‘Yes. Somewhere near Felling. That was at Christmas time, too.’
The night of the drive! Kate thought; walking across the moonlit green hill…Oh, Rodney…But to put it like that…in a field! How sordid it sounded.
‘Mrs Richards, Doctor Richards’s wife, told me of this; she felt I should know…Candidly, I think she would like to see a divorce, and would help me to get it. Anything that would endanger Rodney’s career would be beneficial to her husband’s practice…Women are strange creatures, aren’t they?’ she said, smiling stiffly.
Kate just stared at her, at her beautiful unlined face and her eyes, as cold as the sea.
‘You remarked,’ continued Stella, ‘that divorce does not end a man’s career. But this one would. For, should I divorce him and he does not marry a certain lady…namely, Gwendoline Cuthbert-Harris…she will immediately bring up a case against him for seduction, when she was his patient.’
‘You must be mad!’ cried Kate. ‘I don’t believe a word you say.’
‘It does sound mad, doesn’t it?’ said Stella calmly.
‘Lady Cuthbert-Harris is a sick woman,’ said Kate, ‘she’s neurotic. You know she is.’
‘Aren’t we all!’ Stella retorted. ‘Tell me who isn’t suffering from nerves after going through this war…But she has asked me to divorce Rodney when he returns. She says that she’s crazy about him, which, of course, I know, and so do most people. And, she states, he loves her, and that I am the only obstacle in the way of their happiness.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘Why should I lie about such a thing?’ Stella opened her bag again and, taking out another letter, she said, ‘Please notice the crest on the envelope and also on the paper…Now, would you mind listening to this?’
Stella read the letter aloud, raising her eyes every now and again to Kate’s white face.
It was the outpourings of a sex-ridden woman, and, as Stella had said, was asking her to divorce Rodney on the grounds of what had taken place between them.
Kate felt sick. She knew it was the letter of a woman who was mentally ill; but she also saw what could be made out of this letter if brought before the public notice. And whether it was or not depended on her…How was it, Kate thought, she had always sensed disaster would come to him through her?…And she fully realised that this woman before her meant every word she said. She was as dangerous as an adder; nothing would stop her reaching her object, and her object, Kate knew, was to have Rodney once more. And if she couldn’t get him she would ruin him…Oh, God, she cried voicelessly, is there no end to it? What must I do?…But, even as she asked, she knew.
But first she would tell this woman that what she had said about Rodney had no effect on her; it was what she would do to him that was forcing her hand.
‘You needn’t continue!’ she interrupted, her voice quivering. ‘I don’t believe a word of it…No, not a word!’
‘You don’t!’ Stella folded the letter carefully and returned it to her bag. ‘However,’ she continued, ‘whether you believe it or not, Miss Hannigan, is beside the point. Should Lady Cuthbert-Harris bring up a case of such a nature on top of my suing for divorce, and she will bring up her case, I’ll see to that, what chance do you think Rodney’s career will stand? The Medical Board is rather puritanical about the members of its profession, and, should nothing even be proved, Rodney wouldn’t be able to stand the strain of it…it would break him.
‘I have the advantage in the knowledge I possess of my husband, Miss Hannigan. His affairs were always numerous, but never serious enough to damage his career; and his affairs were secondary things in his life…his work came first.
‘Have you realised, Miss Hannigan, that nothing matters to him so much as his work? His one aim before the war was to specialise in children’s diseases and child psychology. Should you bring about the end of his career, do you think you would be capable of replacing it in his life?…Remember, once he is struck off the medical register, that will be the end. Sex is not all a man needs. But perhaps you have that to learn…You undoubtedly will learn it should you force my hand, Miss Hannigan.’
‘What if I refuse to fall in with your plans?’ cried Kate, momentarily driven to defiance. ‘If I stay he will come to me, and you could do your worst. You lost him years ago…Even if you get your way and you share the same roof for the rest of your days you’ll never have him; I know that. You don’t exist for him!’ she spat out the last words.
Stella stood up, her face bloodless, and they confronted each other in silence.
Then: ‘How dare you!’ Stella said between her teeth.
She fought to gain control, forcing a smile to her lips. ‘Of course, it’s foolish to lose one’s temper with people of your class. Your speech at any time is apt to be crude…It only proves to me how soon Rodney would tire of someone having nothing but the flesh to offer him.’
Kate remained silent, refusing to be goaded.
‘Well, Miss Hannigan; you know my terms,’ said Stella, hunching her fur coat around her. ‘Should you be here the day Rodney returns, which will be in about a week’s time, then I will not stay my hand a minute. And you will be surprised at the number of people who will come forward to help me obtain the divorce. I have found that the people who dislike Rodney are equal in number to those who like him. For instance, there’s Mrs Clarke. It was she, incidentally, who found your letters in the street. It was careless of you to drop them, Miss Hannigan. She thought I ought to know; very good moral sense, don’t you think?’
‘Have you quite finished?’ asked Kate.
‘Nearly,’ said Stella. ‘You will need money for such a hasty withdrawal. Here,’ she said, placing a roll of notes on the table, ‘is enough to take you quite a distance from this county, and to keep you and your child until you find suitable work.’
Kate stared straight at Stella: ‘Would you mind picking up that money?’ she asked, with dangerous quiet.
‘We don’t want any heroics, Miss Hannigan; nor hypocrisy,’ said Stella firmly. ‘I am sure you know the value of money. You will no doubt need…’
She did not finish; for Kate’s hand shot out, and, picking up the roll, threw it into the heart of the fire.
The effect on Stella was paralysing for a second. Then she cried, ‘Are you crazy, you fool? Pick it out!…There’s twenty pounds there, get it out!’
‘It’s your money,’ said Kate. ‘It’s there for you to take.’
The bundle of notes was well alight. Stella made an effort to put her hand towards them, then drew it back. She lifted the poker and tried to flip them out, but only succeeded in fanning the blaze. She stood watching them helplessly, venomous rage consuming her…There was a swelling of flame, and they were gone. Pieces of black charred paper broke away and floated up the wide chimney.
It was not the loss of the twenty pounds, for it would have been a loss had Kate accepted, but it was Kate’s spurning of it that infuriated Stella.
She turned a white, contorted face to Kate: ‘You’ll be sorry you did that.’ She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘It was foolish of me to offer it. Why, I should have known; Rodney was ever generous where his fancy led him. Your great gesture has been lost, Miss Hannigan. But I am afraid from now on you’ll find your source of income cut off. So I repeat, you’ll be sorry you did that.
‘I will take my leave, Miss Hannigan.’ She waited for Kate to precede her through the room, but Kate stood stiff and staring.
Kate knew she dare not speak, a hate she had never experienced before was raging within her, and she was afraid of it. She wanted to throw herself on this woman and rend her; there was an overpowering desire to beat her fists into that cold, sneering face. She knew that if she spoke all the work of Bernard Tolmache would be destroyed in a second. One word would release this fury, and she would act worse than any woman of the fifteen streets; the self she had created through constant observation and study would perish in the flame of this hate. Not even Tim Hannigan had aroused
such a destructive urge.
After waiting a moment, Stella raised her eyebrows and walked past Kate, so close to her that their skirts touched. She went through the front-room, passing Annie, who was standing with her hands up her sleeves, without a word. She found difficulty in opening the door, and Annie came forward shyly and undid it. Stella gave her no word of thanks; she did not even look at her, but stepped down onto the pavement and into the crowd of children who were surging around the car.
From the window, Annie watched the car drive away, with the screaming children hanging on behind. She watched the curtains being put back into place at the windows opposite and dark figures disappearing into doorways. She watched until the street became quiet again, for she couldn’t go into the kitchen…the lovely bright, shining light had gone from the day. She did not want to look at Kate, for she knew that the light would be gone from her too. She stood trembling, cold inside and out.
Kate remained standing where Stella had left her; the feeling of rage was dying away and a terrible ache was taking its place…This had been bound to happen; why had she blinded herself all these months? What had she expected? That he would just come back? Come straight to her and they would live happily ever after, while she, his wife, would sit back and let it happen?
Stella, she realised, had not only the law on her side but she had Rodney in the hollow of her hand; that she could break him and that she would, rather than allow him to go free, was evident, and that she had struck the right note when saying that man needed something more than passion, Kate knew. Rodney loved his work, it had been his life for so many years, and, without it, he would be lost…and lost he would eventually become if she stayed here; for she knew that, no matter what Stella threatened, he would come to her, throwing everything to the winds…She leaned against the wall and beat it slowly with her fist.
Annie, hearing the dull thuds, crept to the kitchen door, and stood, horrified, watching. Kate made no sign, and Annie could not go to her. This crying, this sorrow was different from any she had ever seen; it frightened her and created a sorrow inside of her which was unbearable. She crept back into the room again.
Mrs Mullen let an hour elapse after seeing the car drive away, and she wondered if it would look nosey if she were to go in and see Kate now. She had been behind her curtains, like the majority of the women in the street, waiting to see the ‘lady’ come out. It was Doctor Prince’s wife, Rosie had told her; everybody in the street knew who it was. Oh, poor Kate!…Poor Kate! She had been over the moon these past few weeks; and now what would happen? It should never have started in the first place, he was a married man. Kate should have known what she was letting herself in for…But there, these things did happen. God knew why! And the doctor was a fine chap, and he seemed to think the world of Kate. But he was a doctor, and he was married, and his wife was a big bug. And, after all, in spite of all her learning, Kate was only a working lass…Aw, but poor Kate…poor lass!…She would pop in now and see how things were; she would take in Annie’s Christmas box, it would serve as an excuse.
Before she had time to get it there was a knock on the back door, and Kate herself came in, taking her utterly by surprise; for Kate rarely visited anyone…even her.
Mrs Mullen looked quickly at her, and away again…whatever had happened, it had certainly taken it out of her.
‘Sit down, lass,’ she said, awkwardly.
Kate shook her head. ‘Willie’s saving up to buy furniture, isn’t he, Mrs Mullen?’
‘Yes, lass,’ answered Mrs Mullen, perplexed.
‘Do you think there’s anything next door he’d like?’
Mrs Mullen stared at her.
‘I know the stuff’s not much good,’ Kate went on, ‘but there’s the chest of drawers, and one good bed and the lino. Then there’s the saddle and chiffonier and kitchen table.’
‘What are you talking about, lass?’
‘Selling up,’ said Kate, in a rush. ‘I’m going away and I must have some money. I’ve only twenty-two shillings in the world. If I could get about ten pounds…but the stuff’s not worth that, I know. Could you lend me a few pounds, Mrs Mullen? I’ll soon get work and let you have it back.’
‘Lass, sit down and calm yourself. What do you want to go away for like this?…Why, I thought…well…the doctor will be here any day now!’
Kate shook her head from side to side: ‘I can’t tell you why I’m going, Mrs Mullen…only I’ve got to go…Do you think Willie will take some of the things?’
‘It’s very likely; I’ll ask him, lass, as soon as he comes in. But what’s your rush? When are you going?’
‘As soon as I possibly can. Only don’t ask me any questions, Mrs Mullen. If I could tell anybody I’d tell you, you’ve been so good to me…but I can’t.’
‘But it’s Christmas, Kate! You can’t go rushing off at Christmas.’
‘Christmas!’ said Kate bitterly. ‘Christmas is the very time for me to go. Anything that’s going to happen to me waits until Christmas…I loathe Christmas! I hate it! Goodwill to men!’
She went out, leaving Mrs Mullen gazing at the kitchen door in amazement.
11
Waiting
Rodney stood leaning on his stick and looking out of the Davidsons’ sitting-room window. Below, the river Don at low tide ran sluggishly between its slimy banks; to the right lay the Salt Grass, a barren stretch of mounds, bordered, in the far distance, by the houses of Jarrow. Of all the dreary views in the world, he thought, this was the worst. God! if only he could get away from it and never see it again.
Peggy Davidson came into the room, carrying a tray in her hand.
‘Oh, Rodney,’ she exclaimed, ‘why will you stand about? Do sit down and put your leg up…Peter will be furious with you.’
‘I loathe your view, Peggy,’ he said, turning from the window.
‘Yes, it is awful, isn’t it? But I don’t seem to see it any more…Do sit down, Rodney…Here; come on.’ She patted the cushions on a long chair.
‘You can live with a thing until you neither see it nor feel it, then?’
‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so…Look here, I’m not going to become involved in one of your arguments at half-past ten in the morning. Sit down and drink this beef-tea. And remember, you induced Peter to let you come downstairs on the solemn promise that you would take things easy for another week or so.’
Rodney smiled at her and sat down. ‘I wonder what would have happened to me without you and Peter,’ he said. ‘I often wonder that, you know.’
‘God provides,’ she answered.
‘Oh, Peggy, you sound like an old Irish woman! You’re a real Jarrowite, you know.’
‘And I’m proud of it too.’
Peggy was relieved that his tone, even for a moment, could be bantering. She was worried, and Peter was worried, about him. As much as they loved him, they wished he would go away for a change. Nothing, however, would induce him to talk about it. A few months ago, when he had been at breaking point, he had gone to his people, presumably to stay the winter. But he had returned within a fortnight and had just escaped a severe breakdown…Oh, Peggy thought, if only she knew where that fool of a woman was! Why didn’t she come back?
Rodney sat thinking…Peggy doesn’t see this view because she’s happy. Happy!…The word plunged him into weariness again, and his mind echoed the persistent cry, ‘Kate, where are you? Why don’t you come back? You must know that you can come back now.’ Last night he had dreamed the same old dream again. He woke from it sure that she was lying beside him, and lay taking in the peace and ecstasy of her presence for some moments before realisation came, bringing with it its despair. He first experienced the dream after his foot was amputated. He had only to doze off and Kate would be with him, and he would wake up calling her name. The other fellows around made no comment; the calling out of names was a stage which most of them reached.
Being a prisoner was a hell at any time. But to lie helpless and to have them chopping aw
ay at you, knowing that nothing you could say would make any difference, was an indescribable hell. He did not know why they had not amputated his left arm too; they prepared him for it, and the thought of what it would mean nearly drove him mad. He looked at it now, lying practically useless by his side. Its delayed action irritated him beyond all words; to all intents and purposes it was off, dead. It gave him no pain at all, whereas the foot which was no longer there ached like mad.
The sight of a man striding down the street could fill him with envy; a work-stained drunk, rolling along, brought up the eternal ‘Why?’ He needed his arms and legs; they could accomplish so much that was good; yet he was left practically useless.
During these spasms of self-pity he would tell himself it could have been two arms and two feet.
When the terrible necessity of having to amputate both arms or both feet had been thrust upon him his mind had shut down on itself, his pity refusing to form thought. At such times pity could wreck you and those around. You used it only in subtle form; you laughed, you cursed; you swore and badgered; and it kept your hand steady. The German doctor, he remembered, neither cursed nor swore; he was polite, and cold and in a hurry.
What effect the happenings of the past year would have left on his enfeebled system if Peter and Peggy Davidson had not been at hand to sustain him he dreaded to think. Stella’s changed attitude, on his return to England, was disconcerting; her sweetness and solicitude left him embarrassed and at a loss. She pooh-poohed the idea of a nurse and insisted on looking after him herself. Her constant attention and anticipation of his every need, far from setting a spark to his dead affection, created an uneasiness in his mind. No correspondence had passed between them until just before he embarked for England, when he received a most charming letter from her. Thinking along the lines that a leopard doesn’t change its spots, he had asked himself the reason for her attitude.
He had been in a fever to see Kate, but being dependent on someone posting his letters he could not even write to her. So he laid the situation before Peter, who showed no surprise nor offered any advice, but said he would go personally to see Kate and fetch him word of her.
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