The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

This retort was daring in the extreme. She was joking as if with her equals, her equals down at the bottom end. Yet she had never thought of the inhabitants of the bottom end as her equals, and had rarely, if ever, joked with any of the neighbours and never with the men. But if she had done so her remark would have been similar to the one she had just made. And now she was amazed, and a little apprehensive at the reaction to it, for the two men, their heads back—this seemed to be a characteristic of the Hetherington family, to laugh with their heads back—were now filling the room with their laughter, and the sound seemed out of place in the atmosphere of gentility.

  ‘Well, well! And what’s all the noise about?’ Mary Hetherington came into the room, followed by David and a thin dark young woman with a child in her arms.

  ‘You know what? You’ve picked a cheeky monkey.’ John’s arm was out, the finger extended, stabbing in the direction of David, and David’s face, with a bright relieved smile, said, not without pride, ‘I have?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s good.’ He went and took up his place beside the couch, putting his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah was looking at Mrs Hetherington now; fear and nervousness had leapt back into her system again. She hadn’t liked it, coming into the room and finding them all laughing. Perhaps she thought she was being forward. But she was speaking to her now, stiffly.

  ‘This is May, John’s wife.’ She nodded towards her son. ‘And this is their child Paul.’ She took the child’s hand from its mother’s shoulder as she spoke. The introduction had a formal sound and no-one moved in the room while it was being made. Then Sarah attempted to rise to her feet, but Dan, heaving himself upwards, said, ‘No, no, sit where you are; you come and sit here, May.’

  May sat down, the child still in her arms. Neither she nor Sarah had spoken to acknowledge the introduction. The child was between their faces now, gurgling and bouncing, and as Sarah lifted a finger to touch it its plump hands shot out, and with startling suddenness and the power and demoniac tenacity which in all infants is a contradiction to their helplessness, its fingers entwined themselves in Sarah’s hair, dragging and pulling her sideways, bearing her head towards its mother’s shoulder.

  Although the diversion was painful, Sarah was thankful for it. The attention was on the child and amid cries of, ‘Oh, you naughty boy, let go. Naughty Paul. Leave go, you rascal. Would you believe it, isn’t he a little beggar?’ she was eventually released.

  Sarah laughed as she combed the thick waves of her long chestnut hair back into the bun with her fingers. ‘It’s all right; my sister used to do that. My scalp is tough.’

  The baby was now in its father’s arms, kicking its toes into his flat and seemingly unfeeling stomach, and as Sarah looked at him she became aware, as if she had not noticed it at the time, that they were his fingers which had prised the child’s hands from her head.

  ‘Well, now, that rumpus is over and we can have tea.’ Mary Hetherington threaded her way through her family towards the door, adding as she went into the hall, ‘Come on, Father is waiting.’

  One after the other they followed her, David coming last, his hand extended, cupping Sarah’s elbow. Before her went May, and with the perspicacity that lends itself to intuitiveness Sarah thought, I’m not going to like her, she’s sour.

  And when they were all seated round the tea table and she found herself right opposite to May, she said to herself, ‘She looks uppish and discontented.’ Her eyes moved to John sitting to the right of his wife, the child on his knee, and she thought, What’s she got to be discontented about? He seems a nice enough fellow, a bit noisy. And then she’s got the child.

  It was strange, and Sarah was aware of this, that all during tea her thoughts were on the slight, dark, thin girl opposite to her. Her mind was occupied so much with this new acquaintance that for the time being she forgot about Mrs Hetherington; and although she did not fail to notice that Mr Hetherington was very quiet and had hardly spoken to her, she did not worry about it. Perhaps he was always quiet. It was not until they were rising from the table to return once more to the sitting room that it came to her that John’s wife, as she thought of her rather than as May, had not opened her mouth at all during the meal; in fact she hadn’t heard her speak at all. And yet nobody had seemed to notice it; nobody had remarked on her silence or pulled her leg about it.

  ‘Let’s have a sing-song. Come on, the occasion calls for it.’ They were in transit between the living room and the sitting room when John, in a loud voice, made this announcement, but his mother’s voice came quickly in answer, saying, ‘Don’t be so rowdy, John.’

  ‘Look…my God, it’s an occasion. Davie’s going to be married…Oh, all right, I’m sorry.’

  As John came into the sitting room, his head lowered, he said in an aside to David, ‘I wish she’d put a notice up, No blasphemy, no swearing, then I’d remember.’

  David turned to his brother, punching him gently in the back as he said, ‘Come on, big fellow, forget about it. She’s a bit up…’ He pulled himself up abruptly, but not abruptly enough. Sarah knew he was going to say she’s a bit upset.

  She was again seated on the couch, and once more she was alone with the men. There were present now not only the brother and the uncle but Mr Hetherington. He was sitting to the side of her in an armchair, his hands resting idly on his knees. It was perhaps the idleness conveyed by his motionless hands that made her realise that not one of the men were smoking. That was strange, nearly all men smoked.

  A rolling chord of notes brought her body twisting round towards the piano. She was looking at David’s back; it was David who was playing, her David. The thought added dimension to her body.

  ‘Oh, not Chopin, not tonight. Let’s have something we can sing to…You don’t want Chopin, do you, Sarah?’ John’s big head was turned towards her, then away again in a second before she would have been called upon to stammer her ignorance of Chopin.

  ‘“Blue Heaven”. Come on, let’s have “Blue Heaven”. Where’s the music? That’s appropriate: “Happy in my Blue Heaven”.’ John was singing now in a deep resounding bass voice. ‘Here it is, and “All Alone on the Telephone”, and “Yacky-hoo-lah, Hicky-doo-lah”.’ Sarah wanted to get up and go to the piano. She knew the songs and she could sing them too. She was told she had a decent voice—she would have gone in for a singing competition before this if it hadn’t been for her father. But she had better be careful. Yes, she had better be careful. She’d better not sing too loud, or push herself. At this point she thought, I should have asked her if she wanted any help with the washing-up. She leant forwards towards Mr Hetherington and said under the cover of David’s playing and John’s voice, ‘Do you think Mrs Hetherington needs any help with the washing up?’

  For the first time Mr Hetherington smiled at her. He smiled slowly, a considered smile, as if it was the outcome of thought and a decision taken, and he brought his hands from his knees and joined them together as he leant towards her, saying, ‘Mrs Hetherington can cope. And don’t worry, don’t be nervous any more. What has to be will be. I hope you’ll be happy and make him happy.’

  It was the first time that anyone had made any direct reference to her marrying David. It was in everybody’s mind, but they were all doing different things, it would seem, so as not to have to mention it. She looked at the older man, his eye twitching every few seconds, and she had an almost uncontrollable urge to clasp his hands and bring them to her face and cry over them and pour out her thanks to him. She felt gratitude towards him equal to that she had for David. But all she could say was, ‘ Thank you, thank you, Mr Hetherington.’ And then, her voice trembling and her eyes lowered, she finished, ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Aw, lass.’ He shook his head and his tone conveyed the same meaning as John’s had done; it was telling her not to humble herself, not to crawl.

  ‘Come on, up you get.’ John’s arms came over the couch under her oxters, pushing her upwards. Then, grabbing her hand, h
e pulled her round towards the piano stool and David, saying, ‘Stand yourself there, next to your intended, and raise your voice in joyful song, something soft and harmonious. Come on: “Yacky-hoo-lah, Hicky-doo-lah”.’

  ‘Stop your clowning.’ It was Dan speaking across David now. ‘Go and fetch May in.’

  ‘Aw, May knows the way. And, anyway, we’re not speaking…There you are, there you are…’ John was wagging his finger at Sarah. ‘You’re being let in on family secrets already: my wife and I are not speaking.’

  The music stopped. David’s hands became still on the keys, and, turning his head slowly upwards, he looked at his brother and said quietly, ‘Stop it, John, and put the ego under lock and key for tonight, eh?’

  Sarah watched the brothers. They were looking at each other, their faces strained, slightly tense. Put the ego under lock and key. What did David mean? What was an ego? Something to do with the way John was carrying on, but what was it? She must get a dictionary; she had always promised herself a dictionary.

  ‘Sorry, let’s sing. There…he’s strapped down.’ John’s hands made the motion of tying a knot across his chest.

  David touched the keys again and then they were singing. John and Dan and even Mr Hetherington. Mr Hetherington was singing with an odd-looking smile on his face as if he were laughing at himself. But Sarah found she could not join her voice to theirs; they were singing ‘Blue Heaven’ and she was finding it embarrassing.

  Just Molly and me and baby makes three,

  We’re happy in my Blue Heaven.

  She had a feeling almost of horror in case John should change the Molly to Sarah, but John was apparently behaving himself. The chorus finished, David’s fingers changed the key almost imperceptibly into the ballad ‘Parted’, and at this her eyes brightened. Oh, she knew ‘Parted’—she loved ‘Parted’.

  Dearest, the night is passing,

  Endeth the dream divine,

  You must go back to your life,

  I must go back to mine.

  She forgot her embarrassment. In a moment she was singing softly, as if to herself, and then, when David turned his glance towards her, nodding in approbation and encouragement, she let her voice rise. But not to its full extent; even so, it impressed them. She felt herself glow because of this, her one accomplishment: they liked her voice. She saw Dan signalling to John to stop, but John was already stopping, and when there was only her voice carrying the song she looked from one to the other and her words faltered and died away.

  ‘I can’t sing by my…’

  ‘Come on, come on,’ said John. ‘Start again, David. You’re going to sing that right through. You’ve got a voice, my girl.’

  ‘Come on, Sarah, let’s hear it right through from the beginning.’ David’s voice was quiet, even firm. It steadied her. He seemed, when sitting at the piano, masterful, in command as it were. Perhaps that’s how he felt; he played beautifully, lovely.

  She stood ready to sing, telling herself not to let her voice go…to do it gently.

  Dearest, the night is passing,

  Endeth the dream divine.

  She was singing with only part of her mind, analysing the words with the other. She hoped…oh, she prayed that her dream divine would never end.

  You must go back to your life,

  I must go back to mine.

  David and she would have no life separate from each other. She would love him until she died, she couldn’t help it; even if only out of gratitude she would love him until she died. But she did not feel only grateful to him for wanting her; oh no, she loved him, she loved him because he was David, somebody different.

  Back to the joyless duties,

  Back to the ceaseless cares;

  Living and loving parted,

  All through the empty years.

  How can I live without you,

  How can I let you go,

  I whom you love so well, dear.

  You whom I worship so…

  You whom I worship so.

  There was a short silence when she finished, and it was Mr Hetherington who broke it. He said, ‘Very nice, very nice. You could do things with that voice, you know.’

  David was looking at her, not speaking, his eyes tender and proud.

  And Dan was looking at her. He was smiling with his head on one side, and he said, ‘I would like to hear you let rip.’

  But John was not looking at her, nor did he say anything. He was at the fireplace carefully lifting a piece of coal from the scuttle, carefully because one hand was poised underneath the coal in case it fell from the tongs. Sarah had not noticed him moving from the piano, but she did notice that he made no comment on her singing. Well, he can’t have thought much of it, she said to herself; then added, he’s a funny fellow, I can’t really make him out.

  ‘Play “Für Elise”.’ Dan was sorting some music on a table by the side of the piano as he spoke, and then the front doorbell rang. ‘Aw, who’s this now?’ His voice held a touch of impatience. It gave Sarah the impression that he was enjoying the present gathering and did not want it extended in any way.

  She turned her head towards John. He was standing to the side of the bow window. It was the note of apprehension in his voice that brought her attention to him. He was squinting through the narrow aperture of the curtains looking into the street, and at the same time he was speaking directly to David. ‘It’s Eileen,’ he said, ‘and…and her mother.’ Now his head turned quickly about and he looked over his shoulder to where David had moved from the piano stool to face him.

  ‘Well, what about it? Let them come in, they’ve got to some time.’

  ‘Not tonight, man.’ Now all of them were looking at Dan. His head was still bent over the music. ‘Here it is,’ he went on as he lifted up a dog-eared doubled sheet and handed it to David, nodding at him. ‘Go on, play.’

  Whatever all this was about Sarah couldn’t understand, but what impinged itself on her notice was that Mr Hetherington was sitting quietly in his chair and he had made no remark whatever. It could have been that he was stone-deaf.

  David was now holding the music, and after rolling it backwards he placed it on the stand, manoeuvring it to keep it upright; and while he was doing this there was a movement in the passage and the front door was opened. There filtered into the room an exchange of voices, and then the room door was opened.

  Instantly Sarah saw that all the men were disturbed, even Mr Hetherington, for he was now on his feet.

  Standing to one side, with the door in her hand, was May, and past her came a short plump woman with fair hair. She was well dressed; as Sarah explained to herself, well put-on. Behind her came a tall girl. She was also fair and she had the most beautiful face that Sarah had ever seen, and it wasn’t the first time that she had seen it. She had on occasions seen this girl when coming round the Stanhope Road way, and she had thought, By! She’s beautiful, that girl.

  Her skin was the colour of thick cream and her eyes were the deepest blue of any eyes that Sarah had looked at. Her features were perfect, too perfect. She looked—and Sarah was again colloquially explaining this to herself—the girl looked—too good to be true.

  The two visitors were staring at Sarah, but before any remark could be made there appeared behind the girl the tall dominating figure of Mary Hetherington. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and her voice had lost the coolness that Sarah associated with this woman’s whole demeanour. The tone was now brittle, nervous. She began talking straight away. ‘Why, Ellen, I didn’t expect you…And you, Eileen, how are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m very well, Auntie.’

  ‘Well now, well now, you must come into the living room and have a cup of tea. I was just making a fresh one. I never manage to get a decent cup when I’m looking after this horde. Oh, by the way, this is Sarah, Sarah Bradley.’ Mary Hetherington paused here, took a deep breath, then brought out in slow meaningful tones, ‘She’s David’s young lady; they’ve become engaged today.’

  Sara
h was looking at the girl, and the girl was looking at David, and David was now looking at ‘Für Elise’.

  ‘Oo…oh!’ The sound seemed to be acting in reverse, as if it had started outside the elder woman and was sinking down into the depths of her stomach, for she held her arm across her waist as if in pain. She was looking at Sarah now with a look that made Sarah want to exclaim, Don’t take it like that. The woman looked hurt, shocked, and angry, but most of all she looked hurt. Sarah watched her take hold of her daughter’s arm and push her past Mrs Hetherington into the passage, and as May went to follow them and close the door, Mr Hetherington, his eye twitching at twice its usual rate, went hastily across the room, and, pulling the almost closed door out of May’s grasp, went into the hall, from where the visitor’s voice came clearly into the room, saying in broken tones, ‘You’re cruel, Mary, cruel. You’ve had everything and you’re still not satisfied. You’re cruel, cruel.’

  As the door closed on the voice John seemed to spring across the room, and pulling it open, he thrust his arm outside, saying, ‘Here a minute you.’ And in the next second he had pulled May into the room.

  ‘Leave go. What are you playing at?’ May jerked her arm from his hand. It was the first time Sarah had heard her voice, and to her surprise it sounded refined.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have shown them into the other room?’ John was hissing at his wife, his face hanging menacingly above her.

  ‘Why should I?’ Her voice was cool, aggravatingly cool. ‘They always come in here, don’t they?’

  ‘You’re a bloody mischief-making little bitch. You’re never happy unless…’

  ‘Here! Here! John, steady on!’

  ‘Steady on?’ John turned his head towards Dan. ‘Steady on, you said?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, steady on. And keep your domestic differences for your own hearth.’

  ‘Now you’re asking something.’ May was nodding her head while her eyes stretched themselves into large circles. ‘You’re asking something, aren’t you, Dan? Did you ever know him to use tact or discretion, the big fellow. The great I am.’