The Branded Man

by Catherine Cookson

  In the brightly lit and festooned hall, he pulled off his outer things, threw them onto a chair, then approached the drawing room, where the sound of voices told him the family had gathered.

  When he entered, his mother was in the act of carefully removing her large, ostrich-feather-trimmed hat, the feathers being held in place by what appeared to be animal claws attached to the crown. It was her latest acquisition and she was very proud of it.

  Turning to Pat, she said, ‘Oh, there you are Pat. We’ve had a lovely time; you should have come. Such interesting people: there was Sir Eustace Dodd and Lord Dean’s cousin Clive Parkington—he’s an MP, you know—and Mr and Mrs De Fonier—she is a famous French designer. What’s the matter?’ She was looking at him intently now. ‘Something happened?’

  ‘Yes; you could say something’s happened.’

  She moved a step towards him. ‘To Father-in-law?’

  ‘Yes, to your father-in-law.’

  His father had moved quickly towards him, saying, ‘Where is he, Pat?’

  Pat returned his father’s look, but did not answer immediately. As he so often did, he was again feeling sorry for this weak and vacillating man who led such a miserable life because he couldn’t stand up to his wife. And so, when he did answer it was in an even and kindly tone: ‘Grandpa’s decided to stay at The Little Manor, Father.’

  ‘And he’s still there?’

  ‘Yes, Father; and he would like to stay there over the holidays—’ and now he added more kindly still, ‘if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Why does he want to stay there over the holidays? This is something new, isn’t it?’

  Pat turned to look at his brother Vincent and said, ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  Now his mother’s voice cut in, saying, ‘Look here! Something must have happened. What is it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you tonight, Mother. I could, but I’m not going to. It’ll keep till after the holidays.’

  ‘Pat!’ cut in James, ‘there’s something not quite right here; if you won’t tell me, I’ll find out. I’ll go along and see for myself.’

  Quickly, Pat thrust out his hand and gripped his father’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you, Father; just leave it till after the festivities,’ and with this he turned to make for the door.

  But there was Vincent standing four-square against it and he was saying, ‘Oh no, smart fellow. You’re not going out of here unless we know what this is all about. You have done something that has caused Grandpa to leave here and stay along there. So, out with it!’

  ‘I haven’t caused Grandpa to do any such thing. Please allow me to leave the room!’

  ‘No, I damn well will not let you leave the room and leave us all dithering, waiting to know what’s got into Grandpa to make him leave the house on such a night as this, and he not well. So come along, stop playing your little game.’

  ‘Get out of the way, Vincent!’ Pat’s voice was commanding but quiet. ‘If you don’t I’ll be forced to move you.’

  ‘Huh! Don’t be silly; and stop playing heroics and tell us what…Oh!’

  It had happened so swiftly that the cries from the others did not escape them until Vincent staggered from the door, holding one hand on his chin and the other on his throat, spluttering and coughing.

  Facing his family, Pat looked from his father to his mother, and then to Evelyn, who had not yet opened her mouth, and he was about to turn and leave the room when his mother, arms outstretched as if she were about to shake him, cried, ‘What’s got into you? You could’ve killed him.’

  ‘Yes, I could, because I felt like it at that moment,’ and his voice now changing, he emphasised, ‘and not for the first time. He’s taunted me once too often, and he’ll not do it again.’ And turning to Vincent, he added, ‘I’ve learnt a lot while crawling the decks these past years and doing the dirty jobs that you should have been doing but found too distasteful. You don’t like mixing with the common herd, do you?’

  ‘Pat! Pat! Pat!’ His father had now put a gentle hand on his arm, and he went on, ‘Enough. Enough. Remember it’s Christmas Eve.’

  ‘Oh, Father!’ Pat’s voice was almost pitying now. ‘Christmas Eve. What does that matter in this house? I’ve seen more Christianity enacted in the bowels of a ship full of roughnecks than I’ve ever witnessed in this house, and this I will tell you: your Christianity is going to be tested within the next few days. And yes,’ his voice was rising again, ‘I’ll tell you further what you want to know, and you’ll be delighted to hear this, Mother’—he concentrated his gaze on Veronica Lawson’s livid countenance—‘your dear daughter is coming home. A gentleman called tonight to tell Grandpa he had found Marie Anne living in the most appalling conditions; but that is not all; she is also in a certain personal condition, being five months pregnant. And there’s more to it than this, and which you will all learn about as soon as Grandpa has brought her back and installed her in The Little Manor.’

  ‘No, no!’ It was a whimper from his mother now. Veronica Lawson’s head was wagging like that of a puppet, and, her body half-turned, she was stepping backwards, her hands groping outwards like those of a blind person feeling for a chair.

  It was the couch she found and fell upon; and then she was moaning aloud, ‘No, no! I…I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear it. I won’t have it! D’you hear? I won’t have it! Oh God in heaven!’

  Adding to her words and her moans there came a strange sound into the room: It was someone laughing hysterically and it propelled James Lawson to hurry to his daughter and to take her by the shoulders and command, ‘Stop that! D’you hear me, Evelyn? Stop that noise this very minute!’

  But his daughter could not stop her laughter, nor could she stop herself from saying, between great gusts of mirth, ‘It…it didn’t happen to me. It…it couldn’t happen to me, could it? She’s…she’s pregnant! Wild and windy Marie Anne is going to have a child. Hurray! Hurray!’

  When her father’s hand came across her face in a resounding slap, the laughter ceased and Evelyn became quiet; that is until her tears started to roll down her cheeks, and with this, Pat hurried towards her and, taking her from her father’s hold he said, ‘Come on, dear. Come on upstairs.’

  In her room he sat her in a chair. The tears were still flowing down her face, and she whimpered now, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What have you got to be sorry for? You should have done that a long time ago. Your back’s been too stiff.’

  ‘She’s really going to have a baby?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, she’s really going to have a baby.’

  ‘And she’s five months gone?’

  ‘Yes, five months.’

  When she licked the tears from her face Pat pulled out a handkerchief and gently wiped her cheeks.

  ‘Pat.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘I…I wanted a baby.’

  ‘Well’—he paused—‘it’s only natural to want to have a baby.’

  ‘No…No.’ She shook her head. ‘It was when I went with him I wanted to have a baby.’

  He straightened up slightly from her. He was puzzled. For a moment, he thought she must be slightly delirious; and guessing this, she said, ‘I’m…I’m telling you the truth, Pat. That’s how…why Marie Anne went for me, for she thought I was wicked. She had seen us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It was the night she hit her head against a wall. She was running away.’

  He couldn’t believe this: he couldn’t take it in that the girl, or the young woman as she was now, sitting there was the same Evelyn to whom he had spoken before she had earlier gone out visiting, and had jokingly said to her, ‘Mind you beware, because Mother’ll have you matched up this afternoon before you know where you are,’ and she had turned a haughty glance on him, but made no reply. But here she was, the real girl that had been crushed down into her secret self by her mother.

  He took both her hands now, and crouching down on his haunches, he said, ‘Don’t worry. Yo
u’ll see, one of these days you’ll come across a man and you’ll know immediately you’re for him and he’s for you. It happens like that. It’s happened to me.’

  ‘Yes?’ She sniffed and swallowed, then brought a perfectly folded handkerchief from her sleeve, shook it out and wiped her eyes before going on and asking, ‘Who is she? Do…do I know her?’

  ‘No; I’ve kept her a secret, even from Grandpa. She’s a working girl; but when the time is ripe we will get married.’

  ‘You’re so lucky, Pat, with your kind nature and everything else. I know I’ve had a bout of hysteria, but I did want to laugh before that, when you hit Vincent. I’ve wanted to do that for years.’

  They smiled at each other and he said quietly, ‘When Marie Anne comes back, try to be nice to her. She’s a lovely creature at heart. Wild, yes, I admit, but I do know that throughout her young life she’s craved friendship and love.’

  ‘Since she’s been away I’ve felt guilty for having been so horrible to her at times. I realise now that it was Mother’s doing, that I was just following her example; but with regards to being nice to her, I doubt if we’ll come across each other. I don’t suppose I’ve visited The Little Manor more than twice in the last two years, and doubtless she would feel better if she didn’t see me.’

  ‘Oh, wait and see. She too will likely be changed…she’s bound to be. Anyway, we’re going up to London the day after Boxing Day. I’ve no idea when we’ll be back; it’ll all depend how soon she can be persuaded to return. From the letters I have occasionally received from her, which were quite different from those she sent to Grandpa, she was emphatic about never coming back here. She has ideas of taking up a profession for herself in London through her drawings.’

  ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘She’s already got a small commission, I understand, from a newspaper; and of all places she’s been playing the piano in a sort of pub-cum-eating house.’

  ‘In a pub?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I understand, in a pub; not for money, but just because there was no piano available anywhere else. They let her play there because her close friend and guardian, as I take this Miss Foggerty to be, now and again helps out behind the bar, pulling pints, as she refers to it.’

  ‘You can’t believe it really! Can you?’

  ‘No, Evelyn; it’s very difficult to believe, but she’s done it.’

  ‘You know something, Pat? I envy her. Oh, how I envy her!’

  To this he could only bend towards her and kiss her cheek, saying softly, ‘Don’t worry; your chance will come. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  In the drawing room, James Lawson stood some distance from the couch, and as he looked at his wife and elder son, he with an arm around his mother’s shoulders, he could not prevent a cold shiver from running through his body as he listened to Vincent saying, ‘Whatever you did, you did for the best. She was always a dirty, filthy little slut. And I can promise you one thing: I’ll make her pay for what she’s done this day. I’ve hated her since she was born, and if it’s the last thing I do I’ll see my day with her.’

  Nine

  Before they entered the cab that was to take them from the station to the priory, Emanuel Lawson turned to Don, saying, ‘Is there any possibility that we can view this place where she lives before we go to our destination?’

  ‘Oh, sir, I don’t think you would see much, except the yard and—’

  ‘Well, that will be quite sufficient, I suppose,’ said the old man impatiently. ‘But you have talked of little else but the conditions that prevail in this area, so I’d like to see some of them for myself. Isn’t that possible?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Don smiled, then said, ‘I’ll direct the cabbie.’ And this he had done, the while thinking of the old man’s words, ‘Talked of little else,’ yet all he had done was answer his questions, and these had come in shoals between his frequent naps.

  Now here they were, and he was helping the old gentleman down onto the greasy pavement before the wide opening that led into Ramsey Court yard.

  When Pat went to take his grandfather’s arm his hand was brusquely pushed away with, ‘I don’t want holding, boy. Just give me my stick.’

  Leaning heavily on it, he walked forward and into the yard, but stopped within a few feet at the sight of a woman coming out of a water-closet. She was adjusting her clothes at the same time as she kicked a small tin out of her path to send it scudding across the yard. And when a man appeared from another door, tucking his shirt into the back of his trousers, the woman called to him as she pointed to a boy tipping a bucket of hot ashes onto the pile in the corner of the yard: ‘When are they coming to clear that lot?’

  Emanuel Lawson stood wide-eyed, gazing at the scene.

  As a youth during his three years at sea he had been in many ports and seen hovels of all kinds, but they had been forgotten memories until now, for he had never encountered a hovel such as this.

  His eyes again travelled up to the top of the building and to the row of small windows flanking the roof…My god! His Marie Anne lived up there.

  He was well aware that the condition of the cottages in the hamlets around his own estate left a lot to be desired. They, too, were without proper sanitation. But this disgusting scene would be one of many, he supposed.

  ‘Come, Grandfather.’

  Emanuel’s expression was one of distaste and bewilderment, and as he turned to move back to the cab he passed Don without making any remark whatever.

  They were settled in easy chairs in a small but very comfortable room. A fire was blazing in the grate and the Father Prior himself had introduced them to Brother Peter who, during their stay, would attend to their needs; and he was sure they would be glad of some refreshment now after their long and tiring journey.

  It was Pat who thanked the Father Prior, but Mr Lawson said nothing: he was lying back in the chair, his eyes half closed; but when he became aware that Don was intending to leave the room with the Father Prior he turned to him and said, ‘Are you going to see to this business right away?’

  And to this Don answered, ‘Not right away, sir. First, I have to explain to Father, here, the reason for our visit.’ And at this, he followed the Father Prior.

  The first question that the Prior asked of Don as they crossed the hall to his office was, ‘Have we a querulous gentleman here, Don?’

  And Don’s answer was, ‘Not really, sir. I think you will understand when I tell you the story, at least what I know of it. But first, thank you so much for wiring your answer to receive us.’

  ‘No need for thanks, Don; it was the outcome of human curiosity: I couldn’t wait to hear what all your coming and goings were about.’ …

  Five minutes later the Father Prior had the full story, as far as Don knew it, about the granddaughter of a Northumbrian gentleman, and his first response was, ‘And you say she is with child?’

  ‘Yes; five months, Father.’

  ‘And does he know this, I mean, what to expect?’

  ‘Yes; I put him in the picture.’

  ‘But if the girl’s mother rejected her before, she is not likely to welcome her back with open arms, is she?’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be given any choice. There are two houses, The Manor and The Little Manor, and it is in the smaller I should imagine he’ll have her installed.’

  ‘And at present you say she is living in Ramsay Court?’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  ‘Dear, dear! Dear, dear! Will she not get a shock when she sees her grandfather?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I thought of that, Father, so I think the news should be broken to her before she comes here.’

  ‘And that’ll be left to you?’

  ‘Well, I can’t see anyone else doing it, Father, although I’m certainly not looking forward to it.’

  The priest had been sitting, but now he got to his feet and, going to Don, he placed a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘You know I’ve always said you’re a great
disappointment to us all’—he was smiling as he spoke—‘but now I think that God made provision for you to have your freedom, as you call it, to serve a purpose. He knows what’s in store for you. So, go on, get about your business; and I want to hear about the happy ending.’

  Without further ado Don took his leave of the Prior; although once outside the door he hesitated for a moment while his mind repeated the words, He knows what’s in store for you. Well, he wished He would give him an inkling, because of late he had become uneasy as to what he was going to do with the rest of his life. During his first few years at the cottage, his work had brought him a modicum of happiness, but of late it hadn’t seemed to be enough, especially during the evenings when, after the day’s grind, he would sit alone before the fire reading, or stripping off his harness and going out into the dark night, rain, hail or snow, letting the weather blow on his face and lift up his hair. At such times he longed for the comradeship of the Brothers and, deep within him, he admitted to a loneliness; during the last few weeks he had comforted himself by thinking that when Farmer Harding let him have the puppy it would make a difference.

  ‘Oh, hello, Don!Hello! So you’re back. Oh, that’s lovely. You’ll be here for the New Year service? Brother Ralph has composed a new hymn. It’s lovely, and I’m trying it on my mouth organ. That is, of course if’—he now poked his head towards Don—‘Father Prior doesn’t confiscate it and throw it on the fire. Where are you off to now?’

  ‘I’m off to the kitchen, John, to see if I can scrounge a cup of tea and a bite before I go out again on an errand.’

  ‘Will I see you after prayers?’

  ‘You will; you will, John.’

  ‘Good. Good.’

  The night was bitterly cold and murky, so much so that the street lights seemed to find it difficult to spread their light for any distance over the greasy pavements.

  When he emerged from the black passage he was somewhat surprised to find very few people about in the area, until he realised this would be the eating time for most working families.