Katie hadn’t at that time lived in Ogle Terrace, but her home was in a respectable quarter of the town. It was a six-roomed terrace house topped by a large attic and to Betty Monkton it appeared like a palace. When she rose to take her leave, Katie had said to her, ‘I’m looking for someone to do the work, Betty; I go out quite a bit. I…I buy property.’
‘Aye, aye, I heard something about it, Katie.’ Betty had kept her eyes cast down as she spoke, and Katie said quickly, but quietly, ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, Betty, but that’s all I do. I buy property, and let it, and I live here with Captain Fraenkel.’
‘Just the one bloke, Katie?’ Betty had asked tentatively.
‘Just the one bloke, Betty. There’s only ever been him, and that’s how it’ll always be. If you want the job it’s yours.’
‘Aw, Katie. Aye. Oh, an’ thanks, lass. Thanks. You won’t regret it. I promise you I’ll work me fingers to the bone for you just for a decent roof like this.’
And Betty was as good as her word. It became one of Katie’s tasks to try to lighten her work, but all Betty wanted to do was to show her endless appreciation by making things comfortable for Katie and her man…
It wasn’t until Katie moved to Ogle Terrace that Theresa came to live with her, but she had appeared on her horizon again some time before this.
It happened that one day, about a year after Betty had taken up her post in the house in Bentley Terrace, she answered a knock on the door, then went to the parlour where Katie, or ma’am, as she had to keep reminding herself to call her mistress, especially when the captain was about, was sitting with the captain drinking their after-dinner coffee, and she said, ‘There’s a lady at the door, ma’am, called Miss Ainsley and she says she’d like a word with you.’
Miss Ainsley. A name from the past. The smile had slipped from Katie’s face and, bending towards Andrée, she had whispered quickly, ‘I only knew one Miss Ainsley. If she’s the same, she was governess to Miss Theresa…You know?’
‘Oh!’ Andrée’s bushy brows moved upwards and he turned to Betty, saying, ‘Well, show the lady in, Betty. Show her in.’
Miss Ainsley came in. She was a woman now in her sixties, but she could have been eighty. Katie would never have recognised Miss Ainsley from how she remembered her, nor would Miss Ainsley have recognised Katie Mulholland from her memory of the beautiful, bright-eyed, lively girl. The woman before her was still beautiful, but her eyes were no longer bright and dancing, they had a permanent sadness behind their level gaze; and the demeanour of this woman was sedate, even ladylike, which was surprising. Only her voice, when she made her greeting, indicated her upbringing.
After Miss Ainsley had taken a seat and refused a cup of coffee, and definitely a glass of wine, she explained the purpose of her visit. ‘Would Mrs . . ?’ She hesitated on the name until prompted by Andrée saying, ‘Fraenkel, Mrs Fraenkel.’ Then she went on, would Mrs Fraenkel be so good as to come and see Theresa, who had been very ill for many months now and who, the doctor said, hadn’t long to live? Theresa had expressed a wish to see her.
Katie had looked at Andrée, then back to Miss Ainsley. She didn’t want to go and see Miss Theresa, even if she were dying, nor did she want to come into contact with any one of the Rosiers, for such contact would undoubtedly renew the nightmares that had subsided, the nightmares that had been filled with Bernard Rosier’s face, interspersed with those of Big Bess, Bunting and her father. No, she was sorry, but she didn’t want to see Miss Theresa. She had been about to say this when Andrée had asked, ‘What is the matter with her?’ and Miss Ainsley had replied, ‘She has bronchial trouble, and a very weak heart. She had pneumonia last year when she was in a low state. It was the strain of running the school; it was too much.’
‘You still keep your school going?’ Andrée asked.
‘No, no longer,’ Miss Ainsley replied. ‘I…I had a fall some years ago, and then when Theresa took ill everything became difficult.’
Andrée had nodded at her, then looked at Katie, and she, after gazing at him, waiting for him to prompt her and not receiving any help, said softly but pointedly to him, ‘I’ll go if you’ll come with me.’
‘Of course I’ll come with you.’ Andrée turned to Miss Ainsley and added, ‘That will be all right, won’t it?’ And Miss Ainsley swallowed deeply before she replied, ‘Of course.’
And so the following day Katie, accompanied by Andrée, and a basket of fruit, took a cab to the little house on the fringe of Westoe, and there they were both appalled by the bareness and cheerlessness of the interior. Andrée had waited downstairs, in a room that had been used as a schoolroom, while Miss Ainsley took Katie upstairs to the living quarters, which were hardly more cheerful than those downstairs, and had ushered her into a small bedroom, saying, ‘Theresa, dear, here is someone to see you.’
Since Miss Ainsley’s visit the previous evening Katie had been filled with embarrassment and apprehension at the thought of this visit, but after the first glimpse of the thin, emaciated figure lying propped up in the bed her embarrassment fled. She even forgot for the moment that this woman was connected with the Rosier family. Going slowly forward, she spoke as the old Katie would have done, saying, ‘Hello, Miss Theresa. I’m very sorry you’re ill.’
‘Hello, Katie.’ The words were broken by short, sharp breaths. ‘It’s…it’s so good of you…to come.’
‘Take a seat, Mrs Fraenkel.’ Miss Ainsley pushed a chair near to the bed, and Katie sat down, and for a moment she was lost for words. Nor did Theresa speak immediately, but when she did she said, ‘You’re looking very well, Katie.’
‘Thank you, Miss Theresa.’
Another silence, a shrieking silence, until Theresa said softly, ‘Are you happy, Katie?’
‘Yes. Yes, very happy, Miss Theresa.’ Katie kept her eyes full on Theresa as she said this, and Theresa moved her head slowly twice before saying, ‘Yes, I can see you are. Ainsley tells me’—she took in two or three short breaths—‘that you are still with…with your friend.’
‘You mean Captain Fraenkel, Miss Theresa?’
‘Yes, Katie. Captain Fraenkel…Ainsley likes him. She…she says she found him…very charming.’
There was gratitude in Katie’s eyes and a soft smile on her lips when, after a moment, she said, ‘Thank you, Miss Theresa.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy, Katie…Can you believe that?’
Katie continued to look full at Theresa as she said, ‘Yes, yes, I can.’
Theresa now began to pull at the edges of a small handkerchief she held in her hand as she said, ‘Ainsley tells me you have a beautiful home, Katie.’
‘It’s comfortable, Miss Theresa.’
‘And…and I understand you have become prosperous?’
‘You could say that, too, Miss Theresa.’
Now Theresa pressed her head back into the pillows and gazed up at the ceiling before she said wistfully, ‘Life…life is very odd, Katie. You know, I…I remember Ainsley and I once having a discussion about you that…that bears this out.’
‘Discussion about me?’ There was surprise in Katie’s voice, for even at this stage of her life she couldn’t imagine the daughter of the Manor bothering herself to talk about the scullery maid with her governess.
‘Yes, we were sitting on the hill behind the house, you know, discussing chance and circumstance, among other things, and Ainsley said that…that if you had money together with your beauty you…you would conquer the world, or words to that effect…And now you are doing just that, Katie. In spite of all the terrible things that have happened to you, you are conquering the world…’
‘Oh! Miss Theresa, that’s far-fetched; an’…an’, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about the past in any way. It’s…it’s better left alone.’
‘All right, I won’t, if…if you don’t wish me to, Katie.’
As Theresa now began to fight for breath Katie said softly, ‘I’ve distressed you, Miss Theresa. I’m sorry
.’
‘Oh, no. No. It’s just…just my chest. You couldn’t distress me, Katie; you would never distress anyone. I…I know that, not willingly…That’s why I asked Ainsley to go to you. I felt I just wanted to…to see you once again. You don’t mind?’
‘No, Miss Theresa. No, not at all.’ There were tears in Katie’s throat now, forming a hard block, and she was endeavouring to keep them from her eyes, so she stood up and said, ‘I’ll be going, Miss Theresa. I mustn’t tire you or Miss Ainsley will be after me, but…but I’ll come in again if you’d like me to.’ And to this Theresa said simply, ‘Please do, Katie.’
And that’s how it had begun. No-one expected Miss Theresa, least of all herself, to last more than a few weeks at the most, and during those weeks Katie became a regular visitor, sometimes accompanied by Andrée, and she never came empty-handed. She always brought with her a basket of delicacies, mostly cooked by herself.
Whether it was the good food, or the new interest in her life, Theresa did not pass away, but as the time went on she grew a little stronger, until one day, some months later, she was downstairs when Katie called. And on this particular day she met the captain for the second time, and they stared at each other for a space before he, bowing to her, said simply, ‘Ma’am.’ And she, returning his greeting with a dip of her chin said, ‘Captain…Captain Fraenkel.’ After which they shook hands. And such is the strangeness and contrariness of human nature that these two, whose interest in life was pointed in the same direction, became firm friends and were to hold each other in deep respect until one of them died.
But there would be weeks on end when Theresa couldn’t leave her room. Then one day Miss Ainsley was found dead in bed. A policeman came and informed Katie of this, and she drove immediately to the house, there to find Theresa fighting for breath against the shock that had come upon her. So what could she do? Leave her there unattended in the house with a dead woman?
When Katie brought Theresa into her home she had no intention whatever that it was to be a permanent arrangement, and she said so to Andrée when, three days later, he came home from his short trip to the Thames—he was now running coal to London for Palmer’s—and he agreed with her heartily. Of course it would just be a temporary arrangement.
Theresa’s presence in the house had a stultifying effect on Katie when Andrée was at home. When she found herself laughing loudly with him, which she did with no-one else, she would check her mirth, knowing that Theresa could hear them from upstairs.
But Theresa’s presence had no such effect on Andrée. He breezed in on her and laughed at and even teased her, and at times talked to her as he never did to Katie. He talked to her on matters that made headlines in the papers, both worldwide and local: on Disraeli, on the Colonies, on what she thought of John Broughton being made Mayor of Shields for the second time; what she thought of a public library being opened, and the new hospital called the Ingham Infirmary; and wasn’t it a marvellous thing that they had elected a school board in Shields; and he agreed with her that even a child of the lowest people should be taught to read and write. On and on Andrée and Theresa would talk, and Katie would sometimes sit and listen, but more often she would be busying herself with the particular meal that she knew Andrée liked and seeing that Betty hadn’t forgotten anything from the table.
Then one night Andrée said to her, ‘You know, my mind has been easier during these last few months than it has been for years. I can get into my bunk and go to sleep now knowing that there is someone with you.’
‘But,’ she had protested, ‘I’ve got Betty with me!’ and to this he had said, ‘Betty is a good woman, but she’s an untutored creature and you’ll never learn anything from Betty.’
It was then he told her of an idea that had been working in his mind, an idea that would make Theresa feel less under an obligation, and which would accomplish something he had always desired for his Kaa-tee, an education. He would ask Theresa to tutor her.
But what, asked Katie, would she learn? She could read and write; she could reckon like a ready reckoner; she was a good cook…he himself had said so. She could look after a house; she could sew.
In between stating each of her homely accomplishments he had kissed her gently, and to each he had said, ‘Who better? Who better?’ And then he had told her what she could learn. She could learn all Theresa knew, for Theresa was a highly intelligent woman. And also, he ended, ‘It’ll bring me joy, Kaa-tee, to know that you are learned.’
And that was how Theresa became a permanent member of Katie’s household; and that was how Katie’s education came about. That was why Katie Mulholland, who was known to have kept a bad house, who had been in prison, who had begun life as a scullery maid, and whose father was hanged for murdering her husband, puzzled people when she spoke, even as a lady did, grammatically and without any trace of dialect, merely the inflexion of the Northerner betraying her. That was why Katie Mulholland could play the piano, speak French moderately, could paint on glass, and do tapestry.
And not once did Andrée recall his first opinion of Theresa. Never did he say, ‘She’s a man under the skin’; he knew that she loved Katie, but he also knew that Katie was solely his. Theresa’s love he now accepted as a compliment to his taste…
The new arrangement also filled a need in Katie. Over the years there had been not the slightest sign of her having another child, and so Theresa, who needed care and attention, became a substitute for Lizzie, for Sarah, for the children that didn’t come. She would tell herself at times that her home was complete, she had a family; she had Andrée; she had Theresa; and not least she had Betty; Betty in the kitchen with whom she often sat before the fire late at night, when Andrée was away, talking of the old days. Betty made her laugh. Betty was full of the old sayings, of which Theresa knew nothing, and which were a foreign language to Andrée. She had, she thought, the best of all worlds…But not quite.
Never once from the moment he had left her fourteen years ago had she set eyes on Joe, and at times there would come into her body an ache to see him, because Joe was her real family, blood family. He was her only flesh left. She did not think of her daughter in this case—she tried not to think of her daughter at any time now.
She still missed Andrée just as much now when he was away on his trips as she had done in the early days. Sometimes, if he came in on the late tide, he would walk home and surprise her; that is, if he came into the Quay at Jarrow. But if he docked at Sunderland he slept on board during the night and came down by train in the morning.
It was Andrée who had given her everything she had in life. She did not know exactly what her own bank balance was, it fluctuated; she only knew that during the last fourteen years seventy-odd houses had passed through her hands. Some she had bought and sold within a short time, and always at a profit; others were bringing in steady rents.
She was known as a wealthy woman, and she knew she could carry herself in almost any company, thanks to Theresa. But all this was a veneer, for she also knew that just below the surface she was still the product of her early environment. She was still the child who had emptied slops into the wooden buckets in the maids’ rooms and carried them down the long stairs and by the green wall to the midden; she was still the girl who had suffered at the hands of Bernard Rosier and Mark Bunting; she was still the woman who had been in prison; and she knew that if she lived to be a hundred she would always be, inside, what her early years had made her. The rest was a façade, a pleasing façade that gave pleasure to Andrée and which protected her with a thin armour against the power of men.
This particular evening she had been to Jarrow, to a church hall where once a year, near Christmas, she distributed money and clothing to the barefoot children. The occasion always saddened her, and made her feel strangely alone. And so when she returned home and saw Andrée’s big bulky form and grizzled head at the door she sprang over the threshold and into his arms, crying, ‘Oh, how wonderful! When did you get in? I didn’t expect you
until tomorrow. Oh, I wouldn’t have…’ Her words were cut off by his kiss, and with his arm about her he said softly, ‘Come in here a moment, I have a visitor.’
‘A visitor?’ She screwed her eyes up at him, and he nodded as he drew her into the little breakfast room to the right of the hall. Once inside the room he shut the door; then, putting his hand up to her hat, he said, ‘Come on, take your things off quick.’
‘But why? Who is it?’
‘My…my brother.’
She was laying her hat on a chair and her hand became still, and with her body slightly twisted away from him she turned her head slowly towards him, saying, ‘Your brother?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why? After all…’
‘I’ll tell you later. Now I just want you to meet him.’
‘Was he here when you arrived?’
‘No. No, he was waiting for me in the yard. He, too, is a captain…Let me look at you.’ He held her by the shoulder at arms’ length; then, his eyes roving over her, he said, ‘Yes, yes, he’ll see; he’ll see the reason.’
‘Oh! Andy, let me go and make myself tidy.’
‘Tidy!’ He flapped his hands before her face. ‘You’re beautiful—why do you want to be tidy?’ He leant towards her now and gently touched her lips with his.
‘Andy, I feel, I feel…’ She pulled him back as he drew her towards the door. ‘I feel awkward…afraid.’
‘Afraid? Nonsense! He’s the one who’ll be awkward; he’s a bachelor, a rover. Come.’
The man who stood up when they entered the room did not resemble Andrée in any way, except in height; he was tall but he was thin, and his fairness was not the stark fairness of Andrée; his face was round and almost clean-shaven except for a little hair on his chin. He had deep-set eyes, a big nose and a full mouth. Although his face was straight, even stern, when he first looked at her, Katie’s immediate impression of him was that he was kindly.
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