The Maltese Angel

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘You don’t know? You didn’t see Jessie when she came in, half mad, the clothes torn off her back. She managed to escape; so, would that one be satisfied? No; he would take his turn.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Ward. You’ve got to stop this way of thinking, else it will drive you to do something that can only bring disaster. You must let it be dealt with by the authorities. I will contact the police myself.’

  ‘Oh no! O…oh, no! You’ll do no such thing, doctor!’

  And besides shaking his head, allowed his body, too, to follow the movement as if to emphasise his request: ‘I’m asking as a favour, don’t go to the police.’

  ‘What! But those men must be punished. And you mustn’t, Ward. No, you must not take it into your own hands. That will mean murder; and what will happen? You’ll swing. Putting it plainly, you’ll swing. And how will your girls be left then? What protection will they have?’

  ‘Who’s speaking of murder? I am not going to murder them. After what I intend to do, their own consciences, and the village, will murder them in their own way; just as they have murdered me over the years.’

  Definitely puzzled now, Philip said, ‘What…? Well, I mean, what do you mean to do?’

  ‘What do I mean to do?’ Ward looked to the side. He had seen what he meant to do from the moment he had looked down on his daughter’s ravished body. Although the method of its accomplishment was not wholly formed in his mind, in one part it was indeed very clear; but he had as yet to work out how to bring it about, and so he said, ‘Just leave things for a few days, will you, doctor? I’ll come back to you in, say a week.’

  ‘A week! But they’ll think they’ve got off with it. And what about Doctor Wheatley, when he gets wind of it?’

  ‘I would think that if I don’t make any move your superior won’t. What do you think?’

  What Philip thought was: Ward is right, for if a scandal such as this were to break it would scar his village, for just as it was usual for the parson never to think otherwise, he too considered it to be his, and far beyond the village. ‘My patients,’ he would say. ‘Do not interfere with my patients.’

  He said now, ‘All right, I’ll do as you wish. But don’t forget that the young man from the Hall was the first on the scene, so I understand, and by now I should imagine he has informed his parents; he was greatly affected, you know.’

  ‘Well, we shall have to take that chance. Being the gentleman he is, he will likely call tomorrow to see what has transpired; if so I shall ask him what I have asked you, to remain silent for a few days more.’

  ‘Oh, Ward.’ The doctor put out his hand and placed it on Ward’s shoulder, saying, ‘Don’t do anything that’s going to bring retribution on you. I beg of you.’

  ‘If there’s any justice in the world, it won’t; but is there any justice in the world?’ Ward said vehemently and through his clenched teeth; but then added more calmly, ‘Has any justice been dealt out to me and mine over the years because, as a young man, I was silly enough to be pleasant to a young woman whom I had no intention of marrying? Justice is blind, Doctor. I thought you would have become aware of that in your profession. The young and innocent die, while the no good, Godless, wrecking, raping villagers survive. But how they’ll survive after this is another question…oh yes.’

  Philip could find no way to refute Ward’s original request, but the implied intent in the last words, spoken with such a look in the man’s eyes, made him shiver, and so without further words, and not even a nod of assent or goodbye, he picked up his bag from the table, glanced once more at the bed and left the room.

  In the kitchen, he looked from one to the other and said, ‘He’ll likely sit up all night with her, but I think somebody should be on the alert.’ And Carl said, ‘Don’t worry about that, Doctor. I’ll be up, and Patsy, too.’

  ‘Good night then,’ he said; and as an afterthought added, ‘I imagine the running of the place will now have to be shared between you for a long time to come.’

  Three

  The village was uneasy. A strange tale was being circulated. Some believed there was some truth in it, others denied it flatly, saying it had originated from Rob Riley in the Hollow, who with his father worked for Ward Gibson. Part of the rumour was that the young daughter had been frightened by some drunks from Jimmy Conroy’s wedding. Some said that the young girl had been interfered with. But how could that happen? She was never let out without a guard. A disgrace, it was, the way the lasses were hemmed in. But there was something wrong, and Fred Newberry said so to his parents. It was the first time he had been in that house, he said, and had not been offered a cup of tea or some such; and when he asked of Ward’s whereabouts, he was told that he was busy upstairs. And that was that. He had come away thinking they were all close-mouthed about something, and it must be to do with the rumour that was going round the village. It wasn’t like Ward not to have a word with him, although as everybody knew he had been acting strange ever since he had lost his wife. All he now seemed to think about was building his walls and his fences higher and not letting the girls out of his sight.

  It was Fred’s mother who had said, ‘Perhaps he’s afraid of Daisy escaping again, because she has become sly enough, you know that. By, she was sly! I was always thankful she didn’t pass her spleen on to us for being friendly with Ward.’

  The patrons of the two inns were asking similar questions. Was there any truth in the rumour? And who were the three fellows who were supposed to have shocked the girls? It would be hard, it was said, to pick them out of all those who danced in the barn and had drunk deeply from the barrels that night, for it had been classed as one of the best wedding receptions that had been held in the village for many a year, if you could rate it on the liquor drunk and the food eaten. Nevertheless, it was generally agreed there was something afoot. But what? And look what had happened to Parson Noble from the Hollow when he called at the house: he had collapsed and had been taken home to bed. Oh yes, there was something fishy about the whole business.

  It was on the Wednesday morning that Angela opened her eyes; and the first face she saw was Jessie’s, and she made a moaning sound as she lifted her hand towards her. Gripping her sister’s hand, Jessie cried almost joyfully, ‘Oh! Angela. Angela. You’re better. Oh, that’s wonderful. How are you feeling?’

  Even as she said it she knew it to be a silly thing to ask; but she waited for the answer.

  When her sister’s mouth opened and shut and no words came, she said, ‘All right, dear. Just rest. Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll go and get Daddy,’ and she ran from the room and to the landing window that looked onto the yard, and shouted down, ‘Patsy! Patsy! Carl!’

  When Patsy came running from the dairy and looked up at her, Jessie called, ‘Get Daddy! Angela has come round.’

  ‘Oh, good, miss! Good!’ And Patsy ran the length of the yard and round by the woodstack and into what was called the boxhouse, used for stacking timber and cutting staves, where the master had been for the past two days doing things with binding twine and shaving poles as long as clothes props. What he intended to use them for, she didn’t know; and neither did Carl, who had said they were much too long for fencing. He had also cut yards and yards of binding twine into strips. In a way, it was frightening. She did not enter the place, but stretched her arms across the opening to grasp the stanchions and leaned forward, crying at him, ‘She’s come round, master! She’s come round!’

  Almost before she had time to move aside he had rushed past her and was in the house and up the stairs.

  When he thrust open the bedroom door and saw his beloved child looking towards him, he hurried to her; then stood aghast when her mouth widened as if she were about to scream; then shrank back from him, her hands spread wide against her shoulders as if pushing him away. And at this, Jessie cried, ‘It’s Daddy! Angela. It’s Daddy!’ And she stepped aside so that he could come further up the bedside.

  Bending over her, he said softly, ‘It’s me, my lov
e…Daddy.’

  When he took hold of her hand, she tried to withdraw it; which elicited from him the plea, ‘Look at me, dear. See? It’s your daddy, who loves you. Angela, look at me.’

  Her eyes were now tightly closed, and as if in despair he turned to look at Jessie, and she said, ‘It’s all right, Daddy. It’s as the doctor said, she’s still in shock. She’ll know you shortly.’

  He straightened up and turned slowly from the bed, and he whimpered, ‘Oh, my God.’ He had seen a look of horror in her eyes because she was looking at a man. What if she didn’t recover? The thought was so unbearable that he turned quickly again and, taking hold of Jessie’s hand, pulled her towards the door, and there, bending down to her, he whispered, ‘Keep telling her, will you, Jessie? Keep telling her that I’m her daddy, I’m not the—’ He jerked his head to one side, breaking off what he was about to say.

  And she, holding his hand in both of hers, pressed it tightly as she said, ‘It’s all right, Daddy. It’s all right. I’ll make her understand. Don’t worry. Please don’t worry.’

  He nodded at her, and said, ‘Yes, you do that, Jessie. You do that.’

  ‘I will, Daddy; so please, don’t worry. Try not to.’

  The fact that he did not withdraw his hand from hers, that she was the one who let it go, caused her to experience a feeling of warmth. For the first time in her life she felt needed, and by the one who mattered most to her. But oh, if only it hadn’t happened this way. Her hand went to the front of her dress and gathered the material into a bunch as if she were once again being exposed and that not one, but two, three men were tearing at her. Last night she had woken up screaming, and Patsy who had been sitting with Angela had hurried into her room and comforted her. Patsy was like a mother to her. What would happen to her when she left? She didn’t mind any more her having Carl because what she really wanted now was a mother to comfort her. As Angela did. Oh yes, Angela needed a comforter.

  She went hurriedly to the bed now, and bending over her sister, she said softly, ‘It’s me, dear. It’s me. Open your eyes.’ And obediently Angela raised her lids and her mouth opened again as if she wanted to speak. But no sound came; and Jessie said, ‘It’s all right, dear. Don’t try to speak yet. But that was Daddy. And Daddy loves you. You know Daddy loves you. He is not one of those wicked men. Try to understand, darling. Do try to understand he is not one of those wicked men. And don’t close your eyes again. Look at me.’

  When Angela’s eyes opened wide again, Jessie went on talking to her: ‘You know what I was thinking, dear? That when you are better I am going to ask Daddy to take us on a holiday to the seaside. You would like that, wouldn’t you? We have never been on a holiday, have we?’

  When the head on the pillow was slowly turned to the side and towards her, she reached out and pulled her chair closer to the bed and in such a position that she herself could lay her head on the pillow and in much the same position as they had done since they were children, except for the times when one or the other would flounce about after some petty upset.

  However, now Jessie knew that never again would there be petty upsets between them; nor ever again would she be jealous of her sister’s beauty or of her father’s love for her. Life had changed for them both, for good and all.

  Four

  Philip Patten called every day. When, by Thursday, Angela still had made no effort to speak, and when Ward asked tersely, ‘How long do you think this will go on?’ he was given the blunt answer: ‘It could go on forever, as long as she lives, as could her fear of men. Such cases have been known. She’s afraid of me, and of you; but I don’t know how you are going to break that down. You’ll have to be very, very gentle with her. That’s all I can say. But of one thing I must warn you with regard to the future, unless something untoward happens, enough to overcome her present condition, and I really can’t see that coming about, well, in that case, there is little hope of her leading a normal life. But’—he let out a long slow breath—‘you never know; we are not masters of our destinies. God, if you believe in Him, seems to take a hand now and again.’

  ‘Be quiet, man! What are you saying?’ Ward’s words were not tersely spoken now, they were growled out.

  Philip did not come back with any sharp retort, but in softly spoken words, he said, ‘Yes, I’ll be quiet, for I know so little; my training has left great gaps; I can only follow my books and common sense. And so, at times, you have to leave it to the Deity. That’s all one can do. Well, I’ll be off now; but’—he hesitated—‘before I go I will dare to say one more thing to you. It’s a piece of advice: I think you must remember you have two daughters, and that Jessie, too, is in a state of shock. I think she’s coping admirably, but only because of the potions she is taking.’

  Without further words, he turned towards the stairs, leaving Ward to stand looking after him, his teeth gripping his lower lip; then he turned to glance towards the bedroom door: leave the rest to the Deity, he had said. Well, some things had been in the hands of the Deity too long; from now on he would play God, and see what came of that.

  On this thought Ward hurried down the stairs. He did not, however, pass through the kitchen, where he would no doubt have to re-encounter the doctor, who would assuredly have been plied with a hot drink; instead, he opened the glass door that led into a small flower garden; then skirted the back of the house and made for the grain store where, just a short while ago, he had seen Mike Riley enter, two large scoops in his hand. He knew from experience that, being on his own, Mike would take his time to fill them; and he wouldn’t be surprised to find him sitting at rest among the sacks.

  In this case he was wrong, for Mike was about to emerge from the store weighed down with the two large heavy scoops. On seeing Ward, he put them down on the ground, saying, ‘You looking for me, master?’

  ‘Yes, Mike, I was looking for you.’ And he pointed to the two skips, saying, ‘Pull them to one side, I want to shut the door.’

  Mike did as he was bidden and in the dim light afforded by one narrow window he watched his master close the door, then walk between the racks of the narrow room, before seating himself on a box a little distance from the window. As he followed Ward he had to wonder at such unusual behaviour, but he was indeed surprised at the question now put to him: ‘Can I trust you, Mike Riley?’

  Mike’s eyes narrowed, and his big, broad face screwed up for a moment before he said, ‘If you were to ask me, master, what I think of that question, I would say it was unnecessary, for you should know if you could trust me or not. I’ve nivvor taken a grain of corn from this place, although I have chickens of me own. I’ve nivvor asked Pattie for a bit of butter or cheese…’

  Shaking his head impatiently, Ward said, ‘I’m not meaning that kind of trust, Mike; I’m meaning, would you stand by me in trouble?’

  ‘Trouble! Oh aye, aye if you’re in trouble, master, I’m your man. Aye, I’m with you there.’ The tall middle-aged Irishman now nodded as he repeated, ‘Trouble? You’ll have no better beside you, if it’s trouble you’re in, than meself.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me. What about Rob?’

  ‘Well now, Rob’s from me own bone an’ breed, an’ being as big as meself, an’ only half me age, he’d be on the other side of you.’

  ‘How many Irish families are there in the Hollow?’

  ‘Seven of us. But that’s not the lot of ’em down there. Counting them of a different colour, bein’ Protestants, there’d be sixteen families all told.’

  ‘Are there any among your lot…I mean the Catholics, that I could rely on as much as I can on you…I mean, who wouldn’t shirk me in a tight corner or in taking a risk?’

  ‘Oh, well now, there’s Tim Regan an’ Johnnie Mullins; there’s a pair of them that I’d bet me life on. An’ there’s another; but he’s a Scot, an’ not of our colour; but he’s a grand fella. That’s Hamish McNabb. He’s a great talker, a bit of an agitator, I’d say, but there’s nothing wrong in that.’

&nbs
p; ‘Which one of the lot has been along the line for break-in and entry?’

  ‘Oh…‘ Mike now tossed his head slightly as if throwing off any aspersion on his friend as he said, ‘Oh, that was Johnnie, master, but it was some long time ago…five years or more, an’ he’s nivvor had to look a polis in the eye since.’

  ‘Do you think he could still pick a lock?’

  Mike’s face stretched, his eyes widened, and he said, ‘You want somebody to pick a lock, master?’

  ‘It’s one of the things I want.’

  ‘Oh well, now. Well, now’—Mike’s face spread into a beam—‘Johnnie’s the boy for you. He could pick the teeth out of your head, an’ you wouldn’t know they’d gone. He makes locks, you know; a sort of pastime. He makes ’em out of any old bits of iron and tin. An’ keys. Give him a bit of wire and a file an’ the Bank of England would be open to you. But’—and the smile went from his face now—‘he looks after his family, he does. And he’s a hard worker, he is, when he can get it. You’ve had him around here, master, when you’ve needed more in the fields, an’ he’s not like some that only go when they’re pushed.’

  Ward passed over this comment, and what he said now was, ‘You have a gun?’

  Again Mike’s expression changed; but this time he didn’t speak, and Ward said, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, I know you’re not licensed; but you shoot, don’t you?’

  ‘A rabbit now an’ then. Not so much lately; it was when things were tough.’

  ‘But you can still shoot?’ The words came out with force now.

  ‘Oh aye…yes, master, I can still shoot.’

  ‘And straight?’

  ‘Aye, master, an’ straight.’

  ‘What about Rob?’

  ‘Oh, Rob. He could shoot the pompom off a Scot’s glengarry an’ the fella wouldn’t know it was gone. Oh, Rob’s a…’ He stopped, knowing he had said too much; but then he added offhandedly, ‘Well, I put him in the way of it from he was a lad. An’ it was only rabbits or rooks and crows; an’ the Colonel’s keeper turned a blind eye ’cos he was glad to get rid of the vermin. You see, they haven’t got the staff up there to see to things as they used to…’