‘Dorry!’ put in Elizabeth sharply, and so effectively cutting off Dorry’s tirade. And now it was she who went towards Colum, and as she did so Dorry bowed her head and made way for her.
‘Colum,’ she said quietly, ‘do this, please. You needn’t open your mouth, just listen; there’s something he wants to say to you.’
Colum stared at his mother. There were times when her quietness could soften him, and that look that only he could see in the depths of her eyes where frustration lay touched him now to the extent that he could not deny her, and he muttered, ‘I want no thanks.’
‘Well, he wants to give it. It won’t take a minute. Please…for me. I don’t want him to leave this house with the impression we are hogs.’
He drooped his head deep on his chest and his hands clenched against the sides. They waited; then he moved past them, paused at the door of the kitchen before crossing the storeroom and the adjoining room; then he was at the door of the bedroom. He did not knock but pushed it sharply open and looked at the face that was turned towards him.
When he did not move from the framework of the door, Konrad said, ‘Come in, please; I won’t keep you a moment.’
Colum took two steps into the room, which brought him to the near side of the bed. He had to bend his head slightly because the ceiling was so low, and this fact alone annoyed him, the other had the advantage of being stiff-necked for he was seated.
‘I am not going to thank you for saving my life’—Konrad’s tone was quiet, level—‘because truthfully I am not grateful that I am alive. But…but that is of no consequence at the moment. The matter that is of consequence, more consequence than the land even…and one could not imagine there could be a greater issue than that, could one?’ He waited a moment before going on. ‘But as you and I know there are things that become dearer than land…About the girl…’ He looked up into the young tight, hard face on the opposite side of the bed. Not a muscle in it moved. There wasn’t even a flicker of an eyelid. And he went on, more slowly now, ‘I must make it clear to you that you are under a wrong impression about her. She has never been my mistress, and only once have I had any contact with her, and then I was drunk. But I can only recollect going to her for comfort. Yes’—he moved his head deeply as he repeated ‘for comfort. But I did not force myself on her, as I also recollect, and as she confirmed. She had no use for me, not in that way, which I would like to impress upon you at this point is none of my fault. And even now. Yes—’ his head was moving slowly up and down—‘even now, when I’m about to leave the country I would gladly take her with me if she would come.’
There was another pause before he went on, ‘You have no love for me and I feel bound to say that in spite of the gratitude that is due to you for your bravery, I have little for you.’ Again he waited for some response but the young fellow opposite made no move of any sort, and he felt himself becoming angry. But it was an anger without strength, for his body was still weak. Nevertheless his voice took on a harshness when he spoke again, saying, ‘The girl has suffered all her life, right from a child, because of her affliction. And as she has grown older her sufferings have increased.’ He paused here and took his eyes off the face opposite and looked into the fire thinking of how her suffering had increased since she had come to live under his roof. The fear she must have endured being manipulated at the hands of a Machiavellian such as Bella. He knew now why Bella had attempted to kill her, not only because she was jealous of the girl creeping into his affections, but because she was afraid that the girl might do what Florence did, tell the truth, tell him that the child he had come to love was no seed of his.
From the moment he had woken up in his bed and thought he was dead, and that his purgatory was to be an opposite state of living from that which he had been used to in life, everything had become clear to him, as if he were indeed dead and were looking back on his life, seeing all the twisted strands laid straight, knowing the reason why for everything; and he had known in that moment that the child was the offspring of the girl and the tinker and that his son lay in the mound between the two trees at the bottom of the park. But although, in that awakening, everything in the past had been made clear, the future remained dim. It had taken him days of thinking to bring it into the light, and in doing so he had revalued himself and faced up to his own strength, and his own weakness, and had based his future actions on this new knowledge.
He turned and looked on the young fellow again. If she were to bring the child to him what would be his reactions? He would take it, ah yes, and he would bring it up, but being made of the unbending, grim fibre that constituted most of his type, the child would be an irritant to him, an obstacle standing between him and the girl. He would be unable to erase from his mind the episode that concerned her and the tinker. He would not see her as a victim of circumstances, a mere child doing as she was bid, but he would see the result of that circumstance, and not only a child who might never walk straight, but also, and perhaps what would sting him more, a child who had for three years been brought up in the lap of luxury, in the home of a man he detested and would go on detesting. He had no illusions that this young fellow would ever see him other than an enemy.
No, he knew which course he must take, but he was also honest enough to own to the fact that the course was prompted not only to ensure the girl’s happiness, but also as a guard against future loneliness. Of one thing he was certain, never again would he marry. He had had three wives, that was enough. He was unlucky in wives. Whatever solace he had in future would not come through matrimony; therefore, no child would bear his name other than the one who already did.
He turned and looked at Colum to see his expression hadn’t changed, and he was filled with irritation. This was the kind of fellow who would go to the gibbet with a tight lip for any cause he put his mind to. He could see him as a leader of riots defending the poor against people like himself, or as he himself once was and in a short time would be no more.
He would like to say to this stiff-necked individual, ‘In a few weeks from now you and I will be on the same level although in different parts of the world, for I will be working with my hands in order to exist.’ Yes, he would like to say that to him, but he knew he would not be believed. What he did say was, ‘I consider you a very brave man and under other circumstances and another way of life we might have grown to respect each other. As it is we each know that’s impossible. But what I have told you about the girl is true, she is a good girl. I can say no more.’
The silence that followed meant that the interview was over, and Colum didn’t break it but, turning slowly around, he walked out, and Konrad bowed his head and shook it in a despairing movement.
Bella stood amazed while Konrad took leave of the seven people standing outside the wall which surrounded the strange jumble of dwellings, and she realised she was seeing a new Konrad. Not only was his appearance different but also his manner. His leave-taking was such that she could even be made to believe that he was sorry to go from this place. The room in which he had lain, although clean, was the poorest that she had ever seen.
When at last she was seated in the carriage beside him she was further amazed when six of the seven people waved to him, and he responded—the elderly Flynn man hadn’t raised his hand, and she noted that there was no young man present.
They had been driving for a moment or so when he looked straight into her face across the carriage and said, ‘Well, Bella?’
For answer she said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get up before.’
‘Oh, that is all right. I understand that both you and the child have been unwell with a stomach sickness. You have fully recovered?…And he?’
‘He is quite all right now. For myself I am much better.’
The carriage dipped as it went into a rut and Konrad put his arm quickly to his ribs, and held it there, and she leant forward, saying, ‘You are in pain?’
He smiled wanly at her as he said, ‘When going over r
uts; otherwise I just suffer a little restriction; I am bound up like a mummy.’
As the coach crossed the river he looked out of the window and over the stone parapet to where he could see the water tumbling over the boulders, and deep inside him he shuddered, and turning his head slowly back to her, he asked, ‘Is there any further news?’
She had no need to ask to what particular news he was referring, but answered simply, ‘No,’ then added, ‘There are a great many letters of condolence.’
Yes, he thought; there would be, even from those who guessed at the truth. With the subtlety of a plough horse Milton had told him he had met young Gerald Cartwright in Newcastle the day following the accident and that he was as drunk as a drayman but terribly cut up. He had been very fond of Florence, Milton said, as they all had.
As they all had? He could see her face and the terror on it, and even now he could experience the moment when she was sucked from his grasp down into the vortex, while he himself was thrown away from the rim of it and hurled against a rock.
Bella was saying, ‘Lord Milton was here yesterday. You have decided to…to sell?’
‘Yes, Bella, I have decided to sell. What other course is open to me?’ There was a slightly bitter note in his voice now. ‘Our dear friend Milton has made an offer for the estate as it stands, not a good offer, not, to my mind, even a fair one, but if I turn it down I might wait for months, a year even, before another buyer appears; money is tight all round. In the meantime I should be running deeper into debt. He is taking the entire estate as it stands, staff and all…that is, with the exception of some pictures and the plate. I shall send these to London where, I am sure, they will bring a good price, much more than he will offer to pay. That done, I am going to Sweden, and I don’t suppose that I shall ever return to this country.’
When he stopped speaking there fell between them a quietness that filled a long period of time, the time from when they had first met, and Bella, knowing there was no hope of captivating him herself had baited the trap with Florence. He could even say now, ‘Poor Florence. Poor, silly Florence,’ even while he thought, ‘Vicious Florence.’ He’d had three wives and two mistresses and had taken so many women and girls that he had lost count many years ago, but, in this moment as he stared into the white plain waiting face before him, he doubted if anyone had loved him and received so little in return as Bella had. It was doubtless she who had been the means of procuring him a son. Moreover, she had managed his home and its complicated affairs, and for that she had been fed, housed and clothed…and he had given her a ring! In a way she had been less remunerated than the lowest of his servants; the only difference was, she had eaten at his table and slept in a soft bed.
An hour ago he had said to that stiff-necked fellow that if he could have taken the girl with him he would have done so, but he knew that wasn’t true; the words were those of a Braggadocio; he had aimed, even in his magnanimity, to thrust one last dart into the man who had on his side the weapon which he himself had lost a long time ago, youth. Yet a week ago he might have shut his eyes to age and taken her; but since he had returned from death life had shown him a different face, and he knew he was tired; in a way he had grown old before his time. His bulk and his appearance would always give off the impression of animal vitality, yet it was but a façade. It had been so for some time now; he’d had to work hard to keep the image of the Flaxen Bull alive. Now he was even welcoming the time ahead when there would no longer be any need to act, to prance, order, and bawl, even to whore to prove to himself no lack in virility.
He had faced the self-deprecating fact that if the girl had been willing to come with him he would, even in poverty, have had to keep up an act, whereas with Bella here there would be no need for pretence, and he could rest and be tended in his rest. Oh yes, Bella would tend him for the rest of her days, and count herself blessed in doing so. Why was it he wondered as he looked at her, that great inner emotions, feelings of love well-deep and passionate to a degree of insanity as hers were, were usually encased in plain coverings, whereas shallowness and vanity came decked out like a bandbox? Yet strangely Bella’s looks or character had never repelled him; in a peculiar way they had attracted him, together with her reasoning that had a male quality about it, as had her ruthlessness; and she had been ruthless in dealing with the girl, by God, yes, to the point of murder. Her hate had taken on the same intensity as her love. Anyway, from now on she would be his companion, and she was waiting to be told so. He could detect she was nervous, even slightly fearful. He said quietly, ‘It stands to reason I can’t look after the child alone; could I ask you to accompany us?’
He saw her thin neck swell, and she seemed to swallow with some difficulty before she said, calmly, ‘I’d be pleased to.’
‘You know, don’t you, that I won’t have any income in the future other than the hundred a year and what might be left when my affairs are settled? And I must warn you that the lodge holds only the barest necessities; life up there can be very pleasant in the summer, but icy hell in the winter. Perhaps you’d like to think about…’
She had closed her eyes and moved her head twice, and before she opened her eyes again she said, ‘No. No.’
‘Very well.’ He leaned back against the studded leather upholstery, and she did the same. It was as if they had both crossed a boundary after a hazardous journey, and were now resting.
The carriage was going through the lodge gates and he was looking out of the window as he said to her, ‘The girl…is she all right?’
There was a short silence before her answer came. ‘Yes, quite all right. She’s leaving tomorrow for a new position in Newcastle.’
He turned his head quickly on his shoulder and looked at her. ‘What kind of a position?’
‘She found it herself, she asked leave some time ago to go into the city.’
‘What kind of a position?’
‘Dressmaking, I think.’
‘Dressmaking?’ He muttered the word. He knew enough of the other side of life to realise the existence that dressmakers endured in the warrens behind the shops.
‘Why couldn’t she stay on with the rest of the staff? Milton is buying the house for young Henry; and if the laws of nature work to pattern they would be soon needing a children’s nurse.’
He had sat back on the seat now and his eyes were on her, and she lowered hers before she said, ‘Lord Milton made it explicit yesterday that she wouldn’t be kept on because…because of her affliction; he is a superstitious man.’ She did not add that there had been objections from certain members of the staff who considered that the drastic happenings in the house were solely the result of the girl’s evil eye.
He now swung his body backwards and forwards on the seat, then gripped his ribs as he said, ‘Damn and blast him for an illiterate numskull!’
A minute later the carriage stopped and when the coachman helped him onto the drive he raised his eyes and looked up at the house for a moment before walking up the steps, through the vestibule and into the hall, where Slater came hurrying forward to take his cloak, saying, ‘It is good to see you back, sir.’
Konrad did not answer but inclined his head towards him. Then he mounted the stairs, with Bella at his side, and made straight for his rooms. There, turning to her and in a form of polite dismissal, he said, ‘I’ll rest for a while.’ And she moved her head once as she murmured, ‘Yes; yes, do that, Konrad.’
Alone in the corridor, she looked towards the nursery door, then slowly walked towards it and opened it. The girl was standing near the window; the child was playing on the rug before the fire. The scene was such that nothing might have happened to have broken it in months past.
With a pleased cry, the child got up from the rug and shambled towards her, and she took his hands and held them tenderly as she looked at Kirsten and said quietly, ‘Your master is back.’
When the girl looked steadily at her and the eye flickered Bella felt a stab of apprehension, of fear. Would the app
eal of her, the appeal that was intensified by her affliction, make him not only change his mind when he looked on her again, but persuade her to change hers?
She said now, her tone brisk, ‘I’ve informed the master that you’re leaving tomorrow. He’s expressed no wish to see you. Have you your belongings ready?’
‘Yes. They are ready.’
‘There is a valise in the attic, you may have it to pack your things in. I will tell Riley to bring it to you.’
‘Thank you.’
After the door had closed on Bella, Kirsten stood where she was looking towards it. So the master was back in the house. She hadn’t felt his coming in; she thought she would have. Other times he had come straight to the nursery. But other times were past forever. She, too, was looking at life differently. She was fully resigned to leaving in the morning; she saw it as going back to her beginnings, starting again from Ma Bradley’s.
It was strange but she had no desire to buy a horse and cart now; in fact, she had no desire for anything. For days now her feelings had been banked down, and she was living in a state of numbness; although she was sad to the very depths of her soul, and there was an agony in her, an agony that stemmed from the loss of Colum, the child, and the master, for they were already gone from her as surely as if they were dead, all her feelings were held at bay. She performed her duties as before; the only outward sign she showed of any distress was that she did not eat all that was placed before her, and she slept little, and from the little she was glad to awake for always there was the nightmare of the stepping stones, and the mistress in the water and the master holding her hand for that one second before the wood piled up on him. And it was at that point that the weight of the mistress’s death threatened to crush her.
She moved towards the child now and when she stood near him he looked up at her and smiled and demonstrated his skill with a jumping jack. She could count the hours that were left to spend with him, and below the numbness she was glad she was losing him, for it meant that the master still had a son.
The Slow Awakening Page 30