The Branded Man

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I omitted to state that he had turned over The Fallow to his son, and his family went up with the balloon. It was then that Great-grandfather, my great-grandfather, bought this place in about 1780, and, as did the man before him, he put his son into The Fallow or, as it is now known, The Little Manor. But neither of the heads of the family lived very long to enjoy what they had worked for, and my grandfather took over in about 1800 and moved into this house. He had two surviving sons out of a family of six and, like his predecessors, he put one into The Little Manor to which my grandfather added another wing because of his son’s growing family. And by the way, that wing hasn’t been used much for years, but it’s open again now…oh yes, it’s open again.’ He nodded from one to the other. ‘Anyway, my father was born there and twenty-three years later I was born there, and that is why I preferred living there with my wife rather than here, which is why I handed this place over to you, James, on your wedding day.’ He now bounced his head towards his son. ‘And that was a mistake. Oh yes, it was a mistake. But one thing I didn’t do; I put nothing in writing. Instead, I gave you a verbal assurance that the house was yours to live in as long as you required it. Remember?’

  James stared back at his father. His face was flushed, his lips were moving one over the other, but he didn’t say anything, and the old man now said, ‘I’ll continue. During all that time, close on thirty years, for the twins must be nearly twenty-nine, I have paid for your staff. Every penny you needed for your indoor and outdoor staff I have seen to, and not only their wages, but also for their uniforms, male and female. However, I’ve done it with less grace each year, I may tell you, for as your family grew older and fewer in number when the twins went to Canada and Marie Anne was banished—’ he turned a deadly glance now towards his daughter-in-law, which she dared to respond to in similar fashion, then he went on, ‘more staff seemed to be needed, and for what? To eat their heads off, to laze about the grounds. Two thousand, two hundred acres, and what has been done with it? Apart from the four hundred acres of woodland, it has been given over to pretty lawns and flower beds and vineries and hothouses for exotic plants that you don’t even know the names of, and I’ve stood aside and let it go on, thinking, What odds? I’m getting old, it doesn’t matter. But now I know I am not too old to enjoy my last days of life and also to see that others enjoy the years they’ve been deprived of.’

  When he felt an uneasy movement at his side the old man turned to Pat, and said, ‘I’m all right. I’m all right Pat. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to have a seizure, although I’ve had enough cause. Well now, to finish this part of the business and…yes, this is only half of what I’ve got to say to you all. As there were originally eight hundred acres attached to The Little Manor, not counting Harding’s farm, it left one thousand, four hundred acres, so I am passing four hundred of them on to John Harding to give him a decent piece of land to till or for grazing. That’ll be cut from the west side of the estate where it is cheek by jowl with his own piece of land. Thus I am creating a boundary of sorts. It might be invisible, except on paper—’ he now tapped another piece of parchment saying, ‘It’s all here, cut and dried. You’ll have a thousand acres left’—he nodded towards his son—‘and, as your land has been depleted, so will be the staff who run it; and don’t forget you’ll have to pay your staff out of your own pocket from now on. In fact, I’m dating it back to the first of January in this new century so, the fewer men you have outdoors and the fewer women in, the easier it will be for you to manage. To that end I have already taken two yard men and Young, together with the carriage. I’m not depriving you of transport, because you’ve still got the working carriage. If you’re wise, you’ll cut another two from the gardens. Then there’s the indoor staff. I have already taken two maids and because, as far as I can remember, you’ve never asked to look at the bills that your staff has cost me, I suggest you do without either a footman or a butler. In my opinion, Green could answer for both. Do you know’—he leant towards his son again—‘I have reckoned up and have made it my business to find out the number of staff, indoor and outdoor, of The Hall and of Baintrees. With all the requirements at The Hall, which includes the accommodation of passing royalty and other bigwigs from London, there are only four more on their payroll than I’ve been paying out for this establishment. So, James, you have a word with your housekeeper and see if she can economise, because if not, you could tell her, or at least hint, that there is a possibility she might lose her position, because great changes are about to take place, and not before time. Oh no, not before time. And lastly, while we’re dealing with the staff outside, I’m taking Lady and her foal with me.’

  ‘Oh no, you can’t do that!’ This came from Vincent. ‘Lady’s mine! I’ve always ridden—’ He had half risen from his chair, his face suffused with anger, when the old man interrupted him, bellowing, ‘Your horse? Since when?’ but more quietly he then continued, ‘I think I remember buying her ten years ago, and I also remember that I rode her for about two years. I recall too, that about four years ago I forbade you to ride her any more, because you always drove her into a sweat. I told you then that Brindle was more suited to you. She was a heavy goer and could carry weight, and moreover you couldn’t get your own way with Brindle. I always considered Lady much too fine for your handling. Well, sir, in future, if you want such a horse as Lady then you’ll have to buy one, and before I’m much older I’ll find out which yard man disobeyed my orders. But on further thought, it would all have come about through you playing the master. Well, we’ll leave this matter for the present.’ He could not explain why he wanted the horse and her foal, only that there was a far picture in his mind of a little girl riding a pony. And so he said, ‘The second part of this business won’t take very long.’ He looked straight at his son. ‘We are a private business, by the way.’ He now turned his gaze on the still scarlet face of Vincent, then on to Pat, who was now standing by his side, and he said, ‘They won’t believe that you knew nothing about what I have just said, and much less about what I am about to say, but I have never discussed this business with you, have I?’

  ‘No, Grandfather.’

  ‘Well, that’s that. Now James, as regards the company. As I said, we are a private company and, as my solicitors have told me, having been into this matter, as the head of it I can do as I like with the shares that I possess, and they are sixty-one per cent of the whole.’

  It seemed to take James an effort to bow his head in assent.

  ‘Well, then, take note: you, James, hold twenty per cent of the shares. That is right, isn’t it?’

  When his son did not answer he practically bawled at him, ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Father. Yes.’

  ‘Well, then, the next ten per cent Vincent holds, and the remaining nine, Pat. I haven’t bothered about the twins; they are doing well for themselves and don’t need any help from me, alive or dead. Well, now, I propose to add a further ten per cent, taken from my own, to Patrick’s holding, bringing him up to nineteen, leaving me still in control. There is another matter about the shares I would like to discuss with you, James, but in private, after you have given your new situation and the demands upon it some thought, because you must ask yourself from where you are going to get the money to keep up this establishment as it is now, for you must admit your salary doesn’t warrant it. Does it?’

  ‘No, Father.’ It was scarcely a whisper.

  ‘Well, then, we’ll talk about that later. But now I must tell you that were I to die tomorrow all my shares, which are the controlling interest of our company, will be passed on to my granddaughter, Marie Anne Lawson. She will then control the company.’

  Before he could utter another word there was a scream from the end of the table, followed first by James jumping to his feet, and then Vincent, the different voices forming a chorus of ‘No! No! You can’t.’ Surprisingly, Veronica remained seated.

  Emanuel looked from one to the other, then said, ‘What you forget, al
l of you, is that it is my business, and I more than any of my ancestors have worked hard personally to bring it to its present level, and I have done this with only one of you assisting me, and that is Pat here. For years now, Pat has thrown himself wholly into the business: he has actually worked on the ships, looked into every grumble and growl, examined holds and almost broken his back doing it, didn’t he? But you, Vincent, have been too big to go down into a dirty bilge or into a stokehole! No, I don’t think you’ve ever been over a ship, even walked its decks; and James, you have hardly left your office for years. No; it’s all been left to Pat and, until recently, me, so, as I’ve said, Marie Anne will own the company, and as such, should you die, James, she will make Pat her managing director. It’s all been done legally and signed, and it didn’t need any of your names because I am the owner of this family business. I also own this house and The Little Manor. So if you wish to continue here, James, you are very welcome, but, as I have said before, you’ll have to find means of maintaining it, because you can no longer rely on me.’

  ‘You are an old beast! A filthy old beast! I hate you!’

  Vincent was now restraining his mother’s hands, for one was quite close to a heavy glass inkstand, and he wasn’t the only one who had thought she was about to grab it and throw it at her father-in-law.

  ‘You’re wicked! Wicked!’

  It was Emanuel who now pulled himself to his feet. He took three steps along by the side of the table until he was almost hovering over her, when he said, slowly, ‘You dare to call anyone wicked. You! who turned your young, innocent daughter over to the care of a woman who happens to be as big a fiend as you are. You even sent wires forbidding your sister to allow your daughter to come back here to me, and insisted that she put her into a home, any home. And the home to which Martha intended sending her was for prostitutes, young whores off the streets; and there she would have landed had it not been for Miss Foggerty. It was she who took matters into her own hands: she left Martha’s employ and took Marie Anne to her own sister’s, a poor place, but the saving of your daughter, and where she met with more kindness, understanding and help than she had ever received in her own home. And finally, let me tell you, woman, that everything I have said at this table, all the changes I have made today and which will have repercussions for many years to come, have come about through one person and one person only, and that is you. My son made the biggest mistake of his life when he married you—at least, you saw that you married him—because you came from nothing: one little boot shop, your parents had, but you had big ideas, hadn’t you? Ideas of grandeur, of mixing with the mighty, the famous, it didn’t matter if some were notorious, just as long as you could drop their names. Now it’s up to you, daughter-in-law, whether you want to go on residing here with a very depleted staff, or move elsewhere.’

  Aware that she was so furiously angry that she could not answer him, he moved back to his chair.

  Vincent still held on to his mother’s hands as he glared towards his grandfather, who was now addressing him, saying, ‘You have a very good salary and a share in the profits, so you could help to support the house, as I’m sure Pat would have done if he had decided to stay here;’ and now turning to his granddaughter, he said, ‘Well, Evelyn, that leaves only you; and you have not been forgotten. Should you not marry, you will be provided for. In the meantime, I propose to give you a good dress allowance.’

  Not a muscle of Evelyn’s face moved. This old man had just wrecked the family. It had never been close before, but now it was torn asunder, and the idea that Pat would be senior to Vincent was unthinkable; Vincent would surely do something desperate. More so, he would never be able to stand the fact that one day the company could fall into Marie Anne’s control.

  As for her mother, she appeared to be a broken woman. But was she? No; she was of the type that would survive if it was only to pray for disaster to strike her father-in-law dead.

  Her grandfather, she knew, was waiting for some form of thanks, but she could not bring herself to give it to him. She would rather that he had left her out of it.

  James Lawson was sitting at the table again, but his head was bowed over his joined hands, and when his father said quietly, ‘James, I would like to see you, say tomorrow afternoon, by which time you will have thought things over; or perhaps that might be too early.’

  James lifted his head, and without a shred of emotion he said, ‘No, Father; I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.’

  As Pat helped his grandfather up from the chair, he looked towards his father and gave a small shake of his head as if in understanding; then he waited as his grandfather gathered up the documents from the table, saying, ‘They’ve never been opened. I intended that they should all see what has been done with regards to the grounds and the rest, but you can see them tomorrow, James, if you wish.’

  When the door closed on his grandfather and brother, Vincent helped Veronica to her feet and without a word escorted her from the room, leaving James still seated at the table. Evelyn looked at her father and her gaze was pitying. She saw a man in his early fifties looking at this moment as old as his own father; and beaten, yes that was the word, beaten. She had always known him to be a weak man and without gumption, else he would have stood up to her mother long before now. The only time he had seemed to make a stand was in the privacy of their bedroom; and even before her mother had moved it to the far end of the house, she had known what their almost nightly battle was all about.

  As for her mother, she had always seen her as a forceful, social-climbing woman, and knew that she had looked upon her younger daughter as something of an impediment that stood in her way, but to have gone to such lengths as to have her put away, and into such a place as her grandfather had described, was incredible. The word ‘wicked’ didn’t seem to fit her, ‘terrifying’ was more like it, and she was aware that also applied to her unbreakable determination to see that she herself should be married, not for her happiness but for her own prestige. The man she had chosen to hunt this time was rich. He was half-American and his business was to do with the new-fangled automobiles, one that promised to make him richer still. But was it coincidence that he hadn’t called on her in the past week? She knew he was due to go back to America—perhaps he had already gone—but either way it didn’t matter, because she had braced herself to face her mother’s fury when her answer to him would have been ‘no’.

  She now walked towards her father and looked down on his bent head, and when she said softly, ‘You know what I would like at this moment, Father?’ he turned his face up towards her and she saw it had become drained of all colour. He didn’t respond but just stared at her, and so she went on, ‘What I would like is a large glass of port without lemon,’ to which he answered with a nod of his head and saying, ‘It’s a good idea, but at this time in the day it’ll be remarked upon.’

  ‘Not if I go and fetch it myself. There’ll be no-one on guard in the dining room now. I can slip in the side door.’

  He put out a hand and patted her arm, and when he went to rise heavily from his chair she said, ‘Go and sit by the fire,’ and as she hurried out he did just this, after pulling an easy chair closer to the hearth, for he felt chilled to his very core.

  It wasn’t a chill caused by the atmosphere but by his self-knowledge that he was a failure of a man: fifty-one years old and still in thrall to his father. And because his daughter had recognised this, she had spoken to him as she had never done before, kindly, even lovingly. When she returned with the port they would drink together; but he would have just one, at least now; later he would drink himself into a stupor and blot out the thought that he had to face his father again tomorrow.

  Two

  James Lawson had never before knocked on the door of The Little Manor to gain entry; he had always walked straight in. But now the situation was different, for the houses were no longer as one. He had walked along the crisp, snow-covered ground that lay between them and as he had passed the end of the
yard, he had seen two men at work there, one exercising Lady and her foal, two men whom up to a few days ago he had thought of as his men, his servants, if he had thought about them at all, and he had to admit to himself they represented the cleavage that had taken place.

  He stood on the doorstep. It had been cleared of snow, and this fact brought him to clearing his boots on the ornamental iron scraper that lay to the side of the door, the while he wondered at his action, for he couldn’t remember ever doing it before. Whatever condition his boots had been in, they were pulled off by his butler or his footman in the hall, and house shoes would be there to replace them, so he did not question further when his hand went up to the iron handle of the bell pull.

  When Carrie Jones opened the door she exclaimed on a high note, ‘Oh! Good afternoon, sir,’ and he found himself answering, ‘Good afternoon,’ hesitating on her name before adding, ‘Jones.’ He could not remember ever exchanging a word with this servant. Her face was familiar, but that was to be expected, because he must have passed her every day for years.