen go away? She’s been wanting to set up in London or Paris this long while. Why not let me—?’
‘No!’ said Peter roughly. ‘She’s not going to Paris. She’s not moving further than this house as long as I can keep her here. And that won’t be for much longer, for she’ll soon be beyond my jurisdiction. But as long as I can keep her under my hand I’m going to. I only let her go on holiday because I was sure of the girl who was going with her.’
‘But why, man?’
‘Because she wouldn’t be on her own twenty-four hours before she’d be on the streets.’
‘Peter! Peter!’
‘Yes, Peter! Peter!…But I know my own daughter. There are things I’ve found out these past few months that have nearly made my hair turn white.’
In some unaccountable way Rodney’s mind at that moment turned to Steve. He had tried not to think of him for months, for he found that his thoughts always reverted from Steve to Kate. He had felt certain that there was some mystery about Steve’s hasty departure, and that it involved Kate. He had been torn by unreasonable jealousy at the time. It was only the sure knowledge of Kate’s love for him that enabled him to make the effort to stamp it out. But nevertheless it had cast a shadow, and the shadow remained, becoming deeper, as it had done this morning when he mentioned Steve’s name and Kate had not replied. Wouldn’t it have been a natural thing for her to make some comment on what he said? But no, when he came to think of it, she never mentioned Steve’s name; she was as reticent in its use as he was himself.
Peter’s voice brought Rodney back from his own minor trouble, startling him with its implications: ‘It was only by chance I found she’s been on the loose for years. Some little thing she said made me suspect, for you only gain a certain type of knowledge through experience. So one day I ransacked her room. I did it unknown to Peggy, for Cathleen was cute enough always to insist on doing her own room. The drawers were locked, but I soon fixed that. And what I found made me sick…It’s the only time in my adult life, Rodney, I ever remember crying.’
Rodney could only sit staring at Peter. He was dried of words; there was nothing he could say that would be of comfort to his friend. There was within him, too, the feeling of having been let down, of being hoaxed and made a fool of. He had defended Cathleen for years, looking on her as an impetuous child. How amused she must have been at his loyalty! He had the odd feeling of being young and inexperienced, as if life still held awakenings for him. Only yesterday she had played him again. His mind gave a jolt. What had she done to Annie? Kate was right, she had been right all along. He felt a desperate urge to hurry away home, to both Kate and Annie, and to try to straighten out the tangles. Yes, he must get home, for Annie would start for college in a few hours. And he would ask Kate point-blank what she knew of Steve.
Peter’s hand was laid on his knee. ‘I feel better being able to talk to you about it. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here. Will you stay for a while? I need you, man.’
‘As long as ever you want, Peter.’
14
Terence’s next letter shook Annie’s defences and penetrated the pose of cold indifference she had studiously cultivated. Naturally, it dealt only with the book, and instead of the humility the occasion warranted, the tone of the letter was censorious, and it had evidently been written in anger.
She sat on her narrow bed in the partitioned cubicle and read for the third time:
My mother made a mistake in asking you to look for thebook, but you too made a mistake when you read it.Opening it must have been quite a business. This aloneshould have told you it was private. You had no right toread it. Evidently you were shocked by some of the thingsyou read. As the book was meant for my eyes alone I amnot going to justify myself to you; but I ask you to tryand forget it, and I will forgive you for reading it.
His tone mollified considerably towards the end, and he finished:
Oh Annie, I had been longing and longing for a letter.Then for you to send the book without even a word …it was cruel of you…You know, a frightening thoughthas occurred to me: I think you could be cruel in a puritanical way, because you are so young.
She crushed the letter into a tight ball. Young! She’d never feel young again…and he’d forgive her, would he?
She rose from the bed as a bell sounded
in the distance, and walked swiftly through the dormitory, past rows of characterless cubicles. How dare he! How dare he! And, as if metaphorically striking a blow at him, she added grimly to herself: I will write to Sister Ann tonight.
Four days later she received another letter. It began in panic:
Annie, my dearest, you just can’t mean you’re not goingto write to me because of that silly book. I can explainevery word I wrote and why I wrote such stuff. And Iwill when I see you. In the mean time, my Annie, don’tdo this to me. I know my other letter was abrupt, andI’m most sorry for writing in that strain. Oh my beloved,this is simply hell!I can’t get down to work.
I kept away from you for years because I was afraid ofwhat you could do to me. I see now that that fear waswell-founded. I knew that if I once allowed myself tolove you you would consume me. There is no going backfor me now. Annie, for God’s sake, write to me!
She could not read further. She looked wildly around her for a means of escape. The formal garden of the college lay open before her, bare of trees but studded with groups of girls. For a moment the desire to run home, away from all this, assailed her. She wanted, beyond anything else at the moment, to escape from the mass of girls, from the routine, from all the things here that were so cold and impersonal; nothing here touched the heart. This last thought had a calming effect on her…that was as it should be. That’s what she wanted: nothing to touch the heart …
The third letter came at the end of a fortnight, and made her cry out: ‘What kind of man is he? How can he say such things?’
In this letter he was endeavouring to explain the feeling which had urged him to express himself as he had done in the book. ‘Annie,’ he said:
The writings in that book were mostly adolescentthoughts. The words didn’t mean all they seemed toconvey. That book was a sort of safety valve; it was,as it were, part of me that I had to throw off…‘self-expression’, they call it. Don’t you see, the writing was the expression of the phases we all pass through? Isuppose it was the one on Cathleen that shocked you.But believe me when I say it meant nothing; it wasfounded and built up on the merest incident.
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