‘How does she look?’
Mrs Robson cast her eyes downwards, then folded her arms across her stomach and moved her body back and forward two or three times before she said, ‘Well, what would you expect in a place like that? She doesn’t look robust. She’s peaked, thin; she’s lost weight. She looks all eyes. They were big afore, they’re like saucers in her face now.’
It was a while before he said, ‘You took her some food?’
‘Yes, but I couldn’t give it to her. I had to give it to one of them wardresses. It seemed a waste to me, for I don’t suppose she’ll ever see the skin of a sausage.’
‘Did she get my letters? Did you ask her?’
‘Aye, I did, but…but, you know, she never answered me, she just looked at me; stared like, funny like. She didn’t even nod. I thought she hadn’t heard me, but she could through the grid, an’ so I asked her again, but she still stared. Anyway, the time’s running out fast now, it’s only a couple of weeks off. Sometimes if they behave themselves they let them out a day or so early, so they tell me.’
‘There’ll be one more time to go,’ he said as he handed her the money, and as she took it from him she said, ‘Aye, there’ll be one more time, an’ I’ll be glad when it’s finished. It’s no picnic to go there; it gives me the willies.’
He turned abruptly from her and went up the stairs, and outside the door he stopped and picked up the Gazette, then let himself into the house.
The room looked dim and it smelt damp. The furniture that had been brought back was set higgledy-piggledy around the place. He walked slowly to the bedroom, and as he looked at the wooden base of the bed he said to himself, ‘Poor Lizzie. But it is better this way, much better.’ His nose wrinkled slightly as he closed the door, for the human smell of Lizzie still pervaded the room.
In the kitchen again he stood looking around him. With Lizzie gone there would be no need for her to stay in this house, in this vicinity at all. Yet she would have to have some place to come back to, somewhere familiar. Would that be a good thing? Or wouldn’t it be better to make a clean break altogether? But that would take arranging. He would want to consult with her as to where she wanted to live. Anyway, he would have this place whitewashed and scrubbed and papered, and everything shining for her coming back. He would leave that to Hewitt—he would engage someone—but the place must be ready for her.
He sat down on a chair that was standing in isolation on the bare wooden floor and he said aloud, ‘Kaa-tee! Oh, Kaa-tee!’ As he spoke he twisted the paper, that was still in his hands, until it split. What would this have done to her? He had no illusions about prisons, and he did not comfort himself with the thought that women would not be dealt with so harshly as men. The women they engaged to look after female prisoners were coarse dregs of humanity, sometimes lower than their charges, and it was clear to him that any air of refinement or difference, say beauty, such as Katie’s, would be bound to bring the worst out in them, and all this, added to the rest, would leave its mark. He looked down towards his hands and smoothed the twisted paper as if he was smoothing her hair back, smoothing the beautiful skin, her face, the soft warm suppleness of her breasts and hips. As he stroked the paper into flatness over his knees he shook his head.
They’d had a great deal of amusement out of the weekly paper. He it was who had arranged that the Gazette be delivered to her every Saturday. Not only had he liked to read it when he came in, but the daily Telegraph sheet which they supplied and delivered free he considered a further source of interest for her.
She used to say to him that she got their money’s worth of laughs out of the advertisements alone. Although she had read them over and over again she would laugh till the tears rolled down her face when he would read them aloud, giving a special intonation to certain words and interposing his own language here and there. ‘Come to the Albert House, 11 and 12 Market Street. Patronised by THE NOBILITY and GENTRY…Printed pine pattern all over Barege Long Shawls reduced from 22s. 6d. to 16s. 9d.’
‘South Shields Races. To be run for over South Shields Sands on Whit Monday…Bra! Bra! I shall enter Orn.’
‘Sailing to Hull. Great reduction of fares. First-class steamer Neptune leaves the North shore for Hull, every Saturday, two hours before high water. Fares: Best Cabin 4s.; second ditto 2s.; Steward’s fee, Best Cabin is. Do you hear? Horer De? Steward’s fee only a shilling!’ Oh, she had laughed and laughed. Would she ever laugh again?
Andrée found that he was reading the advertisements once more. ‘Old established family wine and spirit vaults. Old Highlander Inn, 11 King Street, South Shields. The best and cheapest in the trade.’
Then almost below this was the advertisement that he could rhyme off without looking at it. It was printed in the shape of a wine glass and headed ‘The Tree of Dissipation’.
THE
sin of
drunkenness
expels reason,
drowns memory
diminishes strength,
distempers the body,
defaces beauty, corrupts the
blood, inflames the liver, weakens
the brain, turns men into walking
hospitals, causes internal, external, and
incurable wounds, is a witch to the senses, a
devil to the soul, a thief to the pocket,
the beggar’s companion, a wife’s woe,
and children’s sorrow—makes man
become a beast and self-murderer,
who drinks to others’ good
health, and robs himself
of his own!!
The
root of
all evil is
DRUNKENNESS!!!
He had always taken a drink after reading this one. His eyes moved wearily over the paper, until the name Crane Street caught his attention, and he read:
‘For sale: Nos. 12, 13 and 14 Crane Street. These desirable, three-floor houses in close proximity to the docks for sale. Apply Tollet, Estate Agents, Fowler Street.’ Three times he read this before he looked around the room. What would happen when the houses were sold? What happened in England when houses were sold? Did they let the tenants stay on? He supposed so; there would be no reason for turning them out. They might raise the rent; but that didn’t matter much, he would see to that. He looked at the advertisement again. Nos. 12, 13 and 14 Crane Street to be sold. If he had been at home in Norway and his wife had read these words she would have looked up immediately and said, ‘I wonder how much they’re asking for them.’ And likely as not she would have added, ‘I wonder if Father’s seen it.’ And he would have had to bite on his tongue to stop himself from saying, ‘Aw, Kristin, don’t talk foolish. It’s likely one of his; are not nearly all the advertisements his?’ And she would have answered, ‘Why are you so bitter against my father?’ To this he would have said what he had said to her before, ‘I’m bitter because he has grown rich doing nothing. He buys a house, repairs it, then sells it for twice its value.’
The last time he had said words to that effect she had accused him of being jealous of her father’s power. ‘You,’ she had said, ‘are a big man, but you have no power, only over your little boat. And you and she are at the mercy of a bigger power, the sea, so you are always small inside. Whereas, my father, who is not half your size, and whom you despise, he has power; he is a great power in the town because he owns almost a third of it. You have never given him credit for what he has accomplished. You forget that when he was a young man he started with one house, just one, and now because of his industry he is a great man, a powerful one. When you have power such as he you are afraid of no-one, men large or small.’
It was on that occasion he had said, ‘You should not have married; you should have stayed with your father.’
He rose to his feet but he still stared at the paper. His father-in-law had become powerful in his town because he owned property, and he had started with one house. Unless you had power of some kind you got nowhere, you were nothing,
you were trampled on. And you could not have power unless you had money. He had power, of a kind, but over his ship, over men, but he was only enabled to have this power through someone else’s money. He had not enough money of his own to give Katie power, which for her would mean security, freedom from the malice of—unknown men. If she had come from a family of substance none of the things that had happened to her would have happened. Katie lacked security because she lacked power; she lacked power because she lacked money. How could he make enough money to bring power and substance to a woman like Katie, a woman who was badly in need of protection? When she came out of that place she would be in need of something more than his love, something that was going to stand by her when he was far from her.
He crumpled the paper between his hands. His father-in-law had started with one house, why not Katie? Why not indeed! Why not…! This much he could do for her…
Fifteen minutes later he was standing in the agent’s office.
Oh! they said. Yes, they were very desirable houses, 12, 13 and 14 Crane Street, but they were being sold as a lot, not separately.
‘How much?’ he asked.
Well, they were very desirable properties and they were going very cheap, three hundred and fifty pounds, and would bring in an overall rent of thirty-five shillings a week.
‘You’ll be hearing from me,’ he said.
As he walked towards King Street and the solicitor’s office he took stock of his own capital. He had not three hundred and fifty pounds. All he possessed of his own was about two hundred, but his name was good.
Mr Hewitt was surprised to see the captain again so soon, and when he learned of what he intended to do he said he would advise caution. ‘Property is at a low ebb, Captain,’ he said.
‘Offer them three hundred,’ said Andrée.
‘What!’
‘I said offer them three hundred.’
‘But Tollets are rather tough customers.’
‘So am I, Mr Hewitt. I know all about the buying and selling of property. Have you heard the name of Petersen of Bergen? He is a Dane, but he’s one of the richest, if not the richest in that city. He buys and sells property every day of his life. I happen to be connected with him; I know how these things should be done. Offer them three hundred. Tell them I am wavering between those particular houses and some, say, in…Find out where there are other empty ones and mention their names. I will call back this afternoon. I would like this business settled before I sail in two days’ time.’
‘Ah! Captain Fraenkel.’
‘Never mind! Ah! Captain Fraenkel. In this at least I want to move. Do as I say, Mr Hewitt. Good day to you.’
Two days later, about an hour before Andrée sailed, he signed a temporary notice of purchase to buy Nos. 12, 13 and 14 Crane Street for the sum of three hundred and fifteen pounds, and the name he signed on the paper, after laying a deposit of thirty-five guineas, was the name of Mrs Catherine Bunting, known as Katie Mulholland. It was at his insistence that the signature was written thus. Also Mr Hewitt was given strict instructions as to what he was to do with the agreement, or a copy of the same, whether fulfilled or temporary, on the first Wednesday in April, the day when Mrs Bunting would be free.
Chapter Nine
On the morning of Katie’s release the sun was shining though the air was bitterly cold, and here and there, as if they had strayed from the pack on its way farther north, a snowflake glided down.
The big woman with the huge breasts looked at Katie as if she was loth to let her go, as indeed she was. She had not found such an outlet for her sadistic tendencies for many a long day, but do what she might she couldn’t rouse this one to the kind of retaliation that might lengthen her sentence. Purposely now she led her down the stone corridor and through the sacking room where Jinny Fulton and her crowd were gathered, plying their needles. She led the way between stacks of hessian and piles of sail canvas, and almost to the foot of Jinny Fulton herself, and when Jinny cried out ‘Aw! Here comes Lady Go-Lightly to say goodbye to us poor creatures,’ she did not reprimand her. She only slanted her gaze towards her and twisted her lips into the semblance of a smile, which smile told Jinny that she had her permission to go ahead, and she went ahead. She thrust her arm out and drove the long curved steel needle she held in her hand through Katie’s skirt and into her calf. Because of her petticoats only the point penetrated, but Katie screamed out and Jinny Fulton, putting her head back, roared; then, gathering a dobble of spit into her mouth and taking direct aim, she fouled Katie’s skirt. The wardress stopped and, without reprimanding the prisoner who had committed the offence, said to Katie, ‘Wipe that off. You don’t want to go out like that, do you?’
Katie had nothing with which to wipe off the filth from her skirt except her fingers; so, bending her knee, she rubbed the skirt against the stone floor, and this brought a howl of laughter from Jinny Fulton and those nearest to her. But all the women in the bag room didn’t laugh. There were those that looked at the Mulholland girl with pity, and one here and there with admiration, for they knew that they couldn’t have stood what she’d had to stand without doing murder.
‘Tickle your Swede for me.’ This, followed by a mouthful of obscenities, seemed to push Katie through the door and along another passage and into a room where a woman sat behind a table. This granite-faced individual turned a book towards her, and after she had signed her name, which action seemed an offence to this woman as it stood out against a line of crosses, she was waved away.
It was as she stood at the wooden door and watched the tormentor of her mind and body slowly putting the key into the lock of the small insert door that she thought that her legs would collapse beneath her, that she would never have strength to step through the little door in the gate and into the world again.
But she was almost pushed into it because the door banged so quickly on her heels that it grazed the leather of her shoe. And then she was standing on the rough pavement of Stone Street, blinking. The light and everything out here was different. Her vision seemed blurred against this new light. She started to draw in great draughts of air but seemed powerless to move one foot in front of the other. The road, with its stone houses opposite the prison, was comparatively empty except for two carriages standing on the other side, and some distance apart from each other. Her mind took in the figure of a man leaving the farthest carriage; then from the one nearest to her she saw a woman alight and come running towards her.
It was the sight of Miss Theresa that seemed to give power to her legs, and she turned and walked quickly away from the black door.
‘Katie! Katie! Wait, please.’ Theresa had gripped her arm and pulled her to a halt.
‘Oh, Katie!’ The two words were a condemnation of all sin, and to them Katie answered in a strange voice, quite unlike her own, ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I can’t, I can’t. Come back with me. I have a room ready for you. Miss Ainsley will welcome you. You must break away from this degradation; look what it has brought you to.’ She cast her eyes swiftly up the high wall behind her.
‘Will you leave me alone?’ Still the strange way of speaking, slow, thick, quiet.
‘No, no, I won’t. I won’t let you go back to that man. He has been the cause of your down…’
‘Be quiet!’ Now her voice changed; it was still thick but strong and harsh. ‘Don’t you speak a word against him. Don’t you, I’m tellin’ you, for he’s the only good thing that has happened to me. D’you hear? D’you hear?’
‘Don’t say that, Katie, don’t. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear the thought of that awful…’
‘Will you be quiet, Miss Theresa, else I’ll say something I’ll be sorry for later.’
‘No, I won’t be quiet, Katie. I’ll never rest until you give up this way of life. Look what it’s brought you to. And not even a coat on your back. And just think where you’ll end: filthy houses, foreign sailors.’
Katie stared into the thin white face before her, and then with a s
eeming effort she lifted the top part of her body upwards and, her voice now coming low and bitter, she said, ‘The filthiest house, the worst sailors you could gather from any port, couldn’t hold a candle to your brother, Miss Theresa.’
Theresa stared back at her. Then, her chin moving downwards but her eyes still on Katie, she said, ‘What are you saying, Katie? My brother? You mean Bernard?’
‘I mean Bernard, Miss Theresa.’
‘You mean Bernard has had something to do with…?’ Theresa again raised her eyes to the high stone wall. Then, looking at Katie, she moved her head quickly, saying, ‘No, no, Katie; you’re mistaken.’
‘Your brother put me in there, Miss Theresa.’
‘No, no, Katie…I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it. How could he?’
Katie closed her eyes, then said, ‘Because I split his head open with a candlestick. I’m…I’m no prostitute, Miss Theresa. Never have been, nor ever will be. I live with a man because I love him. One man, a sailor, a sea captain, a good man. But your brother and another man forced their way into my house with a woman who is a prostitute, and they wouldn’t go out, and he would have come at me again and the same thing would have happened as before—I saw it in his face—and so I struck him with a candlestick. And from that day until New Year’s Eve, when they came and took me away, I lived in dread of what he would do.’
‘It can’t be, it can’t be, Katie. In the court, you remember, those two girls, they said…’
‘They said what they were told to say. I had never seen them in me life before, nor the men with them, but in the court that day I saw one of your brother’s henchmen, Crabtree, from the mine. He was another keeker. And then in there…’ She moved her head slowly backwards. ‘He even had them paid in there. There were letters come for me an’ I never got them. There was food sent in, but I never saw it. If purgatory and hell is anything like that’—again she moved her head backwards—‘I’m going to see that I never get there.’
Katie Mulholland Page 29