The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘There’s very little possibility of that, lass. But if he does, well…’ She looked around as if searching for a solution. Then she said quickly, ‘Well, if he’s up or if we’re in next door—he was asked an’ all and you never know with him—well, if that happens I’ll leave the front room blind up. All right?’

  ‘All right.’ They nodded at each other then moved towards the door, but there stopped again, and Sarah, looking down at the handle round which her fingers were curved, said, ‘I do miss our Phyllis. With everything I’ve got I still miss seeing our Phyllis…Oh, I’m sorry.’ She looked at her mother’s bent head. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned her again.’

  ‘Aw, lass, I’m glad you did. I think of her all the time. And you know what?’ Annie thrust her head forward. ‘In the New Year I’m going to start going out, I’m going to take trips into Shields.’ She spoke as if Shields was a long distance away instead of three miles to its centre. ‘And then I’m going to look in on our Phyllis. I don’t care, I’m going to look in on her. He needn’t know anything about it. But now and again I’ll look in on her.’

  ‘Oh, Mother, I’m glad. Oh, I’m glad of that.’

  ‘Well, something must be done, she can’t come up here.’

  ‘No, no, that’s true. Oh, I’m glad you’re going to see her.’ She leant quickly forward and they kissed and clung together, not close, just holding each other’s arms. Annie was crying gently now, and Sarah, fumbling with the lock, let herself out and hurried down the street. She felt sad and happy at the same time, and overall a feeling of relief. Her mother was going to see Phyllis and she too was going to see Phyllis. Yes, she would in the New Year on the quiet. She would tell David. Oh yes, she would tell David. He wouldn’t stop her, but she must do it on the quiet. His mother would never forgive her if she knew she was going into a house in Costorphine Town…

  The second thread was the arrival of Dan through her back door around twelve o’clock, long before his usual dinner hour. His face looked peaked and his voice was husky as he said, ‘Oh, I’m glad you’re in, Sarah. I wouldn’t have known what to do with this except put it in your coalhouse.’ He pulled from the inside pocket of his coat a flat flask of whisky. ‘It’s about the only sure cure for this.’ He pointed to his chest. ‘It’s settling here. If I have this hot and stay by the fire for half an hour or so it’ll do the trick. You don’t mind?’

  ‘No, no, of course not.’ She looked hard at him. But she was not seeing him as the man whose goings-on had shocked her last night in spite of her denial. She did not see him as the man who was keeping a woman, and in a very odd way. He was just Dan, who was nice. She said, ‘Sit yourself down, I’ll get the fire going. You’ve had this cold coming on for nearly a week, why haven’t you done something about it?’

  ‘Oh, Mary wanted to put me to bed, but I thought I could work it off. I hate to be away from the shop. Young George is all right, he can carry on, but the girl and the lad are new to it. Just started this past month, and Friday and Saturday are our busiest days. But I felt I had to come away this morning, I thought I was going to pass out. I told the old man.’

  ‘You should be in bed.’ She was bustling around filling the kettle, bringing in a mug and sugar, putting more coals on the fire. ‘Take your coat off,’ she said, ‘and I’ll fill a bottle.’ She bent down to the bottom cupboard and brought out a stone water bottle.

  ‘No, no, Sarah, I’d better not get too hot. I’ll be all right. If I’d had a hot whisky going to bed each night it would have done the trick. But you know Mary.’ He sighed. ‘And yet the stuff she brewed yesterday is more deadly than raw Scotch.’

  She was pouring the boiling water on to the generous portion of whisky when the back door opened and a voice called, ‘Are you in, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ She glanced quickly at Dan. ‘It’s May.’

  ‘Oh, May’s all right.’ Dan smiled wearily.

  May stood within the kitchen door. She looked smart, yet cool and distant as always. She wrinkled her nose as she said, ‘What’s this? Whisky?’

  ‘Help yourself,’ said Dan, pointing to the bottle. ‘I had to get something for this stinking cold.’

  ‘Well, well.’ May came and sat down by the table, and, lifting up the bottle, she looked at it. ‘I won’t say no.’ She glanced at Sarah and smiled.

  It was rarely May smiled and that was a pity, Sarah thought, because she looked attractive when she smiled. And softer, oh so much softer. She said, ‘You really want a drop?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Why not? We often used to have a toddy when we were first married, late at night…so the smell wouldn’t carry…How you going to get over that, Dan? She’ll smell it off you.’

  ‘I brought some mints…Provided for everything.’ He smiled weakly.

  As Sarah watched May pouring herself out a good measure of the whisky her mind lifted to the room on the other side of the fireplace and it came to her with a strange feeling of sadness that Mary Hetherington was ruling an imaginary world. Within the confines of her four walls she dictated and claimed obedience, and was satisfied, at least apparently, that her family were subject to her. But did she guess, even faintly, that all of them threw off her domination once they crossed the threshold into the street? Dan with his woman and his whisky—he likely had his whisky when he was with her; John with May and their toddies at night. This was only a small thing, the bigger issue there was the separate turbulent life that John and his wife led away from the narrow confines of number one. Then there was David. David most of all, she thought, had moved away from his mother’s domination. Although he was still nice to her, gentle with her because that was David’s nature, there was a part in him that had been set free when he had taken herself from the bottom end and married her. The only one who could not escape was the father. Yet even he tried. Yes, she could see that her mother-in-law was ruling a world that existed only within her own mind, and a part of her was unhappy for the dominant, self-satisfied woman, for this woman who would never like her.

  An exclamation from May broke the trend of her thoughts and brought her eyes to the kitchen window and the dark shadow passing it.

  ‘It’s the big fellow himself, he must have smelt it.’ May sniffed disdainfully, and as John entered the room she looked at her husband and said, ‘Altogether like the folks of Shields. Did you smell it?’

  John did not answer his wife but looked to where Dan was crouched over the fire. ‘You’ve got it bad,’ he said. ‘You should be in bed.’

  ‘This’ll put me right.’ Dan held up the mug.

  ‘It’ll do no such thing unless you can sweat it out of you. You’ll be a damn sight worse drinking that and then going out into the blast. Have some sense, man; go on, get into bed.’

  ‘Yes, it’s the wisest thing,’ said May. ‘He’s right. You should get yourself to bed, Dan.’

  ‘What! On a New Year’s Eve and the jollification coming up? What’ll they do without me?’ He grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the fireplace.

  ‘Aw, you think too much of yourself,’ said John. ‘You won’t be missed as long as there’s Davie to play the piano. That’s all that she’ll want. That’s all that’ll be necessary.’

  Dan, taking the remark the way it was meant, said, ‘True, true. But all the same, I’m not going to bed. I’ve never been to bed on a New Year’s Eve yet and I’m not going to start now. And’—his grin widened—‘what do you think I am, to miss the home brew and the port at three shillings a bottle, mind you. You must think I’m barmy!’

  As they laughed, Dan, thumbing the whisky bottle, said, ‘Help yourself; I’m bringing another down later. I’ve got to have them in flat halves so they won’t bulge my coat. You never know, she could have run into me coming round the back way.’

  The air of conspiracy was again to the fore. The feeling was always strong when the family were together—outside the parents’ home.

  May, like a practised hand, threw off the last of her whisky, the
n, looking up at Sarah, said, ‘I just popped over to see if you would have Paul this afternoon. I want to go over to my mother’s and it’s too cold to take him, crossing the water and all.’

  Before Sarah could reply John put in, ‘I’ll stay with him, I told you.’

  ‘You’re doing nothing of the sort, you’re coming to my mother’s. You never show your face there from one year’s end to the other; in fact my family…’ May now looked from Sarah to Dan. ‘My family don’t believe I’ve a husband.’

  John’s head was lowered in a bull-like attitude. He was biting on his lip but he said nothing.

  Sarah said quickly, ‘Oh, I’d love to have him, May. Oh yes, leave him with me.’

  May rose to her feet. ‘Thanks.’ She smiled at Sarah. ‘He likes coming over here. You wouldn’t believe I found him up the back lane the other day. He was crawling on his hands and knees over Mrs Barrett’s step. He had gone to the wrong end, but he knew the house was near the end…Come on, big boy.’ She pushed her husband sharply on the shoulder. ‘Finish that up and get on your feet.’ She spoke to him as if he were drunk and incapable; her tone held a deriding note. It made Sarah think, Why does she do it? She could handle him if she didn’t use that voice and manner.

  She watched John rise to his feet as if obedient to his wife’s summons. She could not see the expression in his eyes, for his lids were lowered. He nodded towards Dan, saying abruptly, ‘You look after that cold or it’ll mean trouble.’ Then he followed May out. He had not, Sarah noticed, said one word to her, neither hello nor goodbye. He must be in a state inside, she thought. It wasn’t only not having a pay packet; it was as David said—John needed to work.

  Dan was laughing now, and his voice cracking, he said, ‘That’s a funny remark, you know, and everybody makes it. Take care of that cold, they say, as if it was something tender to be cherished. People say funny things.’ Then, turning his body half from the fire, he asked quietly and abruptly, ‘David tell you about me last night?’

  The suddenness of the question took Sarah aback. She blinked and moved her head, then she made a gesture with one hand as if flapping something aside and answered, ‘Yes, yes, Dan, but that’s all right.’

  ‘You weren’t shocked?’

  ‘No, Dan, no. That’s your business. As David says, it’s your business.’

  ‘Aye, David says that, but what do you say?’

  ‘Well’—again her hand flapped outwards—‘if you want it that way, and it’s good for you…well then.’ She paused and finished inanely, ‘It’s your life.’

  ‘Yes, it’s my life.’ He turned towards the fire again. ‘And I’ve arranged it as I want it. Though, let me tell you…’—his voice was cracking more now—‘Eva wants it like that too. I’m not taking any young lass down, believe me, nor wrecking a home or spoiling a married woman’s life. She’s a widow, a very quiet sort, and wants no ties no more than I do.’

  ‘All right, all right, Dan, now don’t get upset. Look, it’s like John said. I should go to bed if I were you.’

  ‘I’ll be all right, I’ll be all right.’ He lay back in the chair holding the stone water bottle to him and closed his eyes. Sarah stood looking at him. His face looked drawn and weary, but still there was about him an attractiveness. She could understand any woman going for Dan, but she couldn’t understand her not wanting to marry him. All the Hetherington men had something about them, in different ways. Yet Dan wasn’t a Hetherington, was he? His name was Blyth.

  A few minutes later, when the back door opened again and David entered the house, she was scrambling round setting the table. The dinner, a hotpot, was already in the oven. She greeted David in the scullery. They held each other for a moment while they kissed, and then she whispered swiftly, ‘Dan’s inside. He’s not well, he should be in bed. It’s his cold.’

  When she entered the kitchen with the dish in her hands Dan was saying, ‘It’s only a cold, don’t worry your head. I’m sweating it out. Look, it’s running down me. I’ve got over half an hour before I need go next door, I’ll be all right. Help yourself.’ He pointed.

  David did not reply. He just continued to look at Dan and shake his head. Then, turning to the table, he picked up the bottle, went to the cupboard and got himself a glass and poured himself out a measure of the whisky.

  She hadn’t known David drank whisky. Again her thoughts turned towards the woman in the room behind the fireplace, and again she felt sad for her, sad in a strange inexplicable way.

  The jollification had begun. It had got on its way around ten o’clock. Besides the family there were additions to the party. Mr and Mrs Riley from Number Fourteen. Mr Riley was one of the two men who worked under Mr Hetherington. And there was Mrs Riley’s sister and her husband who had come down from Hartlepool for the New Year. Then there was Mr and Mrs Ramsay from next door to Sarah. The sitting room was crowded, and laughter filled the house, and the passage between the front room and the living room was as busy as Newcastle station.

  Already Mary Hetherington had doled out the first taste of her brew, and as usual it had been acclaimed with high praise and requests from the visitors to know the recipe. But, ‘Ah! Ah!’ said Mary. No-one was getting that, it would die with her. No, not even her husband knew how the brew was concocted. Nor did her brother either. Her mother had passed the recipe on to her; men had never had anything to do with it. There was high laughter at this point.

  Sarah was in the kitchen beating up tinned salmon with mustard and vinegar to make up another batch of sandwiches; the first lot had vanished quicker than snow under the sun. She lifted her head from her task, her face bright and flushed with happiness, and looked at her mother-in-law who was entering the room. Mary Hetherington’s face too was bright and flushed, and for the first time since she had come to know her, Sarah saw her smiling, really smiling. She looked relaxed and happy…in her element, as Sarah put it to herself. She said to her, ‘These won’t be a minute, I’ve got all the bread buttered.’

  ‘That’s good of you, Sarah. May could have given you a hand, but no, May’s not like that.’ There returned to her face a reflection of the primness that was usual to it, and then it was gone as she asked, ‘How did you like my ale?’

  ‘Oh, I thought it was wonderful, lovely. I’ve never tasted anything like it. I’m not going to ask you how you make it because David said it was a secret, but oh, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that every day.’

  ‘No, no.’ The tone held laughter. ‘It’s not for every day, it’s just for special occasions. I make it once a year as my mother did, and her mother afore her. You know, my mother was a farmer’s daughter from near Blanchland. Lovely country that, lovely. It was a big farm, quite an estate. She took me once to see it when I was a little girl. She knew lots of country secrets did my mother, and…well, my ale is one of them. I could tell anyone what I put in it but they couldn’t make it. It’s just wheat and barley and hops and horehound, and odds and ends, but it’s the quantities and how you use them. It’s like cooking; some cooks can turn cream sour.’

  As if she had uttered a great witticism they both laughed. Then their laughter stopping suddenly, they looked at each other, and Mary Hetherington said, ‘Don’t you think it’s about time you had a name for me, Sarah?’

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ Sarah wagged her head in embarrassment. She had always addressed this woman as ‘Mrs Hetherington’, she had not dared say ‘mother’.

  Mary Hetherington turned away and began to transfer mince pies from a tray on to a plate and her hand moved swiftly and her words kept pace with it as she said, ‘Mam would be nice I think, don’t you? We can’t go on for ever being addressed as “Mrs Hetherington”, can we? Yes, I think Mam will do.’ Her hand and her voice halted abruptly and she turned her head and looked at Sarah.

  Sarah remained very still as she said softly, ‘Yes. Oh yes, I’d like that.’ It was as if an honour had been bestowed on her.

  And Mary Hetherington, acting in the manner of one who had bestowed the g
reat gift, inclined her head downwards. Then adding one more mince pie to the plate, she said, ‘Well, that’s that settled,’ and left the kitchen.

  Sarah sighed. A smile spread slowly over her happy face; she felt her ears moving backwards with it. Wouldn’t David be tickled to death. Oh, his mother…Mam…should make her brew every week. Oh, she should! She’d had a glass or two, that was evident, she was a different woman the night. Sarah gripped the bowl with her two hands and had the desire to throw it towards the ceiling. Then her body shaking with inward laughter, she applied herself frantically to the sandwiches. It was a lovely New Year’s Eve, lovely.

  Sarah had become conscious that David had stopped playing the piano some time before she took the two plates of sandwiches in to the room. As she pushed at the door with her hip, John, standing behind it, pulled it open and, relieving her of one of the plates, whispered, ‘The old man’s on his feet.’

  Sarah looked to where Mr Hetherington was standing on the hearthrug, his back towards the blazing fire. He had a glass in his hand and was motioning with it down to his subordinate Mr Riley, saying, ‘It’s true, you’ll endorse it, Bill. Hope can be as dead as a doornail, but come this night and it’s injected with a spark of life. Even those who have been out for years, the night they’ll be thinking next year’s bound to be different. Am I right?’

  Mr Riley made a deep obeisance with his head. ‘Yes, you’re right, Stan.’ There followed a rustle through the room, then silence again as they all looked towards their host. And Stan went on, ‘New Year’s Eve, as I said, is not an ending, it’s merely a day afore a beginning, a day when you clean inside and out, a day when you see your assets mounting. This affects every man jack the same up ’til the moment the clock strikes twelve. You know, nobody, at least no northerner, can be without hope on New Year’s Eve; we’ve proved it again and again, haven’t we?’