The Round Tower

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes, I expect she is, Susan, but I just want to see her for a minute.’ She slipped into the hall and turned and faced Susan, who was slowly closing the door. Then bending towards her, she whispered, ‘I…I don’t know whether to believe it or not, children carry such tales, but if it isn’t true, your mother should do something with Ray.’

  ‘Ray!’ Susan moved her head in small jerks. ‘What’s…what’s Ray done?’

  ‘It’s not what Ray’s done, it’s what he’s said. Look, Susan; is your mother in the lounge?’ She turned and walked across the hall, and Susan, after a moment’s hesitation followed her almost at a run and pushed open the door, saying, ‘It’s Aunt Irene, Mother.’

  Jane Ratcliffe turned sharply round. Her face was pale and her eyes red, and on the sight of Irene Brett she turned as sharply away again, saying, ‘Oh, Irene, I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Yes, dear, I expect you have. I…I was just saying to Susan, I thought I had better come over. It’s about Vanessa.’

  Jane Ratcliffe looked as if she had been frozen into stillness. Her body slightly twisted, she stood gaping at Irene Brett, then she almost whimpered, ‘Vanessa?’

  ‘Yes.’ Irene’s voice was low and sympathetic. ‘Ray has told Michael something utterly fantastic and I think you should speak to him.’ She looked now from Jane to Susan, and unmercifully she went on, ‘He said that…Well, I really don’t know how to put it, but he said that…well, the fact is he said that she is going to have a baby.’ Her voice faded away as if in shock, and for the second time that day Jane Ratcliffe almost fainted. She groped backwards at a chair and sat down; then looked up at her daughter, and Susan turned away and walked towards the fireplace.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry; Jane. Oh, I am. It’s appalling. What can I say? What a terrible thing to happen. I…I didn’t believe it, but, well, if it’s true he should be horsewhipped, or put in jail. If I had him up before me, oh I would give him enough time to cool him down I can assure you. It’s a pity the birch has gone. I say that again and again.’

  Both Susan and her mother were staring at Irene now.

  ‘You know who…who it is?’ It was Susan asking the question, and Irene looked at her and her eyebrows moved slowly upward as she asked on a high, surprised note that sounded genuine, ‘Don’t you?’

  Susan turned her gaze on her mother, and Jane Ratcliffe, calling to her aid all the dignity of which she was capable, straightened her back and said, ‘Who do you imagine has done this thing to Vanessa, Irene?’ She asked the question as if she herself already knew the name of the perpetrator.

  ‘Well,’ Irene shook her head as if in perplexity. ‘I mean…Well, I thought. Well, it’s no use beating about the bush. I’ve told Arthur about the number of times I’ve seen them together, and Michael saw them last Sunday from up in the tree house. He saw them coming across the river. He was with Ray; they shouted to them.’

  ‘They shouted to them! Who? Who was with her?’

  ‘Why, Angus, Emily’s Angus. Didn’t you know?’

  Jane’s hand went slowly to her throat. She told herself that she mustn’t faint, not again. She had thought that nothing worse could happen, but it had, and the consequences were terrifying. Angus Cotton…Emily’s Angus. NO. She could never have degraded herself with Angus Cotton; he must have taken advantage of her. That was the only thing; he had taken advantage of her. Yes! Yes! That was it, and she was frightened to say anything, knowing how they all valued Emily’s services…Emily’s services? Oh, no! Oh, no! This would mean she would lose Emily. It was too awful. What would Jonathan say? What was more to the point, what would he do? In anger Jonathan could be terrible. Oh, why had this come upon them? Why? And Irene Brett standing there gloating. She got to her feet, saying, ‘If you’ll excuse me, Irene. I’m sure you understand…’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Jane; I understand. And if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, I’ll only be too—’

  ‘Thank you. Show Irene out, Susan.’ She didn’t say Aunt Irene, and the tone she used and the words themselves were in the form of an insult, as she meant them to be; and of this Irene Brett was aware, but she continued to smile her sympathetic smile, and she touched Susan’s hand at the door as she said, ‘Goodbye, Susan dear. And I wouldn’t let it upset any of your plans.’

  ‘Cat! Mean, narrow-faced cat!’ Susan was speaking aloud as she re-entered the lounge, and going straight to her mother she stood before her and cried, ‘Angus Cotton. No wonder she wouldn’t say anything. Angus Cotton. Dear Lord! Can you believe it, Mother? Angus Cotton!’

  Jane Ratcliffe could believe it; yes, she could believe it. Vanessa had always been fond of Emily’s Angus. But she knew she must never voice this. She looked up at Susan and said, ‘He must have forced her.’

  Susan was scornful. ‘She’s not a child.’

  ‘She’d be a child in his hands; he’s a great big bulky individual.’

  Susan turned away, her face screwed up in distaste, saying, ‘Bulky. Horrible. The big oaf!’ Then swinging round again, she demanded, ‘What am I going to do? It’s out now; it’ll be all over the town tomorrow. I could murder that boy.’ She clenched her fists, then ended, ‘Why did you have to talk in front of him?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jane Ratcliffe wearily. ‘As if we would have said anything if we had known he was about. He must have been outside the door or somewhere when we were upstairs.’ She put her hands to her head as she added, ‘And when your father comes in I just daren’t think what will happen. I just daren’t think.’

  ‘I can see something even worse than that. Just think what will happen when you confront Emily with this tomorrow morning. Have you thought of that?’

  Yes, in a way she had thought of it. Not what Emily’s reactions would be, but that Emily would now leave her. The thing she feared had come upon her.

  Emily stood for a full minute without speaking; then she startled her mistress by yelling, ‘You’re a bloody liar! And she is an’ all if she says it’s him.’

  ‘Emily! You’re forgetting yourself.’ Jane Ratcliffe’s pale, pained countenance flushed.

  ‘Forgettin’ meself? You stand there and accuse my Angus of puttin’ her in the family way. Miss Van who he thinks about as a child still, an’ you tell me I’m forgettin’ meself.’

  ‘Well, there’s no need for language.’

  ‘No need you say, no need? Begod! You’ll hear somethin’ more than this afore you’re finished. Wait till he gets wind of it. Just wait till Angus gets wind of this. Anyway, who said this? Did she say it was him?’

  ‘No, but…but deducing from what we know it can only be him. She’s been seen a number of times with him lately.’

  ‘Where, might I ask?’

  ‘Well, they were seen coming across the river last Sunday. And they’ve been seen in the town together…She doesn’t know anyone else, Emily—she hasn’t any boyfriends—he can be the only one…’

  ‘Listen to her.’ Emily banged her head with her fist. ‘You’re talkin’ through the fat of your neck, woman.’ Gone was the cultivated servile manner of years. Her mistress was now just a woman who was accusing her son of taking down a girl. She could have been May’s mother, or that of any lass in Ryder’s Row. ‘There must be thirty thousand blokes in this town altogether,’ she flung one arm wide, ‘and you’re pickin’ on him because they were seen talkin’ together. He’s always talked to her. Or I could say, she’s talked to him. She’s never passed him in the street like the rest of you.’ She turned her glare on Susan, who was standing gripping the back of a chair. ‘Let me tell you, I know my Angus, and he would as soon have broken into the Convent and raped one of the nuns as he would have done that lass up there.’ She thumbed the ceiling. ‘Well now. Well now.’ She was tearing off her apron. ‘This is the end. I’ve stood you, the lot of you, for years, but this has put paid to it. But afore I go I’m havin’ a word with your daughter.’

  ‘You’re not to go upstairs.’

  ‘I�
�m goin’ to see her and you’re not goin’ to stop me.’ Emily glared into Jane Ratcliffe’s face.

  ‘She’ll only say to you what she said to us, that it wasn’t him. She’s maintaining that because she doesn’t want to cause further trouble.’

  ‘Further trouble!’ Emily brought her chin into her neck. ‘You don’t know anythin’ about it yet. Wait till my Angus hears of it, then you’ll know what trouble means.’

  As she marched out of the room and across the hall Jonathan Ratcliffe came down the stairs, and he stood in an advantageous position on the bottom step and looked down at her with open loathing on his face; and she glared back at him as she said, ‘I want to see your daughter.’

  His teeth moved tightly across each other and he ground through them, ‘After I have seen your son. And if you know what’s good for both of you, you won’t go yelling your head off about this.’

  ‘Huh!’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve just told her.’ She nodded back towards the drawing-room door where Jane Ratcliffe was standing. ‘I’ve just told her you don’t know what you’re in for when he gets wind of it…Yelling me head off. Huh!’

  ‘I know what I’m in for.’ His voice was deadly calm now. ‘But as yet your son doesn’t. He’s the one you should worry about. Now I presume you’re going; well, do, and as quickly as possible.’

  She was nonplussed for a moment by his manner. She looked up into his thin, bony face, then she turned her gaze on the woman for whom she had worked for years, and her lip curled upwards from her teeth and, squaring her shoulders, she walked from them with exaggerated dignity.

  In the kitchen she grabbed her hat and coat from behind the scullery door, screwed her feet into her outdoor shoes, tore her aprons out of a drawer, then went to a cupboard to find a piece of paper with which to wrap them, and as she pulled it out she saw a tarnished silver milk jug and sugar basin. They were among other oddments that her mistress had pushed away in this cupboard from time to time to save cleaning. With a swift movement she grabbed them up and put them in the middle of her aprons. She had worked for these, and much more, they were only Elkington Ai silver, not solid, but they would fetch something. Aye, by God she had worked for them; she wasn’t going out empty-handed. And if she had only thought of it at the time she would have asked for a week’s money in lieu of notice, but she had been paid last night.

  Without a backward glance she walked out of the kitchen, banging the door behind her, but when she left the drive and entered the road she had to stop and lean against the railings for a moment because her whole body was shaking. What should she do now? His lordship there would go to the office within the next half-hour and send for Angus, and if he threw it at him the same way as the missis had thrown it at herself then only the Lord knew what would happen. She had better go to the works and warn him. But how she was going to put it she didn’t know…

  It was a bus ride and twenty minutes later when she came to the gates of Affleck and Tate and told the gate man she wanted to see her son.

  ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Angus Cotton? Oh well, look. Just follow the road straight on, take the first turning right across the open space, and anybody there will tell you where his shop is.’

  Another seven minutes and she saw him coming towards her and her throat swelled and her body began to shake again.

  ‘What is it?’ He was holding her arm. ‘Something happened to Rosie?’

  She shook her head. ‘Is there any place I can sit down for a minute?’

  He looked about him. There was a wooden cask lying on its side, and with a heave he righted it and pushed it against the wall, then led her to it. ‘What is it?’ he said again anxiously.

  She looked up into his big, rugged face, tender at the moment with his concern for her. She wetted her lips, but she couldn’t speak because she was realising that he would now lose his job. In some way or another Ratcliffe would get rid of him; if not altogether, because of the Union, he’d knock him to the bottom again.

  ‘Look. Look, what’s happened? Why aren’t you at work?’

  She grabbed hold of his hands. ‘Listen to what I’m gonna tell you, an’ don’t go mad, don’t shout.’ She looked about her at the different men moving about the yard. ‘I…I went in this mornin’ like…like ordinary, you know, an’…an’ she sent for me. Susan come and said—I’d just got me hat and coat off and me shoes changed—and she said her mother wanted to speak to me. I went in never thinkin’, and then—’ She tightened the pressure on his hands, swallowed again and shook her head before muttering, ‘Now, Angus, please, please, for God’s sake don’t go mad, but,’ she had to close her eyes as she whispered it, ‘they’re blamin’ you for Vanessa.’

  When there was no movement of his hands within hers, when there was no yell or volley of oaths, she opened her eyes and looked up into his face, and then she realised he hadn’t taken it in; or, if he had, thought it was funny. He was actually smiling. And then he took his hands from hers and, going to the wall, put his forearm on it and dropped his head against his wrist, and his shoulders began to shake. But he made no sound. Then turning, he looked at her and said, ‘They’re blaming me for dropping Van?’

  She nodded at him.

  ‘You mean,’ his voice was louder now, ‘you mean they’re blaming me?’ He dug his fingers hard into his chest, making a metallic sound. ‘Christ! You’re joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, son, I’m not jokin’. I came straight away ’cos when he gets in,’ she jerked her head upwards, ‘he’ll likely be sendin’ for you.’

  ‘Huh!’ His sandy brows knit together and again he said, ‘Huh!’ It was the beginning of a deep laugh that never materialised. He looked up at the high façade of the shops; then looking down at her again he said, ‘Well, they must be bloody well hard up to pin it on somebody when they’ve picked on me. But why me?’

  ‘Because you’re the only one who she’s been seen with. That’s what they said.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I didn’t see her; they wouldn’t let me. But the missis said they had faced her with it but she kept denying it because she—she didn’t want to cause trouble.’

  ‘Cause trouble did you say?’ He was bending over her, his look full of mock enquiry. Then straightening himself, he said, ‘God Almighty! Mam, it’s bloody well fantastic, isn’t it? Me an’ her!’

  ‘You’ve said it, lad, fantastic. What’ll you say when he sends for you?’ She was breathing more evenly; she was relieved beyond measure that he had so far taken it sort of calm like.

  ‘What’ll I say?’ he said. ‘Now, you leave it to me. Oh, just leave it to me. But you’re wrong, Mam, about one thing. He won’t send for me here, not about that he won’t. He won’t want the whole place to know about that, not if I know Mr Ratcliffe. He’ll want it hushed and he’ll hush me up an’ all one way or another. You’ll see I’ll either be pushed out, or,’ he bent his head towards her again, ‘I’ll be pushed up.’

  ‘Pushed up?’

  ‘Aye, Mam, pushed up, to keep me quiet.’ He jerked his head slightly.

  She now stood up, and they looked at each other. Then she said grimly, ‘Knowin’ you, an’ your kind of reaction, it’ll be the out not the up you’ll get.’

  ‘True, true, Mam, but just you wait. He’ll try it on, you’ll see. That’s if the lady concerned doesn’t name the right man and straighten things out, and herself into the bargain.’ His voice now ended on a bitter note. He put out his hand and said grimly, ‘Come on; I’ll take you to the bus, an’ you get home and put your feet up. There’s one thing.’ His voice lightened just the slightest. ‘You’ll be able to have your house clean again and the meal on the table when we come in. It’s odd how things happen…I’ve had to become a dad-dy,’ he drew the word out, ‘before I could get you to leave your job, Mrs Cotton.’

  He put her on the bus outside the works gates, and he left her with a smile. But it disappeared immediately he re-entered the gates. His reactions now were becoming
normal to him. His temper was beginning to boil. His thoughts, bitter and cynical, made his face hard and ugly, yet there was among them a feeling he couldn’t pin down. It would be later in the day when he would realise that he was flattered that the Ratcliffes should even think he had given their daughter a baby…

  It was an uneasy morning in the shop, uneasy for all the workers; even old Danny Fuller enquired what had got into him. ‘Don’t bark me head off, lad,’ he said. ‘If you want me to do anythin’ just ask me, but don’t bark me head off.’

  It was round half-past eleven when the call came.

  ‘You’re wanted up top,’ said the messenger boy. ‘Boss’s office.’

  But when he got up top, his body stiff with tension, he was confronted by Mr Wilton.

  Mr Ratcliffe, Mr Wilton said, was indisposed. He wanted these papers immediately and he wanted him, Angus Cotton, to deliver them. Why this should be, Mr Wilton didn’t know. But, it wasn’t altogether unexpected. Brett had been trying for a long time to give Cotton another push up. But he was no favourite of the boss, nor of himself. He didn’t like the fellow, or the idea of him getting any status.

  He handed Angus the envelope, and Angus looked at it and all he said was ‘Thanks,’ then turned on his heel and walked out.

  Jane Ratcliffe herself opened the door to him as Susan had refused to do this office. After barely glancing at him she inclined her head to indicate that he should enter the house, then she led the way to her husband’s study where she opened the door and again indicated by a movement of her head that Angus should enter the room.

  Jonathan Ratcliffe was in a place of authority behind his desk, which was set in a corner of the room with a window to the side of it so that the light fell fully on anyone who was sitting on the chair in front of him.

  But Jonathan Ratcliffe did not ask Angus to be seated. He himself sat, his hands gripping the arms of the revolving chair, and stared at the figure confronting him. He had disliked many people in his life, he had hated a few, but the combined hate he had ever experienced was nothing compared to the feeling he had for the man opposite to him. He had sat here for the last half an hour thinking about this man, his thoughts taking him right back, back to the day he had first seen him, when he had disliked him on sight. Even as a boy there had been something about Emily Cotton’s son that caused him to grit his teeth, and as the years mounted so did his dislike. He saw Angus Cotton as a brash, utterly common individual; added to this he was powerfully built, making his own thin frame appear like a reed, which did not improve matters.