The Maltese Angel

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Yes. Yes, they do.’ He did not add, ‘some of them,’ but turned to speak to Gerald who had joined them, saying, ‘I am not going to ask you if you enjoyed the show, for I am sure it must be a penance to be behind the screen.’

  ‘No, no; not at all. I think I get more fun watching the reactions of your audience, because, you know, I think some of them must groan, for they’ve seen the old ones so often.’

  ‘No, they don’t. Now, now! You can’t get too much of a good thing. What do you say, girls?’

  The girls said nothing, and there was a moment’s embarrassed silence before Gerald said quietly, ‘You’re waiting for Carl to fetch you? But there is an awful fug in here; it’s getting in my eyes, too. May I escort you along the road, until you meet him?’

  As if she had been stung, Jessie took a quick step to the side, and taking hold of Angela’s arm she turned her about, saying, ‘No, thank you. You’re very kind, but no thank you. And it’s bright moonlight outside. Carl should be here any minute. We’ll just walk along to meet him.’

  As the girls made their way towards the door, Frank Noble looked at the face of the young man who had definitely been snubbed and whose expression was showing it; then he hurried outside, and there he stopped for a moment and drew in a deep breath of the cold air, as the girls were also doing.

  Another time, knowing the feelings of their father, so protective as to amount almost to a mania and which to his mind was cramping their lives, Frank would have said to them, ‘I do think you had better wait;’ but tonight, the moon was giving out a light almost as bright as daylight, and although the show had finished early it was almost time for Carl to appear, being a few minutes off eight o’clock, so he said, ‘You’re bound to meet him within a very short distance; he’s always on time, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes; yes.’ It was Angela who answered him. ‘And I did enjoy the show. Thank you so much.’

  As they were walking away he called to them, ‘Oh, and don’t forget to thank your father for that parcel: he is too kind.’

  No answer came to him, but he watched until they were beyond the bend in the path and should be mounting the hill out of the Hollow.

  The girls didn’t speak to each other until they reached the brow of the hill and were on the path leading to the junction where one branch led off to the valley; and it was Angela again who spoke, saying, ‘Why didn’t you let him escort us? He’s very nice.’

  But when she received no answer, she added, ‘And yet it’s nice, too, to be able to walk alone, isn’t it, Jessie?’

  ‘Yes; yes, it is.’ Jessie now caught hold of her sister’s hand, and as she did so, they both turned their heads towards the sound of laughter and shouting that was reaching them from the village.

  ‘That must be some of the wedding…party, and by the sound of them, they appear to be drunk.’

  Their steps seemed instinctively to slow until Jessie said, ‘They’re likely on their way from the barn to the village inn.’

  The laughter died away, and they resumed their normal pace until they were within a few yards of the junction; and here, emerging from the village path they saw three men, and over the distance they could see that the men were laughing, but silently. Angela pressed herself close to Jessie’s side, and they stopped. The men, too, stopped within a short distance of them, and one of them exclaimed, ‘Good God! See who we’ve met up with?’ And another one called out, ‘Aye. Aye. An’ we thought it was Mary Ellen and Cissie. But it’s the Angel’s daughters; he’s let them out, and unprotected. Do you see, lads? Unprotected.’

  Neither of the girls knew the man who stepped towards them and who, bowing low, said, ‘Good evenin’, missis. Are you lost?’

  For a moment Jessie stared at the man she didn’t know; then she appealed to the one she did know. He was the verger. ‘We are waiting for C…C…Carl,’ she stammered.

  The verger’s fat belly began to shake, and he turned to his companion on to whom he was hanging, and in a thick and fuddled voice he said, ‘Did you hear that, Pete? She’s waiting for Carl.’

  Without answering the verger, Pete Mason pushed him aside and, swaying, stepped towards the girls; and looking from one frightened face to the other, he muttered something under his breath; although his next words were just audible. ‘The time has come,’ he said. ‘I knew it would one day.’ And with this, he thrust out an arm and grabbed Angela, meaning to drag her towards him. But Jessie’s hands tore at him, her screams joining Angela’s, but only for a moment for Angela’s were now being smothered: with an arm around her neck and the hand across her mouth, Pete Mason’s other hand tore at the front of her cloak.

  Meanwhile Jessie had been clawed away from Mason by the third man and was being thrust against a tree. There was a mighty scream within her which couldn’t escape through the hand over her mouth; but it activated her limbs, as did the cold air that hit her chest when her blouse was ripped down the front.

  Clawing at the man’s face, she lifted a knee and brought it upwards; then she was free, with the man staggering back before doubling up. When she forced herself to move, she too staggered and not until her feet left the grass verge and hit the rough path again did she regain her bearings; and then she was screaming, ‘Angela! Angela!’ But there was no answering cry from Angela, only a rustling in the thicket to the side of the road telling her that the men were there; and her fear gave wings to her feet as she flew back towards the Hollow.

  At the top of the bank she almost fell into Gerald Ramsmore’s arms. Her hands gripping the lapels of his coat, she gasped, ‘The men! They’ve got Angela.’

  For a moment he was unable to take in what she was saying, for her whole appearance staggered him: her hair, which must have been piled up under her hat, was now hanging down her back and part of her bosom was bare.

  ‘It was the verger,’ she was saying. ‘They are drunk. They…’ She screwed up her face. ‘He…one tried. Oh, please! Come! Come now!’ She was pulling at him, and he was running by her side.

  When they reached the place where Angela had been dragged from her, she pointed, crying, ‘Look! There they are,’ and he was able to make out three figures reeling drunkenly across the open field.

  ‘Where is she? Where is she? Have they taken her? It was here! It was here! It was here!’

  Gerald jumped across a shallow ditch and rounded a small group of bushes, only to come to a stop when he saw something that was to impinge on his mind for the rest of his life. This delicate, fairy-like girl whose beauty alone had always touched on his artistic sense and drawn his eyes towards her, lay sprawled, her arms outstretched, her hands at each side gripping the earth, the bottom of her skirt half covering her face, her lower limbs exposed; and he shut his eyes against the sight, and gripped his face tightly with one hand while he groaned. Then he spun around as he heard Jessie stepping over the ditch; and he cried to her, ‘No! No! She’s here; but she needs help. Get Carl. Go to your people quickly! Go and get help!’

  ‘I must see…’

  ‘Please, she’s in distress. Go and get help.’

  As she turned from him and leapt the ditch again, calling out as she ran, ‘Carl! Carl!’ he walked slowly to the side of the prone figure and, pulling the skirt down from her face, he slid an arm under her head, saying, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ even though his mind was yelling at him that it would never again be all right for this child, never; and he went on, ‘Your people are coming. Dear Miss Angela. Oh, dear Miss Angela.’

  When she made no movement whatever, he thought, Dear God! She’s dead. Then he dared to put a hand where he thought her heart was, and after a second or two he heaved a deep sigh. And now his hand was stroking the hair, that beautiful, seal-shiny black hair, from her face.

  He was not aware of Carl’s approach until the bending body over him blocked out the moonlight and the exclamation, ‘O…oh!’ preceding words which could have been said to be blasphemous, and then the loud and despairing, ‘No! No! This can’t
have happened. No! No!’

  Gerald looked up at Carl and said quietly, ‘But it has. We must get her home.’

  Carl, too, was now kneeling by Angela, patting her face and saying, ‘Come on, love. Come on. This is Carl here. Come on. Don’t be frightened any more. Come on, love. Come on.’

  But receiving no response, he muttered, ‘Oh dear God!’ Then looking across at Gerald, he said, ‘He’ll kill them for this; there’ll be murder done. He’ll kill them surely.’

  ‘Do you think we could carry her between us?’

  ‘Aye. Yes. But I can carry her myself.’

  ‘There’s some way to go; I’d better help you.’

  After gently pulling up her ripped drawers and straightening her limbs, Carl picked her up bodily; and Gerald said again, ‘Let me help,’ and laid her legs across his arm, and together they started towards home.

  They were about a quarter of a mile from the farmhouse when they were aware of Ward tearing towards them; and when he met up with them he stopped for barely a moment to look down on the white face of his child. Then thrusting out his arms, he relieved them of their burden; and without uttering a word he turned and hurried back to the farm.

  Gerald followed on with Carl, and as they entered the yard, he said, ‘If I could use your horse I could ride for the doctor.’

  Carl turned to him. ‘Yes. Yes, by all means, yes. But wait! I should see what the master says.’ But then shaking his head, he said, ‘No. She’ll need a doctor. Oh yes, she’ll need a doctor.’

  Patsy could be seen standing in the light from the open door. Her hands were joined at her throat, and Ward called to her, ‘Go and get Annie!’

  After the evening meal, because of the condition of her legs, Annie usually returned to her cottage, leaving the washing-up and the preparation for the following morning’s breakfast to Patsy. And Patsy had been attending to these duties when Jessie, like a wild woman, had dashed through the kitchen, calling for her father.

  She now took to her heels and ran to Annie’s cottage and, banging on the door, she cried, ‘Are you in bed?’

  Annie’s answer came back to her, ‘I’m getting ready for it. What’s the matter with you now?’

  When the door was pulled open, Patsy gasped, ‘The master…he’s just carried Miss Angela in. She looks dead. And Miss Jessie’s been attacked, the clothes torn from her back.’

  ‘Dear God! What are you saying, girl?’ Annie demanded, at the same time reaching out to lift her shawl from the back of the door and putting it around her shoulders. Then she was shambling as fast as her legs would carry her towards the house …

  Fifteen minutes later she and Patsy gently drew the last of the clothes from Angela’s bruised body. They were both crying, and it could be said they were both frightened of the master, and for him. Ward had not spoken a word until he saw that they had been about to wash his daughter’s limbs; and then he said, ‘Leave them until I get the doctor.’

  Patsy now muttered quietly, ‘He’s been sent for, master. Mr Gerald from the Hall, he’s gone for him.’

  At this, Ward stood back and waited for them to put her into a nightdress, when he said simply, ‘Leave her,’ which they did. Annie went down into the kitchen where Carl was waiting; Patsy went to the bathroom where she knew Jessie would be. However, receiving no answer to her knock, she gently pushed open the door, to see the girl sitting on a stool. She was in her nightdress, her clothes lying in a heap on the floor; she turned her white and scared face towards Patsy, and her lips trembled as she muttered, ‘Oh, Patsy, Patsy.’

  Kneeling by the girl’s side, Patsy put her arms about her and brought her head onto her shoulder, and as a mother would, she comforted her, saying, ‘There, there, dear. There, there. It’s all over.’ And when Jessie murmured, ‘No, no; never will be, never will be,’ she countered, ‘Yes; yes, it will. It’ll fade away with time. I know. These things do.’

  When Jessie’s sobs shook them both, Patsy didn’t say, ‘Don’t cry, my dear,’ she murmured softly, ‘That’s it. That’s it: get it out of you,’ at the same time hoping that the death-like figure in the bedroom along the landing would soon wake up and that she, too, would cry. Perhaps, too, she would have something more to cry about. God help her. Oh, yes, God help her. Three of them! Oh Jesus in heaven! For such a thing to happen, and to a child such as Angela, so fragile, so light and airy as was her mother. As Annie had said, it would seem she was a twin fairy. Oh, this house. She’d be glad when she got out of it…when they both got out of it. But what was she talking about? Would Carl leave the master now, being able only to guess what his reactions would be to this outrage? And could she leave this girl, leave the pair of them with Annie, who could hardly trot now? Oh, and she had thought…she shook her head…enough of her own wants at the moment, for there would be more tragedies afore another day was out, if she knew anything about it.

  ‘Come,’ she said now; ‘dry your eyes. There you are. And lie yourself down in the spare room. If Doctor Patten comes, he’ll likely see you and give you a draught.’

  Jessie pulled herself up from the stool, saying, ‘I want no draught. I must go to Angela.’

  ‘No. No, dear; your father’s with her, and he sent us out. Leave him be until after the doctor’s been. Come; do as I say now, and lie yourself down. I’ll get you a hot drink, hot milk with nutmeg in it, the way you like it. It’s very soothing.’

  Jessie allowed herself to be led out of the bathroom and to the end of the landing; and in the spare room, Patsy said, ‘The bed’ll be still aired: you both slept in it not two weeks ago when I turned your room out. You lie down now, and I’ll be back directly.’

  As Patsy made to move away Jessie stretched out her hand and, gripping her wrist, spoke in a voice that held a plea and a question. ‘What’ll happen? What’ll happen to her?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, my dear. I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Men are dreadful, aren’t they, Patsy? Dreadful, dreadful.’

  ‘Not all, dear. Not all. Lie down now. Lie down.’ And Patsy unwound the fingers from her wrist; then went quickly out of the room and stood on the landing for a moment, her hands gripped tightly against her neck as she was wont to do when agitated or worried.

  As she went to go down the stairs, so the doctor was about to come up; and on sight of her, he stepped back and bade her descend; then without a word he passed her, and she continued to the kitchen, there to see the young master from the Hall talking to Carl; and she was surprised to hear his voice almost breaking as if he were on the verge of tears as he said, ‘I’ll never forget this night. I’ll call in the morning to see how she’s faring.’

  ‘Yes; do that.’ Carl was nodding at him.

  The young man inclined his head towards Annie, saying now, ‘Goodnight,’ and she answered, ‘Goodnight, sir. And whatever happens, you are to be thanked for your help.’

  He made no response, but stared straight at her for a moment before turning and going out.

  Looking at Annie now, the while pulling a chair forward, Carl said, ‘Here, get off your feet,’ and she obediently sat down. Then he asked of Patsy, ‘How’s Miss Jessie?’

  ‘In a state. I’m going to make her a hot drink. I think the doctor should see her and give her a draught,’ which brought the immediate response from Annie, ‘Oh, I’d better go up and tell him then. And he might need assistance.’

  ‘Stay where you are,’ said Carl; ‘Patsy can go and wait outside until he finishes what he has to do. She can tell him what is needed. And he’ll have something to tell too. My God, he will at that! But speaking of draughts, I think it’s the master who needs one; I’m fearful for him.’ …

  It was a full half-hour before Philip Patten finished what he had to do. Even before he began his examination he had been aghast, and when, in a small voice, he had ventured to say, ‘I think I should have Annie here,’ Ward had come back with, ‘What help you need, I’m here.’ And so it had been.

  Now that it was completed, W
ard asked him in what appeared a deceptively calm voice, ‘Will she live?’ And Philip answered, ‘I hope so: her heart is strong; but this will depend upon her will.’

  ‘Her will?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I said her will.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she open her eyes? Is she unconscious?’

  ‘She’s in shock; and she might be like this for…well, two or three days. I can’t tell you how long. On the other hand she might awaken tomorrow morning after the draught I have given her has worn off.’

  Philip Patten watched Ward look down on his daughter, and what the man said next and how he said it sent a shiver through him. ‘She is fifteen. Her woman time began last year; there could be results,’ he said; then turning slowly to confront Philip, he stated rather than questioned, ‘Even with the damage that’s been done, there could still be results, couldn’t there?’

  Philip Patten gulped in his throat, and he had to look away from the eyes that were staring into his before he could say, ‘That’s to be seen; only…only the future can say yes or no to that.’ And on Ward’s next words, he had to turn his back on both the bed and the man, for Ward said, ‘Three of them couldn’t miss, could they?’

  Philip made no reply, but then almost jumped when the voice barked at him, ‘Could they?’ and he swung round to face the distraught man, saying, ‘We don’t know if there were three. I mean, there were three men there, so I understand, but…’

  ‘Then I ask you, doctor, could one man have done that damage?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he could.’ Philip Patten’s head was bobbing now and his voice was loud.

  ‘But three could do more harm, couldn’t they?’

  ‘Ward. Ward.’ Philip’s head was drooped almost onto his chest, and there was a plea in his voice as he said, ‘We don’t know.’