The Round Tower

by Catherine Cookson

  There was the word again; it hadn’t really registered the first time. Pregnant. PREGNANT. Oh, no, no! This couldn’t happen to them. Not only was he mad, she was going mad. The wedding in six weeks’ time. Their position. Oh, Jonathan! He would go insane. This would drive him insane. Jonathan couldn’t stand things like this. When they happened to other people’s daughters he condemned them out of hand; but to his daughter! Where? How? What had they done to deserve this? WHAT? The question was spiralling in her head. She heard the doctor say, ‘Come along now, sit down. It isn’t the end of the world; these things are happening every day.’

  Every day. Every day. Every day. The words carried her into a dead faint.

  Doctor Carr went to the drawing-room door and in no small voice yelled, ‘Emily! Emily!’

  ‘Aye, doctor. What is it?’ Emily came scurrying across the hall. It was one of the quirks of the social set-up that Doctor Carr should also be her doctor.

  ‘Your mistress has fainted.’

  ‘Good God! What caused it?’ She was hurrying past him to the couch.

  ‘She’s had a bit of a shock.’

  ‘About…about Miss Van?’ She was loosening the front of Jane Ratcliffe’s dress as she spoke, and she turned her shrewd glance up at the doctor.

  ‘Yes, about Miss Van.’

  ‘Has she caught something? Infectious or something? She’ll go mad,’ she nodded down towards the prostrate figure, ‘if anything happens to put a spoke in the weddin’.’

  ‘This will put the spoke in a number of things, Emily, if I’m not mistaken. Look, go and make a cup of tea. And be quick about it.’

  Emily straightened up and was in the act of hurrying away when she turned and looked at him and said, ‘God Almighty! You don’t mean…?’

  ‘Yes, I do mean.’ He nodded at her. ‘And go on and get that tea made.’

  Oh no! No! What’s the world comin’ to? NO! Not Miss Van. God in Heaven! She went into the kitchen and stood gripping the edge of the table. That’s what had been wrong with her all these weeks. But who would have suspected Miss Van! Examination nerves, everybody said. Aw, no! No! She just wouldn’t believe it. She rammed the kettle onto the top of the hot plate. But the doctor…the doctor had just examined her. The missis had insisted on him coming because Van wouldn’t get up out of bed to go to school. She kept saying she wasn’t feeling well, and begod, she wouldn’t be feeling well…But who?…Who did the child know? Child? She was a child no longer, she was nearly seventeen. She herself had been married a week after her seventeenth birthday. But in this class, this house, it was different; they were still children at that age. Aw, she answered herself, there were no children these days. But, in any case, God strike them down dead the one who had brought it about. It would be Van this would happen to, the nicest of the bunch; it always happened to the nice ones. ‘Hurry up you!’ She scraped the kettle backwards and forwards on the hot plate.

  The master? Oh, God Almighty! There’d be high jinks the night. When he got wind of this they’d have to tie him down, because he was a sanctimonious prig, was Jonathan Ratcliffe. He went to the most fashionable church in town and subscribed handsomely to the fashionable charities, but let a fellow come to the door and ask for a bit, as they used to years ago—not now; they didn’t need to now—and he showed them what charity was. Oh, there’d be hell to pay the night in this house.

  When she took the tray of tea into the room Jane Ratcliffe was sitting up, her head supported in the wing of the couch, and as Emily held the cup to her lips Doctor Carr said, ‘I think your husband should be here. May I use your phone?’

  For answer Jane Ratcliffe just raised her eyes.

  It took some minutes to convince Jonathan Ratcliffe’s secretary that the doctor had no intention of leaving a message and that he intended to speak to Mr Ratcliffe.

  ‘Yes?’ Jonathan’s voice was abrupt, and Doctor Carr’s matched it as he said, ‘This is Carr speaking. I think it would be wise if you came home for a while.’

  ‘Home? What on earth for? What’s the matter? Something happened?’

  ‘Yes, something’s happened, Mr Ratcliffe.’

  Doctor Carr’s words were clipped. ‘Your wife has collapsed.’

  ‘My wife! But…but I thought you were calling to see Vanessa.’

  ‘I have seen Vanessa.’

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘I don’t think we can go into this on the phone; you’d better come home. I can’t stay; I have another call to make, I’m late already.’ On this he banged down the phone, returned to the drawing room and said quietly, ‘He’ll be here shortly. Now just take it calmly. I’m leaving you some tablets. If you need me give me a ring.’

  Jane Ratcliffe didn’t speak, she didn’t even move her head; she was in a state of shock.

  At the door Doctor Carr motioned Emily towards him, and as he picked his bag up from the hall table he said under his breath, ‘The one upstairs could do with a drink too, Emily.’

  ‘Aye, Doctor, aye. I’ll see to it.’

  But Emily didn’t get the chance to take a tray upstairs until fifteen minutes later, because her missis kept hanging on to her hand, staring up into her face while not uttering a word. That was, until the master walked into the room, and then she released Emily and whimpered, ‘Oh, Jonathan.’

  Emily hurried out of the room with the tea tray in her hand and, standing in the hall for a minute, she wondered whether she could get a cup upstairs in time to fortify the lass before he started on her.

  A few seconds later she knocked gently on Vanessa’s door, then went in.

  Vanessa was sitting on the side of the bed in her dressing gown. To Emily she looked all eyes, teeth and hair. She said softly, ‘You could do with a cup, lass?’

  ‘Emily.’

  Emily looked at the quivering face, and she said, ‘Aye. What is it, hinny?’ She was no longer talking to Miss Vanessa, only to a lass, who, like many another, and better, before her, had been laid down.

  ‘Oh, Emily!’

  ‘Now, now, now, don’t take on. Drink this up. You’ll be havin’ visitors in a minute; your father’s downstairs.’

  The cup rattled on the saucer and Emily had to steady it. ‘Come on now, drink it up.’

  Before Vanessa had drunk half the cup of tea there came the sound of quick muted footsteps across the landing; then the door was thrust open.

  Jonathan Ratcliffe stood aside to allow Emily to leave the room, and he allowed his wife to pass in; then he closed the door quietly, which spoke of the control he had put himself under. But when he looked at his daughter sitting with bowed head on the side of the bed his control vanished, and he almost sprang towards her.

  ‘Look at me!’

  Her head remained bowed until his hand shot out and jerked her chin up. He did not say, ‘Is this true?’ but, ‘You dirty, dirty little slut! You filthy little slut!’ There were dobbles of saliva spurting from between his clenched teeth. ‘Who was it?’

  Petrified, she stared up into his face. This is what she had been afraid of, this moment, in case her fear of him would cause her to betray Brett. She knew she must do nothing until Brett came and he would do the telling. He would stand up to her father. This once he would stand up to her father.

  ‘Answer me, girl.’

  When the only answer he got was the wide stare from her eyes it was too much. He struck her once, twice, three times before she fell backwards over the bed.

  Jane Ratcliffe was clinging to him now crying, ‘Jonathan! Jonathan, no! Not that.’ She forced him back, afraid herself now of the wild stare in his eyes which he kept fixed on his daughter. Using all her strength, she led him out of the room.

  On the landing, he stood, his eyes unblinking as he fought the desire to return to the room and tear every stitch off her and flay her until she cried out for mercy. He should have done it. He glared at his wife for a full minute; then, taking a handkerchief, he rubbed the sweat and saliva from around his mouth.


  ‘What’s to be done? What’s to be done?’ Jane was whimpering now.

  He moved down the landing, still wiping his mouth; then ground out through his handkerchief, ‘She’ll have it taken away.’

  ‘Taken away? But Jonathan, that’s illegal.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, woman!’ He turned on her. ‘Nothing’s illegal if you can pay well enough for it. But one thing is certain; there’s going to be no baby born on the side in this house. And think, just think what this will mean if the Braintrees get wind of it; it could ruin everything. Their outlook might be modern but they’re narrow underneath. Remember the other night? Remember when he was on about cleaning up certain quarters of the town?’ He put his hand to his head, then turned and looked towards Vanessa’s room again and asked, ‘Who? Who? That’s what I want to know.’ When he brought his infuriated gaze round to her he demanded, ‘Have you no idea?’

  She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I can’t think, I don’t know…anyone.’

  ‘Well, you should know, woman. It’s your duty to know. There’s a man somewhere, boy or man; she can’t be having a baby through auto-suggestion.’

  As they went down the stairs Ray came from the narrow passage that led to the second bathroom and he watched his parents’ heads disappear before turning and looking towards Vanessa’s door. Vanessa was going to have a baby. He knew how people had babies; Clive at school had told him. He had shown him how it was done in the lavatories…He bit on his lip. Vanessa was going to have a baby. He was grinning as he went out down the back staircase to Michael’s tree house. He would whistle to Michael, he should be back from school now. He would tell him Vanessa was going to have a baby.

  Emily stood at the table and looked at Angus where he was standing with his coat in his hand. He had taken it off but he hadn’t hung it up. She said, ‘I wanted to tell you afore Rosie got in. I promised him faithfully I wouldn’t utter a word. He got me in the study and made me swear I wouldn’t let on. They’re goin’ to have it taken away as far as I can gather…Don’t look like that, lad, but I know how you feel. I’ve never got such a gliff in me life. Honest to God, I was floored.’

  ‘Can’t be true.’ Angus’s voice was rumbling in his throat. ‘Van? No, not her. She’s only a kid and—’

  ‘Look, lad, you know as well as me, they’re hardly out of the cradle afore they’re fallin’ with bairns these days. You haven’t to go any further than three doors down. Fourteen years old.’

  ‘Oh, I know, I know.’ His voice was suddenly high and harsh. ‘But you don’t judge the world on Betty Halliday, do you? We’re talking about Vanessa Ratcliffe…How did it happen? Was she raped?’

  ‘Oh, lad!’ Emily put her hand to her head, swinging it from side to side. ‘You’re askin’ me, and they’re askin’ her, and they can’t get one word out of her. And they don’t know any fellow she’s been with. She doesn’t go round with fellows; she hasn’t even got a boyfriend. There were three lasses, Lucy Fulton, Kathy Young, and that Rona girl. They come to the house for tea. Those are all she ever sees. At least, that’s what everybody thought…And then they nearly had another casualty on their hands. I thought Susan was going to go clean up the pole. She went up the stairs and I heard her screaming from down in the kitchen. The missis had to go up an’ stop her. You know, it could put a spoke in that one’s wheel, a scandal like this.’ Emily sighed now and ended, ‘Well, there’s nowt we can do about it, so go and have a wash, and by that time your tea’ll be ready.’

  He went towards the scullery, saying, ‘I’ve got no appetite the night, I’ll just have a cup of tea for now.’

  ‘You’ll eat your tea. I’ve cooked it.’ She was barking at him.

  In the scullery he stripped off his shirt and went to the sink and began to wash himself, pausing every now and again to stare at the wall. He felt sick, actually sick, like he did sometimes on a Sunday morning when he had gone over his quota on a Saturday night, and he knew this was only the beginning. Later on tonight, when he was in bed and could think quietly, it would be worse.

  As he dried himself he stood looking out of the window onto the backyard, and he did not think, ‘Poor kid. What luck!’ but aggressively, ‘Why had she to do it? Her!’ She had been a kind of symbol to him, the queen who smiled at the shoemaker, the princess who touched the hand of the swineherd. He had likened her to the characters in the books that had once been Susan’s and hers and had been passed on to Rosie. She had been in his mind something so aloof that even when he thought of her he had to look upwards. She was, he realised at this moment with a mixture of astonishment and scorn at himself for being such a fool, the reason why he had cooled off May when she let on about having the other fellows. He had indeed been a bloody fool. He didn’t like feeling a bloody fool. He turned to the kitchen door and said, ‘She could have been attacked or somethin’.’

  ‘I don’t think so, lad,’ said Emily flatly. ‘If that had happened she would have come home in a state at the time. Lasses don’t keep things like that to themselves. No, it was no rape to my way of thinkin’. But whoever it is, she’s keepin’ mum about him. But, oh, the look on her face as she sat on the side of that bed when I took a cup of tea up to her. That is afore he saw her. She looked like all the lost souls in the Bible; all eyes she was and them full of fear. Oh, I can’t explain how she looked. And them gettin’ the doctor for exam nerves. That’s the only funny part about it.’

  He turned back into the scullery. Funny part…exam nerves. By aye. She had exam nerves all right. That is why she had been wandering around the fells in the rain and he had taken her home as if she was a little bairn who had lost her way. Oh, she must have been laughing up her sleeve at him. God, but wasn’t he the bloodiest of bloody fools. He recalled how he felt as he walked by her side, proud, sort of humble and grateful, all mixed up together. He had always felt grateful to her because she spoke to him. But all the while they had walked over the fells she was pregnant. She had been with a fellow. She knew all about it.

  He wondered how many times she had done it, and who with. Likely some pimply groping grammar-school twerp, some sixth-former; a boy at school, but a man when he got out of the gates and stuffed his school cap in his pocket.

  ‘Come an’ get your tea.’

  He went into the kitchen and, looking down at the two chops bordered by fried potatoes and tomatoes, he said, ‘I couldn’t stomach it.’

  Emily glared at him for a moment; then, wagging her head, she said flatly, ‘All right, we’ll say nothin’ more about it. I’ll warm it up after for you. Go and get yourself changed and have a pint; you’ll feel better.’

  Yes, he’d get himself changed and have a pint. But he wouldn’t feel better; he’d only feel more of a so and so fool because the beer would unlock the secret places in himself, that only it and dreams had the power to do; places in which he would wander as he had done on the fells the other day and hold conversations with her. He didn’t just talk at these times, he conversed, speaking correctly. He always spoke correctly in the secret places; there was nothing about himself to be ashamed of in the secret places. He had no need to be aggressive in the secret places for there he had an ease of mind and a demeanour that could only elicit admiration—and from the one person he wanted, had always wanted, admiration…

  He returned at eleven o’clock. He had been on the hard, and Emily had to put him to bed and she was dismayed. She had always known he was fond of Miss Vanessa, right from he was a bairn, but not all that fond. You see, you thought you knew everything, but there were things you didn’t know, even about your own.

  In the kitchen Rosie asked, ‘What’s brought this on in the middle of the week?’ and Emily replied, ‘Miss Van; he’s cut up.’

  ‘Huh!’ said Rosie. ‘What the hell for! That’s rich, that is. He wants to tell that to May.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Emily. ‘You can be sorry for her.’

  ‘Sorry for her, me backside. She had everything, an’ she wanted that an’ all
; she couldn’t wait. She’s asked for it, an’ boy, she’s got it. Sorry for her! You’re askin’ something, aren’t you? She always got on my wick.’

  What Rosie was saying was that she had sense enough to be jealous of the advantages that had fallen to the lot of Vanessa Ratcliffe and she was now feeling a little compensation for the gaucheness that she experienced whenever she was in Vanessa’s company. That Vanessa was nearly three years younger than herself made no difference, it was her manner that created the disadvantage.

  Four

  Irene Brett hadn’t been so happy for years. She couldn’t wait to go next door to offer her condolences.

  She had made her son repeat again and again what Ray had said to him, and she linked this with having seen Doctor Carr driving in next door when she was coming home not more than two hours ago. She wished her patience would allow her to wait until the day after tomorrow when Arthur would be home. Not that he would feel as she did because in a way he had been fond of Vanessa, always taking her part; but he would be bound to feel some satisfaction over this calamity falling on Jonathan. As great as the difference was between her and Arthur, she could, she told herself, joy with him in this. How are the mighty fallen. Ah, yes, that saying was applicable to their neighbour. It was another Jonathan in the Bible it was said of. She would have to look it up so that she could quote it pat to Arthur when she told him; and she would also point out to him that she had been justified in her suspicions. She could almost say she had been expecting this outcome; she had always known that, beneath that reserve, Vanessa was a cheap little piece. Her choice of a partner had proved that; she couldn’t have picked much lower. Really, really, when you came to think about it.

  She looked at the clock; it was turned seven. She would go next door now…

  Susan opened the door to her and her manner indicated the state of her mind for she stammered and said, ‘Oh, hel-lo, Auntie,’ then added, ‘Mother’s resting.’