Bill Bailey's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  When someone pushed a paper slowly along the table and under the magistrate’s nose, he corrected himself: ‘Oh; barely two days. Well, that was enough. But since that time I understand the defendant has been unable to work and has been suffering from shock.’

  ‘Pardon me for sayin’ so, yer Worship, but he’s always shocked by work, even the word shocks him.’

  ‘Silence in court!’

  ‘I have warned you, Mr Love.’

  ‘Aye, yer Worship. But God in heaven, it’s more than a man can stand to hear him made out as a poor sick individual when we all know he’s…’

  ‘Mr Love!’

  Davey dropped his head, and there followed a heavy silence in the court room. When he again looked up it was to meet a warning glance from Bill sitting at the back of the court; in fact, Bill was rubbing his hand through his hair in an agitated fashion.

  ‘You are a man, Mr Love, I’m afraid, who’ll never learn, either to keep his mouth shut or to keep his hands to himself. Now I am going to pass sentence on you, but before doing so I may tell you the bench is taking into consideration that when you used your hands once before, you were the means of bringing to justice two potential murderers who are now serving sentences for their crime. So this fact alone causes us to temper the punishment we might have given to you for your latest episode. Therefore, we will use leniency and commit you to one hundred hours of community work. Also you will pay a fine of one hundred pounds. And I may add, Mr Love, that if you are wise you will decide never to appear in this court again, at least when I’m on the bench. You understand?’

  ‘I do, yer Worship, I do. And honest to God, I promise you you’ve seen the last of me and me of you. Thank you. Thank you, yer Worship.’

  The court stood; the magistrates departed.

  Bill and his solicitor went up to Davey and the solicitor said, ‘Well, not too bad, eh?’

  Davey, who was visibly sweating now, took out a handkerchief and rubbed it round his mouth before saying, ‘I think it was pretty stiff.’

  Bill too now nodding at the solicitor: ‘A hundred working hours and a hundred quid. Phew! Yes, I think I agree with Davey.’

  ‘You don’t know our dear Mr Fellmore,’ said the solicitor under his breath. ‘He must have had a good weekend. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had got the bench to send you down for at least three months.’ He was nodding at Davey. ‘I can tell you you’ve got to thank, not only your friend here’—he inclined his head towards Bill—‘but one or two friends in the force. They raked out the facts that Potter had been in trouble up in London, nothing very big, all petty; and his Worship must have had this made known to him. And, of course, Potter did throw those planks at you before you went for him.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes.’ Bill nodded his agreement.

  ‘What’ll I have to do in that hundred hours?’

  ‘Oh, all kinds of things. You had better come along with me now to the office. One thing I can tell you, you won’t have many weekends free, or even nights, until you’ve served your sentence.’ The solicitor laughed now as he added, ‘You can stop sweating, it’s over. But as his Worship said, I’d watch those hands of yours in the future.’

  Following on this remark Davey was put to the test sooner than he could have expected: he was passing by a group of people in the hallway when a voice said, ‘Community service! He should have been sent along the bloody line, the big-mouthed galoot!’

  ‘Now, now, now!’ said another voice.

  Bill actually felt Davey’s body jerk, but he noticed that he looked straight ahead, his eyes very wide, his chin thrust out; the solicitor had noted Davey’s reaction and he was quick to remark on it ‘You should have ten out of ten for first test passed,’ he said.

  Davey made no remark on this, nor did Bill, for both of them knew how near to another court case Davey had been just a moment previously.

  Davey was warmed and touched by the greeting he received when he returned with Bill to the house. Except for Mark, who was at school, all the children were at home.

  ‘They didn’t want you as governor at Durham then?’ was Nell’s greeting when he entered the sitting room.

  ‘No, Nell; no. They don’t know what they’re missin’, do they? Now I ask you.’

  Fiona said, ‘Oh, thank goodness it’s over. And you won’t mind doing community work, will you?’

  ‘Mrs B. I’d walk on me hands on hot cinders, anything rather than take that van to Durham.’

  Katie said, ‘If they had sent you I would have come and visited you. I would. I really would.’

  ‘Thank you, Katie, me love; and I’d have been delighted to see you. There wouldn’t have been a prettier visitor in that prison.’

  What Willie said was, ‘I told him. I told him all along’—he nodded at Sammy—‘I told him that they wouldn’t dare send you to prison, ’cos you’d knock the he…’—he choked on the word and it brought spluttering laughter from Katie, Mamie and also Nell, but a look of reprimand from his mother, and so he finished with, ‘Well, what I mean is, he would have seen them off. Wouldn’t you, Mr Love?’

  ‘Well, I would have done me best, lad. I would have done me best. An’ what’s me son got to say to me? He hasn’t opened his mouth.’ Davey looked around him as if appealing to the others, saying, ‘Not a word. Not a word.’

  All eyes were on Sammy waiting for an answer; but for once there was no response, only a thrusting out of the lips and a knobbling of the small chin.

  Bill broke the embarrassed silence by handing a glass to Davey, saying, ‘Get that down you, and then get home and out of those fancy togs and back on the job. And, as Nell says, they’ll have the flag out for you.’

  ‘Oh aye? I can see them, and hear ’em: they’ll scoff me lugs off. But what odds.’

  ‘If they scoff your lugs off it’ll be in a kindly fashion. Should it happen though that one or another should say somethin’ that isn’t to your likin’, Mr Love, just you remember what his Worship said.’

  ‘You have no need to press that home, boss, no need whatever. Anyway, thanks for the drink. Thanks for everything.’ He stood up and looked around him. ‘And I’ll say this: there’s one thing I’m sure of in this world, ’tis I’ll never have much money but I feel rich—at this minute I feel like a millionaire, ’cos I’ve got friends like you, large and small, friends like you.’ On this he turned to make for the door; and when Sammy scampered after him, Willie followed, demanding, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m goin’ home with me da.’

  ‘But he’s going to work.’

  ‘I know that; I’ve got ears.’

  ‘Will you come back after?’

  ‘Aye. Aye. I’ll come back after. But now I’m goin’ home.’

  ‘All right, all right, don’t bawl. How long will you be?’

  ‘As long as it takes.’

  Davey had paused to wait for his son and now said to him, ‘Come on you, an’ shut that trap. ’Tis a pity you take after me, ’tis that.’

  The family had followed them into the hall and so Nell, who had opened the door, did not immediately close it after Davey and Sammy, for they all stood watching the very tall man and the very small boy walking down the drive together.

  When Bill said, ‘What am I thinkin’ about? I could have given them a lift,’ Fiona put in quietly, ‘They’ll have more time to be together on their own when they’re walking.’

  ‘There’s the phone!’ Nell said, and Bill turned quickly away towards the stairs, saying, ‘If it’s for me, tell them I’ll be there in the next ten minutes.’

  After picking up the phone Nell listened for a moment, then, lifting her hand, she flapped her fingers slowly towards Fiona. And Fiona, taking the phone from her, said, ‘Hello.’

  ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Yes, Mother?’

  ‘What’s this I’m hearing?’

  ‘What are you hearing now, Mother?’

  ‘I’ve heard you’re moving.’

  ‘
Yes; that’s right.’

  ‘And of course, I’m the last to know. I just couldn’t believe it. When was all this settled?’

  ‘Just before Christmas, Mother.’

  ‘And today is the eighth of January, and you’ve known all the time.’

  ‘Mother!’ Fiona’s voice lost all its evenness and she was almost yelling now: ‘You went away on Christmas Eve to stay with friends, didn’t you? You didn’t tell me what time you were coming back, or if you were coming back. What is more, we weren’t on very amicable terms, so you wouldn’t expect me to run and tell you what was happening here. Anyway, you made your opinion very plain when we last met. So, yes, we are moving, and soon.’

  There was a pause before Mrs Vidler’s voice came again, saying now, ‘And where, may I ask, are you moving to?’

  ‘Well, Mother, for your information, I can tell you that it would be regarded as a small private estate. It is called Burnstead Mere House.’

  ‘Burnstead Mere? You can’t mean…? You don’t mean the Olivers’ place? Sir…Sir Roger Oliver’s house beyond Durham?’

  ‘Yes, that is the house.’

  ‘But…but it is a large place. It’s a…’

  ‘I know, Mother, it’s a large place, with its own swimming pool and large grounds.’

  ‘You’re flying high, aren’t you?’

  ‘Not as high as my husband eventually hopes to fly, Mother.’

  ‘Oh, come off it. Don’t take that attitude with me. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and I’ve told you that before.’

  Fiona drew her head back from the phone. She turned and looked to where Nell was standing near the kitchen door and she actually lifted her clenched fist and shook it. Then her mother’s voice came again: ‘And what about me?’

  ‘What about you, Mother?’

  ‘What if I need help and you are miles away? You forget I’m a woman on my own.’

  ‘What I don’t forget, Mother, is that you are surrounded by your so-called friends. You are rarely in the house; and what is more you are no longer an elderly lady, are you, kicking sixty? You are now, so you would have one understand, a woman in her forties. You could marry again someone of your own age, whichever one you choose.’

  ‘You’re being bitchy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mother, it’s my turn, and not before time.’

  ‘Well, I can be bitchy too, dear, and I’ll say this: the reason he is putting you in a big house out in the wilds is to hide the monstrosity he’s presented you with.’

  When Fiona dropped the phone onto the stand and placed her hands on the edge of the narrow table and, bending forward, rested her head against the wall, Nell came to her immediately and put her arm around her shoulder. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘But need I ask? Oh, she’s a devil of a woman that! Come on. Come on. Come and sit down.’

  Nell now led her into the sitting room, saying hastily, ‘Don’t cry. For goodness sake don’t cry; he’ll be down in a minute. And if she said…oh, I know, it isn’t an “if”, she said something about the child. Well, you know what that’ll do to him. Come on. Come on. Pull yourself together. Look, I’ll get a drink.’ She quickly poured out a sherry.

  ‘Get that down you,’ she said, handing it to Fiona. ‘Oh, here he comes.’

  Fiona turned and looked towards Bill, but she didn’t rise from the couch.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’

  ‘Who was that on the phone?’

  When she hesitated and looked towards Nell, he said, ‘Oh, you needn’t tell me. What had she to say this time?’

  Fiona forced herself to smile. ‘I told her about the house, and she wanted to know what I was going to do about her, this poor old lady left on her own.’

  ‘Oh, tell her we’ve got a granny flat; tell her not to worry.’ Then bending over her, he said, ‘Mrs Bailey, I’d burn that house down before I’d let her into it. So never let your daughterly compassion get the better of you. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Bailey, I understand.’

  He bent and kissed her; then looking at Nell, he said, ‘See that she has a rest; there’s plenty time for the packing.’

  ‘Yes, master. Will do, master.’

  ‘And the same to you.’ He went out laughing. Taking her seat beside Fiona, Nell said, ‘What did she say to knock you out like that?’

  ‘Well, Nell, she said the only thing he was taking the house for was to hide the monstrosity he had given me.’

  ‘Oh, my God! She didn’t!’

  ‘Yes, she did. And you know something? That’s what a lot of people will think. Oh yes, they will. Oh yes, they will. It’s the way of the world, and you can’t escape it.’

  Part Two

  The First Birthday

  One

  ‘Come on, Angela.’

  ‘Come on. Come on, Angie, crawl.’

  ‘Come on, pet. Come on.’

  Bill, Katie and Willie were kneeling at the end of an imitation white fur rug that flanked the large open stone fireplace in which a log fire was blazing. Mark, Sammy and Mamie knelt to the side of it and all their attention was on the child who lay on its stomach with its elbows half hidden in the pile as it rocked from side to side.

  ‘She’s trying. She’ll do it! Come on, my angel, come on.’ Bill held out his hands towards her, and the child, its head up, smiled widely at him, making a gurgling sound. And at this Sammy said, ‘She won’t do it till she’s ready.’

  Fiona, who was sitting on the couch with Nell and Bert, nodded towards Sammy: ‘You’re right, Sammy,’ she said; ‘she won’t do it till she’s ready. I’m told I didn’t walk until I was nearly two.’

  ‘She’ll walk before she’s two. Come on, pet. Come on.’

  Fiona looked down on Bill where he was sitting back on his haunches clapping his hands. How that man loved that child. She loved her too, but not with his intensity. She doubted that had the child been other than she was he would have showered the love on her that he did. He never came into the house but he made straight for her; and whenever he could he held her, bouncing her in his arms, or holding her high above his head, always taking a delight, it would seem, in her gurgling at him. She was a happy child, she rarely cried. However, she understood from the doctor—a new one since they had come to live here—that, as for walking and talking, she would likely be a late developer. He was a very nice man, this Doctor Pringle. He was one of a small group of three doctors and he had told her that there were eight such children in their practice. And, he had added, they were all happy and lovable. He was very reassuring, and there were times, she had to admit to herself, she needed reassurance. That was one thing she couldn’t get from Bill, because he didn’t need it; well, if he did, he hid it, and hid it well.

  But how different everything had been since they had come into this beautiful house. Sometimes she didn’t know whether it was the house or the child; but no, she had to give credit to the child because the children had behaved themselves from the day she had brought Angela home, that awful day when she had been laden down with guilt and shame. And if she was true to herself she must admit that there remained a little of both in her; and she longed to erase it all from her, especially the shame, for why should she be ashamed of this child who had been the means of making her family into a complete unit again? She had been not only irritated but worried by the feeling that had been showing itself between Katie and Willie. Not only did they lash out with their tongues but with their fists. Then their spoiling of Mamie had made her become quite cheeky at times. Mark was the only one who had remained himself. Yet he went for both Katie and Willie, and, of course, they retaliated likewise. But now all that was as if it had never been: she was often amazed to see how Katie and Willie would give way to each other in nursing the child.

  ‘Look!’ cried Willie now; ‘she’s moved her back leg. She’s bringing it up.’

  ‘She hasn’t got a back leg, you idiot!’ Katie pushed him. ‘But yes: she is! Sh
e is, Dad. Look! She is.’

  ‘She is that,’ said Bill in awestruck tones as if he was experiencing a minor miracle. ‘See that, Mrs B?’

  ‘What I see,’ said Fiona, ‘is that she is being roasted by that fire. Give her here!’ She pushed Mark on the shoulder, and he, bending forward, lifted up the child; then, swinging round on his knees, he put her onto Fiona’s lap.

  ‘A burglar could walk into this place and clear half the house and nobody would notice.’

  The children sprang up and all eyes were turned towards the door at the end of the long room. And it was Katie who ran forward, saying, ‘You’re back then. You’re back.’

  As she linked her arm in Rupert’s he said, ‘Well, if I’m not, my ghost couldn’t keep away.’

  ‘Hello there.’ Bill walked forward to greet Rupert, saying to Katie, ‘Stop being a nuisance, you. Let the fella get in.’

  ‘Katie!’ Fiona too called to her daughter now, quietly but firmly; then she added, ‘Take Rupert’s coat.’

  ‘When did you get back from Scotland? Sit yourself down. Do you want a drink?’

  ‘I got back last night. And yes, oh yes, I could do with a drink.’

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ It was Katie by his side again; and he smiled at her and said, ‘May I have something a little stronger, miss?’

  Katie looked towards Bill. He nodded, then turned back to Rupert and said, ‘Would you like it hot? You look frozen. A lot of snow up there?’

  Again Rupert answered two questions at once: ‘That would be very acceptable; hot, and brown sugar.’ He smacked his lips. ‘And yes, there was quite a covering of snow. Three-foot drifts in parts. You’ll get it next.’

  ‘How is Lady Kingdom?’

  Rupert turned to Fiona and answered her: ‘Rather lost. They had been married over fifty years, you know; and they’d known each other ten years before that. But her family are very supportive: they all want her to go and live with them, but, as she said, she would then have one leg in Somerset, the other in Jersey, and an arm in Harrogate.’