Go Tell it to Mrs Golightly

by Catherine Cookson

  Sir Geoffrey nodded, saying now, ‘We’re no better off.’

  ‘There’s fresh air coming from somewhere near here.’

  They both turned towards where Bella was standing beside the heap of coal, and almost running across the short distance towards her now, they both looked upwards. Then John, turning and grabbing up the candle from the floor, held it high above his head as he exclaimed excitedly, ‘It’s a coal hatch! A round coal hatch. It’s like a grate. If only we could get up there.’

  ‘Could you reach it from my shoulders?’

  John turned and looked at Sir Geoffrey and said slowly, ‘I doubt it, sir; unless you stood on something.’

  ‘There’s the coal,’ said Bella.

  They both turned towards her, and it was John who answered, saying, ‘But it’s in the wrong place, too far to the side. They’ve used the coal that was under the hatch first.’

  ‘Well, you can move it, can’t you?’

  It was the kind of tone that John associated with her and under other circumstances he would have retorted in kind but now, his voice flat, he said, ‘We haven’t a shovel or anything.’

  ‘We can use our hands. Mrs Golightly used to say…’

  ‘Oh, be quiet! Anyway, you haven’t seen this lot; it doesn’t look very much, but it’ll take some moving.’

  ‘Well’—her voice was tart—‘I don’t mind gettin’ me hands dirty, even if you do. Will you show me, mister, which way you want the pieces put?’

  As Sir Geoffrey made a little sound in his throat, John said, ‘Aw, you! You always put people in the wrong.’

  ‘I don’t. That’s not fair.’

  There was a pause before John, turning to Sir Geoffrey, said, ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, it sounded so normal.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it did, didn’t it?’ John gave one of his rare chuckles, then added magnanimously, ‘You’re…you’re right, Bella; we’ve got our hands and we’d better start now. Here’—he pulled her towards him—‘move what you can to your right. Take two steps and put them down there.’ He directed her. ‘Get it?’

  ‘Yes; yes.’

  Scrambling now, she started to pick up the pieces of coal but Sir Geoffrey’s voice halted her, saying, ‘Lay them down quietly, dear; you don’t know who might be in the yard.’

  ‘Oh yes. Yes. Aye.’

  ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ John nodded his head.

  For what seemed to all of them like a long night they kept lifting pieces of coal, walking two steps and putting them down until at last John, looking at the pile, said, ‘That’s almost the lot; I think it might be high enough now. But there’s one thing, sir.’

  ‘Yes, what’s that, John?’

  ‘When we go to stand on the top of it it’ll likely splay out a bit.’

  ‘Yes, there’s a point there, it may give. But anyway, we’ve got to try. Here goes.’

  Sir Geoffrey began to clamber up the pile of coal, but as he did so it gave way immediately under his feet so that when he stood on the top of it he was moved to say ruefully, ‘We’re going to lose half the height. But come on, try.’ He held out his hand and John gripped it, then was standing by his side.

  ‘Can you climb up my back?’ asked Sir Geoffrey now. ‘I’d better not bend because I don’t know whether I’ll be able to straighten up with you on it, you’ll be no light weight.’

  As John tried to carry out this manoeuvre the coal slithered away still further. When at last he was astride Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders he felt him sway perilously for a moment. ‘Steady, sir. Steady,’ he said.

  One thing he was certain of now and that was he would be unable to balance on Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders; were he even to attempt it he could see them both tumbling down to the floor.

  ‘I’m…I’m going to raise my arms now, sir. Do you think you can hold me steady?’

  ‘I’m…I’m doing my best; the coal is not exactly acting like a platform.’

  John made no retort to this but slowly now he stretched his arms upwards towards the grid, and he felt a thrill almost like joy running through him as his fingers touched the slatted iron. But that’s all they did, they could only touch the iron; he couldn’t stretch his hand far enough to get the palm flat on the grid and push it upwards. Three times he made the effort; then panting, he said, ‘I’m…I’m just a few inches short, sir.’

  ‘You should stand on a box.’ They both became motionless at the sound of Bella’s hissed whisper. Neither of them answered her, but John, suddenly sliding down from Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders, ran across to the hole and within a minute he was through it. Another minute and he was pushing a wooden box into Sir Geoffrey’s hands. When he was once again standing in the cellar he said excitedly, ‘That should do it. And it’s strong, it’ll hold you. It must have been for something heavy because it’s wired at the bottom. Turned upside down like this, it should do the trick.’

  ‘Let’s hope I can do the trick and stand on it. I think it’s going to be more difficult for me to balance on that than it was on the coal because on the coal one’s feet had some purchase. Still, come on, let’s try.’

  John stared at Sir Geoffrey for a moment. He couldn’t make out the expression on his face because of the coal dust but he knew by the sound of his voice that the man was tired and weak, and that the strain of his capture was telling on him.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, sir.’

  ‘I know you will, John.’

  When the box was wedged firmly on top of the coal, Sir Geoffrey took his place on it; but immediately John began to mount his shoulders he overbalanced. With one foot in the coal and one on the box he stood panting, and even his voice was unsteady now as he said, ‘I…I don’t seem to have the strength to bear you.’

  ‘I’m not so heavy.’

  Again they turned their heads and looked to where Bella was gazing sightlessly towards them.

  ‘John could steady you and I could get on your shoulders; and I am quite strong. I’ve carried buckets of coal from the coalhouse up three flights. I could push that grid up once I felt it.’

  Again neither of them spoke, but John bounded down the coal heap and gripped her by the hand. The next minute she was standing pressed close to Sir Geoffrey, and John was saying, ‘I’ll support you from the back, sir. Take her up in your arms and put her on your shoulders. She’ll be able to stand on them if you hold her legs. Come on now, ready?’

  Bella felt Sir Geoffrey’s arms about her; she felt herself being lifted high in the air; but when her feet came to rest on Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders and her legs were pressed tight against his head she kept her body doubled for she felt she was going to fall. At this moment John’s voice came at her, saying in a hushed, stiff whisper, ‘Take your time. You won’t fall ’cos I can catch you from the back. Now straighten up slowly and stretch your arms high above your head, a little to the front. That’s it. That’s it. Good. Good, Bella…Good, you’ve got it.’

  When Bella felt her fingers touch the iron grid she played them over the bars as if on the notes of a piano; then her hands going through the slits, she pressed upwards; but nothing happened.

  ‘Try again, it will be very heavy.’

  As she tried again she told herself that yes, it was very heavy, but hadn’t she carried those buckets of coal all the way up three flights of stairs? She bent her knees slightly now and pushed, and she almost cried out aloud with excitement as she felt the grid give just the slightest bit. Again she pushed, and again; then pausing for breath she bent her head down and whispered, ‘It’s moving. It’s moving.’

  ‘Take your time. Take a rest.’

  She took a rest, then tried again. She tried again and again and again, and with every effort the grid moved a few inches upwards then stuck. Her hands through the grid giving her support, she leant her head towards her arms, saying now despondently, ‘It won’t open, not all the way; I can’t lift it up.’

  ‘Somebody down there?’

&n
bsp; Her head bounced up so quickly she almost fell backwards; then she bent it forward in the direction of Sir Geoffrey’s face as she whispered, ‘Was that you?’

  ‘No. Listen.’ It was John who answered.

  There it came again, the voice. ‘Somebody down there?’

  ‘It’s that lad! It’s that lad!’ she was shouting, now, and Sir Geoffrey cut in hastily, saying, ‘Ssh! Ssh! Not so loud.’

  Now she was whispering up towards the grid. ‘You, are you the Picton lad?’

  ‘Aye…An’ it’s you. That’s where you are then.’

  ‘Pat!’ John was straining his whole body upwards now. ‘Pat! It’s me, John Thompson. Can you lift that grid?’

  ‘Aye, I suppose so.’ It was a nonchalant answer. ‘There’s a bar across it. Just a minute.’

  They all waited, their hearts thumping against their ribs; then in the dim candlelight they saw the grid being lifted upwards, and the night above seemed almost like daylight to John.

  ‘Here, gie us your hand.’

  Bella, who had been bent over and was clinging to Sir Geoffrey’s head, straightened up and stretched out her hands and felt them gripped. Then the boy’s voice came at her in a hoarse whisper, saying, ‘Cor! I can’t hold you. Look, grip the edge.’

  He guided Bella’s hands to the iron-rimmed edge of the coal hatch; then saying, ‘Hang on tight and I’ll pull you up by the shoulders,’ he hauled at her.

  For a moment she felt that her dress was being pulled over her head, then it caught under her oxters, and as she felt the fingers digging into her shoulder blades she heaved herself upwards, and now she was kneeling panting on the rough flags of the yard.

  Leaning down into the hole now, Pat said, ‘There’s two of you down there?’ and John’s voice came back to him whispering, ‘Yes, Sir Geoffrey Cotton-Bailey is here; they…they kidnapped him.’

  ‘Oh, kidnapped eh! Eeh! What d’you know ’bout that? She was right then. Well, which of you is comin’ up first?’

  Back in the cellar, John said, ‘I’ll help you up, sir; I’ll give you a push.’

  ‘No, no; if you do that you’ll not be able to get out yourself, you could never reach the grid. Get on my shoulders again.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Do as I bid you’—the voice was stern now—‘and once you’re out run and get help as fast as you can.’

  ‘But, sir!’

  ‘Don’t argue, John. I can’t reach that hole from here, neither have I the strength to try. Now if you want to be of assistance to me, get out of here and run for your lives, because I’m afraid that’s just what you’ll have to do for I wouldn’t be answerable if those devils caught you.’

  Without further ado John now climbed up the stooping back and, from kneeling on Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders, he slowly brought himself upright on the now swaying figure, and it was at the very moment that Sir Geoffrey’s hands took their support from his legs and his shoulders seemed to melt away from beneath his feet that he made a frantic grip at the rim of the hole. As his legs thrashed frantically beneath him, Pat’s hands gripped first his hair and then the collar of his coat; then they were clutching at his back. Gasping, he emerged into the open, then like Bella had, lay in a huddled heap for a moment on the ground. But when he turned to Pat and said, ‘Put the top back,’ Bella hissed at him, ‘You’re not goin’ to leave him?’

  ‘We’ve got to. He’s too weak to get up; we’ve got to get help.’

  Turning on his hands and knees now, he assisted Pat to put the iron grid back into place; then gripping hold of Bella’s arm, he said, ‘Come on.’

  ‘No, no, not that way.’ It was Pat’s voice now. ‘Charlie Morton has just gone in the front way; we’d better go through the copse and on to the main road.’

  As John now followed Pat on tiptoe while pulling Bella behind him, he whispered hoarsely, ‘We’ll still have to pass the gates.’

  ‘We’ll have to take our chance on that.’

  The copse was almost as black dark as the cellar, but Pat seemed to be nearly as proficient as Bella at finding his way through blackness and when they emerged into the field that led to the road, he came to a halt and whispered, ‘Charlie Morton wasn’t going in there at this time of the night to say hello, and by now they might have found out you’re missing, so if they should come on us along the road we’ll have to scatter, you one way and me the other…’

  ‘And leave her?’

  ‘Aye; they won’t take her again. There wouldn’t be any point; they’d want you both and me an’ all now.’

  ‘I’ll…I’ll not leave her. I can’t leave her.’

  ‘He’s right, John. I don’t mind. You’ve got to get help to get the mister out of that. And anyway I’d scream me head off and if there’s anybody about in me granda’s yard they’d be bound to hear. Me granda’ll likely be out himself.’

  ‘Come on.’

  Once again John was tugging her forward, and when they reached the road he said, ‘We’d better walk on the grass verge,’ and to this Pat said, ‘Aye. Aye.’

  When the iron gates leading to the manor loomed in trellised blackness the boys’ steps slowed for a moment; then as if of one mind they sprinted forward, and kept running even when they were well past the gates.

  When they stopped they were breathless, and it was Pat who said on a laugh ‘Eeh! I expected them to pounce out of the gates.’

  ‘They couldn’t have found us gone.’ John spoke between long drawn breaths. ‘But they could be going down into the cellar any minute now. Come on, let’s run. Take her hand.’

  Bella found her other hand gripped and then her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground until with a great surge of feeling akin to joy she felt them skipping from one uneven stone to another in her grandfather’s yard.

  Chapter Nine

  Joseph sat in his high-backed chair. His back was straight, his hands were gripping the arms, his eyes were wide open. Slowly he moved his gaze around the room; in the soft glow of the lamp his eyes skimmed over the occupants. Harry Thompson, his elbows on the table, his head resting in his cupped palms; next to him Jack Pollock and Dave Seaton, each sipping at a mug of tea. They had just returned from another fruitless search and were thankful for the warm drink before making for home to wait until daylight when, as they said, they would start again.

  Then Joseph’s eyes came to rest on the two women sitting on the couch. The fat chattering old woman who looked like a bundle of duds was asleep in the corner, while next to her sat the young one as wide awake as himself, her fingers picking at each other as if she were plucking a chicken. Mother indeed! There was no resemblance whatever between this nerve-racked creature and the child; yet he had no doubt but that she was her mother and would fight for the custody of her, and he was powerless to stop it.

  Had his son been as bad to her as she had said?…The answer came clear in his mind. Yes, his son had been spoilt by his mother from the day he was born. He had only to cry to get what he wanted. He himself had thought to erase the boy’s selfishness with the rod and the Bible, but he had failed. Given the chance again he told himself that he wouldn’t fail. It had come to him over the past few weeks while the child had been in this house with him that there were other ways of disciplining youth besides the threat of the birch or the Bible.

  He himself should be making use of the Bible at this moment, he should be praying to God for her safety. But God seemed very far away; God seemed to have joined all his neighbours, all the villagers, everyone he knew, because he was a man alone, a man who wanted to be alone…no, had wanted to be alone, because now he wanted to be alone no longer. Since that chit of a child had come into his life it was as if she had driven a wedge between his ribs and her warmth had seeped through to his heart. There was a feeling in him now that he had never experienced before; it was such that it was having the power to melt the iron bands that had held together his dogmatic opinions, his bigotry, his cutting and hurtful tongue which he had always thought of simp
ly as forthright speech. It was such a feeling that it was depleting him entirely of the character he had built up over the years, and at present he had no weapon with which to fight it. He saw himself at this time more than ever as a man alone.

  It was at the point when his thoughts turned towards God and he was about to bargain with Him, saying, ‘Bring her back, Lord, and I’ll let her go to her mother without a word of protest,’ that he heard a scrambling of footsteps across the yard; and then the whole room sprang to life as the door burst open and before his amazed gaze three figures, two almost coal black, tumbled into the room.

  There was a moment of silence, deep amazed silence; then everyone outdid the other in shouting.

  ‘Oh, John! John!’

  ‘It’s the bairn.’

  ‘Where in the name of God…!’

  ‘Oh, Bella! Bella!’

  ‘Glory be to God…but did you ever…?’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Golightly…Oh, Mrs Golightly.’

  Joseph was the only one to have made no comment at all, but now, walking like a man in a dream towards the three figures, he gently pushed the young woman aside and, thrusting out his arms, lifted Bella into them, and she, flinging her arms around his neck, cried, ‘Granda! Oh Granda! Granda!’

  ‘Listen! Listen, everybody. Shut up will you!’ John’s last words were almost a scream and they silenced the whole company. ‘Dad’—he turned to his father—‘look sharp; he’s still in the cellar.’

  ‘Who? What are you talking about, boy?’

  ‘Sir Geoffrey Cotton-Bailey, the man they kidnapped. She was right, she was right all along. Mr Aimsford, he’s…he’s a gangster, and they’re going to get him away tonight, Mr…Mr Bailey. He’s too weak, he couldn’t get through the coal-hole with us.’

  ‘Which coal-hole? What are you talking about, lad?’

  John turned on Dave Seaton, crying, ‘The coal-hole at the manor.’ He thumbed towards the wall. ‘It’s next to a secret cellar where we’ve been kept.’