The Glass Virgin

by Catherine Cookson

  Miss Annabella Lagrange would at least have blushed at this remark. With eyes lowered she would have turned away from cousin Stephen even while the prospect he suggested excited her. Annabella Connelly did none of these things. After looking up at him, she laid her head against his breast and the pressure of her arms about him brought a heat and trembling to his body, until, pushing her from him almost roughly, he cried, ‘Come on.’ Then tugging her so that she had to jump when halfway down the steps he ran her along by the field, across a rough rut-strewn main road, up a steep hillside, and there they were at the other side of the valley from which he had at first spied the Carpenter glass works. But now looking in the opposite direction, he pointed through the dusk, saying, ‘Do you see that speck?’ and she said, ‘Yes, it’s an early star.’ And he shook her, saying, ‘That’s no star, it’s a street light in Darlington. It could be gas, I don’t know; they’re putting it into the towns now. But that isn’t what I brought you here for, Miss. Follow my finger.’ He moved it to the right. ‘You see a dark object sticking up into the sky?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’ Her voice was humble.

  ‘Well, pay attention.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘That is Denton Church, and it’s there you’re going nine days from today; you won’t let it slip your mind, will you?’ He was speaking as Lagrange might have done and she answered, as a servant might, ‘No, Sir.’ He now put his hands under the back of his short coat and flapped it like a man might the tails of a dress coat and, rising on his toes, he said, ‘You will have to sign the bond, you know that?’

  ‘Yes, Sir; I’m fully aware of it.’

  Still balancing back and forwards on his toes he went on, ‘You should not have said you are fully aware, you should have said, “Yes, Sir, that’s all right, Sir.” You are talking above your station.’

  ‘Oh, Manuel!’ There was a hurt note in her voice now and, her head back, she said, ‘Stop playing this game. We’ve been over and over it. I’ve told you in a thousand ways. If I haven’t convinced you now I never shall.’

  ‘That’s the trouble.’ He was looking down towards the ground. ‘I doubt if you ever will. You see I can’t believe it. I fear something will happen, I fear you’ll suddenly wake up and realise what you’re doing, because what you’re doing, in fact, is signing a bond to become a servant.’

  ‘As long as I’m yours, Manuel, I’ll be happy to be that servant.’

  She waited for him to turn to her and enfold her in his arms again, but he didn’t, he just raised his head and stared at her before he said, ‘I keep wondering, if you had a day, just one day of your old life back again, what your answer would be then?’

  ‘The same.’

  She had given the answer to this question without thinking, and they both knew it . . .

  They returned to the house by a different way and the journey took them past Mr Carpenter’s gate. Mr Carpenter’s house stood apart. It was a solid, plain house made of granite blocks, and it had an acre of garden surrounded by a picket fence.

  At the gate this evening there was a nicely turned out pony and trap and, standing beside it, a man and a woman and Mr Carpenter.

  They had both seen the man and woman before. The man was Mr Carpenter’s stepson and the woman his wife. The sea captain, as Annabella had said on first seeing him, was larger than life, not only in his frame but in the way in which he acted, for she considered that with his over-jovial manner and over-loud voice he was like a stage character depicting a rollicking sailor.

  Whereas the man was big, burly, and outspoken, his wife on the other hand was thin and reticent, and Annabella, with a woman’s intuition, had realised at their first meeting that her employer’s daughter-in-law was very much against women being employed in the glass works. Her displeasure hadn’t been conveyed by what she had said, but how she had looked.

  ‘Ah, hello there.’ The sea captain hailed them now, ‘Talk of the devil they say. We were just hearing about you. Going to be married, eh? Well now, well now, never had a wedding at the works, have you?’ He turned his head towards his stepfather, and Mr Carpenter, smiling not at his stepson but towards the couple standing in front of him, said, ‘No, it’ll be our first wedding.’

  As his eyes moved from one to the other, they thought, in their different ways, He’s a nice man, and in their different ways they thanked God for having brought them into his employment. They were lucky; they were lucky all along the line.

  The sea captain, as if reading at least Manuel’s thoughts, said, ‘You’re a lucky fellow. Do you know that? You’re a lucky fellow.’

  ‘Yes, I know that, Sir.’

  ‘A woman who knows all about glass and can take her stand in a glass house with the men and them not down tools, why it’s a miracle. It’s almost the same as if my crew were presented with a woman captain. Hah! hah! hah!’ His bellow rang out into the darkening night. Then bending towards Annabella, his face thrust within inches of hers, he said in a very meaningful tone now, ‘And bonny into the bargain.’

  ‘Mark!’ The name was like the crack of a whip, but it brought the captain’s body slowly upwards and now, glancing at Manuel, he said, ‘If I’m not back for the day good luck to you; but if I’m ashore, I’ll come and drink to you.’

  To anyone else Manuel would have said, ‘Do that. You’ll be welcome,’ but he didn’t to this man. What he did was to take Annabella’s arm and walk away, saying only as he passed Mr Carpenter, ‘Goodnight to you, Sir.’ And Mr Carpenter answered flatly, ‘Goodnight, Manuel.’

  ‘I don’t like him.’ They had reached the house before Manuel spoke.

  ‘Nor do I. And I don’t like her either. She, I think, would be a very mean woman.’

  There was a silence between them as she took off her cloak and Manuel lit the candle, and when they were seated at the table again Manuel, voicing his train of thought, said, ‘We wouldn’t reign long if they were here,’ and she answered, as she put her hand on top of his, ‘But they’re not, and Mr Carpenter likes you. And you know something, Manuel? I’ve got a feeling that he likes neither of them, so it all augurs good.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  As he stared into her eyes in the candlelight Margee’s face took shape and he gave an impatient movement of his head, which made her say quickly, ‘What is it, Manuel?’ and he answered her, ‘Nothing, nothing.’ But inside his mind he was troubled and he asked himself why was it that for weeks on end he never gave a thought to Margee, then as if rising out of the grave her face would come before him. He had come to look upon it as a sign, a warning. But what could happen now? What could happen here in this out-of-way little factory, from which vicinity they wouldn’t move until they went over the hill and into the next valley and to the church a week come Wednesday? Nothing could happen. Nothing must happen. He wished he was a praying man.

  Two

  It was over, signed and sealed and witnessed by Mr Carpenter and Mr Furnier. The old minister had mumbled the service. Before he had begun he had looked at Annabella long and hard and when he had come to the words ‘If any man know of any impediment . . . ’ he had waited longer than usual for an answer, at the same time knowing that he wouldn’t get one, for the chapel held no-one, with the exception of Mr Carpenter, but work people and their wives.

  Mr Carpenter had so arranged the firings that it would be late tonight before the gatherers need get to work; besides declaring a holiday he had told the Darlington men that they could bring in their wives and families for he was giving the young couple a spread in the sorting shed, and after, there would be a bit of jollification.

  Most of the employees had accepted this gesture without question, for their master was known to be an open-handed man, fair all round, but others said among themselves that it would have been understandable if the master had done it for an old hand. But this young fellow, agreeable
as he was, had hardly been in the place long enough to cool a bottle, while others said it wasn’t because of him the favour was being bestowed, but because of her; she was a kind of curio, for whoever heard of a woman not only doing the reckoning in a glass house but talking glass like she did. And in that voice of hers that was more suited to a drawing room than to a glass-house floor. It was an odd situation, they all agreed, and awkward some put in, for a man had to mind his language. But least said soonest mended, for the master favoured her.

  Then one voice had brought the thought that was in all their minds to the surface: how had the Spaniard come to be marrying her? For, after all, no matter how he looked or acted he was but a workman. There was something queer about it. But it was a wedding and a wedding meant drink and jollification, and who were they to look a gift horse in the mouth?

  It was four o’clock in the afternoon when they sat down close together at the head of the long table in the packing shed. There were forty-two people at the table, and these included Mr Carpenter’s stepson and his wife.

  At first the chatter at the table had been subdued, but by the time the hog’s head of beer was half empty there was loud laughter and quips and innuendoes acting as sauce to the food.

  When it was noticed that Manuel kept refusing to have his mug refilled with beer this caused jests to come flying at him like darts, and among them was the voice of the captain. ‘Wants to keep his head clear for later on; doesn’t want to miss a trick, eh?’

  During the whole meal Annabella had been uneasy and embarrassed. She hadn’t expected it to be like this. Jolly, yes, but not this frank discussion about this very, very personal matter. She wished, oh how she wished she could leave the table. But she mustn’t; she must keep smiling. A slight feeling of fear came into her body as it had done during the wedding ceremony, for then she had thought, in a panic-filled way, this is forever, forever and ever. But she had known that, hadn’t she? She had known she was taking Manuel forever. He had warned her of this only last night. ‘It’s for good,’ he had said, ‘till one of us dies. You understand?’

  Manuel’s stomach muscles were knotting as if a pair of hands were wringing them. He had been at weddings before. There was Agnes’, and there had been two weddings during his time at the House; he had known what to expect. Some of the chaffing would bring a blush to a bull but the bride and groom had always seemed to weather it. Agnes and Dave hadn’t turned a hair. But he knew that Annabella was cringing inside herself; he could feel the tenseness of her body. This thing that he had waited for so long could be marred. His loving of her was to be something different, exceptional. All men who loved greatly must feel this way, he knew. They had the illusion that it had never happened before, and that’s how it should be, and that’s how it was going to be; at least he had felt this way until they had started their chaffing. And that big, red-faced seaman was putting the cap on the lot of them. He’d like to take his hand and skelp his mouth for him.

  ‘Enough talk. Enough talk.’ Mr Carpenter had read the danger signs. His stepson, as usual, was drinking too much and his loose tongue was becoming offensive.

  The guests were surprised when the bridegroom wasn’t called upon to say his piece. But what matter; they were going to dance; and there was still plenty more to eat and drink, and the evening was young.

  It was around eight o’clock in the evening and the jollification was at its height, everybody was very merry, even the captain’s wife after four glasses of wine had unbent and had actually joined in a dance; and now she was acting hostess and distributing food. It was while she was handing out a glass of ale that she seemingly accidentally spilt the contents down Annabella’s blue cord dress. What reason she had for doing it wasn’t obvious. Perhaps it was because her husband had boisterously whirled the bride twice around the room, or that her dress was too becoming, or that the incident was a slight indication of what she would like to do to this strange girl who was inveigling herself into her father-in-law’s affections and who was but a female worker yet gave herself the airs and graces of a lady. Whatever it was, it caused consternation, and mostly to Annabella. This was the only presentable gown she possessed. Manuel had bought it for her, she loved it, it was her wedding gown. She would never get the thick brown beer stain out of it. Anyway, once corded velvet was washed it was never the same again. To the exclamations of sorrow coming from the thin, dark woman, she answered as evenly as she could, ‘It’s quite all right. I’ll go and change,’ and, skirting the dancers and Manuel, where he was whirling the tubby Mrs Furnier around the rough floor, she went out into the night.

  There was no moon, no stars but the lanterns that were hung outside the three shops pierced the blackness with an added radiance.

  In the cottage she pulled off the wet dress and donned the working one that she had made at the Fairbairns; then, taking the candle and going out into the little wash-house, she paused for a moment before plunging her wedding dress into the soaking tub. It was like a sacrifice she was making for she had loved that gown and she had imagined showing it to her children years later, saying, ‘This is the dress your father bought me and this is what I was married in.’ But now it would be fit for nothing but working in. Still – she hurried into the kitchen – what did it matter, it was only a dress. They would make money and Manuel would buy her another one. They would go to Hexham to one of the fine shops, and they would sit on chairs, like she and her mama had done, and the materials would be brought to them, and she would say to Manuel, ‘What do you think about this soft rose, or this violet?’ and he would say, if not with his voice with his eyes, ‘Any one of them will be more beautiful when they’re on you,’ for Manuel could be gallant, it was the Irish in him. Soon the wedding party would be over and he would be here with her and the door shut tight. She pressed her hands over her cheeks; then pushing them up over her face she smoothed back her hair and ran out of the house and across the yard and towards the shops.

  It was when she reached the third one that the arm came out and caught her. For a second she thought it was Manuel and her cry was half joyous, but it ended in a squealing protest when she saw through the dim light the face of the captain. He was breathing heavily and her struggles seemed to jerk the words out of him. ‘Ha! ha! . . . Like a tousle? Every man’s privilege . . . kiss the bride. Always wanted to kiss you, me dear.’

  ‘MANUEL! MANU . . . !’

  As his mouth covered hers she freed one hand and punched at his face, and when this had no effect she clawed him. Her mouth free once more, she had no breath to scream for a moment, but when she did it was a high, wailing sound. ‘Man-u-el! Man-u-el!’ The second time she called the name it ended in a shriek as she felt the captain’s hand inside her gown, his fingers clutching her breast.

  When she was torn from him she fell back against the wall; her head bounced against it and she slid down to the ground and for a moment everything went black around her. But she was brought to herself when hands lifted her up and dragged her to the side and away from the battling figures.

  The captain was a big strong man and he returned Manuel’s blow in the ribs with a punch that sent him reeling against the pile of stacked wood.

  Manuel leaned against the wood for a moment. He was in the shadows and he glared with ever-rising fury at the captain standing within the perimeter of the lantern light, his body crouched waiting. Manuel was only dimly aware of Mr Carpenter, clutching at his arm, shouting, ‘Stop this! Stop this, man!’ Nor was he aware of thrusting his arm sideways and almost knocking the old man off his feet. There was only one thing clear in his mind, one desire, to drive his fists into that thick, lecherous face. He had never liked the man, but dislike had no connection with the feelings raging through him now. If he had a gun in his hand he would have used it, if he’d had a knife he would have thrown it; instead, he threw himself. His steel fists, flicking in and out between the captain’s flaying arms, pou
nded at the thick body with seemingly no effect, until his shoulder sending his arm straight out, the knuckles caught the man on the jaw; it was the same blow that had felled Lagrange.

  The captain now fell back like a great sodden log against the wood pile that had supported Manuel minutes before. Such was his weight and the force with which he hit it that the mainstay of the pile slipped and the big planks rained down on him from all sides.

  There was a second of absolute silence from the crowd in the yard, and then the men were tearing away the wood and dragging the captain’s great limp body free. There was no blood on his face but his mouth seemed twisted and his wife threw herself on him, crying, ‘Mark! Mark!’ and when her husband made no movement she turned her head slowly and screamed up at Manuel where he was standing alone and in a daze. ‘You’ve killed him. You beast, you’ve killed him.’

  Annabella now came to Manuel’s side, but she was the only one who did. Everybody was crowding round the prostrate man. There was running backwards and forwards; then they lifted him on to a door and carried him into the house.

  ‘Come, come,’ Annabella whispered hoarsely.

  Manuel stood as if his feet had taken root in the ground. The voices floated about him, sober sounding now.

  ‘A dreadful thing to happen.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘This has been a weddin’ and a half, we’ll remember for a long time.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘She was yellin’, he went out and caught him at it.’

  ‘No reason to kill a man.’

  She had to tug hard at him before he moved, and then he stumbled as if he were drunk.

  In the cottage he lowered himself down into a chair like an old man, and when she got a cloth and wiped the blood from his cut lip he made no movement, and she dropped on her knees and put her arms about him and pressed her head against his breast, crying, ‘Oh, Manuel. Manuel.’