The Blind Miller

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘I’ve got to talk, and now. In six days’ time I’ll be in the army…I’ve been taking a form of instruction from Father Bailey, a very preliminary form. He has told me of all the obstacles that are in my way, so you won’t be the only one who will try to put a spoke into the wheel. I’ve got to convince them that I’m serious. I’ve got to see the Bishop, Bishop McCormack, and Father Bailey wouldn’t make the appointment until I’d told you everything.’

  ‘That’s bloody kind of him.’ John was rearing now. ‘I’ll have something to say to this Father Bailey, and one thing will be that you can’t do a damn thing about it. I’ve got the idea that you’re under my jurisdiction until you’re twenty-one.’

  ‘I know all about that, we’ve gone into that. You can get a court order to prevent me from becoming a priest. You can also prevent me turning a Catholic while I’m a minor, but I’ll be twenty-one before I come out of the Army, and until then you or no-one else can stop me reading and learning. I’ll be getting myself ready…’

  ‘For Christ’s sake! Shut up, will you! Be quiet, before I do something to you…And’—he paused—‘where does the university come in in all this?’

  ‘I won’t be going to Oxford. I can take my degrees while I’m studying. I’ll likely go to Ushaw College near Durham.’

  John bounced to his feet. He still looked dazed, but he sounded more like himself when he cried, ‘Ushaw College, be buggered! I’ll see you in hell first before I’ll let you go through with this. You’re mad. This business has turned your brain. As for those bloody cunning priests, wait ’til I get my tongue round them…and my hands.’ He doubled his fist and shook it towards Paul. ‘You know something? I’d rather see you dead than let you go through with this. Now get out.’ He turned his back on his son and looked into the fire, and Paul moved slowly from the table and went to the door and opened it, and his intake of breath brought John’s head round quickly to see May standing in the doorway. There was no need to wonder if she had heard anything; her face told him that there was nothing she hadn’t heard; she must have been there all the time.

  As Paul hesitated and looked at her she said evenly, in the ice-rimmed tone that was natural to her, ‘Go on out, I’ll see you later.’ Then she went into the room and closed the door.

  May stood with her back to the door, not leaning against it; she did not look in need of support, her small compact body was rigid with the white heat of hate. ‘So!’ she said.

  ‘Aye. So. Well, you heard what he said.’

  ‘Yes, I heard what he said, but I lay no stock on that. I understand my son where you never did. A priest indeed! He means that as a girl would mean it—if she said she was going to be a nun after being let down. I’ll see to him presently. It isn’t him I want to talk about now, it’s you…and her!’

  John’s lips met in a straight line, the corners pulled in as if he was sucking.

  ‘That’s it, get ready to do battle. Get ready to lie your way out.’

  ‘I’ve got no need to lie about anything and I’m not going to, so don’t worry your head on that score.’

  ‘“Yes, I loved your Aunt Sarah.”’ She was mimicking his tone now, her face spread into a mirthless leer. Then as if a switch had changed her expression, her face was straight. The muscles tight and her eyes flint-hard as she spat at him, ‘There was a pair of you. The big fellow and the big, fat floppy-breasted bitch.’

  As she watched him silently writhing, she taunted him, ‘Why don’t you say something? At least defend her and say she wasn’t a floppy-breasted bitch, she was beautiful. Aye, like a sow on her side she was beautiful all right.’ She paused again. Then her voice dropping deep into her throat, she muttered, ‘There could be another killing this very minute.’

  ‘Aye, there could. So look out, I’m telling you.’ His words sounded thick and fuddled as if he were drunk.

  ‘I’m not frightened of you and your bulk, and you know it…To think that all these years, you and her…I could spit on you.’

  ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree as usual.’ John moved his head slowly. ‘It’s true what I said and I’m not going to deny it. I was in love with her, and still am if you want to know, so coat that with your venom and burn it through…But there’s been nothing between us, not a damn thing. That first New Year’s Eve I tried to kiss her coming back from her mother’s, but that’s all that happened—she soon put me in me place. And I’m going to tell you something, right now I’m going to tell you something. If it hadn’t been for our Davie the tale would have been different, for I would have taken her—and I could have—and I’d have left you high and dry. Twenty years I’ve sat like a mute under your tongue, but now it’s finished. So you know.’

  May was standing within an arm’s length of him. She looked up at him, her thin face wearing a twisted smile, and her voice sounded deceptively normal when she said, ‘That’s where you’re wrong, John. Things are only beginning; you forget about Kathleen.’

  ‘You can do nothing there; Kathleen isn’t mine.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’ The smile slid from her face. ‘If you went on your bended knees at this moment I wouldn’t believe you, nor would anybody else. You’ve always been very fond…fond, that’s a light term for your feeling for Kathleen, isn’t it? You liked her better than you did your own son. You’ve never had much use for Paul, have you? Oh no. But Kathleen looks like her mother, doesn’t she, and she takes after you, doesn’t she? There’s nothing of Davie in her, but you stick out a mile. Helter-skelter, never stay still. That’s Kathleen…just like her father, eh?’

  ‘I tell you you’re barking up the wrong tree.’ John’s voice, although loud, sounded weary.

  ‘I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure I’m not.’ May was talking in a conversational tone now. ‘If your dear Sarah had nothing to hide, why didn’t she bring this all out at the trial; it would have helped her, she would have gained sympathy, a woman who had been blackmailed for years. But no, she was frightened because she knew that if she opened her mouth the cat would be out of the bag. As Paul said, Kathleen’s birthday is on the fourth of October. You haven’t to do much counting up from the first of January have you?’

  ‘Look!’ He was bawling now. ‘You can talk until you’re sick and you’d still be wrong. I tell you…’

  ‘You can tell me nothing. Now you listen to me.’ May’s tone changed yet again; her face was tight, bitter. ‘As I see it, your dear Sarah took a longer stretch than she need have done just to save Kathleen knowing the truth. Well…now listen hard, big fellow, because if you make a mistake it’ll be a pity. If you think you’re going to wait for her coming out you’re mistaken, because if you as much as go and visit her, just once, I’ll go across that back lane and I’ll tell our dear Kathleen who her daddy is. You know, there are more ways of killing a cat than drowning it. And just think how Dan would take this bit of news…and your Dad. Oh, you wouldn’t care what your mother thought, in fact you’d like to hit your mother with this, but not the other two. Oh no, you’d like to keep their good opinion, wouldn’t you? All men together.’ She stepped back quickly as John advanced towards her. ‘Don’t try it,’ she said. ‘Don’t try it, I warn you.’

  They stood staring at each other, the hate like molten lead between them. It was May who moved first. She turned from him, showing her disdain by giving him her back, and as she reached the door she looked over her shoulder towards him and said evenly. ‘The way business is going we want a better address, don’t you think? I’ll look for a place down Westoe in Shields, it’s nice down there. And by the way, if you should get the idea into your head to let the business go flat to spite me, remember it would be a pity to think that your dear Sarah had sacrificed herself in vain, wouldn’t it?’

  When the door had closed on her, John turned slowly and went to the window, and, looking out across the back lane, he gazed down into Sarah’s yard, into Sarah’s kitchen window, and he said aloud: ‘All this because of those few minutes that night. God
Almighty! First her going through it, and now me. But I’m not Sarah. How long can I hold out? God Almighty!’

  PART SIX

  One

  It was 1957 and Dan’s birthday, and he was fifty-seven years old. He stood appraising himself in the wardrobe mirror. He was still upright and his figure hadn’t fattened. He patted his flat tummy—he was too much on his feet to get any flesh on there. His hair, although quite thick, was a grisly grey, and there was no bright twinkle in his eyes now. They had a serious look, as had the whole of his face. He remarked to himself on the seriousness of his expression and thought, You’ve got to feel light inside. What you feel like inside always tells. But the mirror presented him with a smart, well-set-up man, a prosperous man. But what, he asked himself, was prosperity if there was nobody to share it? Well, things would be different within a week. Yes, the week ahead would be a very telling time. Now he must get going; he did not want to keep Kathleen and the Sunday dinner waiting.

  He went out of the bedroom and stepped into a large carpeted hallway. He walked across it and into a sitting room. It looked an extremely comfortable, and well furnished room. He put a wire guard round the fire, went to the window, and looked down into the main street for a moment. It looked utterly deserted, as a shopping thoroughfare always does on a Sunday. Unconsciously he arranged the velvet curtains; then with one last look round the room he went out into the hall again, took his overcoat out of an oak wardrobe standing near the door, adjusted his trilby hat, and picked up a pair of fur-lined leather gloves from a small table. Going out, he locked the door and descended the carpeted stairs to the street, and there, getting into his car, he drove the two miles to the fifteen streets.

  There was another car parked outside of the house he now thought of as Kathleen’s. He drew up behind it, but when he alighted he did not go into Kathleen’s, but went around the corner and into the back door of Number One.

  Mary Hetherington was setting the table for the dinner. She turned from a sideboard drawer with some cutlery in her hand and, looking casually at Dan, said, ‘You’re early.’

  ‘Yes, I am a bit. Stan out?’

  ‘He’s next door.’

  Dan stood with his back to the fire. He held his hat and his gloves in his hand and watched his sister laying three places at the table—May always came over to dinner on a Sunday now.

  She went into the scullery next and filled a glass jug with water, and when she returned and set the jug on the corner of the table, and straightened the knives again, she said, ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Well, what have you arranged? You know what I mean.’

  Dan remained silent, looking at this woman as he had looked at her over the years wondering how he ever came from the same source. She was seventy now and still upright—her tightly-laced stays helped here. But there was no help for her face; her skin looked like old Chinese silk that had cracked here and there where it had been folded. Her eyes still held the alert quality; that had never diminished, for it had been fed continuously on bitterness.

  ‘You’re not bringing her back here?’

  ‘Where else can she go?’

  ‘I don’t care where she goes, you know that, but I’m warning you not to bring her back here.’

  ‘Her home’s next door, her daughter is next door. You seem to forget that.’

  ‘I forget nothing, nothing.’

  ‘No, you don’t, Mary, you forget nothing. Forgiveness isn’t in you, and the odd thing about it is that she had never done a damn thing to you.’

  ‘What! What do you say? And, by the way, I’ll thank you not to swear in my house. And as to her not doing a thing to me, how can you stand there and say that? You know she ruined this family. She broke it up.’

  ‘She did no such thing.’

  Mary Hetherington drew herself up. ‘I’m not going to argue with you, you’ve always been soft. But I warn you, if you bring that woman next door it will mean trouble. You wouldn’t want Kathleen’s life to be broken, too, would you?’

  ‘There’s no fear of that.’

  ‘Just you wait and see.’ She nodded warningly at him. ‘They should never have let her out of a sudden like this, she should have been made to do the full fifteen years.’

  Dan pulled the rim of his hat through his hands, then, moving from the fireplace, he walked past her. He did not exchange any form of farewell, and he went out, closing the door none too gently.

  No sooner had he gone than Mary Hetherington was out of the room and up the stairs and into the back bedroom, and there she stood to the side of the curtain watching him crossing the lane to May’s back door. She saw him go up the yard and into the house, and as she stood waiting she glanced at the little clock on the mantelshelf. When he came out she looked at the clock again. He had been in there nearly fifteen minutes. She smiled to herself, a tight, satisfied smile, then went out of the room and down the stairs.

  Meals at Kathleen’s were never talkative or boisterous affairs. Kathleen had lost the art of laughter ten years ago, but today’s meal was even quieter than usual. Dan sat opposite to Kathleen, and to her right sat her husband, Michael, and to her left, in a high chair and close to her, was a two-year-old baby girl.

  Kathleen was nearly twenty-seven but she looked older, she looked a woman well into her thirties. Her face over the years had taken on a resemblance to Sarah’s, but she had not Sarah’s expression. There was a solemness about Kathleen’s face now, an innate sadness printed on it. The look had been there for years. At first it had not been permanent; the day it became permanent was the day that Paul had been ordained a priest. That was over three years ago. Three months from that particular day she married Michael MacKay.

  Michael, Dan thought, was a good fellow, and in a way Kathleen was lucky. Feeling as she did, and acting at times as if she wasn’t aware of anybody, it said a great deal for him that he never lost patience with her. It was well for her that he had loved her for a long time—ever since he was a lad, in fact. At the same time Dan thought it was a bit hard on him.

  From the day they had taken Sarah from the house to the magistrates’ court at Clervaux Terrace in Jarrow Dan had made it his home and for over six years he had looked after Kathleen, right until the time Michael took over. On that day he had moved to the shop. Braving Mary Hetherington’s tongue, he had taken his belongings and gone up to his new home. And now he held pleasant memories of two peaceful years with Mrs Campbell. But since the old lady had died over a year ago he had lived on his own. He didn’t like living on his own and he had for some time now been hoping to change this state of affairs. But, like everything else, the outcome of this hope remained to be seen.

  The meal over, he sat with Jessica on his knee making her laugh while Kathleen and Michael washed up the dinner things. Then Michael took the child upstairs to bed, and Kathleen and he were alone together. Having so much to say, they said nothing, each waiting for the other to make an opening. Kathleen busied herself in putting the room to rights, placing the modern dining chairs, with the different-coloured leather seats, under the table, pushing the G-Plan armchairs into different positions. There was not a piece of the old furniture to be seen throughout the house. The whole place had been redecorated and refurnished.

  At last Kathleen came and sat down by Dan, and, putting her hands between her knees, she looked at him as she said, ‘How do you think it will work out, Uncle Dan?’

  ‘We’ll just have to wait and see, Kathleen, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m terrified.’

  ‘What is there to be terrified about? She’s your mother, remember that, and a good woman. A good woman, Kathleen. I’ve told you again and again, Sarah is a good woman.’

  ‘If I only didn’t believe…’ Kathleen’s head dropped down to her chest.

  ‘But you’ve got to believe it, Kathleen, because it’s the truth, I believe it. I know your Uncle John, I know him inside out. I tell you he almost went on his bended knees to prove it to me.
You know he was fond—oh, more than fond of your father; there was a strong tie between them, a strong, strong tie, and your Uncle John admitted that if David hadn’t been your father he would have gone off with your mother, but…well, he, in his own way…well, he loved your father, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt him…David was your father, Kathleen.’

  She looked at him, saying quietly, ‘You know, Uncle Dan, I think I could be happy now if I could just believe it. I’ve tried, but I keep remembering…I keep remembering my Uncle John and…and him always being over here, and how he used to look at her…and Aunt May’s jealousy, and her not liking me.’

  ‘Look, Kathleen, we’ve been over all this before, it’s old ground; but I say again, what your Uncle John felt for your mother we all felt in one way or another. She was a very fetching woman and she didn’t go out of her way to attract anybody. She wasn’t smart-tongued like your Aunt May, or clever in any way; she was just nice and kind…loving, sort of. And then the way she looked…you look like her, you know, Kathleen.’

  Kathleen was on her feet. ‘Don’t say that, Uncle Dan.’

  ‘I’m going to say it. And don’t take that tone, Kathleen, it’s a compliment.’

  Kathleen turned from him and walked to the kitchen window, and from there she said, ‘About Wednesday—will you pick me up? I’m leaving Jessica with Michael’s mother. I’m not telling Granny I’m going, she’d go mad.’

  ‘I’ve got it all arranged. I’m picking up your Aunt Phyllis at half past nine, that should get us there in time.’

  Dan was standing behind Kathleen now, with his hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, my dear; things are going to turn out all right. Believe me.’ His tone was emphatic. ‘Just believe me. And try and remember that she’ll be in a state too. She’s been away for ten years, she’ll be changed. She’s likely as fearful of coming back as you are of her coming.’