The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  The woman was on the last stair but one when Mary Hetherington saw her. She had the door in her hand, but she didn’t close it. Slowly she pushed it behind her and slowly she walked forward. She brought her eyes for a second from the woman to Sarah’s red and agitated face, then looked back towards the woman again.

  ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  The woman opened her mouth to speak, then, glancing fearfully at Sarah, she closed it again, and as she did so Mary Hetherington looked over her head towards the top of the stairs and the bedroom. Then, speaking below her breath, in a voice so deep that it seemed to be that of a man’s, she growled, ‘How dare you! Get out of here.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing. Wh…’

  ‘Get out of here!’ Mary Hetherington seemed to leap backwards towards the door and, pulling it wide, she pointed dramatically towards the street.

  The little woman, very, very like a mouse now, a trembling pathetic mouse, gave Sarah one piteous glance, then made her exit on the point of a run. As Sarah watched her scrambling ignominiously down the steps into the street, the reason why Dan had taken up with her became clear: it was because the poles of the earth were not more apart than she and his sister. In spite of being brought up under the domination of Mary Hetherington, he had survived and had become a man with a mind of his own, but Mary’s dominance had coloured his choice of a woman.

  As Sarah watched her mother-in-law come towards her she said to herself, Stand up to her, don’t let her frighten you. But the admonition did not prevent her retreating into the living room, where she stood at the far side of the table not daring to look into the outraged face before her. She had only seen this woman in a temper once before, that was on the day she and David had returned from the registry office, and, as she had told Phyllis, she had been frightening. During that particular scene she had raised her voice—if she had not actually shouted she had talked loudly—but now her voice was not raised, it was very low and it made her much more frightening than any wild burst of temper could.

  ‘You…you knew about this, didn’t you?

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You arranged it.’

  ‘No! No, I didn’t.’

  ‘You’re a liar…a big blowsy, lazy liar.’

  The attack widened Sarah’s eyes. This was how the women of the bottom end talked. Moreover, this was an attack on her. It had really nothing to do with Dan or the woman, it was directed against her. She felt it. She knew it.

  ‘Dan would never have dared, he knows how far he can go. But you…do you know what you’ve done?’ She had her hands flat on the table and the edge of it was pressing her clothes into her thighs, her stomach, surprisingly large for one so thin, was covering inches of the table, and she was leaning at an angle that brought her head and shoulders halfway across it. ‘You’ve wrecked my home, that’s what you’ve done.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve done nothing. It wasn’t me who…’

  ‘Shut up! You could talk until you’re black in the face and I’d never believe you. You’re sly, cunning…using your lumps of flesh…’ She released one white-knuckled hand from the table and flicked it within an inch of Sarah’s breasts. ‘You don’t need any sign outside the door saying “All men welcome”, you’ve just got to show yourself…You—you young hussy—setting your cap for my menfolk! And you’ve taken them, haven’t you…my menfolk. That’s what you’ve done. And you meant to, didn’t you?’

  ‘I…I…What are you talking about? You must be mad!’ Sarah shook her head slowly. Her mouth hung open and her tongue hung slack on her teeth with amazement.

  ‘Go on, play the innocent, first David and then Dan. Oh, he has his woman on the side but he can’t keep away from your kitchen. And then my own husband…what did you do to him? Encourage him in…“You can smoke in here, Dad”…’ She was mimicking Sarah’s voice. ‘You think I don’t know your little game. I wasn’t born yesterday. And John, running round making your furniture when he won’t knock a nail in for me, or May either.’ She took a great intake of breath now. The beads of sweat were ringing her upper lip. She straightened her back, breathed hard again, then with her eyes still riveted in patent hate on Sarah, she went on, ‘You should be in Costorphine Town with your sister. There’s not a pin to choose between you. I must have been crazy to think that you were the lesser of two evils. Ellen said I’d be paid back, and how true her words have come. But I realised it from the beginning. And it wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t sneaked off to the registry office. There are worse things than a taint of insanity. Well, God has punished me. Sure enough. He’s punished me. I’ve lost a good friend in Ellen, I’ve lost a girl who’d have been a daughter to me, and what have I got?…You…who’ve split my family apart.’

  ‘It’s not true.’ Sarah was standing straight now, her breathing sharp. ‘Not a word you’ve said is true. I’ve never asked any of them into the house. If they come next door it’s not to see me but for a bit of peace, do you hear? Do you hear that? For a bit of peace!’ Although she was still trembling, still afraid of this woman, there came to her aid retaliation born of a sense of injustice. This feeling came boiling up in her when dealing with her father, or the priest, and it now enabled her to thrust back at her mother-in-law the truth, the truth that was going to sever their connection for all time. Her voice spitting out the words, she cried, ‘And if they do come into my house who’s to blame them? What is there for them here?’ She flung one arm wide. ‘Is there any real comfort or happiness? This isn’t a home, it’s your show-place, and you’re the big boss. Dan is the only one who has kicked over the traces, but it’s a wonder to me they’re not all regular visitors at Maggie Conaman’s…There, you’ve asked for it, and you’ve got it…You never intended I should have David, did you? No, you didn’t. As you said, it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t sneaked off to the registry office. Well, you were foxed, weren’t you? I’ve got David, and I’m going to keep him, and you can’t do a thing about it. Now you’ve really got something to get your teeth into, so bite hard. You can’t hurt me, do you hear? You can’t hurt me.’

  She turned away from the livid countenance and went out of the house, not rushing, just walking, walking steadily. Although fearful at her temerity and amazed at her daring, she was possessed of the knowledge that she was indeed a woman, all of her and forever. The girl in her was gone completely.

  Maggie Conaman was a notorious character of the docks and Sarah would have denied any knowledge of her existence if the question had been put to her, but now she had used her knowledgeably and thrown her into her mother-in-law’s chapel-going sanctimonious teeth.

  A few minutes later, as she stood in her own kitchen, her hands above her shoulders gripping the mantelpiece as she stared down into the fire, she seemed to see there her values being melted and reshaped. What were this family, anyway? What were they? They were no better than those at the bottom end. When she thought of the family she was not including the men. There was one figure only who represented the family: her mother-in-law. She had talked and gone on like any woman from Baxter Street or Poltar’s Row. And only yesterday she had said one mustn’t bear malice or bitterness. That was funny, that was. Who did she think she was, anyway? Who? She grabbed at the poker and rammed it into the fire, stirring it vigorously, sending the ash over her shining black-leaded hob. A big, blowsy, lazy liar. She dropped the poker with a clatter on to the hearth, then, throwing herself into David’s chair, she turned her face into the corner and began to cry slow, painful tears. There was always someone or something to spoil things, always, always.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself.’ They both said it at once, John and David. They were standing in front of her and she looked up at them as she said, ‘You’re wasting your time. She blames me for it all. So let her go on thinking that. You’re not going to make things any better by telling her the truth. In fact you’ll make them worse.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ Dav
id nodded his head down sharply at her. ‘Come on.’ He beckoned to John. ‘This is one thing we can get straightened out and waste no time about it.’

  ‘Have your tea first,’ she said.

  ‘Tea be damned!’

  That was the first time she had heard David say ‘damn’; he was very upset for her. As she heard their combined footsteps going down the yard she joined her hands in her lap and sat waiting. Within a matter of minutes she heard the sound of voices, low and muffled coming through the wall.

  Five minutes later she raised her eyes towards the kitchen door as she heard the back door open. She was surprised to see John coming in alone. ‘I’ve left him,’ he said, jerking his head towards the fireplace, ‘pouring buckets of oil on the troubled waters. Not that it will do much good. You were right.’ He came close to her, and, bending towards her, his hands cupping his knees, he asked quietly, ‘Did you say we should all have gone down to Maggie Conaman’s for diversion?’

  She dropped her eyes from his and after a moment said, ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  She looked up at him. His eyes were twinkling, his face twisted into a wry grin. ‘You certainly rent the temple asunder with that salvo. And the funny thing is, you know’—he wagged his finger slowly in front of her face—‘many’s the time I nearly did just that.’

  She lowered her eyes again and looked down at his feet. They were an extra large size. His boots were highly polished; he always took pride in his appearance. She liked that about him; he would never look down and out if he was out of work for ten years, she thought. She was wondering why she was thinking this way at this particular moment when his voice came at her again, saying, ‘You know, some people think your church is the last word in domination. Well, it might be, but with it neck and neck at the post are the Baptists, ones like my mother. Humbugs who condemn drinking yet make a brew with a kick in it…Oh, I know I said it didn’t affect me, but then I can stand a good deal…You know, I once believed in God. But no smoking, no drinking, no swearing, no taking the Lord’s name in vain, no reading books on a Sunday other than…the Book; no playing the piano on a Sunday unless hymns, these things changed my opinion pretty early on about God, and chapel, and living the good life. And if they hadn’t, the face of the bolster atween her and Dad would have done it in any case.’

  ‘What?’ She did not quite follow him. ‘A bolster?’

  ‘It’s a fact. After Davie was born no more of…that, she said. I wasn’t five at the time, but I remember as if it was yesterday, and getting out of bed because something disturbed me, I didn’t know what, and opened the bedroom door. There she was standing on the landing in her nightie saying, “I want no more of that.” The word that stuck in my mind for years. I was about ten when I discovered what that was and just turned thirteen when I learned about the bolster. It was the first of Dad’s Armistice celebrations. You know, he always gets tight the day before Armistice Day and he told me—he was crying just like a kid—and he told me. “Fighting all through the war,” he said, “and I had to come back to the bolster. It’s unnatural, isn’t it?”’

  Sarah lowered her eyes. She felt embarrassed, as if somebody had told her a filthy story. She had never liked filthy stories.

  ‘She’s a cruel woman is me mother; narrow, and cruel, and like all such women, bitchy. May is bitchy, but she’s not narrow in that way. You know something, Sarah?’ He was still bent towards her with his hands on his knees and she looked at him again. ‘You’ve struck a blow for all of us the day. Every single one of us…Dan, Dad, Davie, and me. Oh yes…and me. For how many times have I wanted to say to her just what you said the day. You know, it’s funny. We’re known about the doors as a united family, yet each one of us hates her guts in some way…aw, don’t let it trouble you, don’t look so sad. Come on, cheer up. You’ve stood on your two feet today so you shouldn’t look sad.’ He took his hand from his knees and bent over her, and his tone dropped to a whisper as he said, ‘I worry when you look sad. I do, I do…Sarah.’ His hand came out to touch her cheek when she pressed herself away from him, saying under her breath, ‘No, don’t, don’t. Don’t, don’t.’

  ‘All right.’ He straightened up and stood looking down at her for a moment before turning abruptly from her. ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ he said.

  She lay back in the chair. Her heart was pounding against her ribs. Why must he do it…touch her? Everything would be all right if he didn’t touch her. When the beating subsided she thought of what he had said. She had struck a blow for all of them. Yes, she had struck a blow, and smashed the house. Very likely if she had kept her mouth shut this business would have died down and a veneer would have covered the real feelings of them all and they could have gone on with the daily business of living amicably—but never again. The blow she had struck had severed the lives of the two houses; and in her own house there stood David, Dan, and John, with her father-in-law astraddle the wreckage. But standing alone in the rooms of the other house was Mary Hetherington; bereft of her menfolk. This knowledge brought no feeling of triumph to Sarah, only awareness of the hard, bitter woman’s pain.

  Six

  Sarah felt dreadful. She longed to go in to Dan to help as usual, to see to him, but she knew that even if she had the courage to walk up the next yard she would find the door bolted against her.

  She had tidied upstairs. She had done her kitchen and dusted the few bits of furniture that were in the front room. She had prepared the dinner far in advance of its time. And now, taking up some socks of David’s she sat down near the fire. She didn’t feel well—she supposed it was the upset of last night—she felt all to pot. She said to herself, Get up and make yourself a cup of strong coffee—coffee was David’s innovation. He liked it. He liked it better than tea. She wasn’t very struck on it herself, but David said it bucked you up.

  As she snapped off the wool from the sock there was a flick of shadow against the left-hand pane of the kitchen window. This meant there was someone at the back door. She was in the scullery before they knocked, and when she opened the door her mouth did not drop open into a gape of surprise, it clamped closed, her lips losing their full shape in a tight line. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘You were always civil, weren’t you?’

  ‘I asked you what you want?’

  ‘Just a word.’

  Her tongue drew a quick line over her upper lip before she said, ‘Get it out then.’

  ‘Well.’ He moved from one foot to the other; then rubbed his thumb under his nose and brought his eyebrows close together before saying. ‘It’s a bit private like, I don’t think I’d do me talking out here.’

  She stood staring at him. She wanted to bang the door in his face. She remembered that he had been trying to see her before this. Without a word she pulled the door wide to give him plenty of room to pass her, she had never liked getting close to him—there was a smell about him, a body smell. Even when he had washed himself down there had still been that smell, a smoky, sweet, funny smell.

  In the kitchen she kept her distance from him. She did not ask him to sit down but stood looking at him, waiting. He was looking about him, a smile on his face. When he looked like this she could understand anyone thinking he was a quiet, inoffensive little chap.

  ‘You’ve got it nice…grand. Did well for yourself, didn’t you?’ He was still smiling as if in approbation. ‘I’ll sit down a minute, off me legs. I’ve been to the doctor’s with me back…I’m on the sick. They stopped me dole.’

  So that was it. He had come cadging. He had a nerve. She repeated the words in her mind, slow, deep, and emphatic. By! Yes…he had a nerve all right. Then, as she had guessed, it came.

  ‘I was wondering if you could spare me a few bob to tide me over.’ He had not said, us over, which would have meant he wanted the money for the house.

  Her face was hard, her voice equally so, as she rapped out, ‘I haven’t any money to give or lend.’

  ‘No?’ He sh
ook his head slowly.

  ‘No, not now or any other time.’

  ‘But your man’s doing all right, he’s got a permanent job. From three pounds five a week they get in the dock office, I understand.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what they get, or what you understand, I’ve got no money to give you; it takes me all my time to manage. And now you’ll have to go. I’ve got to go out.’

  He sighed here, then leant his short body forward until his elbows were resting on his knees, his hands hanging idly downwards, his whole impression one of relaxation. ‘It’s a pity.’ He sounded sorry.

  She was puzzled by his reaction. She had expected him to bounce to his feet and tell her what he thought she was, a bloody upstart. Instead he started talking about David.

  ‘Nice fellow, that man of yours. Did he tell you I had a word with him on the road the other day?’

  David hadn’t told her.

  ‘He asked me how long I’d been out and he gave me a bob.’

  Oh David, David, what a silly thing to do. But that was David.

  ‘I should think he was a chap in a thousand, straight like; no side to him. I was talking to some of ’em at the dock gates and they said he was the civillest fellow in the office.’ He lifted his eyes upwards looking at her under his lids. ‘You’ve been lucky, you know. You fell on your feet. It’d be a pity if you were knocked on your back now, wouldn’t it?’

  Her brows came together. ‘Knocked on me back? What are you getting at? Look.’ She did not go near him, but she bent her body towards him. ‘I don’t know what you’re yammering on about or what you’re leading up to. I only know one thing: coming from you it won’t be any good.’