The Parson's Daughter

by Catherine Cookson

  What did a landau want on this narrow strip of road? It was a dead end, and the only place for it to turn would be near the gate, and it would have a hard job to do it there.

  She stepped onto the grass sward at the side of the path and, as she did so, turned to look back, and experienced a feeling of fright like that which a child might at being faced with something ghoulish. And within seconds the fright turned into actual fear, for the landau had stopped, and there was a woman glaring at her; and still glaring, she thrust open the door of the landau and tottered down the step and towards her. One of the coachmen had alighted and was saying, ‘Careful, madam. Careful.’

  ‘I’ll be careful, Hawkins, I’ll be careful. Look at her, the white-livered bitch.’

  The woman’s drunken breath was wafting over her now and she pushed her hands out to ward her off, saying, ‘Get out of my way. Let me pass.’

  ‘Oh, aye. I’ll let you pass, my pious prig, after I’ve dealt with you. You finished him, didn’t you? You killed him. If you had just let a bit of him go, he’d be alive today. But no, you had to have him all, you mealy-mouthed vicarage bitch, you. You once stripped me, didn’t you? Well, now it’s my turn. Yes ’tis. Oh yes, ’tis…my turn!’

  Before she knew what was happening the fat body had hurled itself upon her and they were both borne to the ground. And now she was back in her young days, fighting with the McLoughlins but with a difference, for now she was trying to save her clothes from being torn from her back. Then she screamed as her hair seemed to leave her scalp.

  There was a chorus of voices: the woman crying, ‘Hold her legs, Hawkins. Hold her legs!’ and another voice yelling, ‘You do and I’ll bash your face in.’

  A knee came in her stomach and for a moment everything went black.

  When she came to herself it was to the sound of tearing and she knew there was air on her flesh. When a fist landed in her eye she cried aloud and groaned, and she heard herself pleading, ‘Please. Please.’ There was no resistance in her arms now. Then the weight of the knee on her stomach was lifted from her and a voice yelled, ‘Leave her be, you dirty drunken scab!’

  And another voice cried, ‘Get up on the box unless you want to lose your job.’ And then the woman’s voice, screaming, ‘Yes, do as Hawkins says, or you will lose your job.’

  ‘I’ve lost it, missis. You’ve sickened me belly for a long time now but this is the finish. I’d rather work for a whorehouse madam than touch your bread again. You’re a drunken slut, that’s what you are.’ And the man spat in her direction.

  ‘Hit him! Hit him, Hawkins!’ the fat woman demanded and, swaying, clambered her way back to the landau.

  But all Hawkins did was to put his hands on her fat buttocks and heave her up to her seat, then bang the door shut and mount the box and drive towards the gate.

  Jim McLoughlin stood looking down at the almost bare body of the young vicarage lass, as he still thought of their Shane’s mistress; her clothes were lying in ribbons around her. Quickly he gathered them up and placed them over her middle. And when a few minutes later, the landau passed them again he made a sign with his hand to his late mistress that caused her to turn in the seat and yell some obscenity back at him.

  Returning to Nancy Ann, he raised her head, saying, ‘Are you all right, madam? Are you all right?’ But receiving no reply, he stood up and looked around him. If she could have walked he could have helped her, but he had no hope of carrying her. He knew he must get help. But how could he leave her like this?

  Bending down, he rearranged the torn clothes about her middle and legs. Then, taking off his short jacket, he covered her naked breasts and shoulders with it. Looking up, then down the roadway, he wondered what he should do. His first thought was to get his brother; but that would mean going to the farmhouse and twice the distance from the Manor.

  With one last look down on the still figure that appeared now like a bundle of rags, he sprinted back up the side road and onto the coach road, and the half mile along it to the lodge gates of the Manor. The small side gate was open, and he ran through and, receiving no response to his battering on the lodge door, he continued his dash up the drive and into the yard, yelling as he did so. ‘I want help! Help!’ This time and almost simultaneously, three men appeared, two from the stables and one from the house, and one of the men from the stables was his brother Mick.

  Graham had been about to set out to pay his daily visit to the Dower House. But now he hurried to the man, calling, ‘What is it? What is it?’

  ‘Miss…madam, she…she was attacked.’

  ‘Attacked? What do you mean attacked? Who?’

  ‘Madam, Mrs Harpcore, along the road, the fat one that I work for. She stopped the landau; been on the lookout for her for days. She stripped her. I’ve left her lying…Come on!’

  ‘My God!’ Graham was running now, but Mick called after him, ‘Better bring a cover or somethin’, sir, a shawl, a blanket.’

  At this, the other man dashed into a room next to the stables and came out carrying a couple of blankets. Then the four of them were running down the drive …

  Nancy Ann hadn’t moved. Nothing mattered. She wasn’t unconscious, but she knew that she was going into a deep sleep and that was good; she would get away, get away from everything.

  She heard a voice saying, ‘Oh, my dear, my dear. Someone will pay for this. Oh, yes, they’ll pay for this. That dirty creature, that madwoman.’

  Then there were voices above her as if in discussion, and the sound of feet running away. And now there was that Irish voice, one of the McLoughlins. She would know that voice anywhere, and he was talking to Graham, saying, ‘I couldn’t stand it. She’s been out lookin’ for her for weeks now. But I thought she would just have her say and that would be that, and it would satisfy her. She’s never been sober for God knows how long; the cure last year was no cure. She’ll end up in an asylum, that one.’

  ‘She’ll end up in jail if I have anything to do with it.’

  She had never heard that tone in Graham’s voice, before. She wished they would stop talking, she just wanted to go to sleep.

  And then, when they lifted her quite gently, the rocking of the carriage gave her her wish and she knew nothing for a long time after…A countless time.

  Seven

  They had not carried Nancy Ann to the Dower House, for Graham had ordered her to be taken to the Manor. And there she had lain for a week oblivious of where she was or what was going on.

  Graham, determined in his way to bring the perpetrator of the outrage to justice, had informed the police. And this must have hastened the visit from Mr Poulter Myers himself, apologising profoundly and saying that his wife had been admitted to a clinic for a cure.

  So rumours abounded again. Wasn’t it strange, people said, that the ill-luck of the House had seemed to follow her.

  Mary and Rebecca, too, had taken up their abode in the Manor, and a new kind of life and routine had begun. Graham gave Rebecca a pony, much to her delight, and after a time she rode to school on it, and through it made friends with some of the children from whom she had kept aloof and they from her.

  Mary was happy to be working in a big house once more. Admittedly it wasn’t half as big as Rossburn, but it was more beautiful, more comfortable, and had an atmosphere of warmth about it.

  It was a full four weeks before Nancy Ann showed signs of really being aware of her surroundings. And when the realisation came that she was being cared for in Graham’s house, she did not protest, but continued to lie day after day on a chaise longue at the window of the bedroom looking out on the gardens below, for it seemed that at last her mind was at peace. She could look back on the events of the past five years and feel no bitterness, no pain. The emotion she retained for Dennison was pity, and even when the recent past came up and her thoughts touched on David, they were calm. She saw his love as that of an impressionable young man for an older woman, and the feeling she had had for him as having been bred of his admirati
on for her, a form of vanity.

  But that was all in the past now. Even the attack by that dreadful woman she saw as something that had to take place for the woman to expunge the hate she felt for her. And now there was only Graham, dear, dear Graham, kind and loving Graham. If only she had married Graham in the first place. If only. If only …

  Three weeks later Graham accompanied her and Mary to Harrogate and saw her settled into a comfortable hotel, and on each of the following four weekends he visited them; then on the fifth weekend, when he had arrived to accompany her back home, she said to him, ‘I must return to the Dower House, Graham.’

  They were sitting on the couch in her private sitting room, and quite firmly he answered, ‘You are not returning to the Dower House. There’s not enough room for you all there, and what’s more’—he smiled—‘I must tell you, your grandmama is much happier to have the house to herself.’

  She was already aware of this, but she insisted quietly, ‘It…it wouldn’t be right for me to stay on, I mean, to impose any longer.’

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Nancy Ann.’ He turned to her now and, gripping her hands, repeated, ‘Don’t talk nonsense. You are never going back to the Dower House. We are going to be married, aren’t we? And I’m not going to apologise in a mealy-mouthed way by saying I am speaking too soon after your bereavement.’ He jerked himself nearer to her and held her hands tightly against his breast, and his deep brown eyes alight with the suppressed emotion of years, he said thickly, ‘You know I love you and have done for years. At times, it’s been torment, seeing you so unhappy and being unable to do anything about it. But now I may, and I can. You…you do care for me a little, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, Graham, Graham, yes, I care for you, very deeply.’ And she could say this in all truth.

  When he put his arms about her and kissed her for the first time, she had a flashing memory of another kiss when the breath had been taken from her body, but it was only a flashing memory. And then she was responding to his embrace and in doing so she knew she was setting the seal on a life of peace and security, tenderness and caring. And what more could anyone wish for in this life?

  Three months later she was married. The wedding was a quiet affair, only personal friends and the staff attended. She was not married this time in the village church, but at Saint Saviour’s in the next parish. Thirty people were at the reception. And when, later, they all crowded round the coach that was to take them to the station, the last person she kissed and with deep affection was not Pat, nor her grandmama, but Mary, and she whispered, ‘Look after her, won’t you?’ And Mary, tears in her eyes, said, ‘Don’t you worry, my dear. I’ll see to her.’

  It was when all the guests had gone and Agnes and Mary were in the main bedroom, tidying up, that Agnes stopped and, looking out of the window, said, ‘’Tis just as well. She’ll be happy in a way. The other wouldn’t have worked out.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Mary pushed a drawer in, straightened her back, then said again, ‘What did you say, our Agnes?’

  Agnes turned from the window and answered, ‘With Davey. It wouldn’t have worked out.’

  ‘What d’you mean, with Davey?’

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean; don’t play innocent, it’s your Agnes you’re lookin’ at. You know for a fact there was something there, more than something. What d’you think he bought the farm for? You know very well he expected her to go and live there.’

  Mary sighed now and said, ‘You know more than is good for you. But I’m tellin’ you, our Agnes’—she turned now and wagged her finger at her sister—‘don’t you breathe a word of what you’re thinking outside this room.’

  ‘I’m not daft altogether.’

  ‘No, not altogether, just a bit.’

  They grinned at each other, then laughed. Then it was Mary who said, ‘But you’re right, it would never have worked out. I was worried to death at one time wondering what he would get up to. Anyway, that’s been nipped well and good in the bud. What she wants after what she’s gone through is a peaceful life, not a mad romantic fling like he would have offered her.’

  ‘You’re right. Oh, yes, you’re right. But…but he has turned into a handsome fellow, hasn’t he? My! Just to look at him did something to your guts. An’ wouldn’t I have just loved a mad romantic fling with some like man.’

  ‘Our Agnes!’

  At this Agnes turned from the window again and exclaimed in an equally loud voice, ‘Our Mary!’ Then having the final word, she added, ‘What d’you think will happen when he comes back?’

  ‘What can happen? Nothing. It’s all signed and sealed, she’s a married woman again.’

  Eight

  Nancy Ann had been married about eighteen months when word came that David had returned.

  It had been a peaceful time, a happy time. Graham was a loving and tender husband. The feeling she’d had for him had deepened from day to day, and his love and care encased her. She felt secure and happy as she had never done in her life before. Even in those early days before she married her happiness had been a childish thing made up of externals. Now her happiness was deep inside her; it was a peaceful happiness, like floating on a calm sea. But a sea doesn’t remain calm forever and now and again there had been a ripple caused by Rebecca.

  Rebecca was jealous of the attention her mother paid to her new husband; in fact, she did not really like Graham, and this dislike was made evident in spurts of peevishness and temper. She had grown rapidly during the past two years; she was now twelve but could easily be taken for a girl of fourteen or more. She was mad on riding but objected to being accompanied by any of Graham’s men, even by Mick who had taught her to ride. Whenever she could make her way unobserved from the house or yard, she went over to the farmhouse on foot or on horseback, for over the past six months there had been an added attraction there in Shane’s nephew. Dennis Flannagan had become very attached to his uncle and spent most of his time with him during his holidays and odd weekends. He was a boy of fifteen with dark hair, deep brown eyes, a laughing mouth like his uncle’s, and a sturdy athletic body. He, too, had a passion for riding.

  In her childish way Rebecca had also taken a dislike to Shane and Robertson, because Shane had forbidden his nephew to accompany her into the farmhouse and Robertson had strongly endorsed this order. In fact, Robertson, at times, had told her that it was inconvenient for her to be in the house as she got in the way of the maids.

  On this particular day when she pushed the front door open and walked in, she was brought to a halt and an open-mouthed gape when she saw the man coming down the shallow staircase. It was David. Yet it wasn’t David. This man looked larger, his skin was deeply tanned, and his hair looked almost white, so light it was. Then, when he reached the bottom of the stairs and said, ‘Hello, there,’ she answered, ‘Hello. Then…then you’ve come back?’ She did not fly to him and throw her arms about him as she had been wont to do, and when he said, ‘Well, if this isn’t me, I’m haunting the house,’ she asked, ‘When…when did you come?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely to see you.’ Now she did spring towards him and throw her arms about him, but then immediately felt nonplussed when, his hand patting her head, he said, ‘Well now, well now, I thought I was being greeted by a young lady, not a little girl any more.’

  Something in his voice made her loosen her hold on him, and she stepped back and gazed up into his face. And the thought that entered her mind was, He’s different, different from the last time. And she was on the point of saying, What have you brought me? when she realised he had said she was no longer a child. And that was true; as her great-grandmama was always saying to her, she was at an age when she must mind her manners. And so she said, ‘How long are you here for this time?’

  He moved from her across the small hall and towards the sitting room as he said, ‘That depends. I have a little business to do.’

  Tentatively now, she followed him. There was
something strange about him. She felt slightly afraid of him, and that was silly. David was hers. He had always been hers. She hurried now to his side and said, ‘You know that Mama is married and we’re living at the Manor House?’

  He did not answer her until he reached the middle of the room and there, turning and looking down on her, he said, ‘Yes, I am aware that your mama is married and that you are living in the Manor House.’

  His voice was stiff, and then he smiled and his teeth looked very white in his tanned face as he said, ‘Marriages are in the air. I, too, am to be married shortly.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘What! Young ladies don’t say, What! You heard what I said: I, too, am to be married shortly.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, married.’

  She blinked at him; then in a small voice she said, ‘Is…is she from Australia?’

  ‘No, no.’ He shook his head, still smiling, ‘She’s an English lady.’

  An English lady. She did not say the words aloud. But the term made her feel very small, a little girl again.

  There was a tap on the door and it opened and Robertson stood there, saying, ‘The cab has arrived, sir.’