She now moved from the window and actually walked towards him until she could have touched him with her bent arm, and from this distance she looked into his face and asked, ‘Now whom do you think she’d meet there besides her mother? But why am I asking you, because you wouldn’t guess in a thousand years, Edmund. You, the virile, child-producing man would be the last to guess, so I’ll tell you, shall I? She met her father.’
The word came soft, thick and husky. It brought Lagrange’s eyes into narrow slits. He surveyed his wife. She had gone mad, she had lost her reason. But she was speaking again and now his eyes sprang wide open, for, reading his thoughts, she said, ‘No, Edmund, I haven’t gone mad, I’m perfectly sane. Listen, I’ll say it again. Annabella met HER FATHER in that house. He is the big, gormless creature. But your mistress has a regard for him. She told me quite a lot of things because apparently she was annoyed that at this stage of her daughter’s life you should disclose her parentage.’
He was still staring at her as if fascinated and powerless to speak, and after a moment she went on, ‘I recollect, it was early in our marriage, when you stayed in London for some ten weeks on business. I remember being hurt by your absence and rather lonely, and apparently your mistress was, too, because she took to her bed the man called Jimmy. I understand they had been brought up together, and, as I said, they had a regard for one another. But she was ambitious and she saw in you a means of furthering her ambitions, she would make you father of her child and then she’d have a hold on you . . . ’
‘Shut up!’ He was towering over her, his teeth clenched and every muscle of his body knotted. ‘She’s lying! She’s a lying bitch.’
His attitude hadn’t the slightest intimidating effect on her now, and she cried at him, ‘No, she wasn’t lying. And if I had doubted she was lying the man would have proved me wrong because, strangely, Annabella resembled him. Your mistress said the man had been good-looking in his time before his face had been brutalised, but he still has green eyes, just like Annabella’s; and his mouth, too, was Annabella’s. It’s a wonder you’ve never noticed the resemblance. If only I’d had the advantage of meeting your mistress years ago, and the man, I’m sure I would have guessed and—’ the mocking tone leaving her voice now and bitterness weighing heavy on each word, she cried, ‘I would have saved myself years of hell, years of humiliation. You, you dared to blame me for not bearing a child. If I had married any other man I would likely have been the mother of a large family today, but no, I’ve been tortured for being barren while you have blackmailed me with what you imagined was the proof of your virility, while all the time you were being hoodwinked by a wanton, a whore . . . ’
His fist came out and struck her full across the mouth and sent her reeling back against the desk, which saved her from falling; and now, her hands sprawled back on the desk to support herself, she glared at him. Her mouth was bleeding but she wasn’t aware of it, she was aware of nothing but the face before her, the face she saw as a devil’s. And when her fingers slid over the polished leather of the desk and touched the heavy glass inkwell she didn’t stop to consider but threw it full at him. Her action had been so quick and unexpected that he couldn’t avoid the inkwell; it hit him in the neck and the ink splashed up over his face and down his clothes.
Now he had to put up his arm to avoid the heavy silver paperweight; then she was picking up a vase from the window sill, and as it missed him and crashed against the wall Alice came rushing into the room. After pausing a second she flew to her mistress and, putting her arms tightly about her, cried, ‘There, there! Give over now. There, there!’ and, turning her head towards her master, she dared at last to shout at him, ‘Get out! Get out!’ and after a moment, while he glared at them as if about to kill them both, he turned and staggered from the room.
Half an hour later Rosina, assisted by Alice on one side and Reeves on the other, walked slowly across the park and to her mother’s house, and having reached it she collapsed, and Reeves, running for the first time in years, returned to the stables and ordered Manuel to ride into the town as quickly as possible and bring the doctor.
Following the habits of a lifetime, Reeves and Mrs Page kept the household working and as if still under the direction of a master and mistress; true they were visited each day by Alice, who in her way was more formidable than the mistress or even the master. To their queries as to how the mistress was faring they received the same answer day after day, she was still poorly. Alice would not say that her mistress had lost the will to live and that she lay scarcely speaking and that if she didn’t eat, and soon, she’d surely die.
When the last of the servants stopped her and asked after their mistress’ health Alice thought cynically of the staff’s change of attitude. Her mistress hadn’t gained their full respect until she had started to throw things. Her self-control over the years had not evoked their admiration, but, she asked herself bitterly, what did they know about self-control, shutting her eyes to the fact that both she and they had to study this facet of character from the moment they entered service, and that they had seen in their mistress’ retaliation their own release from subservience. She herself had forgotten the moment of glee that she had experienced at the sight of her master bespattered with ink, and the room strewn with the remnants of the Ming vase and other articles.
The servants as a whole did little work. What was the use? they said; everything was being covered up and they had three weeks in which to work out their notice and find another situation. But there was the rub, find another situation, when houses all over the North were cutting down, so, as they said to Cook practically in one voice, eat while the going’s good. The cellars and the larders were still full and what would happen to the food, anyway, when the House was empty? They’d never get through all this stuff down at the cottage; half of it would go bad. None of the staff could get to know from Alice if the estate was to be disposed of altogether, or just part of it including the House, and leaving the cottage for the old mistress, because Alice didn’t know herself.
There was only one among them who was certain of a job besides Harris, this was Manuel, because they all knew that Mr Boston had had his eye on him for years, and now all he had to do was to pick up his traps and walk across the county into a stable ten times better, it was said, than this one, with anything from fifteen to twenty horses in it . . . Mr Boston hadn’t been hit by the slump.
Then the household was amazed by the news that Manuel was not going to Boston’s. It was in its own way as big a surprise as the unprecedented ructions the other day. But, they said, didn’t that prove what they had always said about him was true, he was odd? But this was the latest, the fellow must be barmy. Folks fighting tooth and nail for any kind of work at this time and he turning down a heaven-sent job like that. He was completely nuts, said everyone of the male staff, except Armorer.
Manuel, too, thought that he must be a little crazy not to take the situation that Boston was holding out to him, that of head man over his stables. He knew he might live to be a hundred and never have the same chance offered again, but there it was, he didn’t like the man, and he knew it would never work out. Not that he had been all that enamoured of his present master. There were times over the past years when he had almost snatched up his bundle and gone. Yet, in a way, he felt there was something about Lagrange he understood. Perhaps it was his love for the animals. But understanding apart, he was getting away from this house as soon as possible. He had a feeling on him that told him to be gone.
This was the morning of the fifth day since Annabella’s disappearance and the thought of her had never left his mind for one minute. She even dominated his fitful sleep. He hoped to God, and very sincerely, that she had gone in the river; if not, he wouldn’t let himself think where she’d be and what would be happening to her at this very moment, for he knew only too well that a girl of any kind couldn’t be abroad at night in that quarter of
Shields and not have a man’s hands on her.
He had been up since four and tramping through the park, but the dawn was now breaking and it was time for him to get back. He stopped for a moment when he got to the gap in the stone wall and he recalled the day he had taken her through it for the first time. He went now and leant on the broken masonry and looked in the direction of the river, which was blotted out in early ground mist.
It was as he stared that he saw the disembodied head bobbing above the rim of the floating vapour. The sight startled him and brought him taut, the hairs on his neck rising until he saw the head become attached to a trunk, and he let out a long breath as he recognised the bulk of Amy. Taking a side leap, he was over the wall and going towards her, and from a distance he called, ‘Hello there, Amy!’ And she stopped for a moment before hurrying to him, saying, ‘Oh, Manuel, Manuel.’
When they met she gripped his hands with her own ice-cold ones, then said, ‘I must have wished you up out of bed, I was coming to try and find you.’
‘What is it? Are you in trouble?’
‘It depends how you look at it, lad. Come back this way with me.’
‘But, Amy, it’ll soon be five, and I’m due with the animals.’
‘They can wait. Let everything wait; come on back with me.’ She now took him by the arm and they had gone a few steps before he said again, ‘But what is it, what’s happened?’
She peered up at him through the lifting light and said under her breath, ‘It’s your Miss, I’ve got her in the house.’
‘Miss Annabella?’ He gripped her arms until she winced and then he said quickly, ‘Oh, sorry, sorry, Amy, but when?’
He was hurrying forward now, almost carrying her along, and she said between catches in her breath, ‘I’ve had her with me two days but I’ve been frightened to leave her in case of what she might get up to, she’s been raving. I was frightened of the river, but I’ve been as far as this a half-dozen times in the hope that I might see you, but never a glimpse, so when half an hour ago she fell into a dead sleep I thought I’d chance it . . . But, Manuel, I’d better warn you, if she comes round don’t mention taking her back to the house because she’ll start her screaming again. I set her off twice by saying I’d go and fetch somebody. The first time she flayed and struggled to get out as if she was behind prison bars, and the next time she did get out and made straight for the river. She’s demented.’
They were going up the path when he said, ‘How did you find her?’
‘I didn’t, she found me. There was a thud against the door as I was making for bed and there was this huddled shape lying on the step. Oh, you never saw anything like the state she was in; she was caked mud from her hair to her toes and she was soaked to the very skin of her, and her body was afire.’
They were in her kitchen now and she said under her breath, ‘Come in here,’ and went towards a door in the corner. ‘I couldn’t get her up the stairs so I made a shakeydown in the front room. I’ve kept the fire going night and day, it’s enough to bake you but it’ll help to sweat the fever out of her.’
Manuel went into the small front room and stopped just within the door and looked at the figure lying on a biscuit mattress a few inches from the floor. The face was white as plaster of Paris, and as stiff as a cast made of the same. The brown hair was strewn on the pillow on both sides of her as if she were afloat on water.
Dropping on to his knees, he tenderly picked up the boneless looking hand from the top of the blanket and he held it firmly clasped between his own for a moment while his throat contracted and he gulped at his spittle.
Amy, from his side, whispered, ‘Why do you think she made for here? She hasn’t been here not a half-dozen times in as many years.’
He did not take his eyes from Annabella as he said, ‘If we ever came out alone she always suggested we call; she couldn’t when he or the others were with her. She liked coming here, Amy.’ He said now, ‘She’s in a high fever,’ and she answered, ‘It should be down by this evenin’.’
‘Do you think she should have a doctor?’ He glanced up at her and she shook her head. ‘He could do nothin’ more than I’m doing for her. I’ve given her a stiff dose. It’s a brew I have for fevers, made up of potash and sweet spirits of nitre and a few herbs and things. It’s running into the third day and reached its peak so she should be cooled down by this evening; if not, then we’ll talk of the doctor again . . . I’d leave her now.’
Slowly he got to his feet and followed her into the kitchen, and there he said, ‘I’d better get back and let them know.’
Amy now shook her head slowly at him. ‘If you want my opinion I wouldn’t, for every time I mentioned gettin’ help, which meant going across there, she went on like somebody insane, I told you. Once or twice she became clear in the head and said to me, pathetic like, “Let me stay, Amy, let me stay quietly for a little while; I’ll go as soon as I’m rested,” and I said to her, “Where are you thinking of going, child?” and she answered, “I have plans.” And I said to her, “Well, what about your mother, she’ll be worried?” and she answered to that, quite sanely, “She’s not my mother, Amy.” Well, of course, I knew that; there wasn’t anybody around the countryside that didn’t. But there was something I didn’t know, and if it’s true then God help her because I said to her, “Well, shall I tell your father?” and she laughed at that, a weird, funny, painful laugh, and I thought she was going off her head again, but she said, “He isn’t my father either, Amy. Now would you believe that? She isn’t my mother and he isn’t my father. My parents both live in Crane Street.” Then she asked me if I knew Crane Street and did I know this house in Crane Street . . . ’
Manuel screwed up his face. ‘He’s not her father?’
‘That’s what she said, he’s not her father either.’
‘God’s sake! This is worse.’ He rubbed his hand slowly up and down one side of his face; then he walked to the door and stood looking out. It was a beautiful morning now, the light had dispersed the mist. A morning like this always brought peace to his turbulent spirit. Yet a morning such as this always made him think regretfully that if he could write he would put this morning down on paper; a newborn morning such as this always made him glad he was alive, even if he knew the day before him was going to be irksome.
But this morning he was filled with a sadness he had never experienced before. A girl who had been brought up as a lady. For seventeen years she had been coached to be just that, a lady. And now she had all the mannerisms of a lady; her mind worked along ladylike channels, and being a lady she had come to consider the niceties of life her due; from her station she saw life filled with equals and inferiors. She had been brought up to think she would marry an equal . . . an equal, Mr Stephen. What about Mr Stephen? He turned to Amy quickly and said under his breath, ‘I know where she could go. Durham, Mr Stephen. There’s something betwixt them. She’s always had her heart set in that direction. I’ll . . . ’
‘Save your breath, Manuel; that avenue’s closed an’ all as far as I can gather, because in her ravings she was on about him marrying someone called Kathleen. Her father had read it from the paper.’
He stared at her for a while, then he bowed his head deeply on his chest and, walking away from her, he said, ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
She called to him softly, ‘I wouldn’t say anything until you know what she wants to do.’
He did not turn towards her but nodded his head in agreement, then went down the path and along the river bank, and as he went there came back into his mind the thought of Margee. He hadn’t thought of her for years now, but her prophecy seemed to be coming true, for trouble had fallen on this house. Yet in a way the house had no connection with himself, so it wasn’t his trouble, except that he was sorry to the very heart of him, to the very core of him, for Annabella, for Miss Annabella, he prompted hi
mself harshly. It didn’t mean because she had been thrown over by the rest of them that she was to lose her title. He wasn’t given to titles, no, begod; deep in him he hated calling a man Sir, or Master, but this was different, this was one title he’d speak and always speak with deference. Miss Annabella.
It was late in the afternoon when he again leapt the broken wall. He had never known a day like it in all his time in the stables. The master was going mad, he thought, for he hardly left the stable yard. He had ordered three horses down to the forge to be shod and them not needing it. He had gone over all the bridles, girths and saddles like a housewife over her kitchen pots. He said the carriages looked dingy and ordered Danny to make up a new polish. He had stood over him while he melted the yellow wax and pounded up the litharge with the water, and he came back at him before he had time to put in the ivory-black, and he said the coach was in the state it was because they had forgotten to put the turpentine in the last lot, as if a man making up a polish would forget to put the turpentine in. Then he had been on to himself, saying that he was giving the animals too little exercise and too much food; and once he had turned on him and yelled, ‘You won’t get your own way in Boston’s like you have done here,’ and just in an effort to soothe him he had replied, ‘I have no intention of going to Mr Boston’s, Sir.’ And on this Lagrange had come to him and patted his arm, and smiled at him and said, ‘Good. Good, Manuel.’ And then he had added, ‘He’ll never get one of them as long as we stand together, eh?’ He hadn’t understood him but he had nodded. Then he had watched him go round examining the locks on all the doors; it was as if he expected a raid on the stables. And just five minutes since he had gone riding out hell for leather on Dizzy. He didn’t often ride Dizzy for he didn’t like her, nor she him. He had never been able to break her spirit; she still bucked and reared on the slightest provocation, and the very last time he was out on her she threw him.
The Glass Virgin Page 19
