Jane Forxworthy

by Paul Kelly

  “There, there, Darling. Don’t fret so . . Here take this and wipe your mouth, There’s a good girl.”

  Danny grabbed the handkerchief, but she did not wipe her mouth which was frothing by this time. She threw it to the floor and tried to get out of the car.

  “No . . .wait, Darling. Be careful. The ground is wet, you could fall.” Evie called out but Danny was racing up towards the house, before she could prevent her from going. As the girl reached the front door, it was opened suddenly by the old man. Surprisingly, he had a shotgun in his hand and his face shook with rage as his eyes stood out from his head in anger. They were blazing, as Evie called out again for Danny to wait for her, but McPherson reached out and pulled the child into the house, grabbing her savagely by the arm. Evie was alarmed and called out again for Danny to come back to the car. She was afraid of the consequences if the child went into the house, of what would happen to her and she was sorry that she hadn’t stopped farther away from the wretched place, so that Danny could have composed herself before McPherson saw her.

  “Leave her Mr. McPherson, please,” she called out in fear, “She’s only a child and we have had such a lovely time shopping in the village.”

  McPherson only grew more annoyed as he glared at Evie.

  “She’ll do as she’s told Madam . . child or woman, as long as she lives here and I’d thank you to mind your own business.”

  Evie could feel her own anger being aroused at his attitude but she thought of Danny and forced a pleading smile.

  “But Mr. McPherson . . .” she blurted, but he cut her short before she could continue any further in what she wanted to say to him.

  “Get off my land, woman. We don’t talk tae strangers.”

  Evie could hear Danny whimpering inside the house as McPherson strode back inside and banged the door behind him as he shouted into the air.

  “AND DON’T COME BACK! !”

  Evie stood beside the car door feeling that her wings had been well and truly clipped and thinking what an insufferable, beastly, ignorant, selfish creature Old McPherson was. She wanted the opportunity to confront him face to face with her litany of abuse, but she knew it was not the time to do it. No wonder his wife committed suicide, she thought . . . and then rebuked herself for her own lack of control and bad taste.

  “How could I ever stoop to think such a thing,” she asked herself aloud as she jumped back into the car and started to drive off, but as she reversed a little to get back into the lane, she caught sight of Danny’s tear-stained face for a moment at one of the upstairs windows. The pale face was there one minute and the next it had disappeared, with only a flimsy net curtain flying defiantly in the air.

  ***

  She decided to call in on Jane Foxworthy on her way home. Wills would be home late that evening and she had plenty of time on her hands and besides, she gathered from the way Cynthia spoke, that her aunt wasn’t very well.

  “Hello Jane . . I heard from Cynthia this morning that you are unwell,” she said anticipating that she had presumed correctly and waited for an answer, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Evie slung her coat over the hall stand as Miss Foxworthy closed the front door and escorted her into the lounge, but there was a long pause before Jane Foxworthy made her response.

  “It’s my arthritis, you know Dear . . that’s all, but then you have to expect that sort of thing at my age, I suppose . . Oh! dear . . Can I get you a cup of tea. So kind of you to come to see me.”

  “No Jane. You sit down and I’ll make the tea. I can find everything I need in the kitchen I’m sure.”

  She had presumed rather hastily, as the tea was in the sugar bowl and the coffee tin was filled with sugar. However, it took her only a few moments to sort things out, until she was eventually able to return to the lounge with a tray, two mugs, one of which was chipped and had been a present from Arbroath by the writings on the side. She took that one herself and a few digestive biscuits that she found in the bread bin.

  “Do you take sugar Jane?”

  “Oh! No Dear. Never touch it. Size ten and all that, you know. Got to watch the figure.”

  “Yes, of course Jane . . but how are you Dear? I mean, apart from the arthritis, although goodness knows that’s bad enough. Cynthia told me you weren’t very well when I saw her in the shop,” she lied.

  Jane Foxworthy rubbed her hands together and blew into her palms.

  “Oh! Cyn. exaggerates, my Dear . . You know what she’s like. Silly girl. Bloody cold in here isn’t it?”

  Evie studied her friend and she was concerned for the way she looked.

  “I could call the doctor, if you like Jane. You don’t look at all well to me.”

  Jane Foxworthy gave a throaty laugh.

  “At my age, young lady, you’re not expected to look all bright and rosy . . and I tend to look a lot worse than I am . . until I’ve had a chance to make my face up, you know. I have that complexion that makes you look permanently ill, I think. All pale and sticky at the best to times. Get that from my father. He was always pale and sick lookin’, but he lived until he was ninety four, for all that.”

  Evie lowered her eyes and looked into her mug of tea.

  “I wish there was something I could do for you anyway Jane.” she pleaded quietly, but Jane Foxworthy closed her eyes and sat back wearily in her chair. She winced a little and her face became distorted. Evie was startled for a moment until Jane retrieved a bottle from behind the cushion on the armchair where she was sitting and put it on the floor.

  “For my chest, you know Dear,” she announced as she nodded in confirmation and produced a tiny lace handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose gently.

  “I wish you would let me help you Jane,” Evie pleaded again, but in vain. Jane Foxworthy closed her eyes, in bird-like fashion and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You could get me a glass from the kitching Dear . . That would help,” Jane said and Evie did as she was told, regardless of the logic of her action . . or lack of it.

  “Evie . .” Jane took the glass from Evie and looked into her eyes, “I haven’t been asol . . asol . . absolutely straight with you Dear, when we last spoke . . You know. .? I mean . . I didn’t want you to call round to see me, because I have been rather ashamed . . ashamed of what I told you and hopin’ that you would forgive me for bein’ so deceptive.”

  Evie remembered the confession and hoped Jane would not continue in her bizarre memories . . unless of course, she had more to add. . . She topped up her tea with some milk to cool it.

  “There is no need for forgiveness Jane. Why we only chatted about things in general. There is no reason for you to feel the way you do and besides, everybody tells things their own way and a little . . well, colour does help. That’s not deception Jane. I understand.”

  Jane Foxworthy lifted the bottle unashamedly, uncorked it between her teeth and raised it to her lips, ignoring the glass that Evie had brought her from the kitchen as she kept her eye steadily on her visitor. Evie looked stunned. She was sure Miss Foxworthy wore dentures . . . .

  “You don’t understan’ Evie . .”

  She returned the bottle to the floor again and belched, leaving Evie to ponder if she was in for a repeat confession of what she had already heard. Jane’s opening line of how she ‘didn’t understan’,” seemed to her to be a fore warning, but she sipped her tea and waited.

  “You just don’t understan’ anythin’, my Dear and it’s better that you shouldn’t.” Jane hesitated and blew her nose again as she looked bleary-eyed at the bottle on the floor beside her. “For my chest, you know,” she whispered and pointed a shaking finger at the medicine. . .

  “But I do understand Jane. I really do. You must believe me.”

  “Now there you go again. You understan’ . . You understan’, YOU DON
’T UNDERSTAN’, DARLIN’ “ Jane screwed up her face as she spoke, “ This bloody stuff’s a killer. My liver must be rotting with it.”

  Evie was about to say she understood again, but she quickly drew back.

  “Jane. . Jane dear, please let me help you.”

  The spinster dried a tear from her eye and forced a smile.

  “Help? . . Help? . .I think I’m past that now Dear,” she said and Evie put her mug down on the coffee table as she moved nearer to her friend. She put her arms around Jane’s frail shoulders and pressed her cheek to her head.

  “It’s never too late to talk, Jane. I’ve told you that already and I mean it. That’s what friends are for, you know.”

  Jane Foxworthy lowered her head and her hands shook in her lap.

  “I wish I could believe you . . I really, really do. I wish . . I wish . . Oh! I wish I were dead.”

  “Jane, Jane. You mustn’t talk like that. I am here to help you. I’m here because I love you Dear and I want to help. Please don’t say that again.”

  The old lady shuddered where she sat and her eyes softened at the words she had just heard.

  “If you don’t mind Dear, I think I’ll just go back to bed for a little while after all. Cyn. will be able to manage in the shop without me for now, I suppose . .and it’s nearly closin’ time anyway. Isn’t it? It’s not often I do anythin’ like this, you know. I mean, leavin’ her on her own or anythin’ like that.”

  Evie sympathised, but she was genuinely worried about her friend.

  “Is there anything I can get you then Jane. Would you like me to get you a little light supper of some kind . . . . or something else before I leave?”

  “No thank you Evie. I feel a little tired and I think I could sleep now. Didn’t sleep at all well last night . .. but then my veins keep me awake. Can’t bear to let the blankets lie on these old legs, Dear. Are your veins alright, Evie? Well of course they are, why I can see you’ve got such lovely legs.”

  Jane Foxworthy bent down a little to see Evie’s legs more clearly as she lifted her skirt and nearly fell off her chair.

  “Come on Jane. I’ll help you up to bed, Dear and tuck you in for the evening. I’ll ring you again in the morning to see if you’re alright, so don’t even think of going into the shop until we find out how you are, alright?”

  Jane Foxworthy ignored Evie’s solicitations.

  “Ah! Yes, I can see you’ll never have any trouble with veins, Dear, but watch your back. Did I ever tell you about my back and the trouble I’ve had through the years with that?”

  Evie hesitated as the bottle moved from behind the cushion on the chair and fell to the floor. She picked it up and shoved it back again, trying not to distract Miss Foxworthy from her ‘back trouble’.

  “I think you did, Dear . . and very painful it was, as I remember, but you’re alright now, aren’t you?”

  “Well for the moment, I am Dear,” Miss Foxworthy explained as she rose from the chair with Evie’s help, “But these things are always with you and can come back again at any time, you know. . . and no warnin’ given, either . . . .” she emphasized and Evie helped her back into her bed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WILLS LEFT ‘BRIGADOON’ VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING with his notes on what he had to say to the Committee in the Boardroom before lunch. He had been in Scotland for the past six months and had made a very thorough study of the situation as he found it there. His mind was full of the things he had to talk about and in particular, the subjects that needed emphatic and immediate attention as he rehearsed his speech in the car and drove away from the house, up through the hills, oblivious of the magical stillness that surrounded him and which he would never have experienced in the Smoke. . . He reflected earlier on what Chief Fire Officer McKenzie had reported the evening before . . and more excitedly than he had planned. Two more remnants of explosive had been found in the rubble, but it couldn’t be ruled out that they were from old stock. There was no indication that they had been recently used, but Wills was determined to find out when the last consignment of cordite had been required and who signed for it. . . in Miss Palmer’s book, where the records had previously shown that none had been withdrawn from stores for a very long time. That would be the first on his list of assignments for that day.

  He studied the hoarfrost as it lay heavily across the silvery shimmering lane in front of him, undisturbed by any traffic as yet at that early hour and he crackled his way across the dusty white surface, his wheels sparking clear diamonds of tiny cobbles into the nearby grass verge with its highlights of glittering dew. The sun had risen lazily only thirty minutes before, spreading her orange glow of pulsating life into the gigantic horizon that lay before him. As he drove on, he became even more aware of the catalyst of ethereal beauty that would normally have taken his breath away, but the pressure of his thoughts bedimmed his eyes. His words of admonition were automatically snapped into his brain, like a stud, eager to be released and catapulted against the enemy. It was a force that had selfishly embedded itself into a peaceful world, distorting it in self-righteousness and pomposity. A force and a lethargy that would not permit any other interest, but its own and the matter had to be brought to light. He knew that, but he wished someone else could have done it. It should have been done long before he was commissioned to do it. The rot had set in and the maggots of self-indulgence had grown too fat.

  ***

  Evie had watched his car disappear, hill after hill, until he was no more than a slow moving speck in the distance. Her heart went with him and she lisped a prayer for his success. She hoped that they would listen to what he had to say in the selfless logic of his argument, but her own mind was distracted by a triangle that tormented her own mentation. There was Jane Foxworthy, Angus McPherson and a child called Danny . . .

  “I must remember to telephone Jane and see how she is this morning,” she sighed as she allowed the curtain to fall across her vision in the window.

  ***

  The murmuring continued as he walked into the board room. He had heard them as he stood outside the door before making his entry and had hoped that they might desist with some satisfaction in the remedies he had proposed to make to those concerned, but he was very wrong in his assumption.

  “We have a different system of working here . . a different style entirely from London and I don’t see why we have to change,” someone called out before he had a chance to speak.

  “We have never had complaints in the past and if the system is working well, why do we have to do something to change it?”

  Wills raised his hands and pleaded for silence as he stood up to defend his new plans for the future of the Company, but he stood there for over three minutes before the protestations of the irate murmuring ceased. He took a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of him and cleared his throat.

  “Black bastard,” he heard someone hiss, but he ignored that remark, treating it with the contempt that it deserved.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, feeling hypocritical as he stared at the sea of hostile eyes before him. “Gentlemen, I understand much of what you are saying and I would like to emphasize very clearly, before I say anything else, that I never asked to come here, to do what I now feel is necessary, if I didn’t have that view before. I never wanted to probe into your ways of working here in Scotland, but I would also like to say now that I am here, that the correct system of getting things done and done efficiently and economically is not peculiar to London.”

  There was another wave of subdued grumbling at this point, but Wills raised his hands again and studied the faces of the men who sat before him in that boardroom. They were adamant faces; determined faces that showed resentment to everything Wills stood for and it was obvious they had resolved not to change their ways . . whatever he said or how sincerely he said it.He was the wrong man for the jo
b, they concluded. He wasn’t a Scot . . He wasn’t even English. . . My God, he wasn’t even WHITE . . so what the hell could he know about their ways of working?

  Wills knew he would have to make a firm stand and this was the only chance he would have to do it. If he failed in these few moments, he would have failed forever. This was a hard nut to crack and it had to be done in one swift, harsh blow. . . . He held his jaw firm.

  “I know the problems of the building trade, gentlemen. I have been in the trade myself for a long time and have known nothing else in my commercial carer, but gentlemen, what I am saying to you now is of the vital importance. Please believe me. I speak from experience. What we sow today, we will reap tomorrow and if we build on sand, if you will excuse the pun, we will find that our careers will crumble and what is more important and which I consider totally unfair, is that we should leave this crumbling heritage, to the younger men who will follow us tomorrow. What is happening here is inexcusable and you all know what I’m talking about. I don’t have to spell it out to you.”

  Someone shouted ‘bollocks’ and Wills held his silence for a few seconds as he gazed at the floor.

  “No gentlemen . . I disagree with that last remark. A load of bollocks would be more appropriate for the way you are carrying on today . . so think about what I’ve said. You are leaving a legacy of lethargy and sloth, to say the least of what I have found in my report since I have been here and you are leaving this heritage to the next generation who will not be able to sustain goodwill in our profession, through the fault of a few of you, who are too greedy to change your ways. Remember, I don’t say All . . .only a few, but it only takes one bad apple to ruin the barrel. I would ask you finally to think of what will happen if those who follow us . . our sons and even our daughters in this trade . . if they only have sand to build on, because of our selfish neglect. What sort of a cornerstone is that to build upon, I ask you?”