The Glass Virgin

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Well, there’s one thing certain,’ remarked her husband before turning over and going to sleep; ‘he can’t have both. Pity, but there ’tis.’ And on this he chuckled deeply.

  Manuel had only mentioned Betty once to Annabella since the day following her arrival. ‘She’s let up on you, hasn’t she?’ he said, and when she didn’t answer but just stared at him, he demanded, ‘Well, hasn’t she? She’s different, pleasanter?’ And to this she answered somewhat primly, ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that.’

  ‘Well then.’ He frowned at her. ‘It’s all right, I told you it would be.’

  Then came Christmas Eve. Manuel had cleaned up the main room in the cottage, the fire was burning brightly, two candles were alight on the table and above the mantelpiece a bunch of holly was tied.

  Her face white and straight, Annabella stood facing him. She hadn’t come to give him a lesson, she hadn’t given him a lesson for over a fortnight because everybody had been busy with the preparations for the holiday. She had come to give him a Christmas present; she had decided to do it this way rather than present it to him in front of everyone tomorrow. When leaving Skillen’s farm she had twenty shillings in her possession, but after buying a toothbrush and some tooth powder, a piece of linen and silks with which to make a wedding present for Agnes, and some lawn to make handkerchiefs to give as Christmas presents, she had eight shillings left, and three days ago she had gone into Hexham in the cart and spent seven and sixpence on a briar wood pipe in a case.

  There was no merriment on her face as she handed him the small package, saying, ‘A merry Christmas, Manuel.’

  ‘For me!’ He took it slowly from her hand and slowly opened it, and as he looked down at the elegant shaped, brown wooden pipe his teeth dropped hard on to his lower lip; then turning to her, he said softly, ‘All me life I’ve envied a man who’s smoked this type of pipe, I would never have afforded it for meself, even me having the money, yet I longed to possess one. Aw, Annabella!’ He thrust out his hands and grabbed her arms, and for one breath-checking moment she thought he was going to pull her into them.

  It was the sound of her breath actually catching in her throat that checked him from doing just that. His eyes swept over her face, moving from her hair down to her lips and back to her eyes. ‘Thank you.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It must have taken most of what you had.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Her tone was precise and he let go of her arms, then said, ‘Wait a minute, I’ve something for you an’ all. And you might as well have them now. I was keepin’ them for the morrow but . . . but this is a better place to give them you. Wait a minute.’

  He hurried into the bedroom and when he came out he was carrying a long, flat box, the sight of which alone brought her eyes wide. Placing it in her arms, he said, ‘A happy Christmas.’

  When she made no move to open the box he chided, ‘Go on, go on. Don’t you want to see what’s in it?’

  And when she saw what was in it, she put her fingers over her mouth to suppress her tears. After a moment she slowly lifted out the blue cord velvet dress and held it from her; then dropping it on to the table and putting out her hands she grasped his. ‘Manuel! Oh, Manuel! How wonderful. Thank you. Thank you a thousand times. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s plain,’ he said, ‘nothing fancy.’

  ‘It’s the fanciest dress I’ve seen in my life.’ She looked up into his face as he looked down into hers, and it was impossible for either of them not to read what was in the other’s mind.

  He now took her hand and drew her down on to the double bench near the fire and, his voice very low, he said, ‘You’ve been unhappy, haven’t you?’ And she answered just as low, ‘Yes, Manuel.’

  ‘Will you understand me when I say there was no need.’

  She did not answer for some time, and then she said, ‘I’ll try.’

  He took one hand between his two now and began to smooth it and he kept his eyes on it as he said, ‘Do you ever long for the old life, to be back at the House?’

  She did not think he would have believed her if she had said no, so she spoke the truth, ‘Yes. Yes, Manuel, I do. But . . . but only when I’m sad. When I first came here I thought I’d never feel that way again, but lately I’ve done so.’

  ‘If the opportunity came, would you go back?’

  ‘I can say no to that, Manuel, because I know the opportunity won’t arise . . . Mrs Lagrange made that very evident.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He screwed his eyes up at her now. ‘You mean the old lady surely?’

  ‘No, I mean the woman I called Mama. You see, she never concerned herself about me. That . . . that particular day I was in great distress and she never . . . ’

  ‘What are you talking about, girl?’ He was on his feet, looking down at her. ‘Why, she nearly went mad. She flew straight off to Durham to try to put things right there for you; then coming back and finding you gone she had me drive the tired horses like hares into Shields. She went and confronted the woman . . . your mother herself, I know that.’

  She, too, was on her feet. ‘You really mean she . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, yes, she did. And what was more she had me scouring the town that night and all the next day. What made you think she didn’t care? She cared so much it turned her brain. The old lady, her mother, it was her who wouldn’t have anything to do with you, but not the mistress.’

  Slowly Annabella sat down on the form again and as Manuel looked at her he thought that was a damned silly thing to do, wasn’t it, to tell her that. If anything will send her scurrying back that will. God, but I’m a fool! But there, if she was still hankering in her mind for that life sooner or later she would make the move, and better sooner than later, and he’d know where he stood and get the fire out of his veins in the usual way, like before this mad business started. He asked now quietly, ‘Will you go back?’

  She had been looking into the fire and when she turned her gaze on him the alabaster look was gone and she was smiling as he hadn’t seen her smile in weeks. She shook her head slowly, saying, ‘No, Manuel, no. I’ll never go back but I’m glad to know this. It makes no difference really but it’s comforting to know that she didn’t put me out of her mind right away.’ She thought now that if she herself had been in her right mind at the time she would have known that the woman whom she had called her mama would never have discarded her on that awful day, for it was against her nature to be cruel. She had a momentary longing now to see her, even if she would not recognise her. She thrust the longing aside. That life was over, finished; there was only the present and Manuel, and he had bought her a new dress.

  She got up and went to the table and picked up the dress again and, holding it in front of her, she hugged it to her, saying, ‘I cannot wait until tomorrow when I can wear it.’

  His eyes wide, their colour deepening to almost black, his face showing excitement and relief, he stared at her, then said with a laugh, ‘But the dress is no good without the shoes; I forgot, here they are,’ and, reaching out to the little delf rack, he handed her a square box, and there inside reposed a pair of soft black leather flat-heeled shoes adorned with buckles.

  ‘Here, take your boots off and try them on.’

  She had hardly sat down when he was on his knees on the floor by her side and, unbuttoning Amy’s boots that were now sadly the worse for wear, he held each foot in his hand as he slipped on the new shoes.

  ‘Do they fit you?’

  ‘Perfectly, Manuel. Oh, they’re lovely.’ She rose up to her toes.

  ‘Go and try the frock on.’

  ‘Will I?’ She was laughing.

  ‘Yes, why not? Go on.’ He was pointing towards the door, and, gathering up the dress, she went hurriedly from the room, only to turn round on a laugh and say, ‘I forgot the candle.’

  They laughed into ea
ch other’s face as he handed her the candle.

  Alone, he went to the table and picked up the pipe from out of its case. Putting it in his mouth, he struck a pose, walked slowly to the bench by the fire, sat down with his legs apart, then, taking the pipe out of his mouth and holding it in front of him, he bowed slightly to an imaginary figure sitting in the empty chair opposite and under his breath he said, ‘To us, Mrs Mendoza.’

  The slight rustle of the lining in the gown told him she was in the doorway and when he turned the sight of her seemed to jerk his heart from under his ribs and knock it against the casing. There she stood, Miss Annabella again. No, not Miss Annabella, a woman, for when he had last seen her dressed decently she was a young girl, but the young girl had died in the six months on the road, and there had emerged this woman. It was odd, but she looked older in this finery than she did in her working clothes.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  He nodded slowly before speaking. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Behind the words his mind was asking, If anything should stop me from having her what will there be for me? He put out his hand in a gallant fashion and she placed hers in it and like two people entering into a minuet he led her to the fireplace and, seating her, he bowed over her, then raised her fingers to his lips.

  He had never heard her laugh like it except perhaps once or twice far back in their early acquaintance when they had escaped from the grounds and galloped side by side over the fells.

  His laughter was joined to hers when a knock came on the door and it opened and Willy entered, only to stop abruptly and gaze at the apparition now framed in the light of the fire and candles. It was Annabella who spoke first. ‘It’s . . . it’s a new gown. Manuel . . . Manuel kindly bought it for me for Christmas.’ She glanced shyly at Manuel, adding, ‘He was so ashamed of me.’

  ‘More fool him.’ Willy was staring hard at Manuel and there was a question in the stare. Why play up to Betty, it was asking, if you’ve got your sights set on your cousin? He didn’t like underhand dealings; he was surprised at Manuel, he had thought better of him. Still, he might be mistaken. Yet a man didn’t usually buy clothes to put on a woman unless he had thoughts in his head that some day it would be he who would take them off her. There had been similar thoughts in his own mind when he had bought the scarlet shawl that he was to give her tomorrow, and give it to her he would, and that would bring him into the open. He said now, ‘Will you come and give me a hand with Daisy; her cough’s getting worse, she seemed in pain, and she’s touchy, she needs two to handle her.’

  ‘Aye, right away . . . You be all right?’ Manuel turned and smiled at Annabella, and she said softly, ‘Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be all right.’ She laughed inwardly. Why shouldn’t she be? She had never felt more all right.

  As Manuel took his coat off the back of the door and put it on, then pulled over it a hessian cape, Willy, gazing at Annabella, said, ‘You look very fetching.’

  With the colour swiftly spreading over her cheeks she inclined her head to him and said, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Dave is bringing his concertina over the morrow; it’ll give me the opportunity to pick a partner to dance with ’cos I’m either playing the whistle or you’re playing the spinet. Be all right?’

  It was an invitation. She swallowed, wet her lips, then said formally, as if they were in the ballroom, ‘Thank you; it’ll be a pleasure.’

  A minute later she was alone and, sitting down on the form again, she dropped her hands into her lap, then gazed at them, and slowly and softly she began to laugh, repeating to herself, ‘Be all right? Thank you, it’ll be a pleasure.’ Oh, Mr Willy was funny, but nice. But everything was nice, more than nice, wonderful. Manuel had been thinking of her all the time when she thought his mind was on Betty. And to buy her this beautiful dress and shoes! And when he had asked her if she ever thought about the old life, that question had been for a purpose. If only Mr Willy hadn’t come in at that moment, he may have perhaps . . . She now cupped one cheek with the palm of her hand and rocked herself slightly to the pleasure of her thoughts. He had kissed her hand like any gallant; he could act the gentleman. Give him the clothes and he would pass for a gentleman. Her body ceased to rock. She didn’t want a gentleman, she just wanted him. Yes, that’s all she wanted in life, Manuel. She stood up, and now she whispered the words aloud to herself, ‘All I want in life is Manuel. All I’ve ever wanted is Manuel . . . ’ What about cousin Stephen? The question sprang at her and she answered calmly. He was merely someone who existed in that long childhood in which she had lived for so many years. But her thoughts persisted. Hadn’t she once hoped to marry Stephen, planned to marry him? Yes, but while she was planning to marry him hadn’t she once said to herself, ‘When we are settled we must have Manuel with us; perhaps Papa will let us have him.’ Right from the beginning, since the morning they had sat on that log together and he had taken away her fear of horses, she must have loved him. That different child hidden under the façade of Miss Annabella had known even then that he was for her.

  Like someone in a trance now, she went into the other room and changed back into her working clothes and cloak; then replacing the dress and shoes in the boxes, she lifted them up and prepared to go out. At the door she paused for a moment and looked back around the room. Some day she would live here with Manuel. He had said he wanted to live here for ever; well, wherever he wanted to live she wanted to live. In the meantime it was Christmas.

  Annabella’s happiness and surprising gaiety, which puzzled the family and which certain members put down to the significance behind the red shawl that Willy had presented her with on Christmas Day, lasted only until the morning of New Year’s Day.

  Christmas had been gay and lively but compared with the festivities on New Year’s Eve it was, as Mr Fairbairn prophesied to Annabella, as different as a gooseberry fair from a parson’s tea.

  The gaiety had got going around ten o’clock, but it was at twelve when Dave Pearson brought the New Year in that the real eating and drinking began.

  Annabella had drunk only two small glasses of parsnip wine. She didn’t need wine to make her feel happy, she had only to look at Manuel and read in his eyes the words he had not yet spoken, for they had scarcely had a minute alone together since Christmas Eve. This was because she had been kept going till late each night, helping with the preparations for the New Year. Never before had she realised that the cooking of food took so much time and energy. Her share in the evenings had been the never-ending washing of pans and crockery while Agnes and Betty helped Mrs Fairbairn at the table. But apart from being ‘horse-hog-tired’ – Willy’s term – she had enjoyed every minute since Christmas Eve. Betty could no longer affect her and more than once she had been tempted to tell her so, but she refrained, and decided to convey her feelings, as Miss Annabella Lagrange would have done, through her expression and manner.

  But tonight she had done no washing-up, she had played the spinet and been loudly applauded. And she had danced with both Manuel and Willy. But this had been before twelve o’clock, for since then the time had been taken up with eating, drinking, and singing.

  It was around two o’clock when she realised, and not without a feeling of repugnance and dismay, that Manuel was highly intoxicated. Swaying on his feet, his deep voice thick with the Irish twang now, he was singing a questionable song, which went, ‘In England, the garden of beauty is kept by a dragon of prudery placed within call; but so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, that the garden’s but carelessly watched after all. Oh! they want the wild sweet briary fence, which round the flowers of Ayron dwell, which warms the touch, while winning the sense, nor charms us least when it most repels.’

  She must not have understood the humour of the song, Annabella considered, for she did not think it funny, yet the men were roaring with laughter, and the ladies with bowed heads were casting glances at each other while they suppressed their gi
ggles. And when the song was finished they called for more, and he sang and sang and sang and made them join in the choruses.

  It was nearly four o’clock in the morning when the party broke up. The boys had given their rooms over to the guests – they had previously taken palliasses into the hayloft – and they were all staggering when they left the kitchen, Manuel most of all. He paid no attention to Annabella when he passed her, although she was within an arm’s length of him. Michael and he had their arms entwined round each other, and Manuel was roaring at the top of his voice, ‘I saw thy form in youthful prime, nor thought that pale decay would steal before the steps of time and waste its bloom away, Ma-ry.’

  Annabella was no longer smiling or feeling gay. Manuel’s behaviour over the last two hours had shocked her. When her papa had drunk a great deal he hadn’t, to her knowledge, acted like this.

  But she reminded herself as she went wearily up the stairs to bed that of course it was only to her knowledge; hadn’t she heard him laughing loudly with his friends? Manuel, she felt sorrowfully, had lost something tonight, his dignity, his natural dignity, and it hurt her; yet he seemed to have improved his standing with everyone present in the house, for they all hailed him as a fine fellow.

  She now asked herself if this new and distasteful side of him would have any effect on her feelings for him. The answer did not come immediately, and when it did she was almost asleep. It was an occasion, she told herself, that would happen but rarely, and after all he was a man, very much a man, and men did these things; and it was the woman’s lot to overlook them. Annabella Lagrange was again speaking . . .

  When she heard the distant thumping she pulled herself out of layers of sleep to the fact that it was time to get up. The thumping on the bottom of the stairs was a signal to rise.