Ward’s upraised hand stopped the flow; and now he put a hand to his brow and squeezed his temples tightly for a moment before saying, ‘The main thing about this business, Mike, is a closed mouth. Can you count on your friends keeping their mouths shut for forty-eight hours?’
‘Aye, master; I’ll stand for them. It all depends upon how many you want; but however many, they’ll go along with what I say.’
‘Besides yourself and Rob I’ll want another two, perhaps three. How many guns are there in the Hollow altogether?’
Mike looked a little sheepish now as he said, ‘Well, Rob’s got one, but it’s an old shotgun. The pellets fly all over the place. But when he uses mine his aim’s as straight as a die. There’s only the two; but now an’ again I lend Tim mine ’cos he’s like family. As for Johnnie Mullins, well, he seems to manage without guns. He doesn’t need suchlike implements, he says. ’Tis the locks that…’ He was stopped again, this time by the look on Ward’s face; and now Ward said, ‘Listen to me carefully. Bring the men you choose here to me tomorrow night round eight o’clock, and I will tell them what’s required of them; at least, some part of it. But now bear this in mind, Mike: if one of them opens his mouth that they’ve been here, or even gives a hint that something’s afoot, there’ll be nothing afoot, and what is more neither you nor Rob will put a foot in this place again. D’you get my meaning?’
‘I do that, master. Yes, I do that. An’ let me tell you as man to man, so to speak, you have no need to tell me to keep me mouth shut.’ He did not add, ‘Nor that of my son,’ for what he had done to his son on Tuesday after he found he had opened his mouth about the happenings to the lasses would be nothing to what would happen to him if he dared to let his tongue pass between his teeth about this new business, whatever it was.
Ward rose from the box, saying, ‘One last thing: don’t mention any of this to Carl;’ and in some surprise, Mike said, ‘He’s not in on it? Carl?’
‘No; he’s not in on it.’
Mike thought it best at this point not to ask why; he simply followed his master to the door and picked up the scoops and went about his work, his mind in a questioning whirl as to what the master was up to. Whatever it was it was some funny business that required guns, and somehow he felt shy of guns himself.
It was early evening on the Friday that Ward spoke to Patsy, who was now helping in the house. ‘Go and tell Carl to come to my study.’
Although he knew that the house, in a way, was now depending on her services, for Jessie hardly ever left her sister, he could not bring himself to be civil to her, for he still saw her as the one who had frustrated his plans for the future, which concerned this house and the lives of those in it.
When for the second time within days Carl stood at the other side of the desk, he was not this time bidden to sit. Ward addressed him immediately, saying, ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’
Looking pityingly at the man before him, Carl did not pause before he said, ‘In one way, sir’—there it was again, the sir instead of the master—‘I am very much of the same mind. I mean to marry Patsy. After you dismissed me I made it my business to have a word with Parson Noble. He is putting our first banns up on Sunday. But having said that, sir, I must tell you that right from’—he paused a moment—‘this terrible thing happened, we knew we couldn’t leave you as long as you needed us: Patsy, too, is strong on this point and…’
Ward cut him off here saying, abruptly, ‘Later on this evening some men from the Hollow will be coming to see me. I am using them for something I have in mind, and you are not involved in it.’
Carl’s voice was stiff now when he said, ‘And may I ask why?’
‘Yes, you may. And the answer is, I may return here after the event, or I may not be long at liberty…Whichever way it goes, I may not remain long at liberty. And in that case, I’—he wetted his lips now—‘I would need you to carry on, as you always have done, and to see to my daughters until such time as I return.’ He looked down at his desk now, and asked himself on what counts would they be able to take him? And the answer was, on two. But there were extenuating circumstances, surely? Here, however, his line of thinking was sharply interrupted by Carl’s action of leaning across the desk, his hands flat on it, and himself appealing to him. ‘Sir, for God’s sake, don’t do anything rash! I mean, anything that might have you put away. They need you. The two girls, they need you. And what’s done’s done: retribution is not going to help them.’
‘If you were in my place, would you let those men go free?’
Carl drew back slightly. His head was drooping now, and he thought, No. Oh no, for he, too, would have sought revenge.
Slowly he straightened up, then quietly he said, ‘Whatever happens I am with you for as long as you need me: and no matter how long or short you might be away, we’—he did not say ‘I’, but ‘we will see to your house and land and family as long as it is necessary.’
Ward did not say, ‘Thank you,’ but his head drooped and he looked down on his desk again; and on this, Carl went slowly from the room …
The men were assembled in the barn. Besides Mike Riley and Rob, there were Tim Regan, Johnnie Mullins, and the Scotsman, Hamish McNabb. Of them all, this last man stood out, for he was the tallest, standing about six feet, but of bony frame and with a long unsmiling face, whereas Tim Regan was of the same sturdy build as Mike and Rob; but the one who seemed not to belong to either the Irish or the Scots clan was the one called Johnnie Mullins. He was small and thin, but was wiry.
They had all risen to their feet when Ward entered the barn; and he now stood surveying them. All except Rob were middle-aged; but he knew from experience that at least four of them were strong; of the small thin one, he knew nothing.
Ward looked at him now, saying, ‘Your name?’
‘Johnnie Mullins, sir.’
He stared at the small man for a moment. Then he glanced towards Mike before addressing him again, saying, ‘Could you open a vestry door?’
Now Johnnie Mullins narrowed his gaze and peered along the line of men as if to say, That’s a damn silly question, isn’t it? Then looking straight up at Ward, he said, ‘I could that, sir, any time you like.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Oh, I’m sure.’ The thin face was unsmiling now. ‘But to prove it to you, sir, I could take you back there this minute; in fact, I’ll do it as we’re passin’ the church, and Mike there can give you the verdict in the mornin’.’
Ward, now looking towards Tim Regan and the Scotsman, said, ‘You’re both used to guns?’
Tim Regan looked slightly sheepish, but Hamish McNabb answered, ‘If I had the pleasure, sir, of havin’ one in me hand, then I could use it. No man better. ’Twas in the Army I spent my early life; an’ travelled I am. There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do, sir, to help a man in trouble.’
He was about to go on when Ward put in, ‘Yes. Yes.’ He hadn’t met up with this man before, but from the sound of his voice and volubility of his talk he was surprised he was still living in the Hollow. But then he recalled something: he hadn’t actually met up with him personally, but he had seen him. Yes, he it was who had led a pit strike and was now likely blacklisted. He had been in the Army, and had come into the mines later in life and so did not possess the miners’ inbred tenacity to put up with such unremitting toil. He said briefly, ‘You will have a gun. But there’s one thing I would like to know first. There was a third man in the assault—’ He wetted his lips before he added, ‘on my daughter. I don’t know his name. The verger was one.’ And now he had difficulty in uttering the second name, ‘Pete Mason was the second. But I would like one of you to find out who accompanied these two when they reached the barn on…that particular night.’
It was the Scot who spoke up again, and quickly. ‘Oh, I can name him for you, sir, right away. If he was with Will Smythe and the farmer Mason, then ’twas Smythe’s relative. His name’s Wilberforce. He lives on Walker’s Bank, not five minutes from th
e inn. He left along with the others. I was there that night. Free drinks there were.’ He turned to look from one to the other now and smiled. ‘They were all very merry. I can say that for them. Not blind, nor mortallious, they could stand on their feet; but they were on their way to finish up the night at the barn dance. Oh, it was Wilberforce. There you have it, sir.’
In the ensuing silence, the five men looked at Ward, who was staring down towards the straw-strewn floor; then they watched him put his hand to his inner pocket and bring out a four-folded piece of paper, and after looking round as if for some place on which to lay it, he went towards a broad standing beam that supported the roof; and here, unfolding the sheet, he said to Mike, ‘Bring the lantern.’ When he seemed satisfied with its position, he called to the others, ‘Come here!’ Then to Rob, ‘Put your hands on the top and bottom of this sheet,’ and after Rob complied, he began his explanation: ‘This is a drawing of the screen in the church,’ he said. ‘I am giving you instructions what to do in order that I can fulfil my intentions, at least, in part. And this is what I wish you to do. But before going into detail I must ask you to be prepared to be here at six o’clock on Sunday morning, and everything done as quietly,‘ and he repeated, ‘as quietly as possible.’ He paused now, then said, ‘Who of you has a young son who could run an errand?’
It was Tim Regan who answered: ‘My youngest is ten. He’s a good lad an’ he’s quick on his feet.’
‘Then I’ll want him to run two errands. Don’t tell him anything beforehand. Bring him with you on the morning. Now these are your positions.’ He indicated a position to each man in turn. ‘And this is what you must do.’
As the men listened, their eyes, without exception, widened; and when the expression ‘Holy Mother of God!’ escaped the lips of Tim Regan, Ward turned on him sharply, saying, ‘You’re not getting cold feet?’
‘No…No, no, no, sir. I’ve never had cold feet in me life.’
‘Well, you might all have when I tell you that if you’re recognised you could be in trouble. I’m prepared for that; but as for you, I think you should cover your faces in some way.’
‘Oh, master.’ It was Mike now, laughing as he spoke. ‘We could cover our faces till the cows come home, but once we open our mouths they would know; if not us individually like, then from where we hail. The trouble you refer to, sir, means the polis; we could be run in?’
‘Just that,’ said Ward briefly.
‘Well, here’s me; I’m for me plain face. I don’t know about the rest.’ He looked from one to the other of his neighbours, and it was the Scot who said, ‘I’ve never covered up in the face of any foe, an’ I’m not goin’ to start now, sir. In for a penny, in for a pound. That’s what I say.’
‘An’…an’ so say I.’ Tim Regan was nodding now.
‘Thank you. Well, in that case I will leave it in writing that should any of you be detained with me for a long or short time your families will be seen to.’
‘Well, you can’t say any fairer than that. Englishman that you are, you can’t say any fairer than that.’
Ward turned a sharp glance on the Scot. He knew he was dealing here with a man who would neither bow his head nor touch his forelock to any master, and although he knew it stemmed from the same pride as was in himself, nevertheless, he didn’t like it. He said now, ‘Anything more I want you to know I shall pass on through Mike.’
He had actually stepped out of the barn and into the dimly lit yard when he turned back and, facing the men, who were now gathered in a bunch, he said, ‘As for yourselves, you will be well paid when this is over, whichever way it goes.’
They replied in chorus, ‘Thank you. Thank you, sir.’
Once in the house, Ward went straight upstairs and to his own bedroom, and there, taking a chair, he sat by the head of the bed and put his hand on the pillow where once her head had lain, and he spoke to her, as he did every day.
‘Am I mad, Fanny?’ he said. ‘Am I mad? What put this idea into my head?’ And it was as though he did receive an answer from her, for he said, ‘Yes. Yes. The minute I saw her, I knew what I intended to do, but didn’t know how to accomplish it. But now I know.’ He stared at his hand on the pillow for quite some time, and then he said, ‘You are not for it. I know…I know you are not for it, my love, as you are not for Carl going. What’s done’s done, you say, as he said too, but I am me, Fanny; I am still me. Even your soft tongue and guiding hand could not keep me from dealing out this retribution.’
Again he waited; and then he said, ‘Well, Carl will be here; and he’s going to marry that girl. And you understand that, too, don’t you? You have always said she is for him; but I don’t see it like that, my love. Anyway, come what may, he will look after the girls…What do you think will be the outcome, my love? Oh, don’t fade away. Please don’t fade away.’ He now leaned over and laid his face on the pillow. ‘And don’t ask why I can’t let you go. I’ve told you I thought I could, because Angela was you re-born; but now, you see what’s happened: she shrinks from me. I can’t stand the agony of it, Fanny. Fanny, don’t go. Don’t go.’
When there was a tap on the door he sprang up, straightened his neckerchief, stroked his hair back, and said, ‘Yes?’
Jessie entered, saying, ‘The doctor has come. He’s sorry he couldn’t get here earlier.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ He made small movements with his hands as if waving her away. And he stood now staring towards the door before turning slowly again and looking at the bed and the dent in the pillow where his head had lain; and he asked himself again if he was mad, while appearing sane on the surface, and the answer he gave was: well, if he was he had been mad for some time, and he couldn’t see himself returning to normality, because she was with him in this room. He knew she was. She was always waiting, because he willed her to be here. But at times he was made to wonder if it was the sane patches in his mind that made her cry out, ‘Let me go!’
Where was it going to end? In a like place as the mad bitch who had willed disaster on him? Yes, there was the word ‘willed’. You could will things to happen. He had willed Fanny’s spirit from the grave, and now he was willing infamy on the village. What he would make happen would cause that village to stink for generations to come. The pride of the hypocrites would be ground into the dust. As he saw it, in justice he owed it to himself.
Five
As soon as the first two members of the congregation, Mr and Mrs Napier from The Lodden, entered St Stephen’s on this Sunday morning, they not only sensed, they knew something was wrong. Miss Steel, the new assistant teacher at the village school, who had taken over as organist when John Silburn had given it up because of cramp in his hands, was not doing her weekly duty, and they knew that playing the organ was in her contract, for the school was under the patronage of the church. And then, what was the matter with the screen? Had something happened to it? The left-hand side was completely covered over with what seemed to be a hayrick sheet held away from the top of the screen by poles, but kept in place at the bottom by three large stones.
But why? They hadn’t heard that there was anything wrong with the screen. If some idiot had defaced it, it would soon have been made known around the village.
So too thought the rest of the congregation as they took their seats. And there were murmurs here and there as people leaned forward or back over the pew and whispered, ‘What do you think’s happened to the screen? And there’s no-one in the organ gallery, I notice.’
The tolling of the bell seemed to be the only sign of normality in the church.
As was usual, the gentry were the last to file into their pews. There were six of the Hopkinses from Border Manor, an indication that they must have someone staying for the weekend. These days, there were only two of the Bedfords, for their daughter had gone over to the Methodists years ago. Then there were the Arkwrights. They were comparative newcomers to the village, having been here only six years. They had moved into Whiteberg Farm; Mr Arkwright
was what was called a gentleman farmer. And lastly this morning, there were the Ramsmores.
The colonel, it was noted, really was getting doddery, and his son just managed to prevent him from falling as his foot caught the end of the pew.
After the bell stopped tolling there was an eerie silence in the church. At this point it was usual for the vicar, followed by his servers, to emerge from the vestry, the choir having already assembled in the gallery; but this morning there was no emergence, no swishing of surplices; the only procession being that of the Youngston family entering the church and being quickly ushered into a back pew, the mother and father admonishing, as usual, the four children to be quiet.
But then a series of very unusual events began to occur.
First: the church door was closed with a bang; and when heads turned towards it, they saw a strange man standing there grasping something by his side. Here and there, those near enough to him thought it to be a gun; but that was surely not the case.
Secondly: the congregation’s attention was swung to the opening between the screens and to the two men who had appeared. One of these was certainly carrying a gun. This man walked down the steps and to the far side of the covered screen. His gun, however, wasn’t being held by his side, but in a position that left no doubt as to what he meant to do with it.
The astonishment of the whole congregation had so far kept them silent, but now there was a concerted gasp as the first man made his way towards the pulpit, for even those at the back of the church, as well as those straining their necks to see beyond the pillars at the left side of the main aisle, immediately recognised him as being the farmer, Ward Gibson.
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