The Branded Man

by Catherine Cookson

Barney Makepeace pushed open the drawing room door to allow his master to enter, whilst Pat Lawson stood to one side and motioned Don to follow his grandfather.

  When they were seated around the large open fire, Emanuel Lawson said, ‘I hope this is something I dearly want to hear.’ He was looking straight at Don, who said, ‘I’m sure it is, sir.’

  ‘But…but before we start,’ Emanuel Lawson said, ‘and I don’t mean to be rude, please believe me, but I can hardly see your face for the large brim of that ridiculous hat. Must you always wear it indoors, sir?’

  ‘No, sir; I don’t always wear it indoors, because I am rarely invited indoors, except at the priory where I was brought up. I wear it outside because it keeps my cover in place, but I suppose, really, I wear it to focus people’s attention away from my face. It helps to mask my disfigurement which, I have found, is distasteful to some and embarrasses others.’

  ‘I am very sorry, sir, that I spoke as I did.’

  ‘Please, don’t be sorry, sir; I’ll do as you ask, and willingly,’ and for the first time in his adult life in any company except that of the Brothers, Don took his hat from his head and laid it on the floor to the side of his chair.

  The two men stared at him. They were seeing hair, and, lying in it, a crown-like metal ring supporting a number of narrow straps.

  The cover on his face now appeared to be much broader than when he had worn the hat.

  Emanuel Lawson coughed hard in his throat now; then briskly he said, ‘Well now, make yourself at ease and give us your news. You have seen and spoken with my granddaughter?’

  ‘Yes; twice, sir.’

  ‘Where? Where was she?’

  Don paused before answering, ‘The first time, playing the piano in an eating bar in the East End of London.’

  ‘What?’

  The old man looked as if he was about to spring to his feet, when his grandson thrust an arm out quickly, saying, ‘Careful! Grandpa.’

  ‘But in a bar, playing a piano?’

  ‘Just that, sir. Oh, she wasn’t engaged there. But her friend, a Miss Foggerty, was serving behind the bar as a temporary help.’

  Emanuel Lawson seemed to sink lower into the cushions of the couch and his thin lips champed each other for a moment before they muttered, ‘Dear God!’

  ‘Yesterday, sir, I saw her again. She and her friend, Miss Foggerty, had come to the priory sale where my work was on display. As I think you know, I am a sculptor and I live at Rill Cottage. Mr Lawson here’—he turned to Pat—‘and I have met on the river bank at times; we are both fishermen.’

  ‘But my granddaughter, sir, how is she?’

  ‘Well, healthwise, sir, I should say she is all right, but I fear I must tell you’—he paused here—‘she’s…she is in a certain condition.’

  ‘Condition? What’re you talking about? She is ill? T.B., consumption?’

  ‘No, no.’ Now Don and Pat exchanged glances; then Don said quietly, ‘I think she’s in about the fifth month of carrying a child, sir.’

  ‘God almighty! What? What did you say?’ The old man fell back among the cushions, his hands to his head, and emitting one word over and over again: ‘No! No! No! No!’

  Pat had moved up close to his grandfather and, with an arm round him, he cried, ‘Now don’t excite yourself. It doesn’t matter about that as long as she’s all right and safe. And she is safe?’ He turned to Don, who answered slowly, ‘Yes, I suppose you could say she is safe, but she is living under very poor conditions. As far as I can gather, she and her friend occupy the top two rooms in a block of flats at Ramsay Court, and I may add here that the word “Court” in this case is very misleading. It is in a very poor and low quarter of the city. Oh, there are much worse and the people there, the working people in the building, try their best to live decently, but the conditions under which they live have to be seen to be believed. It is some years since I myself went through The Courts; it was bad enough then, and I understand it hasn’t changed. To put it plainly, sir, the sanitation is very primitive; all water and coal must be carried up from the yard and the stairs are very steep, and this, I know, is one of the things that worries Miss Foggerty.’

  The old man was sitting with his eyes closed and he muttered, ‘Foggerty. She’s always talking about Miss Foggerty. Sarah, she calls her, the greatest friend of her life.’

  ‘Well, she’s speaking the truth there, sir, for without Sarah Foggerty I wouldn’t like to think what would have happened to your granddaughter in that city. I enquired of Miss Foggerty why your granddaughter wouldn’t come home. From the little information Sarah gave me I understand that her mother was very much against her return.’

  The old man was sitting up straight and, turning to his grandson, he said, ‘Did you hear that? She must have known…she’s known all along.’

  Pat nodded and he repeated quietly, ‘Yes, she must have known all along. Good God!’

  ‘Pat…there are going to be changes here. Oh yes. They’ve been asking for it for a long time; but now that time has come.’ He now turned to Don, saying, ‘Could…could you persuade her to come home?’

  ‘Me? Oh no!’ The answer was definite. ‘She is, I’m sure, slightly afraid of me because, you see, sir, I was the one who found her the night she knocked herself unconscious against the wall. But she recovered somewhat and saw me, and without this.’ He patted the side of his face. ‘I take advantage of the dark by walking without it. She must have glimpsed me and the sight must have frightened her and I’m sure it’s in the back of her mind and that she’s trying to recall it. I saw that in the look she gave me when we first met.’

  ‘She doesn’t know who you are, then?’

  ‘Oh no, sir. Neither of them does. Why should they? This is Northumberland, where she had the frightening experience, as she would think of it, but, there, we were in London.’

  ‘Well, what d’you think we must do?’

  ‘You must go and see her yourself, sir.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Pat put in quickly. ‘Grandpa hasn’t been very well of late; he could never make that journey.’

  ‘Shut up, Pat! What’re you talking about? I’m not in my dotage yet, and let me tell you I’m better on my legs than you are since you had your trouble. Of course I can make the journey to London; and I mean to, and as soon as possible. Damned holidays! There’ll be no trains running tomorrow or on Boxing Day. The following day would be all right, though, wouldn’t it?’

  Don nodded: ‘Yes, that would be much better for travelling.’

  ‘Well, then’—the old man now turned to Pat—‘book us a compartment on an early train.’ He now turned back to Don, adding, ‘The carriage will pick you up from the top road at an appropriate time.’

  ‘Sir, it’s very kind of you, but I always travel—’

  ‘Yes, yes; I know, second-class.’

  ‘No; not at all sir.’ Don’s voice was stiff now. ‘I always travel first-class, in the hope of travelling alone.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry; no offence meant. But you’re coming with us, so you’re travelling with us. Anyway we can do nothing without you. If there’s three flights of stairs to their rooms, I could certainly never make it, nor could Pat here. He’s having a job to climb from one deck to another. Is there a hotel nearby where we could talk or where you could bring her?’

  ‘I couldn’t bring her anywhere, sir; it would have to be Miss Foggerty, and there’s no hotel nearby that I know of. However there would be no need for that: you could stay with the Brothers; they are used to visitors. There’s a section of the priory set out for guests on retreats. You would be quite comfortable there, I’m sure, and welcome too.’

  The old man nodded; then awkwardly drawing himself to the edge of the couch and turning to his grandson, he said quietly, ‘And she has known all along and not given a damn. Your mother, Pat, is not a woman, she is a heartless bitch of a female. Damn and blast her to hell!’

  ‘Grandpa, now don’t get excited. Look! What about a drink…a toast
to the good news.’

  ‘Now you’re talking sense, Pat.’

  The old man now turned to Don. ‘Do you drink?’

  ‘Yes, sir; I like a glass of wine or such.’

  ‘What is your favourite?’

  Don smiled. ‘Port sir, a nice port.’

  Now, for the first time, Pat saw a glimmer of a smile on his grandfather’s face as he said, ‘A nice port. Go and tell Barney to bring up an eighty-two.’

  ‘An eighty-two? My! My!’

  ‘Yes, do as I say, and when I want your opinion on my preference I’ll ask for it.’

  ‘Of course you will, Grandpa. You always have done, and you always will,’ and Pat went out laughing.

  Now speaking in a very quiet and controlled voice, Emanuel Lawson said, ‘When I have time to work this all out, sir, I will then realise how much I am indebted to you for what you have done this night, for I can say to you that my granddaughter has always been the only dear thing left in my life since I lost my beloved wife. I am, as you might have noticed, very fond of the grandson who has just left us, but Pat has had no battle to fight. He’s of a pleasant nature, and most people like him, but with my Mary Anne—I’ve always called her Mary Anne, I don’t like the fancy “Marie”—she’s had to fight all her young existence. But she’s had my support since she was a child, and so we grew very close, and when she went away I was lonely indeed, but when I received her letter to say that she was…well, apparently disappearing, and for why I didn’t know, I was devastated. Strangely, I had never felt old and helpless before, but for the past few months I’ve felt my resistance to life slowly slipping away from me. When she is back I shall live again. Although I shall welcome her child as I shall welcome her, I cannot but say it is a great shock to me to know she is in this condition at all. Do you know how it began?’

  ‘No, sir; I know nothing further than what I have told you, but I think, whatever happens, you can be thankful that she has such a friend as Miss Sarah Foggerty.’

  ‘Rely on me, sir: I shall never forget anyone who has befriended her during this time of trouble. But when I think of that mean old dry stick of a woman under whose care my daughter-in-law thrust her, I feel inclined to murder.’

  As he entered the room carrying a tray on which stood a bottle and three glasses, Pat looked towards his grandfather, saying, ‘I didn’t decant it. I thought I’d better leave that to you with your expert hand.’

  When Don was handed a glass of the port he sipped at it, and when his eyes blinked and he smacked his lips the old man said, ‘It has that effect on me too.’

  ‘It is a very fine wine,’ Don said. ‘Unlike some of the Brothers, I am no connoisseur of wines, but I can recognise this as a beautiful port.’

  From then on the conversation became general, at least a matter of question and answer: Was he a Brother of the society? How did he come to be there at all? Where were his people from, the answer to which was that he unfortunately did not know. Did he like the new kind of life he was living now? Oh yes, yes. This was freedom, for no matter what position one might hold in the priory, life there was restricting. And yet, Don admitted, he owed the Brothers a great deal, all of them, especially his tutor, Brother Percival, a great artist who was at one time very well known in Rome.

  There followed a pause in the conversation, when Don sensed that this was the time to take his leave. Getting to his feet, he took up his hat from the floor. He did not immediately put it on but held out his hand to the old man, saying, ‘Apart from everything else, it’s been a pleasure to meet you and talk with you, sir.’

  ‘Pleasure? That’s all on the other foot, sir, definitely all on the other foot. I’ll be indebted to you, I am sure, all my life. Anyway, we’ll be meeting again soon; Pat here will make the arrangements. Goodnight to you.’

  ‘Goodnight, sir.’

  At the front door, Pat said, ‘You’ve done us a very good turn this Christmas Eve…What is your Christian name?’

  ‘Donald…Don.’

  ‘Don?’

  ‘Donald I can’t abide.’

  ‘Well, Don, speaking for myself, I can’t wait until we’re on the train, because, like Grandpa, I’m very fond of Marie Anne, and it would be wonderful to have her back, although the circumstances are going to be awkward all round.’

  ‘I can understand that, but it will likely work out in the long run; these things do.’ …

  Walking back to the drawing room, Pat repeated the cliché: things will work out in the long run; they usually do. Not in this house, they didn’t; or, rather, in the one further down, and this was confirmed when he re-entered the drawing room and his grandfather immediately said, ‘Get down there, Pat, and tell them not to expect me, not tonight, nor tomorrow, nor the next day.’

  ‘Oh, Grandpa, you can’t do that, I mean it’s—’

  ‘Boy, don’t say to me that it’s Christmas. It’s Christmas for that girl up in London at that place where they’ve got to carry water up three flights of stairs and she now heavy with a child.’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose, Grandpa, that she does the carrying of the water.’

  ‘Why do you not suppose that? She’s living in the slums, isn’t she? Are her neighbours going to wait on her hand and foot? Now look, do as I say, go down to them and say that…well, I’ll tell you what to say. Tell your mother that your grandfather is not coming back into that house until he brings her daughter with him, and that she is five months gone with child.’

  ‘Grandpa, please!’ Pat went close up to the old man and, taking him by the arm, led him back to the couch saying, ‘Come on, sit down.’

  ‘I don’t need to sit down, Pat. At this moment I feel stronger than I have done for years. Perhaps it’s with indignation but, whatever it is, I hope this feeling lasts; and it will once she is back with me, and when that happens there are going to be great changes made here, Pat, oh yes, great changes. They’ve been festering in my mind for some time; but then I told myself I couldn’t do it to them; but not any more. I’ll do that, and more. They’ll get the shock of their lives. They should have had it years ago. My son would have been more of a man now had I stood my ground.’

  ‘Grandpa, I am not going into that house to say anything about this matter at all, not tonight nor tomorrow. I will say that you feel very tired and that you’ve decided to stay here for the next day or two. The matter in question can be left until we bring her home.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll swallow that? They’ll want to know why.’

  ‘Well, if they persist I’ll give them an inkling, but only an inkling, because…because I feel that whenever this news breaks, Mother will go out of her mind.’

  ‘That woman’s been out of her mind for years or she wouldn’t have treated her daughter as she has done, and, whatever happens, she’s brought it on herself. Oh, this is going to be retribution, and for the first time in my life I’ll see it falling where it should.’

  Pat sighed and looked hard at this man whom he loved, this man who, with his indomitable will, had brought the family business to where it stood today. Twice the size it was forty years ago now that it was in steam, and highly respected in the shipping lines. But that same will was at work now, and he shivered to think what the result would be; not to himself but to the rest of his family.

  As he reached the door his grandfather called, ‘See Maggie on your way out and tell her to put some bottles in my bed, and now, because I won’t be long out of it.’

  Pat gave no answer to this and as he was crossing the hall he met up with Barney, his arms full of logs, and he said, ‘I would ask you, Barney, not to mention to anyone who the visitor was tonight.’

  ‘As you say, Mr Pat. As you say.’

  ‘No-one, mind.’

  ‘I heard, Mr Pat. I heard.’

  ‘Does Maggie know?’

  ‘Yes, and Katie.’

  ‘Well, tell them, will you, not a word to anyone; they’ll know soon enough the result of his visit. If anyone from the ho
use should ask you—anyone, mind—the man was a stranger to us. Yes, somebody came to see my grandfather, but he was a stranger to you, and you don’t know what it was about.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir; no-one will find out from this end, I can assure you.’ With that he humped the logs further up into his arms and went about his business.

  Pat got into his overcoat, wrapped a scarf around his neck, pulled his cap on and, finally, picked up a walking stick from the hallstand and went out.

  The night had become bitterly cold. Already the frost was lying thick on the roofs of the stables and the outhouses and his steps sounded crisp on the pebbles of the broad path that connected the two houses. When walking leisurely, one could cover the distance between them in four minutes, but tonight Pat was not walking leisurely. He had the same feeling which must often have inveigled Marie Anne to take to her heels and run and run, not towards the house but away from it…away, away. In this moment he felt he wouldn’t mind changing places with Marie Anne down there in London; only for his thoughts to jump to her condition, which made him cry inwardly, Oh, Marie Anne! Marie Anne! Not that! How on earth had it come about? She never made friends with men. Well, there had been no chance while she lived here, had there? She was so young, childish in a way, and had been considered not fit to be in social company. One thing about her was quite true and the coming exposure would show it, at least from his mother’s point of view, and that was that, wherever she was, Marie Anne created disaster.

  As he emerged from the path onto the end of the main drive and crossed the large open space fronting the balcony, he saw to the right of him one of the yard men leading the horses of the big carriage towards the stables, indicating that the visiting party had returned, and he earnestly hoped that his mother had gathered enough invitations from The Hall and its satellites to keep her happy over the holidays, for when the storm broke, her social status would be washed away, as it were. At least, he knew that’s how she would see it.