The jury was absent for an hour. When they returned their spokesman, after telling the judge they had come to a decision, said, ‘We find the prisoner not guilty of murder but guilty of manslaughter.’
For the first time in days a lightness came into Bernard Rosier’s brooding countenance. He blinked and looked about him as if to say, ‘There now, what did I tell you? I knew they couldn’t do it.’
Many eyes were on him. Some faces were smiling slightly, heads were turned to each other, voices whispering, ‘Well, what do you expect? After all, he’s gentry, isn’t he?’ But there were others, the gentry themselves, who had their attention fixed on Mr Justice Gordon; and there were Katie and Andrée, their joined hands hidden under the folds of her skirt, gripping tight.
As the judge looked about the court, waiting for absolute silence before he spoke, Bernard Rosier kept his eyes fixed on him. He felt so sure of the verdict now that he could almost have cried, ‘Hurry up with it.’ His head moved just the slightest when Mr Justice Gordon began to speak in a flat, emotionless voice. ‘It could not have been otherwise. It is a fair verdict because there was no doubt that the accused was attacked.’ Here the judge paused for some seconds, as if weighing carefully what he was about to say next. Then, his manner changing, he leant forward, and, moving his finger stiffly in the direction of the prisoner, his voice, full of condemnation, ran through the court as he said:
‘The jury in their mercy have found you guilty only of manslaughter, but I cannot close my eyes to the fact that over the years you treated the deceased man as if he were a mad dog, not a human being, whom together with his wife you kept in underpaid servitude. And by your last and final act, when you crushed this man’s skull with a boulder as he lay unconscious, then threw him in the quarry, you have proved yourself to be a vile and vicious individual, and the minimum sentence, in all justice, I can pass on you is one of seven years’ imprisonment.’
‘No! Blast you! No!’
Two officers were restraining the prisoner as he leaned over the box and glared in the direction of Mr Justice Gordon, who now rose, and the court with him.
There was a general hubbub as the judge left the bench. The great man from London looked enraged. The prisoner was again shouting. Then, suddenly becoming still in the arms of the gaolers, he turned his head to the side and directed his maddened gaze towards two people standing close together, the tall bearded man and the equally tall white-faced woman. His lips opened and froth came into the corners of his mouth and, screaming now, he yelled, ‘Blast you to hell!’ His shouting still penetrated the courtroom as he was taken below.
Putting his arm round Katie, Andrée turned her stiff body about and led her away, and as they passed through the crowded hallway a remark came to her. One man was saying to another, ‘A bit thick, seven years. He’ll never be able to stand it, not even if they cut his time, not in his condition.’ And she found herself praying that the man would be right.
BOOK FOUR
CATHERINE, 1909
Chapter One
Bernard Rosier did not die in prison as Katie hoped. After serving six years of his sentence he was released and, as if making up for lost time, he revelled in drink, riding and debauchery until he had a stroke, following which nothing more was heard of him for some long time.
Between the years 1881 and 1909 Katie’s life, to all appearances, ran smoothly. Her image in Shields changed. Perhaps it was the whisper from Mr Hewitt in the right ear, following Rosier’s trial, which incidentally brought her into favour with ‘the class’. Rumours ranged from her being the victim of Rosier’s frustrated passion, when she worked for his parents, to the one that said he had set her up in a certain kind of house, and that when it was flourishing she spurned his attentions. The rumour that implied he’d had her wrongfully imprisoned most people thought a bit far-fetched. But everyone saw Rosier’s action to try and incriminate Andrée as an act of spite against her. But now Katie Mulholland—or Mrs Fraenkel, as people remembered to call her—was looked upon as a respectable married woman.
Two more people had come into, and deeply affected, Katie’s life during these years; one brought joy, the other fear.
The fear erupted one spring day in 1888 when Andrée’s son, Captain Nils Fraenkel, paid him the promised visit. Nils Fraenkel was thirty-six years old at the time and he looked the very incarnation of his father, as Andrée had looked when he and Katie had first met, and right from that spring day peace seeped out of Katie’s life, for Andrée’s son desired her as Andrée did. He wanted to touch her as Andrée did. He wanted the same things from her as she gave to Andrée. At first she tried to dispel such suppositions by telling herself not to be so vain, for was she not nine years his senior; but finally there had come the time when he asked her to leave his father and go away with him, and from that day real fear entered into her life again.
If Nils Fraenkel had been like his father other than in looks, Katie imagined the situation would have been eased, for then Nils would have drunk deeply, and been able to carry his drink; he would have laughed loudly, talked to all men, and had his women, until he met—the one woman. But Nils drank little, and when he did it made him silly, sometimes nasty. He laughed only on occasions. He did not hobnob with all men, for was he not a captain of a fine liner. He had a position to uphold, and he upheld it. As for women, all that Katie had gathered regarding his ideas on this subject was that he scorned port women, and this made her question more than once whether Andrée had told his son how he had met her, at the very haunt of the ‘port women’, or dock dollies. It was a question she had never put to Andrée. Hardly ever did she mention Nils to him. Any talk concerning Nils always came from Andrée.
Andrée himself welcomed his son warmly to the house. Secretly, Nils’ coming eased a pocket in his conscience; he imagined that, seeing Katie, his son would now understand why he had left his family when they were young. But it never dawned on him just to what extent his son understood. Had it done so his wrath would have been greater towards him than it had been towards Rosier, and Katie was aware of this…
The joy that came into her life was brought by Joe’s granddaughter Catherine.
Catherine was Lucy’s eldest child, and Katie had first made the acquaintance of them both in 1892 when Lucy, with the two-months-old baby in her arms, had come to the house in Westoe to ask this aunt of hers—this rich aunt—for help.
Only seven months previously Lucy had married Patrick Connolly, the father of the child. And the reason for the hasty union had outraged Joe and he had closed his door on his daughter, but not before telling her she would go headlong to hell like his sister Katie in Shields.
To her great disappointment, Katie found she did not like her niece, and she strongly disliked her brawling husband, but from the first glimpse of the child she had loved her, for she saw Sarah in her, Sarah the baby—not Sara the lady. And with the years the love had grown, until now between Catherine and herself there existed a bond that was as strong as any between mother and daughter.
The embittered Lucy was vitally aware of this bond and would have broken it many years before if it hadn’t been that her daughter Catherine was the only bucket she could dip into Katie’s well.
Catherine was now eighteen years old, and for the past seven years she had been a day pupil at the convent school, and Katie had had to pay Lucy for the privilege of educating her daughter by allowing her a pound a week. Lucy knew she had a hold over Katie, and frequently she used her power by sending Catherine to ‘borrow’ from her—as today.
Katie was resting on the chaise longue at the foot of the bed, and Catherine was sitting by her side, her fingers restlessly entwining each other, and Katie, tapping the hands, said gently, ‘How much does she want, dear?’
Catherine, her eyes cast down, murmured, ‘A pound. She says she must pay four weeks’ rent, but she won’t; she’ll only pay two and a shilling off the back and spend the rest on…’ Her voice trailed away, and Katie said, ‘Has sh
e been at it again?’
Catherine nodded her head once in reply before lifting it quickly, and, her voice now low and rapid, she said, ‘Oh, Aunt Katie, I feel dreadful, dreadful. I feel wicked because I’m always wishing’—she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head violently before finishing—‘that she was dead.’
‘Oh, child! You mustn’t talk like that. She can’t help it.’
‘Oh yes, she can, Aunt Katie. But…but because she knows that…’ She swallowed and did not go on, and Katie ended for her, ‘Yes, yes, I know. Because she knows that I’ll give you anything you ask for that’s within my power, she uses you.’
Catherine, now holding Katie’s hand between her own, stroked it as she said, ‘There was a terrible row last night, and…and she wasn’t drunk either. She threatened to take me away from the convent. It was when I lost my temper and threw it in her face—she was on about keeping me at the convent and me getting airy-fairy ways—that I told her she only let me go there in the first place because you said you’d give her the money as long as I stayed. But now I’m terrified, Aunt Katie, that she really might take it into her head to stop me going to college. She could, you know; she gets so bitter.’
‘She won’t, don’t worry. I’ll see to that. And I’ll only give you ten shillings to take back. If she pays the rent—and she’ll have to—she won’t be able to do much with the change.’
Katie touched the soft cheek, the cheek that was of the same texture as her own. But there the likeness between Joe’s granddaughter and herself ended, because Lucy Mulholland’s daughter resembled in looks her Irish father. She had his dark eyes, his luxuriant black hair, his high cheekbones and large mouth—the mouth which in her father showed weakness but in her portrayed a sensitiveness. But there was nothing of Lucy in Catherine’s face, nor yet, apparently, in her character.
Impulsively now Catherine leant forward and, dropping her head on Katie’s shoulder, brokenly whispered, ‘Oh, Aunt Katie, if only I could stay here with you. You know’—she moved her face against the lavender-scented silk of Katie’s dress—‘when the nuns talk about heaven I don’t see angels and great wonderful halls, I see this house and you.’
‘Oh, my dear.’ There was both a break and a laugh in Katie’s voice. ‘It won’t always go on. Next year you’ll be away at college, and once you’re a teacher you’ll be your own mistress, and then you’ll be able to make your home where you like.’ She raised Catherine’s head and looked down into her eyes and whispered, ‘Where you like, my dear. But now, come on.’ She patted the cheek sharply. ‘Cheer up; you’re going to stay to tea…And look, go and have a nice hot bath.’
As Catherine was going out of the room Betty entered, and, bending her fat body almost double, she said in a louder whisper, ‘What you think of her dress?’
‘Lovely, Betty.’
‘I’d say it’s lovely. She’ll be the best-dressed woman…’
‘Oh, come in and stop your chattering,’ said Katie impatiently, and Betty, on a laugh, closed the door and came across to the couch. But now, her face taking on a straight prim look, she remained silent for a moment before saying, ‘He’s come back. He’s in the smoke-room with the captain.’
Katie stared at Betty; then, looking towards the window, she said, ‘Well, he wasn’t sure about sailing. He said so.’
‘That means I’ll have to set for one extra. You didn’t want that; it’ll be lopsided, spoil the table.’
At this point Betty’s words were cut off by a sharp rap on the door, and after exchanging a glance with Katie she opened it and Andrée’s son entered the room, and she, her lips compressed, left it.
‘Oh! You resting?’ Nils’ English, unlike Andrée’s, was as a foreigner would speak it.
Katie turned her glance away and, leaning her head against the couch, said with studied calmness, ‘Yes, Nils, I’m resting.’
‘You really tired?’
‘Yes. That’s why I’m resting.’
A smile, reminiscent of Andrée’s, touched Nils’ lips. ‘You want to watch that feeling, it’s a sign of old age; it’ll have you flat on your back before you know where you are.’
‘I’m aware it’s a sign of old age.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ The smile had gone from his face, which now looked almost aggressive. ‘Don’t start on that tack again. You don’t look a day over forty. You know you don’t. I’ve told you, and told you.’
‘I know nothing of the kind, Nils. What I do know is that I’m no longer young.’
‘Stop it!’ He was leaning over the foot of the couch, his face thrust towards her, his voice low. ‘You’re young and so am I. You feel young, you know you do. You feel whatever age you want to feel…’
‘Shut up, Nils.’ Katie pulled herself upright on the couch, and now, thrusting her face towards his, she whispered, ‘Before God, Nils, if you start again I’ll tell your father. I swear I will.’
He stared into her face, holding her eyes, his own expression changing the while to one of mockery, before saying, ‘Aw, Katie, don’t be stupid. You know you can’t shut me up with such threats. If you had been going to tell him you would have done so years ago…But all right, all right.’ He straightened up. ‘Don’t get mad at me. I hate it when you look at me like that.’ He walked away from her now and stood looking at her dress which was lying across the bed. Then he laughed as he said, ‘I could have tossed my hat in the air when I knew we couldn’t go out before the morning, because now I can witness you in rose taffeta and lace conquering the aristocracy of Westoe; the thick cream.’
‘Don’t be silly, Nils.’
‘Silly! You know I’m not being silly. This is what you’ve been wanting for years.’
‘It isn’t.’ Her voice was vehement.
‘All right, then say it’s what he’s been wanting for you for years…and rightly so. In his place, I’d have been the same.’
They were staring at each other, and Katie was once again seeing Andy in his youth, or as he was in early middle age. But this man was not Andy; he had neither his character nor appeal. For even at eighty there was still only the one Andy, the fascinating, vital man who had taught her to love and live.
Nils was coming towards her again, and she stiffened as he paused by her side and touched her hair gently with his fingers while saying something in his native tongue, as Andy was wont to do when bestowing endearments to her. Then he went quickly from the room.
She remained sitting motionless as she heard his voice calling to Catherine from the landing, ‘Don’t use all the steam, young lady. And get rid of that harem smell; I don’t want to be poisoned’; and Catherine’s voice, full at the moment of gaiety, coming back at him, ‘Oh, hello, Uncle Nils. Isn’t it lovely? Won’t be long.’ Then another voice, that of Jessie the maid, saying, ‘Will I run you a bath, Captain, when Miss Catherine’s finished?’
Katie did not hear Nils’ reply to this, but she knew from Jessie’s suppressed titter that it was something risible. Nils joked with Jessie in a somewhat condescending manner at times. It was as Betty said, Jessie needed a strong hand and she had no right at this moment to be upstairs. She had noticed, and not for the first time, that the young hussy was always very much in evidence when Nils was about.
As Katie rose from the couch she thought, and not without some regret, that Jessie was wasting her time, did she but know it.
The tea over, Catherine was saying her goodbyes when Andrée, who was sitting by the drawing-room window, called to her across the room, saying, ‘I’ll bet you’ll never guess who’s waiting out there for you?’
‘Oh, he’s not, Uncle, is he?’ Catherine moved forward, the colour flooding her face, and Andrée mimicked, ‘Oh, he’s not, Uncle, is he? Well, he is, me girl!’ Andrée held out his hand and drew her towards him, and she laughed self-consciously as she looked over the front garden and between the trees bordered by the white railings to the far side of the road, where stood a tall slim figure with his hands thrust deep in hi
s pockets.
‘How did he know I was here?’ Catherine was looking at Katie, and Katie, laughing, said, ‘He likely went home and they told him.’
Catherine shook her head, but didn’t say, ‘No, no, he’d never go to our house.’
‘Is it that cousin of yours?’ Nils was now at the other side of the window, and Catherine said, ‘Yes, Uncle Nils. He’s got nothing else to do, with the yard being out. I suppose he wants to fill in his time so coming down gives him something…’
Andrée let out a bellow of a laugh, cutting off her voice, and he squeezed her as he cried, ‘You’re just like your Aunt Katie; you don’t know your own worth. Fill in his time indeed! Go on with you and stop the poor fellow pining.’ He gave her a push. ‘And tell him from me if he doesn’t come in next time I’ll go out there and take my boot to him.’
‘I’ll tell him, Uncle Andrée. I’ll tell him. Bye-bye.’ She looked slightly embarrassed now and he smiled gently at her, saying, ‘Goodbye, my dear.’
‘Bye-bye, Uncle Nils.’
‘Goodbye, Catherine.’ Nils’ unblinking eyes watched her and Katie leave the room; then, turning to his father, he asked, ‘Why won’t he come in…the boy?’
‘Oh.’ Andrée tossed his big, white shaggy head. ‘He’s Joe’s grandson. You know, the one I told you about. Like father, like son…and like grandfather.’ At this Andrée punched his own son in the chest, then added quietly, ‘Eighteen sixty-five it was when Katie last saw her brother Joe. Four miles dividing them at the most and not running into each other in all these years. Hardly believable, is it…? And all through me. Yes, all through me.’ He shook his head as if the situation at this juncture was slightly incredible to him. ‘He must have been very fond of her, but then he’d have been a funny man if he wasn’t, wouldn’t he, Nils?’ Andrée looked up at his son, and Nils replied in a level tone, ‘Yes, he would.’ And this reply brought Andrée’s hand out to him and with something akin to doting fondness he said, ‘Ah, you understand. It’s always warmed my heart that, always.’
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