The Maltese Angel

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Oh, my dear, I don’t think there are many white-feather individuals left, not now.’

  ‘O…h,’ the word was long drawn out, ‘you don’t know, Mama. There was a young fellow in the hospital, he was one of us; in fact, we were the only two among soldiers and we were accepted by them. But this young fellow didn’t break down until he returned home, when he was actually attacked by a herd of women from the street in which he lived, because they had lost husbands, or sons, or brothers in the war, and there he was, to them, whole and hearty. They smashed the windows and beat him up. The fact that his mother had to shield him finished him. It’s unbelievable, yet women can be more fierce than men…or animals.’

  They sat in silence for a time, and then she dared to bring up another subject. She did it very diplomatically. ‘I…I am sorry that Janie disturbed you the other day. I told her that I should be all right in a day or two.’

  ‘It’s…it’s all right. She didn’t disturb me. Well, at least…well, she surprised me. I…I thought I recognised her voice and then when I saw her, I didn’t recognise her at all. She…she has grown…very tall.’

  ‘Yes, she is tall. I hope she doesn’t keep on, she is five-feet six already. But then, she’ll soon be seventeen and one stops growing after that, I think. Yet,’ she smiled, ‘I don’t remember what age I was when I stopped. I only know at the time I was glad I did, because very tall women were looked upon as oddities in my day. But Janie will never be looked upon as an oddity. She…she’s such a charming girl. I don’t know what I would have done without her during these last…Are you going, my dear?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I mustn’t tire you.’

  ‘Oh, you could never tire me, but I must tire you with my chatter.’

  ‘It’s good to hear you, Mama. Yes.’ He bent over and repeated, ‘Yes, it’s good to hear you. Goodnight, my dear.’ As he kissed her softly on the cheek, she put her arms around his neck and held him to her for a moment, and it seemed to her he might be about to return the embrace, but then his body jerked away from her and he was standing straight, saying, ‘Goodnight, my dear.’

  ‘Goodnight. Wrap up well. It’s…it’s still chilly out.’

  He had backed a little way from the bed and now he nodded before turning abruptly and leaving the room. And she lay with her hands tight pressed against her chest, and she prayed, ‘Bring him back, dear Lord. Bring him back to what he was.’

  The raspberries had followed the strawberries and had given them a real bumper crop. And now it was the end of August and they had finished clearing the bushes. Arthur had gone into the town with fifty-pound punnets and there were still four large and two small baskets on the kitchen table. And Nancy, surveying them from her stool at the end of the table, said, ‘I thought I’d seen the last of them lot. D’you mean to bottle them all?’

  ‘Well, I think we’ll do three baskets, and’—Janie turned to Lady Lydia—‘I would like to take one over to the farm and,’ pulling a face, she added, ‘get some cream in exchange.’

  ‘Yes, that’s an idea,’ said Lady Lydia, nodding her head, her eyes sparkling their amusement, and Nancy put in, ‘A bit of butter when you’re on.’

  ‘I brought a pound back the day before yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, what’s a pound, miss, when those two hogs outside cut into a loaf?’

  ‘You should give them some of your dripping.’

  ‘Now you know why I don’t, miss, ’cos it makes better pastry than your farm butter. I’ve always said that, an’ I always will.’

  ‘Well,’ Janie retorted, ‘as you say yourself, people say more than prayers and they whistle them.’

  ‘Oh! Janie.’

  And to this laughing reprimand Janie said, ‘I only repeat what she says, Lady Lydia. Anyway, I’ll take this basket and we’ll have one of the small ones for tea…with cream.’

  ‘Oh, get yourself away.’ Lady Lydia now pushed Janie gently in the shoulder, ‘And give your aunt and Carl my thanks for the eggs and their kindness.’

  As Janie made for the door Nancy called to her, ‘What do you want doing with the other basket then?’

  ‘I want it kept to one side. That’s for Mr Gerald. I’ll see to it when I come back.’

  ‘I’ll take it down.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She had turned on Lady Lydia. ‘You nearly twisted your ankle yesterday.’ Then muttering, ‘Something will have to be done,’ she lifted the none-too-light basket and went out.

  When she entered the farmyard she was sweating profusely and Rob, seeing her and taking the basket from her, said, ‘Coo! I could just do with a basin of those. By! They’re big ’uns. The missis has just gone into the kitchen.’

  A moment later, Jessie, too, was exclaiming over the size and freshness of the raspberries, and she said, ‘I’ll get a good few bottles out of that lot. But why didn’t you tell Carl, and he would have come over and carried that basket? It’s an awful weight. Sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  ‘I can’t stay long.’

  Jessie sighed. ‘That’s always your cry, you can’t stay long.’

  ‘Well there’s so much to do over there.’

  ‘You’re still happy doing it?’ Jessie turned from the table where she was spooning some tea into the teapot, and Janie said, ‘Yes, couldn’t be happier. Well…I mean.’

  ‘What do you mean? Something else you want?’

  She could have answered, Oh, yes, there’s something else I want, and I mean to get it on my birthday…my seventeenth birthday, which is only a few weeks away. But were she to give Jessie an inkling of what she meant to do, she would see her aunt flying across to the Hall and confronting Lady Lydia; and then everything would be spoilt. And all under the heading of ‘I’m doing it for your own good’. So she answered, ‘Yes. Yes, there’s umpteen things I want. Anyway, you’re happy, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Because…because I’m concerned for you, always have been and always will. I want to see you happy.’

  ‘Oh, I’m happy enough.’ Janie got to her feet now, adding, ‘Am I going to get that cup of tea or not? There’s more raspberries waiting to be bottled.’

  It was noticeable that she never mentioned Gerald nor did Jessie refer to ‘that man down in the cottage’. So fifteen minutes later she left the farm carrying the basket, now laden with butter, cheese, cream and eggs. And when, back in the Hall, she picked up the smaller basket, Nancy protested, ‘He won’t get through all of them on his own,’ and Janie answered, ‘With the help of half this cream he will.’

  When Gerald saw the raspberries, he said, ‘You’re still picking?’

  ‘This is the last, thank goodness. My fingers are sore.’

  ‘Well—’ he smiled wryly as he said, ‘that’s your own fault. You should take on extra hands at this time.’

  She was standing near the table, and now she swung round and stared at him, and the look on her face caused him to say quickly, ‘Don’t say it. Don’t say it.’

  ‘Well!’ She turned from him, her shoulders shrugging, and when she muttered, ‘Well!’ he repeated, ‘Well!’ Then she looked to the end of the table. It was clear. Usually it was littered with paper and books, but now it was clear, and she said in surprise, ‘You…you’re not writing? You’re finished?’

  ‘For the present, yes.’

  ‘Are you going to send your book away?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just because I’ve decided that the past is best left in the past.’

  ‘Then why did you go on writing it?’

  His voice rose now and his words were rapid, ‘Just because I wanted to get things out of my system, and I prefer to write them down instead of jabbering.’

  She now faced him squarely, saying, ‘Well, don’t you bark at me.’

  And his answer to this was, ‘I’ll stop barking at you when you stop acting like a woman.’

  They were staring at each oth
er, their bodies stiff. But then she said, ‘I…I am a woman, a young woman.’

  ‘You’re nothing of the sort. You’re a girl, a young girl.’

  ‘I’ll be seventeen in October.’

  ‘Huh! Seventeen in October. You haven’t started to live yet. You know nothing about life.’

  ‘Oh, don’t I!’ Now she was yelling, ‘I’ve known about life since I found there were locks on the doors, let me tell you. You think because you were in a war and it didn’t suit you, that you’re the only one who has experienced life, as you call it, and the things it can do to you inside. Well, let me tell you, you needn’t go any further than this village to suffer all the pangs of life and none of the joys. That woman back there’—she thumbed towards the door—‘she said years ago that I was the result of an unholy trinity. Carry that around with you in your mind. Do you remember the day when I asked you what an unholy trinity was? Well, almost every day since, I’ve asked myself, am I doing this because that one fathered me? or, because that one fathered me? or, because that one fathered me? You said stop being a woman. I was a woman before I was a girl. You and your conscientious objecting and your moral protesting. I’ve been protesting all my life and it’s been a long one, and I don’t have to wait until I’m seventeen to be a woman.’

  When he moved a step towards her and said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry,’ she moved swiftly back from him, her voice still loud as she cried, ‘You’re not sorry. You’re not sorry for me, you’re only sorry for yourself. If you were sorry for anybody else you would stop your mother having to trail over here to see you, wet or fine. And she’s an old lady, you seem not to have noticed that, and she’s very fragile. And if you were really sorry you would do something about it.’ Now she flounced out of the room, across the other one and to the door. And when she had pulled it open, she finished her tirade by yelling, ‘And instead of sitting on your backside moping on your wrongs, you want to get a shovel in your hand and start digging outside here. So there you have it! and I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a long time.’

  She left him standing outside the cottage watching her march away, and his whole body was yelling, ‘Janie! Janie! Come back! Please! I need you!’ But he knew he must never say that. And now he turned back to the doorway and leant his brow against the stanchion. And his mind told him there were all kinds of crucifixions, and he was suffering another now as he faced the knowledge that had always been buried deep with him. But he saw no end to this form of torment: look at him, what was he? A middle-aged man, bewildered and still sick in his mind.

  Eight

  A week passed without Janie visiting him; nor would she tell Lady Lydia why, except that they’d had a few words. And anyway, she was too busy, and didn’t Lady Lydia think it was time that he did the walking this way? ‘He’s still not quite himself, my dear,’ Lady Lydia still maintained, only to be slightly amazed when her dear girl, who was so sympathetic in all ways, came back with, ‘Well, it’s about time he was. And if people didn’t run after him he might pull himself together.’

  It was halfway through the second week, after one of Lady Lydia’s hazardous journeys across the rough, root-strewn path that she brought a letter from him. And it took Janie quite some seconds before she could open it, and there on a rough scrap of paper were written the words: ‘Please come back. I have something to show you.’ She now handed it to Lady Lydia, saying, ‘Why couldn’t he come and say that instead of writing it?’

  ‘Be patient, dear. You have got him this far; don’t let him go back.’

  ‘Me? Me, got him this far?’ There was definite surprise in her voice, to which Lady Lydia responded and said, ‘Yes. Yes, only you. With that sharp tongue of yours and that bossy manner, and you’ll do it my way or else; of course, the latter softened by your own form of diplomacy.’

  ‘Oh, Lady Lydia.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Gibson.’

  Janie had to bite on her lip to prevent herself from laughing outright; then she asked quietly, ‘Am I like that?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, dear, you are; together with being so honest, and true, and kind. Oh, my dear, don’t cry.’

  ‘I’m not crying.’ She blinked her eyes rapidly. ‘And anyway, there’s no time for that.’

  ‘No, of course not, dear. But…but will you go along today and see him?’

  ‘Perhaps; after I’ve had a talk with Arthur. He broached a very good idea yesterday. It’s about the bottom field: if a few huts could be put up there, he says, we could keep up to a hundred hens. And there’s the pond at the bottom of the field. It’s fed from the ditch and, as he pointed out, it only wants some of the silt clearing and there you have a place for ducks. Eggs are always a good market sale.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, my dear. I wonder what next?’

  ‘I wonder, too, and among my wonderings I thought about your friend that you phone, the one who’s asked you up to London. Now there’s enough money in the coffers to give you a holiday anywhere you like, and you said you loved London and the theatres, and so…’

  ‘Oh, my dear, I’m too old to explore London and do the rounds of the theatres.’

  ‘You’re not at all. Anyway, I’ve settled in my mind that you’re going to London. And I haven’t time to waste talking,’ which left her ladyship gasping as usual and telling herself that the child was right: she wasn’t too old to go to London and see a play. No, of course she wasn’t. In fact, she was feeling better now than she had done for a long time. And that was because her dear boy was so much better…proof of which was to show itself that day.

  It was four o’clock in the afternoon before Janie made her way to the cottage. And there he was, washing his hands and arms in a sawn-off tub of rainwater supplied by a spout at the end of the cottage. When he saw her he pulled a coarse towel from a hook in the wall and rubbed himself briskly before approaching her. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘I’ve never felt bad.’

  ‘No. No, of course not. The…the kettle’s on. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said and he made to go into the cottage, but as he stood aside to allow her to enter, he said, ‘Wait a minute. The tea will taste better if there’s some sugar in it. Come here.’ He did not put his hand out towards her, but motioned her to follow him, then led the way to the back of the cottage to the small stone-walled yard. The gate leading from this had been overgrown with weeds and here and there low shrubs had embedded their roots in the wall. But now, to her amazed gaze, the yard stood out clear amid a largish piece of ground which had not only been cleared but also tilled.

  As she stood surveying it, he pointed silently to the spade leaning against the wall, and he was smiling as he said, ‘You provide good medicine.’

  ‘Oh.’ She bowed her head now and muttered something like, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.’ But he came back at her quickly, saying, ‘Oh you should. You should. The time was ripe. The pen gets rid of some things but there’s nothing like tired limbs to give you dreamless sleep…now and again. Thank you, Janie.’

  She flung round from him now, saying, ‘You’re making me feel awful, you know. Lady Lydia said I was…’ She hesitated.

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘I know what she would say, and that would be that you have been such a great help to her; she doesn’t know how she would have got through without you, but,’ he added now, ‘at the same time you are inclined to be bossy and expect to get your own way.’

  ‘I’m not and I don’t!’ They were standing beside the cottage door now. ‘I am not bossy. I…I just know how things should be done, and I always ask and politely. I am not bossy.’

  ‘Well, that surprises me.’ He shook his head, at the same time directing his arm as if ushering her into a drawing room. And like any annoyed young miss, she now flounced in before him only, immediately she was in the room, to point to the fire and declare, ‘It’s nearly out! How do
you expect the kettle to boil on that?’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly it will take a little longer. But in the meantime, madam, would you mind sitting down and stop acting…’

  Her arm was already thrust out towards him and she was saying, ‘Don’t you say that to me again. You know what happened the last time.’

  ‘You don’t know what I was going to say.’

  ‘Oh, I do, I do. Acting like a woman.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Well, what were you going to say?’

  ‘Oh—’ He gave a little shrug now, saying, ‘I’ve forgotten.’ Then he took a seat at the opposite side of the table and looked across at her, and as she looked directly at him for the first time since he had returned home, she saw the semblance of the ‘nice man’: he had smiled more during the last few minutes than he had done during all the past months she had seen him.

  He stared at her intently for some minutes until she said, ‘What…what’s the matter?’ She put her hand up to her hair. ‘I’m…I’m a mess? Well, I’ve been at it all day.’

  ‘You’re not a mess. You’re a beautiful young girl. Always remember that. Now I’m going to ask you something.’

  ‘Yes?’ She waited.

  ‘Can we, from this time on, become friends, as we were, I mean, before I went away?’

  She swallowed deep in her throat, then said, ‘I’d like that.’

  For the first time his hand came out to her and she placed hers in it. She watched him bend his head for a moment; then he said, ‘Let us take it from here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was he who now let go of her hand and, rising from the chair, he said briskly, ‘If I don’t put the bellows under that kettle it’ll never boil tonight.’ And as she watched him she thought, I don’t care if it never boils. Never, never, never.

  It was her birthday, and she was seventeen. Lady Lydia had given her her own gold fob-watch and a ring that she had worn when she was a young girl. Nancy had given her half a dozen handkerchiefs with drawn-thread hems and her initials hand-worked on them. And the men together had presented her with a bunch of roses and a pound box of chocolates.