The Maltese Angel

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes, but I don’t mind.’

  ‘Well, you should mind; you’re not paid to waste your time.’

  ‘I don’t waste me time, Mrs Annie. And anyway, the mistress said…’

  Annie got to her feet now, saying, ‘I know what the mistress says; she says more than her prayers and she whistles them. Oh, what am I saying? Look, I’ve got to think. I’ll see about this matter later. Now, as I told you, not a word to anybody, else I’ll ring your ear for you, both of them, until you think there’s two bells in the church steeple.’

  It was from this time that the discord in the house eased, and no-one other than those directly concerned knew what took place on the day the master drove the mistress into Newcastle and Annie confronted the dairymaid for the first time. The only result of this meeting was made plain to Carl when the slop buckets for the pigs were not so full of table scraps, and the dogs were given fewer meaty bones to chew upon.

  The day came when the first ivy-leaved pat of butter was put on the kitchen table and Annie, reluctantly, pronounced it not bad.

  So one more strand was worked into the pattern of their lives. And not only one, for on the day Billy took the first few pounds of butter into the market, a round of it was bought by Colonel Ramsmore’s housekeeper. A fortnight later a note came from Lady Lydia of Forest Hall to say she would be obliged if they could supply her with two pounds of butter weekly, and also if they were disposing of any suckling pigs, could she be informed.

  This benevolent order made even Annie say, ‘Well, well! We’re going up in the world, aren’t we? ’Tis the country folk now coming to our door.’

  But whatever Ward really thought, his only comment to Fanny was, ‘This is Lady Lydia’s doing, not the old fella’s. He’s of the type, know your place, man, and keep it. But as far as I can understand, she’s go-ahead, and a very genial woman. I’ve glimpsed her a number of times and she looks as pleasant as her character. But there’—he had tweaked her nose—‘your butter business, my dear wife, is going to make a name for itself in the end.’ And to this she had answered, ‘Thanks to Patsy,’ only to have him come back scoffingly, ‘Oh yes, thanks to Patsy;’ and then he added, ‘You know something? That girl has never opened her lips to me in all the weeks she’s been here. But her eyes speak for her.’

  ‘And what do you think they say?’ asked Fanny.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know, but one thing I do is, she’ll take some mastering when she grows up, that one.’

  And Fanny, looking away from him, said softly, almost dreamily, ‘Yes, she will…she will.’

  On the 20th December 1888, Fanny’s second child was born. It was a daughter and on looking down on her for the first time Ward exclaimed, ‘She’s the image of you…absolute image.’ And his face bright, he picked up the child and held it to him and repeated, ‘Just like you, the spitting image. We’ll call her Angela. What about that? Angela.’

  Fanny was too weary to make any comment, but she could see that her husband’s reaction was different altogether from that which he had shown at the sight of his first child.

  Jessie was now a bouncing and loving, happy child; but she had never seen Ward look on her as he was looking on this, his second daughter. And she was too weak at the moment to reason why she felt pained at the sight.

  BOOK TWO

  1896-1914

  PART ONE

  One

  He was six feet tall, well-built and he carried no spare flesh. His hair was fair almost to whiteness and this was emphasised by his weather-tanned skin. His movements were lithe, as he unconsciously demonstrated when he jumped from the high seat fronting the farm wagon.

  The farm wagon had built-up detachable sides, and so he bent over the tail end of the wagon and lifted from it a basket full of shopping, two parcels, each wrapped in thin brown paper, and a slim book which he now pushed into the inner pocket of his coat. Then calling to the horse, ‘Stay a while; I’ll be back in a minute,’ he hurried across the yard and into the farm kitchen.

  And as he went to drop the packages onto the table, Annie’s voice came from the scullery, crying, ‘Don’t put them there! I’m just about to bake. Leave them on the saddle.’ Then she added, as she came into the kitchen, ‘How did things go?’

  ‘Quite well considering; butter and cheese holding, and the vegetables up quite a bit because of the drought. Where’s the master?’

  ‘Down in the lower field, I should imagine, seeing that the two Irishers do a better job on the fencing than they did afore.’

  ‘Oh, they were put up all right; it was somebody in the farming business knew how to take them down. That was no kids’ work.’

  ‘Aye, I’m with you there. An’ there’s another thing I’ll tell you, Carl, if the nigglin’ business starts again in any quarter, it’ll drive him round the bend. Since Mrs Killjoy’s dog got it, I don’t think he’s had a complete night’s rest. It’s affecting the missis an’ all. And Jessie’s had one of her crying bouts again.’

  ‘What for this time?’

  ‘You ask me, I don’t know. Oh yes, I do. What am I sayin’? But we won’t go into that now. You had better get yourself changed and get your hand in, because I think it’s going to be a heavy night for you. Billy’s back went again this mornin’. And you know something? I never thought to hear my man say this place needs another hand. But he’s right, it does, you know, ’cos you’re doin’ practically the work of two.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me, Annie. I could go on for forty-eight hours; you know I have, without sleep.’ He paused and smiled to himself as he said, ‘Funny, that. If I have three hours straight off I’m as fresh as a daisy. But give me five and I wake up with a thick head as if I’d been on the beer the night before.’

  ‘Did you get my wool?’

  ‘Yes; I got everything you asked for.’

  ‘An’ I suppose, the lasses’ taffy? Well, if I were you, if you can spare a minute, I would find Miss Jessie and give her hers first for a change.’

  ‘What d’you mean, give her hers first for a change, Annie?’

  ‘What I say, lad. Because she doesn’t get put first much in this house nowadays. Perhaps you haven’t noticed. He’s not unkind to her. No, no. But he doesn’t treat her like he does the young one. Right from the beginnin’, from the first moment he saw her there was nobody else, because she took after the missis. He had a full-grown one and a young one and his first born was put aside. What am I talkin’ about? Look, lad, you open parts in me that haven’t any right to be spoken of.’

  ‘I haven’t said a word.’

  ‘It isn’t what you say, it’s what you look, an’ just standing there. Look, get out of my sight, will you?’

  He went out, but not on a laugh. Annie was right about the master and the child, his first born. He himself had never seen him lift her up in his arms, or open his arms wide for her to run into, like he did with Angela. It was hard to believe that Angela was nearly eight years old, for she still had that elfin, babyish way and look about her; whereas Jessie, coming up nine, was sturdy, tall for her age but well built. And although she was quite pretty, she had none of the appeal of her sister. He unharnessed the horse from the wagon and put her in her stable, saying as he did so, ‘Have a feed. I’ll brush you down later.’

  He now pushed open the door of the dairy and, taking a small paper bag from his coat pocket, he threw it towards the young woman who had turned from the bench, a wooden patter in each hand. Her face was bright and she smiled at him, crying, ‘Oh, thanks, Carl.’

  ‘Houghhound candy. It was a new batch, just made. She sells it out so quick. ’Tis a month since I managed to get any.’

  Again she said, ‘Thanks.’

  ‘All right?’

  There was a hesitation before she said, ‘Yes; yes, all right.’

  He stared at her over the distance, then hurriedly closing the door, he walked towards her.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  She turned her head to the side, her
dark eyes shadowed as she said, ‘I’ve had a do with Miss Jessie. I found her crying an’ went to comfort her and she turned on me.’ She pointed to her chin, saying, ‘Her claws went in.’

  Slowly he took her face between his hands and he said softly, ‘Oh, Patsy. I’m sorry.’

  She stared into his face, the image of which never left her mind day or night: his kindly eyes, his thin but shapely mouth, his beautiful hair. He was beautiful altogether to her. Never once since she had been in this service had he said a harsh word to her. The mistress was kind, the master was tolerant. Billy, too, was tolerant, even more tolerant, and Mrs Compton put up with her. But Carl, here, had been kind, understanding and thoughtful; and he had taught her so much, more than any of them in the house knew. The midnight hours with the books and the candle, learning not only how to spell, but where tea came from, and what happened to the coal when it went from the mines hereabouts. And she had even learned the name of the last prime minister, Mr Gladstone. And she remembered crying over the story of the babes in the Tower of London. She would have known nothing about these things if it hadn’t been for Carl.

  When he said, ‘Do you know…why she did it, I mean?’ she answered, ‘Oh yes,’ and nodded her head. ‘She was splattering that nobody loved her, and I understood how she felt.’

  ‘Oh, Patsy.’ His fingers moved up and down her cheek, but he didn’t say, ‘I love you, Patsy.’

  Yet she felt that he loved her, but she also felt that she understood why he wouldn’t speak: he had his way to make. He was well in with the family: he ate with them; he also sat in their sitting room and talked to the mistress about what he called books, things that farmer’s wives don’t usually talk about. But then, the mistress wasn’t an ordinary farmer’s wife. In no way was she like a farmer’s wife. She was delicate and learned and, as her da said, she was fey. Her da said she was the nearest thing to the Irish wee folk he had come across in this country: wasn’t it proved when she could heal an animal? Yet she hadn’t managed to heal the fat woman’s dog last year. But then she hadn’t much time, for the woman had whisked it away. Oh, that had been a day.

  There was now making itself felt within her that strong feeling, that independent feeling, that feeling that told her at times not to bow her head to anyone. And she didn’t, except to Carl. But he was different. Yet the feeling made her step back from him now, causing his hand to fall from her face, and it gave her tone a dignity as she said, ‘Thank you very much for the candy.’ Even to him, the feeling told her that she must never cheapen herself.

  Carl was aware of this feeling. There were times when a cloud would fall between them, when he could neither understand her nor reason why this should be. So now he turned about and went out of the dairy, saying, ‘I’d better get changed. I’ve got a night’s work ahead of me.’

  On opening his cottage door he stopped abruptly, for there, sitting in his one easy chair, was Jessie.

  She did not get up as he closed the door behind him, but said, ‘I know Mammy said I hadn’t to come into your house, but I don’t care if I’m scolded: I feel awful; I’ve been awful all day.’

  ‘Look, Jessie,’ he said softly, ‘I’m in a hurry. I’ve got to get changed for work. There’s a lot to be done. Now if you’ll go over to the house and…’

  She was now on her feet, her voice high, and crying, ‘Don’t be like all the others, telling me to go some place else. Everybody else tells me to go some place else. Nobody loves me. Nobody. Nobody.’

  ‘Now that’s silly. Of course people love you.’

  She was standing close to him now, her head back, looking up at him as she demanded, ‘Do you love me?’

  ‘Of course I love you. I love you both. I’ve told you all along I love you because you were the first baby I held. Of course I love you.’

  ‘Not like you love Patsy Riley though, do you? Not the same as you love her.’

  ‘Now, Jessie, stop that. I don’t love Patsy Riley, well what I mean is…’

  ‘You don’t love Patsy Riley? She thinks you love her. I scratched her face, do you know that? I scratched her face. I told her I would do it again if she didn’t stop pestering you.’

  ‘Patsy doesn’t pester me.’ His voice was harsh now. ‘You are the one who pesters, Jessie, not Patsy. Now look—’ He stopped as her head drooped and the tears flowed down her face, and he watched them drop from the end of her nose. He sighed deeply, then went and put his arm around her shoulders, saying, ‘There now, there. You must get this silly notion out of your head that nobody loves you. We all love you.’

  Her shoulders shaking, her head wagging from side to side, she gulped out, ‘Oh no. No. Daddy doesn’t love me. He doesn’t know I’m here. The only one he sees is Angela. It’s always Angela. He cuddles Angela. He throws her up in the air.’

  ‘Well now, well now, he’d have a job to throw you up in the air, because you’re a big girl.’

  She pulled herself away from him and, almost shouting now, she said, ‘Yes, I’m a big girl, and I’m ugly, and she is dainty and like Mammy. And Daddy loves them both, but he doesn’t love…me! Do you hear? He doesn’t love…me!’

  Carl was silent. This was no eight-, coming on nine-year-old girl he was looking at; she was no child; her awareness of the lack of parental love had made her into an adult.

  He put out his hand towards her, about to lie yet again to her, when she shrank back from him and stepped towards the door, saying, ‘I know what you’re going to say and I don’t believe you.’ And with this, she pulled open the door, only to give vent to her surprise through an audible gasp as she was confronted by her father.

  Ward’s voice came deep from within his throat, almost as a growl, as he said, ‘What have I told you about pestering? You’re in for a spanking, my girl.’ And he grabbed her by the shoulder, swung her round and brought his hand across her buttocks in no light slap; in fact her feet almost left the ground; then he thrust her forward, yelling after her: ‘Get into the house this minute!’

  Turning angrily on Carl, he cried, ‘You’ve got to stop soft-soaping her. She’s not a little child any more. She’s getting out of hand.’ Then, without waiting for any defensive reply, he went on, but in a lower tone, ‘How did things go?’

  ‘Very well. Prices held, vegetables went up; but that’s because of the scarcity.’

  Ward stepped over the threshold and into the cottage and there he dropped wearily into the chair so recently vacated by Jessie and as though he were having to force his words through his teeth now, he said, ‘It’s starting again.’

  ‘More railings down?’

  ‘Worse than that. Mike Riley just told me. He found two rabbits last week. They had been poisoned; their bodies were bloated.’

  ‘Where did he come across them?’

  ‘Just on the borders of the Hall grounds, next to our bottom field. But rabbits don’t die instantly. And anyway, there’s nobody going to do anything against the colonel.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know so much. There’s a couple of the fellas down in the Hollow could have it in for him, because he’s threatened them with the gun.’

  ‘Yes; but that lot down there wouldn’t go in for poisoning. Don’t you see? They’d be killing off their source of meat.’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ Carl nodded now. ‘There’s that in it. Do you think we’d better move the flock up?’

  Ward rose to his feet now, saying, ‘I don’t know what to think. If it isn’t trouble outside, it’s trouble inside. I must go now and see to that daughter of mine. She’s causing her mother distress, and I won’t have it.’ And he looked straight at Carl while he added, ‘And don’t let her in here again.’

  ‘I didn’t let her in; she was here when I got back. And…and master, I’m going to say this, I feel bound to. She…she acts as she does because…well, she needs comfort.’

  ‘Comfort? She has every comfort in the…’

  ‘Not that kind of comfort; she needs loving as…as much as Miss Angela does. You see,
she’s different.’

  Ward’s head was nodding now. ‘Yes, of course she’s different from Angela. She’s been a trouble since she was a baby, if she ever has been a baby. Can you recall the time we had with her from she was two years old, crying and slapping out? Oh, don’t talk to me about caring and love.’ He now stamped out of the room; but then called from the road, ‘Put a move on! Bill’s back’s gone again. He can’t see to the milking.’

  Carl stared at the open door for a moment; then he went to it and actually banged it closed. It was the first protest in any way he had made against his master …

  Fanny was sitting on the edge of her elder daughter’s bed in the girls’ room in the attic. She was holding her close and saying, ‘There now, there now. He didn’t mean it. But you know, you’ve been told you mustn’t pester Carl. Nor be rude to Patsy.’

  ‘He…he thrashed me.’

  ‘Your daddy wouldn’t thrash you. He smacked your bottom. I smack your bottom, and Angela’s too.’

  ‘Oh no, you don’t, Mammy.’ The tear-drenched face was lifted now defiantly. ‘You smack me harder than you smack Angela. You never smack Angela, only in play.’

  Fanny sat staring at her daughter, and thinking much the same as Carl had done a short time earlier, when he had been confronted with someone who should have been a little girl but was a little girl no longer, at least in her mind. But in her own defence Fanny knew that all the love she could give this child would not compensate for that lost through her father and the complete absorption which he shared between herself and her young daughter. Oh, how she had wished over the years that Angela hadn’t been born a replica of herself, not only in looks but in disposition, too. And in her mind, she still wondered in amazement at Ward’s constancy towards her, and for which he’d had to pay dearly over the years; just as she herself had paid, too, in the loss of the deep friendship and love of her dear Mrs Killjoy. The scene in the yard would never be erased from her mind. Mrs Killjoy had lost two of her family, Beatty and Rose, one of them through advanced age, the other through no known reason except that it had been while on a visit here. And she had mourned them as much as she had Mr Killjoy, perhaps more, because they were her children. On this particular day, she had brought Charlie and Sophia on a visit, and when they were ready to go only Charlie could be found. Everyone joined in the search and it was Patsy Riley who found her. Her pitiful whining had attracted her to a shallow ditch out of which the little creature was trying to climb on three legs.