She couldn’t bear any more. She pulled herself from the sailor’s hold and, stumbling forward, gripped the horse’s bridle and tugged at it, and when it moved forward its head pushed against Larry’s back and just like an animated clockwork figure that had run down, his shoulders drooped, his head drooped. He moved to the side and waited until the back of the cart reached him, then put his hand onto Con’s dangling legs; and like this they went from the village.
Eight
From the day they brought Con into the house and laid him on the sofa in the drawing room until the day they carried him out again in his coffin, Larry scarcely opened his mouth to her. It was as if he wasn’t aware of her, or on the other hand that he was so aware of her she had became part of himself and so needed no recognition through speech. Sometimes when passing through the kitchen he would stand in front of her and stare at her for a moment as if he were about to say something, then would turn his head aside and go from her.
There had been a great deal of coming and going during the past five days. No longer could she complain that no-one visited the house; but she wished that the visitors could have been other than policemen. They came out from Fellburn, and some from Newcastle, some were in uniform and some weren’t, but they were all connected with the law or the newspapers. With the newspaper men she had been cautious, afraid to mention names in case of further retaliation.
She had heard that when the police went looking for Jamsie Morgan, as a witness, his parents said he had gone back to sea, and they didn’t know from which port he had sailed. The young fellow, she thought, was wise to change his mind about giving up the sea, because he could never have got work on the land around here if he had split on them in the village.
One of the policemen who wasn’t in uniform had said to the master, and in a very stiff tone, ‘We understand, Mr Birch, that you weren’t present at the time of the incident, but you must have an idea who the men were, and we advise you not to attempt to take matters into your own hands.’ The master’s reaction to this was to stare unblinking at the man.
The reactions of the mistress, old Abbie, and Lucy, to Con’s death were different from what Emily would have expected. Lucy, as yet, hadn’t shed a tear, and like the master she had hardly opened her mouth for days, and went about her allotted tasks like someone sleepwalking. As for Abbie, instead of showering a spate of words at Emily and telling her that he had foreseen the whole thing, and what had she expected, he, too, was strangely silent; even yesterday when she had accused him bitterly of having stirred up the feeling in the village by taking the news to the inn that Lucy was pregnant he had just hung his head. Through clenched teeth she had ground out at him, ‘You’re a mischief-maker, Abbie Reading, that’s what you are, and you’re as much to blame for what has happened as them over yonder,’ even then he had not retaliated in any way, but his lips had trembled as only an old man’s could and, without uttering one word in his own defence, he had walked away from her.
But the reaction of her mistress was the strangest of all. That woman, Emily thought, would go mad, if she weren’t so already, for she was blaming the master for everything that had happened. After her first screaming outburst at the news she had barred the door for a whole day and a night.
And over the past four days if she had told her once what had happened on the awful day, she must have told her a dozen times; but still she didn’t seem satisfied. Each time, when the telling was over, she would lie back on the pillows, clutch the quilt in both hands, and pull at it as if endeavouring to tear it in two.
But this morning, the day when Con would leave the house for the last time, she had refused to go over the scene yet again, for she felt ill inside. Her body seemed soaked in sadness, she needed comfort, someone to talk to, to put into words the feeling that had come alive in her when she had rocked Con’s lifeless body in her arms, and in so talking reveal to herself the reason for such a love as she now felt.
She was leaving the bedroom when her mistress turned her blood cold by saying, as if to herself, ‘He says he means to do for Goodyear; well, the sooner the better. And that will solve all problems, won’t it? Two birds with one shot.’
When, her head shaking, she said, ‘Oh, madam, don’t say such a thing!’ Rona Birch had mimicked her by repeating, ‘Oh, madam, don’t say such a thing!’ and when, her face showing a look of fury, she cried at her, ‘You are too pert, miss, much too pert. You forget yourself. Remember where you are, and what you are,’ there arose in Emily a feeling of such indignation that she dared to reply, ‘I don’t forget what I am or where I am, and I’ll tell you this, madam, I can walk out of here the day. And where would you be if I did, for there’s one less now to do your biddin’? Two I’d say, for I’m not letting Lucy come into this room again.’
She saw the hand waver towards the side table, then drop onto the cover and grip it, and as they stared at each other she knew she had won a kind of victory, and one which if she intended to stay on here, she could make use of. But that was the question, did she intend to stay on?
At eleven o’clock she and Lucy stood against the wall at the end of the house and watched the undertaker’s men carry the coffin out onto the drive, and push it into the black-draped glass hearse, then the hearse moved a little forward to enable the cabs, one by one, to take their place opposite the door.
The master, Mrs Rowan and her daughter, went into the first cab, followed by a number of gentlemen whom Emily hadn’t seen before, who went into the second and third ones; then behind the third cab walked half a dozen men, working men by the cut of their clothes. The only one she recognised among them was Abbie Reading.
They remained by the wall until all they could see above the hedge that bordered the drive was the black-beribboned whips and the black streamers flowing from the high hats of the cab drivers.
Lucy now made a noise in her throat, then turned and buried her head against Emily, and by the time they reached the kitchen she was crying, not as she usually did, but wailing aloud and choking and coughing at the same time.
As Emily held her close, she, too, gave way to the pent-up emotions inside her; but her crying was without sound, and its effect was to rack her body with a pain that stemmed from between her ribs, and flowed into her veins, and flooded her mind, washing away all thinking but that which was concerned with the agony of sorrow for Con.
Even knowing it would be heard in the room above, she did not attempt to check Lucy’s wailing in any way and when eventually it subsided and the girl lay limp and exhausted against her, her own tears ceased to flow.
When at last she could see clearly, the dresser laden with plates of food reminded her of the meal that had to be set for the mourners’ return. She had been cooking until late last night and also from early on this morning. She must get up and set the table in the dining room, and she must make Lucy help her, it would take her mind off things.
Rising heavily to her feet, she held out her hand, saying, ‘Come on, there’s work to be done; I need you to give me a hand. But don’t take the trays, I’ll see to them, just take two plates at a time. I’ve laid the cloth.’
She did not follow Lucy immediately from the kitchen but stood looking around her. The place looked mucky, the floor needed scrubbing, the grate needed blackleading, in fact she knew that the whole house needed a good clean through, but she also knew that it was beyond her. It had been hard enough before with the excess of washing and cooking and seeing to that one up there. Con had relieved her of much of the running up and downstairs but now it would all fall on her shoulders …
Con…Con. His name was ringing in her mind all the time. It was as if she were bemoaning the loss of a beloved child. And he had been a child; yet he had been capable of doing so many things. She was going to miss him in all ways. Yes, in all ways.
As she lifted up the heavy tray on which were plates holding large portions of roast pork and of veal and ham pie, she thought, I’ll wait until he recovers a bit, then I’ll hav
e to tell him we’ll have to have help both for inside and out, or else I’ll go…And I want to go. I do. I do.
The funeral repast was over, the gentlemen had left, and now Mrs Rowan and her daughter were in the hall about to take their leave. She saw them standing together as she came from the kitchen and made her way to the dining room to start cleaning. She took note of the daughter. She wasn’t young, nearly thirty, she’d say. She was big made and not bad looking, but the main impression Emily got was that she looked physically strong.
When she entered the dining room she did not close the door behind her for she heard Mrs Rowan mention the blacksmith, and so she stood holding the door ajar in her hand listening.
‘Now, I’ve told you, Larry, they’ve both gone, both Goodyear and Ralston; from what I can gather, John Ralston would be as much in fear of Goodyear as he would of you. What’s more, the latest is that Hannah Goodyear’s selling the business, likely going to join him wherever he is. But Sarah Ralston will carry on the farm regardless. Anyway, she’s managed on her own for years because he’s been too busy elsewhere. But, Larry, I’m telling you, forget about them now. What’s done’s done, you cannot bring back the dead; and their deeds will catch up on them, you’ll see.’
‘Just sit back and do nothing, Hannah, is that what you want me to do?’
‘With regard to them two, yes, that’s all you can do, because, don’t forget, if you try anything else your own neck’s at stake. And what’ll happen to all this then?’
In her mind’s eye, Emily could imagine the little woman waving her arm about the hall before going on, ‘You’ve worked hard enough for it; and let’s be honest, Larry, you’ve sacrificed both yourself and others for it, and now you’re having to pay through the teeth in more ways than one for it. But it’s your business, and it’s your life, I’m not blaming you, a man must do what his urges tell him, but one thing I do say and I’ll repeat it, leave Goodyear and Ralston to the police.’
‘Leave it to the police? Huh! Ralston’s brother’s Chief Constable of Fellburn, so leave it to the police you say, Hannah?’
‘Aye, I still say it, for their disappearance proves their guilt, and they’ll remain wanted men all their lives. We’re going now, but you know where we are if you need us. It won’t do for us to call on you very often here, there’s been enough talk, hasn’t there?’
Emily waited for an answer to this but there was none forthcoming. She heard the door open, then after some time she heard it close, but she did not hear his footsteps going across the hall immediately, and she pictured him standing with his back against the door.
When finally she heard his feet treading slowly up the stairs she went to the table and began to clear it, and as she did so it occurred to her that never once had she heard the daughter Lizzie open her mouth.
He had been over at the farm since changing his clothes in the late afternoon; now it was nearing nine o’clock and he hadn’t yet come in.
She had attended to the mistress and been momentarily softened towards her by the fact that her eyes were swollen and red with crying. It was good to know that after all she possessed some ordinary human feelings, for since Con’s death all she seemed to have done was to rave at the master. Tonight she was quiet, and apparently not hungry for her supper tray was hardly touched.
Now it was nearing the end of the day that had seen the last of Con, and she could not tell if it was sadness or sheer exhaustion that was weighing her down. She only knew that if she didn’t sit down she would collapse. What was more, she had a cold. The sludge of the quarry bottom had soaked her to the waist, and she had shivered for days afterwards. She had tried to wash the mud off her clothes but they were so stained she’d never be able to wear her coat or skirt again. But what did it matter? What did anything matter?
She had sent Lucy up to bed over half an hour ago, for she, too, had been overcome with weariness and sadness. Slowly now she laid out the breakfast trays, filled the kettle, damped down the fire with the coal dust from the bottom of the bucket, then poured the tea leaves from the pot on top of it, after which she carried the two iron pails across the yard to the coal house, and after filling them carried them, bent almost double, back into the kitchen, setting one each side of the fireplace.
Con had always brought the coal in.
When the kitchen door opened and Larry entered she was at the sink washing her hands, and as she dried them on the hessian towel he spoke her name for the first time in days. ‘Come and sit down, Emily,’ he said; ‘I must talk to you.’
Funny, how men always said that to her: ‘Come and sit down; I want to talk to you.’
She had hung up the hessian towel on the nail, walked slowly to the table and as slowly sat down at the far end of it, and, her hands folded one on top of the other in her lap, she looked at him, where he sat opposite to her, and waited. Then something inside her gave a violent jerk as if a hammer had hit her ribs when, his two hands coming out, he gripped hers and, looking into her face and his voice low and thick with emotion, he said, ‘Emily, don’t leave me.’
His back was bent, his head was bowed over her knees. She was looking down into his thick hair and she noticed that he had two crowns. There was some old wives’ tale about people who had two crowns but she couldn’t remember what it was. He hadn’t said, ‘Don’t leave the house,’ or ‘Don’t leave us,’ but ‘Don’t leave me.’
Her heart racing now, she listened to him saying, ‘I know you’ve been worked off your feet, anybody else would have taken to their bed after what…what you went through.’ She watched his shoulders rise as he gulped in his throat, and the thick sweet smell of the cow byres wafted from him and filled her nostrils. ‘I’ll try to get you help inside, but I can’t promise anything, not from roundabout. But I don’t want to see you kill yourself with work. Leave the rooms. I’ll close up both the drawing room and dining room and I’ll take my meals here in the kitchen. I’ll see to my own bed and take on what chores I can, like’—he lifted his head slightly and nodded towards the hearth—‘fetching the coal and wood and such, until I can get help outside. And that, I’m afraid, is going to be as difficult as getting it inside, thanks to our dear friend Abbie.’ He now raised his head and she watched the muscles in front of his ear twitch as he added, ‘If he wasn’t an old man I’d horsewhip him. Do you know that? I’d horsewhip him, for if anybody’s to blame for Con’s going it’s him. I’d send him packing tomorrow if it wasn’t for…’ He broke off and his eyes involuntarily flickered upwards; then he shook his head and, looking into her face, said, ‘You have it in your mind to go, haven’t you? But I’m not blaming you, don’t think that…only…only—’ His head drooped again.
She swallowed, blinked, shook her head in denial, then nodded as she admitted, ‘Aye, yes, I…I was in two minds, ’cos so…so many things have happened. But now, you needn’t worry any more. I won’t leave, but…but I’ll have to have help of sorts, if it’s only somebody to give a hand with the washin’. There’s so much of it; and it’s the drying of it in weather like this. I’m…I’m sorry Lucy’s not much use…’
‘Oh, I don’t want you to let Lucy do anything if possible; there’s a chance she could get better if she has rest and the right food. I was thinking the other day, if she could be sent to a sanatorium…’
She hadn’t realised that he was still holding her hands until she went to withdraw them from his as she exclaimed, ‘A what! An asylum?’
‘No, no.’ He was gripping her hands and shaking them now, ‘It’s a place where the air is good for people like Lucy, those with the complaint. I know someone away down in the south of England, it’s my mother’s cousin, she works in one such sanatorium. I could write to her and ask her what chance there would be of getting Lucy in for a time.’
She asked softly now, ‘Could they cure her?’
‘Well, that’s what people go for, to be cured. There’s always a chance.’
‘Eeh!’ Her fingers moved within his grasp as she s
aid, ‘I’d be ever grateful if she could be made better.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’
Their faces straight, sadness showing in their eyes, they sat staring at each other in the lamplight. Then as quickly as he had first grasped her hands, he now fell onto his knees and, his arms about her waist, he buried his head in her lap. His shoulders shook and his voice was thick and broken as he moaned, ‘Oh! Emily…Emily…I miss Con. I…I loved that lad. He was so good, so innocent, so trusting. I…I used to think of him as a son.’
During the first moments of their closeness she had remained stiff, but when his words became inaudible and his crying increased she held him to her as naturally as she would have Lucy or Con himself, and she thought it was odd that she should think of herself as Con’s mother and here was he saying he thought of him as his son. Con seemed to have bred love…and hate, for he had died by hate.
When at last his crying subsided he drew himself from her arms and rose to his feet and, his head bowed deeply onto his chest, he muttered, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’
She made no answer, she just sat looking up at him as, with his back to her, he dried his face and said quietly, ‘I begged you to stay, but at the same time I know it’s a crying sin to ask a young girl like you to bury yourself alive here, because this house has never known joy or laughter except what you’ve brought into it, and I doubt if it ever will again.’
She pulled herself to her feet now and addressing his back, said softly, ‘I don’t think I’m buryin’ meself alive. In the first place, I was glad to be given a roof over our heads. I…I think you should give yourself time for Con to rest, then perhaps things’ll change and you’ll laugh again.’ But had she ever seen him laugh before, really laugh except on New Year’s Eve? And then, like them all, he was drunk. She ended, ‘I think Con would have wanted you to laugh, for he loved a laugh and a joke.’
The Tide of Life Page 23
