The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  She was gasping again. He had known all the time? No, no, he couldn’t have; he would have been at her before if he had. But somebody had told him.

  ‘Has he put one in your oven already?’

  Before she realised what she was doing she had grabbed the teapot from the table. It was only Annie’s strength against hers that forced her arm downwards and the big brown china pot fell with a dull thud on to the mat, where the lid rolled off and the tea spewed outwards.

  This unusual retaliation coming from his stepdaughter seemed to tell Pat Bradley that he no longer had any domination over her—not physically, anyway. But he did not rely solely on physical force to gain his ends; he had other methods. And now he put them into action. Buttoning up his coat and pushing the knot of his muffler upwards towards his prominent Adam’s apple, he hunched his shoulders and marched towards the scullery door, saying, ‘Marriage is it, atween a Catholic and a chapelite? And him in the dock office and his father a boss there an’ all. Don’t make me laugh. Anyway, there’s only one way to find out, and that’s to go and ask him, isn’t it?’ He turned and faced them from the doorway, his thin features splitting into a wheedling grin. ‘Will you kindly tell me your intentions towards me daughter, Mr Hetherington…sir?’ He cut his mimicking short and ended, ‘There’s no time like the present for gettin’ at the truth, is there, me girl?’

  As the door banged behind him Sarah held her face tightly between her hands, repeating aloud, ‘Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh, my God, no!’ Then she was gripping her mother’s arms. ‘He’s going down there…stop him! Stop him, will you?’

  ‘It’s no use, lass. He may not go; when he gets outside he may think better of it. If I try an’ stop him that’s the one thing that’ll send him pell-mell to their door.’

  ‘Oh, no, no, no!’ Sarah went to the mantelpiece and laid her brow against it. ‘I want to die…I want to die. Oh God, I want to die.’

  ‘Has he asked you?’

  ‘No, no. I just said that.’

  ‘A…aw, lass!’

  ‘Yes, I know—aw, lass!’

  ‘Well, you’ve cooked your own goose. You shouldn’t have said a thing like that, not if the fellow hasn’t said anything…he hasn’t hinted?’

  ‘No, no, not really. Even if he had this would have killed it.’ She brought her head slowly up and then, turning and facing her mother, she said dully, ‘You’ve got to get a doctor to Phyllis, she’s bad.’

  ‘I’m not gettin’ the doctor, lass. If a doctor was to see her it would mean the pollis.’

  ‘Well, don’t you think it’s time somebody took a hand?’

  ‘I don’t want no pollis here. Anyway, I haven’t paid his club for months; I’d have to pay on the nail and I can’t. I’ll go up and see to her. I’ll bathe it in her own water, it’s good for bruises.’

  Sarah’s nose wrinkled in distaste as her lips moved apart. She felt weak, tired and weak; all the verve had gone out of her. What was the use? She looked round the darkening kitchen. Well, she had known it couldn’t last, hadn’t she? But the shame of it…the shame of it. What would he think of her? And his mother and the rest of them? If she could only die. She stood looking down at her feet, her mind curiously blank now, numbed with pain. Then once again she opened the staircase door and pulled herself slowly up to the landing, and when she entered the bedroom the blind was down and her mother, by the light of a candle, was bathing Phyllis’s back with a flannel rag that she was dipping into the chamber.

  Three

  The round-faced stark-looking clock on the wall said one minute to twelve. David eyed the man at the end of the long counter-like desk as he began quietly to clear his allotted portion. First, he closed two notebooks and put them into a drawer; next, he cleaned an ordinary narrow-pointed pen. This he returned to the groove next to the inkwell. The pointer on the clock had moved thirty seconds. Slowly he closed the ledger, screwed up some dirty blotting paper, and dropped it into a basket where his feet were under the desk. Then, standing up, he pulled down his coat, adjusted his tie, pushed the legs of the stool over the wastepaper basket, then moved towards the man who was still writing in a ledger. The clock struck twelve.

  ‘Will it be all right if I have a word with my father, Mr Batty?’

  The man raised his eyes upwards, not towards David, but towards the clock, and his tone was significant as he said, ‘Oh, it’s twelve.’

  The colour deepened around David’s cheekbones and his tones were apologetic as he answered, ‘I’ve got a bit of business to do…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Aw, well, go on along…He won’t be finished yet.’

  This remark, with a stress on the ‘he’ and a raising of the eyebrows, was a reprimand on clock-watching, and as David went along the corridor he wondered what his reaction would be to old Batty if he weren’t afraid of losing his job. Very likely the same as it was now, because he hated disturbances, rows, unpleasantness. He wished at times he had a bit of their John in him.

  As he neared the door at the end of the corridor it opened and two men, one about his own age, and one well into his fifties, came out. The younger one said, ‘Going to the match this afternoon, David?’

  ‘No, not this afternoon, I can’t make it.’

  When he entered the room that held three desks his father looked up from a ledger in which he was writing and said, ‘Hello there. Are you off?’

  ‘Yes.’ David stood in front of the desk looking down at his father, and he rubbed his hand across his chin before saying, ‘Will you tell Mother that I won’t be in for a while, not until about two?’

  ‘You know what she is about spoilt dinners.’

  ‘I can’t help it.’

  Stanley Hetherington took off his glasses and peered at his son. His eye was twitching rapidly. ‘You’re going through with it then?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  ‘There’s no “of course” about it, you’ve been rushed into this. I don’t believe you asked that girl to marry you and neither does your mother. In fact, she’s positive that you didn’t. Bradley’s a little snake of a man. I’ve known him for years; he’ll neither work nor want. I knew him when he was in the docks here, a mischief-making little rat if ever there was one, and a toady into the bargain. The only thing he doesn’t do is drink, and that makes it worse. You can forgive a man what he does in drink. But there’s a bad streak in Bradley. Now look.’ He wagged his finger slowly at his son. ‘Don’t you be driven into anything…Oh, I know.’ He closed his eyes and flapped his hand before his face before going on, ‘She’s a fine-looking lass, but if you marry her don’t forget you’re marrying her family, and is it fair…is it fair to your mother?’

  ‘You know what my mother thinks, don’t you? This is the lesser of two evils. Don’t let’s hoodwink ourselves about that.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I suppose so.’ The older man dropped his head; then, bringing it up sharply, he demanded. ‘There’s one thing you won’t do, will you; you won’t go over?’

  ‘No, I won’t go over. Yet I can’t see, Father, why that should worry you.’

  ‘My belief or lack of it has nothing to do with this present business really; all I know is, if they get you into the Catholic Church, under whatever pretext, you’re finished, you won’t be able to call your soul your own. No, my God, you won’t.’

  ‘But I’m not…’

  ‘Yes, you say that now, but wait ’til the priests get at you. I’ve seen some of their tactics, I’m telling you. From all angles you’ve got to look at this thing with open eyes. She’s from a bad home, she’s a Catholic. Then there’ll be the gossip; there’s enough already, for, let’s face it, David, to take up with somebody from the bottom end isn’t the right thing to do. I can’t see it working, although on the surface I must admit she’s a nice enough lass, but she’s got too many reins tied to her, holding her down to that end!’

  ‘I’m going to marry her.’

  Stanley closed his eyes; then, opening them agai
n he wiped his glasses and put the wires slowly behind his ears before saying, ‘Well, there’s nothing more to be said, is there?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father.’

  ‘Look, don’t be sorry for hurting me or even your mother, although she’s taken this better than ever I imagined…’ He jerked his head. ‘But, as you said, I suppose she’s doing it because she can’t bear the thought of anything coming of the other business. But it’s yourself you’ve got to think about in this case. Marriage is a long and difficult business no matter which way you take it. You’re in love with somebody one minute and you hate their guts the next…Aw, go on. Get yourself away or I’ll say too much. Go on.’

  David turned and went slowly from the room. He collected his raincoat and his trilby hat and went out of the main door of the dock office, and he stood for a moment on the pavement. The Saturday bustle was all around him; men coming out of the dock gates, those who were fortunate enough to be in work; men going into The Grapes, into The North-Eastern, into one after the other of the bars that lined the street opposite the dock wall and part of the bank that led to the station, the bank which always looked black, black with the figures of men standing against the railings or in groups on the pavement, waiting, waiting, and hoping, some cursing, some even praying to be set on, to get a few shifts in; even one a week would be something to help tide things over and take away the feeling of utter uselessness.

  David never stepped on to this pavement but he imbibed this feeling that was sapping the moral fibre of the men of the docks, and of Jarrow, and of the whole Tyne, and many parts of the whole country. But today the feeling, although present, was subordinate. Covering his mind was the thought of Sarah and of getting to her and speaking to her, and comforting her.

  He threaded his way across the road to where the tram was halted for its usual five-minute break, and as he went to mount the platform his arm was gripped and he was pulled round on to the road again.

  ‘Where you off to?’

  ‘Oh, I’m just going into Shields.’

  ‘At this time? What about your dinner?’

  David stepped back on to the pavement and looked at his brother in silence for a moment. John Hetherington was two inches shorter than David but he was almost twice his breadth. Like his uncle’s, his face was nearly square, his eyes wide and of a deep brown colour, with a brooding quality in them. His mouth too was wide, as were his nostrils. His nose could be said to mar his face; it forbade the term handsome to be applied to it but made place for the word attractive, or perhaps arresting, for people always gave this man a second look. He now brought his heavy fringed lids together as he said, ‘You look under the weather. Feeling off-colour?’

  ‘No, no, I’m all right. I’d better tell you what’s happening though…’

  As David wetted his lips John said, ‘Happening? Aye, well, go on then, but look slippy, I want to catch the tram.’

  ‘I’m going to be married.’

  ‘You’re what?’ The question was low, easy-sounding and full of disbelief. Then, his tone changing swiftly, he said under his breath, ‘Aw, no! You’re not going to be such a bloody soft-headed fool. Man, it’ll be suicide. And you know how me mother…’

  ‘It’s not Eileen.’

  ‘Not Eileen.’ The eyes were screwed tighter. ‘O…h! No?’ He thrust his fist out and punched David in the shoulder. ‘Not the missy from the bottom end that I’ve heard about? Why, man, you’ve only known her a couple of weeks.’

  ‘I’ve known her longer than that, much longer.’

  ‘Well, well!’ John took a deep breath that pushed open his coat, ‘Why all the hurry-burry?’

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. You’ll hear all about it if you call in home…at least what happened last night.’

  ‘Aye, aye, I suppose I will. But look here, Davie, don’t let yourself be rushed into anything.’ John’s face was straight now, there was no lightness of any kind in the brown eyes. ‘Look, lad, you be warned by me, and I’m speaking from experience. I’ve never said anything to you or anyone at home before, you know that, but I think you can put two and two together for yourself as far as my case is concerned. You make your bed and, by God, you have to lie on it! There’s no truer saying than that in the whole world. Marriage can be hell, sheer bloody unadulterated hell. Oh, aye.’ His voice was very low now. ‘I know, I know there are wonderful marriages that go on for ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty years. You hear about them, in fact you see them; but, you know, you’ve got to ask yourself, have either of them done a day’s thinking in their lives? Most of them are together because of the house and the sticks of furniture; they exist together, but they don’t live. You know what most men are? A bread ticket…’

  ‘Look, John, I’ll have to go now; I want to catch this tram.’ He motioned to where the conductor was mounting the platform. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘All right, all right.’

  They stared at each other a moment longer, then David swung round, leaped on to the platform, and took the stairs two at a time.

  When their John started talking nobody could stop him; he could make an issue out of anything. He was always probing and dissecting the whys and wherefores of even the simplest things…But he had just said that marriage was hell. It had been his own marriage he was speaking of sure enough. He hadn’t realised that he had felt about it like that. He had known that he and May went at it, but then May had a mind too. There was a pair of them in that way. May argued against politics and strikes and the dole, because, like half the women in the town, she was worried that the next pay day might be the last.

  Sheer bloody unadulterated hell.

  He could never imagine his own life like that, not if he married Sarah…Sarah was no May. Yet what about his father saying you could love them one minute…Oh, my God! He wished they would all hold their tongues and let him do what he knew he must do…

  Half an hour later he stood gazing into the shop window until there was only one customer left, then he went in.

  Sarah saw him as she passed the woman her change and she started visibly, and the woman, turning and looking at David, smiled knowingly to herself.

  He stood facing her in the valley between the hills of glass jars. He saw immediately that she looked ill; her eyes, although not red, were puffy, and her face, which he held always in his mind as representing a bright light, looked dull, even browbeaten. The fact that this girl, this well set-up girl who was going to be his wife—yes, she was going to be his wife—should show an emotion that held the ingredients of intimidation, raised in him a rare and answering emotion of anger; and so his voice sounded stiff to her ears when he said, ‘What time do you finish?’

  She could not look at him. More than ever now she wanted to die, just to sink through the earth and be swallowed up. Humiliation had stripped her of any small pride she had clung to in desperation to keep herself afloat in the bog of her section of the fifteen streets.

  ‘Do you get out for dinner? Sarah, speak to me.’

  ‘One o’clock.’ It was a mumble coming from the region of her chest.

  He whispered now with gentle insistence: ‘Sarah, Sarah, look at me.’

  She did not raise her head but turned it aside, and her hands did something with a box, pulling out pieces of crinkled paper and rolling them up into balls.

  ‘It’s ten minutes to, I’ll wait outside…’

  At three minutes to one Mrs Benton came downstairs from her flat above and Sarah, stacking empty boxes in the corner of the back room, said nervously, ‘I’ve got a bit of shopping to do. I’ll take me sandwiches and have them in the park the day, if you don’t mind.’

  Sarah felt Mrs Benton looking down at her. Mrs Benton didn’t like serving in the shop. Sarah guessed that she thought it slightly beneath her, her being the owner, and it was rarely that she served the full hour. Very often at a quarter to two she would come into the back room and say, ‘There’s nothing doing; I’ll just pop upstairs. Call me if the bell rin
gs.’ Sarah never called her. It was a good job and she wanted to keep it. Not many girls were getting eighteen and six a week and not soiling their hands. Of course a twelve-hour day was a long stretch, but she wasn’t grumbling.

  Without looking at her employer she knew she was annoyed. Mrs Benton was always annoyed when she didn’t speak. Sarah grabbed up her coat and pulled her hat on without looking in the glass, and with a mumbled ‘I won’t be long’ she went out of the side door and into the alley.

  She had her head down and she did not stop in her walk as she saw David’s legs coming towards her across the pavement but kept on moving down the road towards the sea and the park.

  ‘Don’t be like this.’ He was walking close to her, his head bent down to hers.

  ‘How should I be?’ Her muttered words were not only a question but an answer in themselves.

  They went on in silence until they entered the park and found a seat, which was easy, as the place was virtually empty at this time of the day. It was Sarah who spoke first, her head still down, looking at her fingers as they plucked at each other. She said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sarah, look at me.’ He had hold of her hands now, pulling at them with small tugging movements, trying to get her to raise her head, but she wouldn’t, and he said, ‘I’ve watched you for years going up and down the road, and I knew from the first night that I stood outside that shop that I was going to marry you. The only thing was I was too blooming shy to get it out, and you know you weren’t very helpful.’

  ‘Don’t, don’t.’ The tears were raining down her face now from beneath her closed lids.

  ‘Oh, Sarah, Sarah.’ He pulled her forearm against his chest. ‘Oh, my dear, my love. Oh, Sarah, dear, don’t.’ He took out his handkerchief and gently dried her face, all the while murmuring, ‘Don’t, Sarah, dear. Don’t, Sarah, dear.’

  ‘He…he said you were t-taken aback. He…he…said you got the surprise of…of your life.’ She gasped out the words now as if wanting to be rid of the burden of them.