i f6c06dd9cf3fe221

by Unknown

  The sight of a man striding down the street could fill him with envy; a work-stained drunk, rolling along, brought up the eternal "Why?" He needed his arms and legs; they could accomplish so much that was good; yet he was left practically useless.

  Daring these spasms of self-pity he would tell himself it could have been two arms and two feet.

  When the terrible necessity of having to amputate both arms or both feet had been thrust upon him his mind had shut down on itself, his pity refusing to form thought. At such times pity could wreck you and those around. You used it only in subtle form; you laughed, you cursed, you swore and badgered; and it kept your hand steady. The German doctor, he remembered, neither cursed nor swore; he was polite, and cold and in a hurry.

  What effect -the happenings of the past year would have left on his enfeebled system if Peter and Peggy Davidson had not been at hand to sustain him he dreaded to think. Stella's changed attitude, on his return to England, was disconcerting; her sweetness and solicitude left him embarrassed and at a loss. She pooh-pooh ed the idea of a nurse and insisted on looking after him herself. Her constant attention and anticipation of his every need, far from setting a spark to his dead affection, created an uneasiness in his mind. No correspondence had passed between them until just before he embarked for England, when he received a most charming letter from her.

  Thinking along the lines that a leopard doesn't change its spots, he had asked himself the reason for her attitude.

  He had been in a fever to see Kate, but being dependent on someone posting his letters he could not even write to her. So he laid the situation before Peter, who showed no surprise nor offered any advice, but said he would go personally to see Kate and fetch him word of her.

  The news Peter brought was so alarming to Rodney that against all advice, he was soon making frantic efforts to walk on his artificial foot. Stella did everything in her power to restrict his movements, only falling short of locking him in his room.

  When Rodney eventually reached the fifteen streets Mrs. Mullen made dear the reason for Stella's attitude

  and also for Kate's disappearance.

  "She must have got work right away, doctor," she said, 'for I got this letter yesterday, with the four pounds she borrowed. There's no address, as you can see, but the postmark's London. "

  From Mrs. Mullen's he had gone straight to Peter and asked if he could stay with him for a time, knowing that, feeling as he did, he could not cope with Stella. However, Stella showed no reaction to this move until she found that John Swinburn had come to Rodney, asking him to divorce her.

  Rodney had not been prepared for Stella's visit. She was like the embodiment of white-hot lava; raging, she denied all Swinburn had said.

  Her cool poise was thrown aside and he saw a woman who, even with his knowledge of her, was new to him. She said she would ruin him, that he would never practise again. He had replied that it was doubtful whether he would in any case.

  "There are other avenues in the medical line you will want to take up, remember?" she said.

  "But I have the power to dose them all to you.

  Apart from your illicit amours with a maid, which are the talk of the town, there is this 1' And she showed him what she said was a copy of Lady Cuthbert-Harris's letter.

  Rodney was shocked and visibly staggered.

  "You know it's a lie I' he said.

  "Of course," Stella answered.

  "And you'll prove it to be a lie. But only after I have made that mud stick so hard that you'll never be able to scrape it off."

  The contents of this letter and the talk it would arouse, should it be made public, had hung over him like a black cloud. When Stella mentioned the other avenues which were open to him she was drawing on her knowledge of the plans on which he had often spoken to her and which, she realised, he would be more likely to take up now that he was disabled. The plans concerned sick children, sick not only of body but of mind. Child psychology, he had recognised for some time, was more important to him than the attending of worn-out bodies held together by acid-encrusted bones. If he could prevent some of the children of today from becoming those dimmed and troubled people of tomorrow then he would achieve something. This was the avenue Stella could block.

  Yet, in spite of her threats, he went ahead on the evidence Swinbum supplied and petitioned for a divorce. It was strange that he liked Swinbum at this time better than at any other time during their acquaintance; not because he was supplying the means of freeing him from Stella, but rather because he knew Swinbum to be under great stress and that he was trying to do the right thing, as he saw it.

  Swinbum said he could not help his love for Stella. Try as he might it was no use; his feeling tor her swamped everything. His career meant nothing to him without her, and he proposed starting afresh somewhere abroad.

  Rodney pitied him from the bottom of his heart. He knew Stella had nothing to give any man; what she offered was a mirage. But it had the power to drive a man mad, as he knew only too well.

  That it drove Barrington mad was made tragically evident, for, although Barrington knew that he was supplanted by Swinbum, the canker of desire for Stella seemed to grow with the hopelessness of its fulfilment. It reached its climax when he visited her after reading the notice of the divorce proceedings. The result of this meeting which gave Rodney his freedom by Stella's death instead of by divorce shocked him so much that, for a time, he thought he too would lose his sanity.

  At dinner-time Rodney spoke less than usual. Kate was filling his mind again. He felt tied to this place because of her; something beyond reason said it was to here she would return, even to the fifteen streets.

  He was recalled to the effect his silence was having on the others by Peter saying, "Do stop jabbering, Cathleen!"

  Rodney roused himself: "Good heavens, Peter! Don't keep her quiet on my account.... Look here, don't you think it's about time you stopped treating me as an invalid? Go on, Cathleen."

  "Who said it was on your account? You flatter yourself, man. I've had a devil of a morning, and now I want a little peace while I'm eating my dinner. For her tongue never stops wagging."

  "Unde Rodney doesn't mind, do you?" asked Cathleen.

  "Of course not." He smiled at her and winked his eye.

  "Unde," said Michael, 'you should see the Meccano set working in a shop in King's Street in Shields. It's wonderful They've got cranes unloading ships and filling wagons, and' it all set up in a miniature dock. Oh, it's great 1' "It sounds great," said Rodney. He did a stage whisper across the table: "What about asking Doctor Davidson to take us round that way in his car this afternoon?"

  "Not on your life 1' cried Peter.

  "Oh, no. And me up to the eyes and you hardly out of bed 1' '0 ... oh, daddy 1' " It would be just what a sensible doctor would order," said Rodney, 'a change of scene. And I'm sick of looking at your filthy river."

  "Be quiet you two," shouted Peter to Cathleeen and Michael.

  "And if you want a change of scene, look out of the back window," he said to Rodney.

  "And, woman," he glared at Peggy 'if I can't have peace with my dinner I'm going to eat out. "

  She smiled at him serenely.

  "If Rodney wrapped up well, and we made him comfortable in the back of the car, these two could squeeze in the front seat' she indicated the children.

  "Then, I don't see why not.

  And, after all, it's Christmas Eve. "

  "I have calls to make, woman."

  "Well, they wouldn't stop you; they could sit in the car and wait."

  "No, I just can't do it! If those two want to go to Shields they can take the tram. And as for you' he nodded at Rodney 'you should have more sense, man."

  They looked at him in silence for a few moments.

  "Oh, all right then," he said, his old smile breaking out, "But I can't take you till after tea; I'm packed with calls in Jarrow this afternoon."

  The gaily dressed shop windows, the alive and teeming ma
rket-place, and the excitement of the children, lifted Rodney out of himself for a time. But only until he thought of what it would have meant to him had he been driving down here with Kate and Annie. However, he maintained an air of excitement in order to please the children and to allay any unrest in Peter's mind. But during the homeward drive to Jarrow he felt very tired and lay back in the car, feeling his strength seeping from him.

  Half turning, Peter said: "Do you mind if I make a call in the fifteen streets; there's a woman there I'd like to see? It might save me coming out later on."

  "No, of course not," said Rodney.

  "Don't worry about me. Go ahead."

  "I'll leave you here, on the main road," said Peter, bringing the car to the kerb; 'the house is only a few doors up Slade Street. "

  Cathleen slipped into her father's seat and was arguing with Michael on who would learn to drive the car first when Michael suddenly exclaimed:

  "Look, Cathleen I Look at that old woman along there. She's drunk 1

  She's hanging on to the lamppost."

  "Oh, so she is! She isn't half drunk, too. And she's coming this way," said Cathleen, peering through the windscreen.

  "Look at the boys following her. Look, Uncle Rodney, she's nearly falling!"

  Rodney bent forward. Then swiftly he leant back again as he recognised the figure reeling into the circle of light to be that of Dorrie Clarke. He prayed that she would pass on and would not come near the car; this was the woman who had read his letters. He could still hear Stella's voice quoting extractions from them and telling him-how they came into her possession.

  The children sat silent, watching the woman. She was harrying the boys. When she was abreast the car she stumbled against the radiator and let out an exclamation: "God blast yeri Bum an old woman, would yer?" she cried.

  Cathleen and Michael started to giggle, and Dorrie Clarke waved her fist at them shouting, "You would laugh? That's a Christian for yer!"

  She brought her face close to the window and spluttered, "Young upstarts,

  that's what you are. " Her head rolled round, nodding on her fat neck, and she stared into the back of the car.

  Rodney, head bent, was pretending interest in a paper, but the light from the street lamp shone on him.

  "God Almighty!"

  Rodney did not look up, the children sat silent, their eyes wide with mingled amusement and fright.

  "Ah, you can bowyer head," cried Dorrie.

  "Yes, bowyer head. Yes; go on, bowyer head. I've seen me day with you. By God, I have.... I said I would, didn't I? And what Dorrie Clarke says she does.... God looks after his own. You thought you were a doctor! Ha, ha! Why, you weren't fit to lick Doctor Kelly's boots 1

  An' what are yer now? ... Yer not even half a man 1' Rodney lowered the paper and sat staring straight ahead, his face pallid. Two women came out of Slade Street and, hearing Dorrie, hurried towards the car.

  "Come away, you old fool," said one; 'you'll get yersel' into trouble.

  "

  "Whati' she turned on them. The get into trouble for tellin' that sod the truth? Take yer 'ands off me; I'm goin' to tell him some more ...

  about his fancy piece."

  "Come away, woman."

  "Leave me alone 1 Get yer 'ands off!" She wrenched herself free and fell heavily against the car door. Steadying herself, she turned her face to the window again: "Went off and left yer, didn't she? High an'

  dryl No half man for Kate Hannigan. An' yer put notices in the paper.... God Almightly, it was a laugh!

  "Come back to Erin, mavoumeen, mavourneen," she sang, beating time against the window with her hand.

  "What would jer give to know where she is, eh? Yer other leg, eh?

  Dorrie Clarke could tell yer. Yes; I could tell yer. What dyer think about that?"

  Suddenly she was wrenched away from the car, and Peter was saying,

  "Mrs. Clarke! If this happens again, I'll put the police on you."

  He got into the car without another word and drove away.

  Dorrie Clarke stood leaning against the wall where he had flung her.

  "Another bloody upstart I Polis on me, indeed!"

  "Ye'll get yersel' in the cart, Dorrie, mind," said one of the women.

  "Do yer really know where Kate Hannigan is?" asked the other.

  "Of course she doesn't," her companion said; 'it's the gin that's talkin'. "

  "Gin is it!" yelled Dorrie.

  "Gin is it I Yer think I don't know where she's gone! A ... ah! A ...

  ah I It's me that knows a thing or two."

  "The doctor'd likely pay a pretty penny to know, Dorrie," the woman persisted.

  The take his dirty money! " cried Dorrie.

  "Not me. Why ... if I was starvin', if I was crawling' in the gutter for a crust, like this...."

  She went to get down on her knees, and the women pulled her up, saying,

  "Don't be such a damned fool, Dorrie t' " If he was handin' me a plate of golden sovereigns, I tell yer, and going down on his one good leg to do it, I'd . spit in his eye 1 And he'll never get Kate Hannigan .

  never!

  "Cos yer know why?... She's dead! Dead as a doornail I' " Dead 1'

  exclaimed the women.

  "Yes, dead," said Dorrie.

  "Yer think I'm drunk an' it's the gin talkin' ... but I can still use me head.... She's dead this long while.... Can't yer see? If she wasn't dead shed've been back and snaffled him. But she's dead, I know for certain she's dead, an' in Hell, sizzling, where she should be."

  One of the boys who had followed Dorrie suddenly cried, "Ee, look there!" He nudged the woman nearest him and pointed to the tram which had stopped across the road.

  "My God!" she exclaimed.

  "Well, of all the things that could happen!"

  Dorrie Clarke blinked her bleary eyes at the approaching Bgures; her slack jaw wobbled from side to side and, as the tall woman and girl walked past the group, she slowly slid down the wall to the pavement.

  Annie lay staring into the dark, waiting for the alarm to go. For some mornings past she had woken up long before the alarm had gone and lain quiet, thinking about Rosie Mullen and the north. Early last Christmas Eve morning she and Rosie had been down to Jarrow slacks to gather wood; there had been a rough tide during the night, which always meant there would be wood and lots of other things, including rotten vegetables, lining the bank. It was funny, but she imagined she could smell the stinking cabbages now. Perhaps it was just the smell of this house, for, no matter how Kate cleaned it, it always smelled like old cabbages.

  She had forgotten what Rosie Mullen's face was like. She could see her as a dumpy whole, but her face was never clear. Would she ever see Rosie again? she wondered Always there was a sick longing within her for Rosie and all that she stood for, the docks, the slacks, the fifteen streets, the Borough Road church and the children. The children in this town of St. Leonards were not like the children in the north. Apart from speaking quite differently, they didn't play the same games; and the ones who were supposed to be poor didn't look poor.

  A girl had taken her round an old part of Hastings, which was as close to St. Leonards as Tyne Dock was to Shields, and pointed out the slums to her. The slums had appeared houses of moderate affluence and very quaint, some even beautiful. She couldn't see how those people could be poor, not poor, anyway, like the poor back home. She longed to be able to talk to Kate about it, but whenever she mentioned the north Kate turned the conversation. On her evening off, last week, when they stood on the promenade and watched the moon's reflection gleaming like molten silver on the water, Kate had remarked, "It's very beautiful, isn't it?" And she had answered her by saying, "Do you remember, Kate, the glow that used to come over Jarrow when the blast furnaces tipped at night?" Kate had not answered, and they walked on in silence. And that night she heard Kate crying; the quiet, still crying that often went on and on. She . always pretended to be asleep when Kate cried, for Kate's tears formed a barrier
of pain which she found impossible to surmount.

  In that dreadful house where Kate worked in London and they slept in the basement, and where people's feet were continually passing over the iron grating above the small window, even into the dead of night, Kate cried often, and her face always looked swollen. The basement was very damp, too. She remembered how ill she felt one night, and how she went to sleep, feeling a pain in her chest, and woke up to find herself in a ward with a lot of other children. When she was better, Kate had not taken her back to the house, but came here, to this house which smelt of cabbages and was so full of old furniture and pictures that you could hardly move.

  Miss Patterson-Carey, who owned the house, liked to tell her all about the furniture and pictures; they had belonged to her grandmother and her mother. She said that if they knew she was reduced to taking in guests for a living they would turn in their graves. She had explained that when she was a little girl they lived in The Square and kept eight servants, and that her father drove his prancing bays up and down the front. But now she had been reduced to living above The Square, in this house which was called Wide Sea View. Which was very funny, Annie thought, since the only place from which you could view the sea was the attic window.

  Miss Patterson-Carey told her all these things. She didn't tell Kate, because that would have kept Kate from her work, and she had the guests to see to and all the house. The guests were all old people, and seemed to wear a lot of clothes.

  Annie didn't like Miss Patterson-Carey; she was mean and religious and was always giving her tracts to read. All the guests read tracts, too.

  Sometimes the house seemed to be full of all kinds of tracts. Miss Patterson-Carey had called her a naughty girl for reading comics; she said they weren't 'holy reading', and she didn't allow anything in the house that wasn't 'holy reading'.