Justice is a Woman

by Catherine Cookson

  Joe walked to the window with the glass in his hand and looked up into the sky. It was low and leaden-coloured. The garden was leaden-coloured, the house was leaden-coloured, his life was leaden-coloured.

  What if she died?

  He turned abruptly and sat down, pushing his glass along a table; then, dropping his elbows on to his knees, he gripped his hands together and leaned his body over them and said to himself, ‘No, no, she won’t. She’s strong, is Betty, she’s strong.’ But contradicting this statement, his father’s voice yelled in his head as it had done to his face yesterday: ‘It would have taken the strength of a horse to haul a man up that slope, then half carry or drag him along the road to the house. But Betty’s no horse: inside that big frame of hers is a woman, a sensitive, wonderful woman, and if anything happens to her I’ll never forgive you, lad.’

  And if anything happened to her he’d never forgive himself. Life was pretty grey now, but without Betty about the house he knew he would experience a feeling of desolation such as he had not known before; not even Elaine’s going, by desertion or death, would affect him in the same way as would Betty’s. And this was odd, hardly understandable.

  The door opened and he lifted his head to see Martin standing there. The boy came hurriedly towards him now, saying, ‘Mary wouldn’t let me go in to see Aunty Bett, Father. I would have been quiet, I would have just sat…I…’

  Joe got to his feet and put his hand on the boy’s head, saying, ‘Your Aunt Betty’s ill, very ill; she mustn’t be disturbed in any way.’

  ‘Is…is she going to die?’

  ‘Oh. Oh, no! No.’ Joe’s tone ridiculed the question.

  ‘Then why was Ella…I mean Jane…Oh, anyway, why was she crying in the hall just now?’

  ‘Oh.’ Joe turned away, picked up his glass from the table, and drained it before he said, ‘You know Ella: she cries at weddings, and when she goes to the pictures…and when she’s tired, and she’s very tired now. And so is Mary.’ He again put his hand onto his son’s head, adding, ‘So don’t trouble them. But’—he nodded at his son now—‘I tell you what you could do: you could help in the kitchen; I’m sure Mary will give you something to do; or you could go down to David; he’s always glad of a hand.’

  The boy looked up at his father for a moment, then said slowly, ‘I’ll…I’ll stay in the house, Father.’

  ‘Very well. Go and tell Mary you’ll be her second pair of legs.’ He smiled wanly. But the boy didn’t return his smile, he simply turned and walked slowly out of the room…

  The doctor called again at four o’clock, and when he came out of the room he stood on the landing, shaking his head at Joe as he said, ‘She’s in a very low state; but she’s got a strong constitution. Let’s hope it’s strong enough.’ Then he added, ‘She mustn’t be left, you understand that? I…I think you should have a night nurse.’

  ‘I was thinking about that too. But I’m expecting my wife back tonight, and we should be able to manage then. But if for some reason she doesn’t return, I’ll see about a nurse first thing in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll stay with her all tonight.’

  The doctor looked at him closely for a moment. ‘She needs a woman there,’ he said; ‘she mustn’t be left lying in the wet bedclothes.’

  ‘Well’—he hesitated—‘there’s Mary and Ella; one or the other will be with me. And…and I’m not helpless; I’ve helped to see to her over the last few days.’

  As Dr Pearce went down the stairs he asked over his shoulder, ‘Can’t you get in touch with your wife? They’re sisters, aren’t they? She should be here.’

  ‘I’ve tried numerous times today, but I couldn’t get a reply, which makes me think she’s on her way back. She’s been staying with her uncle in London.’

  The doctor made no further comment, but simply made a small nodding motion with his head, continuing even as he went out of the front door, which Joe interpreted as disapproval, whether of him not engaging a nurse before now, or of the fact that Elaine wasn’t here when she was needed, he didn’t know.

  It was three o’clock in the morning. The room was hot, airless, and the only sound was of Betty’s painful breathing. The bedclothes rose and fell into a half circle about her neck; her face, right up to the roots of her hair, was flushed a deep pink, and over it, from out of her hair, ran thin rivulets of water.

  Joe alternated wiping her face down with a soft towel with stroking her hair back from her forehead and spreading it over the pillow; occasionally he would put his hand inside the bedclothes and lay it across her breastbone, for this gave him an indication of how much her body was still sweating. He had already changed the sheets twice since eleven o’clock, from which time he had been alone with her, having made Mary and Ella go to bed, promising them he would call if he should need them. As for his father, he knew that he was still up, for from time to time he could hear the thump of his stick on the floor above.

  ‘J…oe.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’ He brought his face above hers.

  ‘J…oe.’

  Her voice was a mere croak, and it was evident that it was painful for her to speak.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ He went to move from the bed and she made a slight motion with her hand, then lay staring at him as her breast heaved painfully.

  When a few minutes later he put his hand inside the clothes again the sweat of her body felt cold and when he said softly, ‘I’ll have to change you,’ she made no sign one way or the other.

  Going to the clothes horse that stood to the side of the fireplace, he took from it a nightdress and two sheets; and now, keeping the eiderdown and blankets over her, he slowly and gently manipulated the wet sheets from under and above her; then, following Mary’s method of starting from the bottom of the bed and unrolling the clean sheet upwards, he eased her legs over it, then her buttocks, then, putting his arm about her shoulders, he brought her upwards before pulling the sheet into place. The placing of the top sheet was much easier to accomplish. But now he had to change her nightdress.

  As with the sheets he had already changed it twice before, and now, as then, she made no protest whatever. He could, as it were, have been performing the duty every night of her life, so seemingly indifferent was she to his hands on her bare flesh.

  Decorously he had to pull her nightdress up from her body underneath the bedclothes, and it was only her breasts that he looked upon. They were firm and rounded, and a section of his mind made him wonder if he were the only man who had seen them.

  The pillowcases changed, he laid her gently back, saying, ‘There now. Is that better?’

  She did not try to answer, but just continued to look at him. After bundling the sodden bedclothes into the clothes basket he washed his hands and rolled down his shirt sleeves; then returned to the bed and, taking her hand, he stroked it gently, and when the fingers gripped his he looked at her enquiringly. And again she gasped, ‘J…oe.’

  ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘J…oe. I’m…I’m going to die.’

  He gulped in his throat, moved his chin slowly down into the open neck of his shirt before he said, ‘No, no, Betty.’

  ‘Yes…Joe.’

  His throat was too tight for speech. There was a burning sting at the back of his eyes.

  ‘J…oe. I…I want to tell you something.’ The bedclothes heaved, even higher now. ‘I can…I can tell you now.’ Her eyes were fixed tight on him. ‘I…I love you…Joe. I’ve…I’ve loved, I’ve always lo…ved you. I can tell you now, because it doesn’t matter…any more…hurting no-one.’

  His mouth was open, his face stretched and he was silent; it was as if everything within him had stopped. He saw her face swollen red and sweaty, her long hair like a dark halo, a foreboding halo, a foreboding halo around her.

  The stillness within him was gradually being probed. What had she said? She had said she loved him, she had always loved him. Betty had loved him. There flashed into his mind that particular night years ago when thought of h
er had presented a way of easing his starved body. Then, even then, he had known something, felt something. All these years she had been in this house with him and not a sign. Oh dear God! Oh, Betty. Betty.

  He was bending over her. Her hand held between his was pressed into his chest. His head was moving slowly. Words were pouring from his mind but he couldn’t get them into his mouth for the blockage in his throat was choking him.

  Slowly he bent forward until his face was half buried in the pillow, his cheek touching hers, and when, after a moment, he turned his head his lips traced her burning brow, then moved downwards towards her mouth, and he kissed her. Now raising himself above her, he slipped his arm under her shoulders; then turning her heavy body towards him, he pleaded, ‘Stay with me, Betty. I…I need you. I…I want you.’

  When she moved her hand the slightest amount, as if in denial, his voice coming deep now and strong, he said, ‘Believe me. Believe me, Betty, I do want you. Not as before, for the house and everybody in it, but for me. I…I want you at this moment as I’ve never wanted anything in my life before. Do you hear me? You’ve got to believe me, Betty. You’re the one, you’re the real one, you’re the one I need. It’s as if I’ve been blind for years. Yet not so blind. Listen…Listen.’ He made a small movement with his arm, then drew her nearer to him, ‘Seven, eight years ago I was for asking you, I was, I was.’

  Her breathing became agitated, but her face moved into the semblance of a smile and she lifted her hand and touched his cheek; and, when his tears splashed over her fingers, she gasped ‘Oh, J…oe! J…oe!’

  Now laying her head back on the pillow, he swallowed deeply before he said brokenly, ‘Fight, Betty, fight. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Only fight! Don’t go…You can’t go now, you can’t!’

  She lay looking at him for a moment before she gasped, ‘I can’t, can I? I can’t…go now.’

  Six

  It was not until early April 1939 that Betty went out of the house for the first time. The drugs that she had taken to quell the pneumonia had left side effects: her bowels would not retain the food and she became the victim of constant diarrhoea. Only now, during the third week since she had been out of bed, was she able to travel: and Joe was about to take her to stay with Lady Ambers.

  She had said goodbye to Mary and Ella, and to Martin before he went to school; she had made a slow journey up the attic stairs to Mike, and he had held her hands and said, ‘Promise me you’ll come back, lass.’ And she had replied with quiet emphasis, ‘Oh, I’ll come back, Mike. Never fear, I’ll come back.’ She could have added, ‘Where else would I stay but where my heart is?’

  She had never known such happiness in her life before. From that night when he had stopped her from going over the border into what she thought of as release and peace at last, Joe had come no closer to her than to hold her hand, because Elaine had come back on the Saturday and the nurse had taken over the night duty. After that there was never a time when they were alone together. But it didn’t matter; her heart was full of him and she knew with amazing certainty that a miracle had happened and that his heart was full of her.

  She didn’t know how it had come about, she didn’t even bother to question, she was still so very weak. She was content…yet content wasn’t the right word to fit the thankfulness in her for life as it looked to her now.

  In the hall, when Elaine kissed her and said, ‘Come back strong,’ she knew that Elaine didn’t care whether she came back or not. Elaine had no more use for her; in fact, she hadn’t had any use for her for a long time, not since she had challenged her with the fact that her frequent visits to London were to meet Lionel Harris. She had come upon Elaine’s secret on one of her rare visits to town. Another cousin, Turnbull Hughes-Burton’s only son, had died, and she and Elaine had gone up to attend the funeral, and it was during this short stay in London that she saw Elaine and Lionel Harris together; and, as she’d said to Elaine, a blind man could see their meeting wasn’t merely that of friends, even friends who weren’t supposed to have seen each other for years.

  Anyway, now she was leaving them all behind, at least for a time; and for the next few hours she would be alone with Joe.

  When Joe had seated her in the back of the car, tucked the rug around her and had taken his position behind the wheel, he did not turn and wave to Elaine, where she stood at the top of the steps, but as he passed the corner of the house he put his hand out of the car and raised it upwards knowing that his father would be watching.

  He knew that they would hardly have got out of the drive before Elaine would be packing for her journey to London. These past weeks must have been a terrible trial to her, and at times he had been human enough to enjoy her agony; he had even wanted to confront her with his knowledge, so as to let her see she wasn’t as clever as she thought, nor he as gullible as she imagined; and no doubt he would have done this long before now if it wasn’t for what had taken place between Betty and himself.

  They were well out of the town and on a deserted road when Betty leaned forward and said, ‘Let me sit in front, Joe.’

  He slowly pulled the car to a stop and, turning and looking back at her, he said, ‘You won’t be able to stretch your legs here.’

  This statement was followed by a silence while they stared at each other; then with a swift movement, he was out of his seat and had opened the back door of the car and was sitting beside her. With their hands gripping, they gazed at each other; then his arms were about her and hers about him, and, their mouths pressed close, they held each other tightly for what seemed an endless time.

  ‘Oh! Betty. Betty. I can’t tell you, I simply can’t tell you how I feel. You…you believe me, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Joe.’

  ‘It’s…it’s as if I was starting a new life. I…I never believed I’d get a second chance at happiness…not that.’ He screwed up his face and turned his head aside for a moment. ‘My marriage has never spelt happiness. Madness, yes, insanity, anything, but not happiness. And…and you, you really care for me, Betty?’

  ‘Oh, Joe, I haven’t words; I’ve worn them out over the years by burying them. The only comfort I had were dreams. Not daydreams; I wouldn’t allow myself those, but I dreamt of you most every night. And always you loved me, and…and I was beautiful.’

  ‘You are, you are beautiful.’

  ‘Oh! Joe. Joe’—she now closed her eyes and bent her head—‘don’t scoff.’

  Her chin was jerked upwards, his fist tight under it, and his voice was tender as he said, ‘Look at me. Look at me, Betty. I’d never really seen you until the night you nearly died. And, you know, that night you had a beauty that was all your own, and you haven’t lost it since. It’s in your eyes. I never really thought you plain, but now, since…well, since we know how we both feel, you’ve taken on a beauty that will grow with the years.’

  As her eyelids blinked rapidly he traced his fingers around the outline of her mouth as he said, ‘What are we going to do, Betty? Things can’t go on as they are.’

  ‘Oh, my dear, we’ll have to think, think carefully. There are so many people who can be hurt.’

  ‘It won’t hurt Elaine.’

  ‘Oh, there you are mistaken. If you’d picked anyone else she might forgive you, but not when it’s me. As for what she will say about me…Oh!’

  ‘She can’t say anything about you, she’s meeting another fellow in London and has been for some time now.’

  When she said nothing to this, he narrowed his eyes at her and said, ‘You knew?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you said nothing?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘Yes, how could you? But you see it makes things easier; she can’t throw any stones.’

  ‘I wish I could think so.’

  ‘Betty, we must come together; I need you. Do you need me?’

  Her hand tightened on his and he looked deep into her eyes and said softly, ‘Where? When?’

  With gaze averte
d, she said, ‘I’ve thought about it. In her last letter Lady Mary said that she’s got to have her teeth out; four back ones, and that she must stay in hospital overnight. She…she goes in next Friday.’

  He turned her face towards him and they looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment before he kissed her gently on the lips; then, giving her his hand, he helped her out and into the front seat of the car.

  Lady Mary’s greeting of Betty was characteristic. ‘Well! You’ve arrived at last,’ she said. ‘And my! you look like a scarecrow. What have they done to you? But need I ask, they have worked you to death.’ She now turned to Joe and said, ‘And let me tell you, you can phone or whistle or send smoke signals, but she’s not going back there for at least a month, and not at all if I have my way.’

  A short while later, when they were all in the sitting room, and when she could get a word in, Betty asked, ‘And how are you?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m as fit as a fiddle except for these accursed teeth. I would let them stay there, even when the aching nearly drives me mad, but they are causing my breath to smell like a cesspool. I just noticed it recently. Why don’t people tell you your breath is offensive? Why don’t they give some sign, wrinkle their nose or something? I would.’

  Betty smiled quietly as she thought, Yes, indeed, you would. But oh, how nice it was to be here. It was like coming home. This room wasn’t half the size of Elaine’s drawing room, nor yet as big as her own sitting room, but it was more comfortable, and more gracious.

  ‘Did I tell you that Nancy got married? Fool of a girl. Living down in the village now. I bet that Mrs Bailey put her up to it. “Get married,” she would have said to her, “so you’ll have an excuse to live out.” I could never stand that Mrs Bailey; an upstart, a real upstart. Sending her son to Oxford, indeed! Mrs Pollard is much better, knows her place…I’ve been here a fortnight on my own.’