The Branded Man

by Catherine Cookson

  Sarah brought in Marie Anne’s early morning cup of tea. She pulled back the heavy curtains and opened the window just the slightest, saying, ‘It’s a real September morning, with a slight frost on the grass.’

  When she returned to the bed she did not look directly at Marie Anne but straightened the frill attached to the top cover, and as she did so, she said, ‘After breakfast, could I have a word with you?’

  Marie Annie’s voice was soft as she replied, ‘Have a word with me, Sarah? Do you ever need to ask to have a word with me?’

  ‘No; but this is a special word.’

  ‘Special word?’

  ‘Yes, yes. Now drink your tea while it’s hot; I’ll get about my duties.’

  Marie Anne’s hands shook as she lifted the cup from the side table. A special word, she had said. She knew what that meant: Sarah was going to bring the matter into the open, and she wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment.

  Last night’s thinking had been diluted into the new approach she was determined to take on the whole matter. Her reason had finally dictated that if she were to ignore the whole business and act as normally as possible, then Sarah would do nothing about it; and with regards to him, well, it would have been impossible, in any case, to broach the subject of his open confession.

  The matter resolved in her mind, she had waited for the appearance of Sarah, and had been relieved by the ordinariness of her approach. It had been as usual: at least, she had imagined so until she had asked for that private word, which indicated without any doubt that she had made up her mind about something. Oh, she told herself, she knew her Sarah. Then the question came, Did she? Had she known that Sarah loved Don? And love him she did. But what about him? ‘You are the first woman who has ever kissed me.’ There had been a depth of feeling in his voice. Did he care for her in some way? No; he couldn’t, after all he had intimated towards herself. It might have been unspoken love, but it had been love, of that she was certain. Well, there was one thing still sure in her mind: she could overlook Sarah’s part in yesterday’s little play, but never his, no, never his, and she would make that clear to him in the future. Oh yes, she would. Yes, she would.

  Marie Anne was in her sitting room, the baby lying on the couch to her side. It was kicking its legs in the air and gurgling, but for once Marie Anne did not take any joy in witnessing these antics: she was looking at Sarah who was standing a little way in front of her and saying, ‘Well, reading between the lines, I think Annie is not well at all; but she’s not sayin’ much about it, so, if you don’t mind and if I’m due for a holiday, I would like to take it now.’

  ‘Don’t say things like that, Sarah. What do you mean, if you’re due for a holiday! You know you can take a holiday any time you like. And when did you get the letter?’

  Sarah seemed to think for a moment; then she said, ‘The day before yesterday.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you mention it to me then?’

  ‘For the simple reason’—Sarah’s voice had risen—‘I didn’t realise what was written between the lines, so to speak, until…’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘No; not yesterday. There were other things to think about yesterday, if you remember; but I thought about it, well, more fully early this morning, and I thought it wouldn’t do me any harm to have a break; that is, if it was agreeable to the household.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, Sarah!’

  ‘Very well, I’ll be quiet. The only thing I’m asking is, is it all right for me to leave tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Marie Anne’s voice was high; then she shook her head for a moment before going on, ‘Well, yes, I suppose if you’re anxious about Annie, the sooner you are there the better and the sooner you get back. How…how long do you think you’ll stay?’

  ‘Oh; how long does one usually have for a holiday?’

  Again Marie Anne looked away; and now she bit on her lip before she said, ‘Would a fortnight be all right? Would a fortnight suit you?’

  ‘Yes; yes, that would suit me fine. Everything will be straightened out within a fortnight.’

  ‘What d’you mean, straightened out?’

  ‘Just what I said; straightened out.’ Then her tone changing, and nodding down to the baby, she added, ‘You needn’t worry about her. I haven’t much time for Nurse Clark, as you know but, give her her due, she knows her business. And then there’s the girls; they’re good backers-up, not forgetting Maggie Makepeace; she knows the routine of the house better than I do.’

  These words should have been conveyed with a smile, but they weren’t.

  ‘Oh, Sarah!’ It was almost a piteous cry from Marie Anne now, but Sarah did not respond to it as might have been expected. Instead, what she said was, ‘Don’t you worry; everything will turn out all right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get on.’

  After the door had closed on her, Marie Anne lay back on the couch and covered her face with her hands. The tears were almost choking her. The rift between them, for rift it was, was so wide she couldn’t see it ever closing. Not even if she went to her now and said, ‘I never meant to look at you like that, Sarah. I’m a stupid individual, and I’m so sorry;’ it would make not the slightest difference. And anyway, she couldn’t put herself over as a silly individual who hadn’t meant to look as she did, so furious, and her expression must have been furious if it had expressed the ferocity of her feelings at that moment. She had never before imagined Sarah doing anything that could arouse in her a harsh word.

  Now she was so full of remorse that she felt she could die.

  By afternoon the staff knew that Miss Foggerty was going away for a fortnight. The decision seemed to have been very quickly decided on, but then, apparently her sister wasn’t well and obviously, she hadn’t wanted to bring this up before the christening. And it had been a lovely day, yesterday, hadn’t it? Oh, it had been a lovely day…lovely, lovely. And then there had been that lovely scene between her and Mr McAlister. It was like something you would see on the cinematograph. Carrie agreed with Fanny that she had wanted to cry, and wasn’t he a lovely man. Oh, and had they ever seen such a change in anybody as that mask had made in him? Oh, he looked lovely, handsome, real handsome…lovely. And his hair, too, hanging over his brow. It was a lovely colour.

  Finally, they all agreed it would be a rather quiet house until Miss Foggerty returned. They didn’t exactly know how or why; it wasn’t just her quaint Irish sayings and how she put them over; it was just something about her. You couldn’t put a finger on it, you only knew you missed it when it wasn’t there …

  As Fanny let Miss Foggerty out of the front door Sarah said to her, ‘I’m just going for a stroll and to get the air, Fanny. If anybody should need me, tell them I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll do that, miss. I’ll do that. Be lovely walking the day, with the sun shining and the air so crisp. Enjoy your dander.’

  ‘Thanks, Fanny. I will.’ And they exchanged smiles and parted.

  Once clear of the house, Sarah hurried along the well-known path towards the wood, and her step did not slow as she entered it, but she did cast her eyes towards the tree-stump where she had left Marie Anne sitting that day while she herself picked bluebells.

  When she emerged from the wood and came in sight of the cottage there was no sign of its occupier, and even when she tapped on the door no-one came to open it. Slowly she turned the handle and went into what was now a beautiful room, and she looked around her appreciatively before she called softly, ‘Don. Don.’

  She was wondering if he was down at the farm when she heard the muted sound of hammering. Straight away she made for the studio and there, knocking on the door, she called, ‘It’s me, Don…Sarah.’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Don stood before her in a knee-length grey smock. ‘Where’ve you sprung from? Have you been here long?’

  ‘No, no; I’ve just come.’

  ‘Well, I meant, have you been down to the farm?’

  ‘No; I came straight along the
top. I was just out for a walk. I…I thought I’d look you up. Where’s the dog?’

  ‘Oh, she’s out scrounging, looking for a rabbit. Just a minute while I take this off; and stand back, and don’t come in here else you’ll be all dust.’

  In the living room, he said, ‘Look; it’s just like me, I’ve let the fire go down. I’ll make it up presently; you’d like a cup of tea now, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I would, Don; and I’ll see to the fire.’

  She saw to the fire, and he saw to the making of the tea, and when they were sitting together on the couch with a small table in front of them holding the tea things, he said, ‘This is a nice surprise. I never thought to see anyone for days and I was going to get down to some work, real work.’

  When she didn’t make one of her Irish responses he looked hard at her, then asked quietly, ‘What’s the matter, Sarah?’

  ‘Nothing much, Don, nothing much, only I’m going on…well a holiday, in the morning.’

  ‘A holiday! Where? Why? This is sudden, isn’t it? Where’re you going?’

  ‘Well, where would I go? Now ask yourself. I’m going to Annie’s. She’s not too well.’

  ‘Is she in trouble?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about trouble, not that kind of trouble, only that she hasn’t seen me for some time. Anyway, I’m due for a break, I think. I put it to…’ she paused, then repeated, ‘I put it to Marie Anne, and she agreed that I could have a fortnight.’

  ‘That was kind of her.’

  Now she did give a slight laugh, as she said, ‘Yes; yes, it was.’

  ‘Well now, Sarah Foggerty, that’s your official version; but what’s the true one? Yesterday, there was no talk of you going on holiday, nor when I left you last night.’

  ‘No; it was…it was a quick decision.’

  ‘People don’t make quick decisions unless there are reasons, valid ones. Now, out with it. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, Don; nothing untoward, just that I’m in need of…well, say a break in order to bring myself down to earth. I’ve been living in the upper layer of clouds for a long time now, and you don’t see life as it really is from that height. I’ve had it too good of late.’

  ‘Don’t talk silly, woman. You’ve never had it too good in your life. You’ve never had your due, and no matter how kind they are to you down there, it’s no repayment for what you have done for them, and what you go on doing for them daily, from the old man downwards. And he certainly appreciates your presence in that house. It’s an awful fact that nobody of your type, the selfless type, ever gets a fair deal or their due because, no matter how you feel, you put on an act. Rising to the occasion, the Brothers would call it, and they have to do a lot of it. You see, I know, you, Sarah; I know you like I know myself. See here.’ He reached out for her hand, which was near her cup, only for her to exclaim, ‘Look out, will you! Just look at the tray cloth; that’s a mess for you.’

  ‘Damn the tray cloth!’ He lifted the whole table to one side; then hitching himself nearer to her, he gripped her hand, saying, ‘Come on; we’re friends, you and I, Sarah, two of a kind, very special friends. You know it and I know it, and we’re joined together by the affection that we hold for one person, isn’t that so?’

  She looked into his face, but did not give him any answer, and so he remained silent for almost a minute; and then he asked softly, ‘Something, perhaps, has happened between you and her?’

  ‘No, no, no! Nothing, nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. What is it?’

  He let go of her hands, sat back from her, turned his head to the side as if thinking, and then said, ‘No, no; not that! She couldn’t take umbrage at that.’

  ‘Don, listen to me. I don’t want to talk about yesterday, or anything else, I just want to get away for a time and be quiet, or be among the noisy rough gang on the third floor of Ramsay Court, where I know I shall be able to pull myself together. You see, Don, I’m all at sea in a leaky sculler, you could say.’

  ‘That’s daft talk, and you know it. Look at me.’

  ‘I’m looking at you, and you’re quite nice to look at. Oh yes, you’re quite nice to look at.’

  ‘None of your soft soap. I’m going to ask you a question. Is all this swift change due to our spontaneous piece of operatic acting yesterday?’

  She actually laughed now as she repeated, ‘Operatic acting! Was that how it looked? When I come to think about it, it must have, at least to most of them, especially so when Miss Brown pushed forward to say her piece. I liked her for that.’

  ‘I’m right, then. I even guessed it yesterday, when she never opened her mouth to me, nor to you either, I noticed. But I should be glad, I should really be over the moon, because it proves something to me which I would rather have proved in a different way, because I wouldn’t have you hurt for the world, Sarah’—he again had hold of her hand—‘you’re such a fine woman. And let me tell you, I’m not at all sorry that I voiced my gratitude to you yesterday as I did. I knew that behind the laughter there was likely the overall thought “how embarrassing; fancy him voicing a thing like that.” But that didn’t matter to me…Sarah Foggerty, if you cry I shall cry too and that will make me appear more unmanly still.’

  Sarah sniffed loudly, then blew her nose, saying, ‘You! Unmanly? You’re more man than anyone I know of.’

  Don laughed, saying, ‘There you go again. You’re asking for a repeat of yesterday, Miss Foggerty. Look! Let’s have some fresh tea.’

  ‘No more tea for me, Don’—Sarah had risen to her feet—‘I’ve got to get back. I said I was just going out for a short walk, but I thought I would like to tell you myself what’s going to happen.’

  He was now standing over her, saying, ‘What d’you mean, what’s going to happen? You’re going for only a fortnight, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’

  ‘Sarah. Sarah. Now…oh please, don’t desert her; she’d never get over it. She loves you above everyone else; I know she loves you, and her gratitude to you is so deep there are no words to explain it. I know that from the way she has talked to me about you.’

  ‘We’ll see. We’ll see, Don.’

  ‘You’re not going on that, we’ll see; now promise me you’ll come back in a fortnight.’

  ‘I can’t, Don, I can’t promise; not the way I’m feeling now.’ She gave a wry smile as she added, ‘I feel like me Aunt Harriet must have done when, after forty-seven years, me Uncle Patrick walked out on her. Everybody in the family and for miles around knew how he adored her. They were married when she was sixteen and he eighteen. He was forever praising her to the skies. Nothing on this earth would separate them but death, he’d say. Then one day, when he was sixty-five years old, he ups and tells her he’s leaving her. I understand that his last words to her were, “All good things must come to an end”. The woman he went off with was just on forty, and when the family commiserated with Aunt Harriet, all she could say to them was “All good things must come to an end”. There is a tie between the two incidents if you think about it, Don, although mine lasted only two years, not forty-seven.’

  He said nothing but when he bent forward to kiss her, she turned her cheek to him and he kissed it; then in a thick voice, she said, ‘Goodbye, Don,’ and she had opened the door and was on the step before he answered, ‘Goodbye, Sarah.’

  She was some yards along the path before he went to the door; but he didn’t follow her; he just watched until she was lost to his sight, when he went back in and closed the door. He stood with his back to it, his teeth grinding together, and through them he brought out the words, ‘Damn her!’ then couldn’t believe he had uttered them.

  PART FOUR

  One

  ‘The house hasn’t been the same since she left.’

  ‘No, Grandpa.’

  ‘Do you miss her?’

  ‘Yes; yes, of course I miss her, Grandpa; of course I do.’

  ‘Well, you’ve been very
quiet of late; you’ve hardly spoken about her. You know, Mary Anne, I never thought I would say this about a servant, but I felt she was an asset to this place, that she did something for us all. She made me laugh and want to laugh and I’ve never before experienced anything like that in my life from either my equals or my superiors, and certainly not from a servant. But then she was a different kind of servant; she was your friend. She was the woman who gave you back to me; and she herself should’ve been back here yesterday; her fortnight’s leave was up then, wasn’t it? And I want her back to get rid of this nurse you’ve planted on me. Who needs a nurse for a cold?’

  ‘You haven’t a cold, Grandpa, you have severe bronchitis, and arthritis, too; and if you would do what you’re told, it would help everyone all round.’

  ‘The woman’s a fool. And so the quicker you get Foggerty back here, the better. What’s keeping her, anyway?’

  ‘It’s Annie, Grandpa, her sister; she’s not well.’

  ‘Yes I know’—with a bellow the old man interrupted Marie Anne—‘yes, I know Annie’s her sister. I know all about the family, from Shane the clever one to the last one in the basket. She would talk to me about them on the quiet.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘Yes, she did; and about other things too. At bottom she is a very wise woman. She isn’t the Irish idiot she at times makes herself out to be for our amusement. That’s all it is; to keep others happy. Anyway, when did you last write to her?’

  ‘The day before yesterday.’