‘Yes, she was very pretty.’
‘She had an awful life. Right from the word go she had an awful life.’
Daniel turned his head now and looked at Willie, and asked quietly, ‘She told you?’
‘Oh no, sir. No sir. She never mentioned the master, not one word. All the years Maggie served her she never mentioned his name. The cook said they hadn’t seen each other for thirty years. Can you believe that? Can you imagine that, sir, living in the same house? Of course, it’s been understandable this last few years, with him being bedridden in one room and she in another; but afore that they said as soon as she heard him come galloping up that drive she came into this room and locked herself in. Not that he seemed to care, because he was funny from the time he came out of prison. She had gone through something afore with him, but when he started his capers again, bringing women to the house—well…’
‘How do you know so much about the family history, Willie?’ Daniel looked closely at Willie.
‘Well, it was the cook, sir, she was as old as Methuselah an’ all. She started as parlourmaid here—Fanny Croft, they called her. She knew all the history. Eeh, the things she told us he got up to, the old man, and I believe every word she said, I do. I do. Married his only son off to his half-sister, he did. The girl was the Mulholland woman’s daughter, the Mulholland woman who he’s always on about. He gave her the child when she was in service here and later she got the bairn adopted, and, as fate sometimes does, it played a dirty trick and brought this girl and his son together. Well, the old fellow found out who the girl was and pushed the wedding. There was hell to pay, cook said, and the young pair cleared off abroad. America, I should say, ’cos the old lady used to get letters from…Oh, God Almighty, sir…’
Willie slowly drew his hand hard down his face and from over his stretched lower lids he gazed apologetically at Daniel.
Daniel had to force himself to say, ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. I knew of this.’
‘You did, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh well, that’s a relief, sir. Oh, I should say it is, springing it like that.’ He now turned away and, pointing across the gallery to the far wall and to one of four pictures hanging there, said, ‘That one should interest you, sir.’ Daniel moved slowly forward and stood in front of it. It was like looking into a mirror, for the face was almost a replica of his own except that his own eyes were darker.
‘It was painted, I understand, just afore he was married, sir.’
‘We are practically alike.’
‘Aye, sir, it’s sort of startling.’
‘It’s no compliment; he’s been a terrible man.’
‘Aye, sir, he has, but I think every now and again most families throw up someone like him. It is as if all the badness is drained out of the rest an’ put into one, like. You see what I mean?’
‘I hope so, Willie, I hope so.’ Daniel’s face was solemn as he went down the stairs, and it remained solemn as he followed Willie around the rest of the house.
In the kitchen Maggie said, ‘I’ll have a real meal ready for you in just over an hour, sir. Will that be all right?’
‘Splendid,’ said Daniel, ‘and in the meantime, if you don’t mind I’ll take a look round outside…Don’t you bother to come, Willie, I’ll find my way about.’
‘Right, sir. But there’s not much to see, it’s just a tangle.’
As Daniel walked across the courtyard he took in great draughts of air. That house, it was terrible…yet fascinating.
He walked past stables, some with the half-doors hanging drunkenly by one hinge, and the roof of one outhouse had fallen in. He passed through an arch in the high green wall and followed a path, between a tangle of tall bushes, which only allowed the passage of one person, and when he emerged from it he wrinkled his nose against the stench that met him. He guessed that the drainage must be cesspool, and he shook his head as if in disbelief. There was an open space before him now, then a hill rising from it in the distance; and towards this he walked, and when he reached the top he stood and looked about him.
There was the house, looking from this distance like a prehistoric creature, its chimneys like myriad arms clawing their way upwards out of the tangle of overgrown trees. It was difficult to believe that down there in that house his grandfather had grown up; that he had run and played in this garden. But why had he never come back to see his mother? It was understandable why he wouldn’t want to see his father, but not his mother, that pretty, gentle-looking creature whose room smelt of lavender and orris root; and why had he thought it necessary to keep her existence secret from them all? It wasn’t likely that she would have given away the close relationship between him and his wife.
The letters that his father had found had told him nothing except that his grandmother had been alive up to two years ago. Her letters had been polite letters, letters that enquired after her son’s health, letters that told him that she was very well, that his Aunt Gertrude had been to visit her; that his Uncle Leonard had died; that the weather was bitterly cold, or it had been a very nice day; that she had been reading the Brownings, that she did so enjoy the Brownings; but never once had she mentioned her husband or enquired after her son’s wife.
Before he had left home his father had taken him aside and said, ‘Whatever you find out, don’t write about it; it’ll keep until you return. You understand?’ He understood.
He also understood now his grandmother’s aloofness and his grandfather’s constant care of her. His grandfather always treated her like some precious piece of porcelain to be handled very gently. He could see his grandparents at the family gatherings seated side by side in a place apart, as his brother once said, ‘Like royalty watching their subjects at play.’ And all the while, over all the years, they had kept their secret about this house and the man who was their father.
His grandparents had had only one child, his father, but his father had six, four sons and two daughters. He himself was the third son and Victoria followed him…Was Victoria the sins of the fathers being visited upon the children?
When his father had said to him, ‘Whatever you find out, don’t write about it, it’ll keep,’ had he been thinking of Victoria? But people like Victoria could happen to anybody. At least that is what the doctors had persuaded his mother to think; but should she ever find out about the relationship between her husband’s father and mother, then, in her own mind, Victoria would be explained and his father would never know peace again.
His mother was a Mason-Crawford; she came from a family of impeccable reputation. No breath of scandal had ever touched them except when Victoria was born, but you couldn’t really call Victoria a scandal; she was looked upon as an act of God, although why God should wish to inflict such a family with a child whose mind was not normal would for ever remain a mystery, not only to his mother, Daniel knew, but to all her family. Yet the Mason-Crawfords had one comfort, they knew that Victoria hadn’t come from their side. As both Daniel the First’s and Sara’s parents had presumably been killed in a train crash while travelling together, you couldn’t, the Mason-Crawfords agreed, do much by way of research without hurting their feelings, but you could think all the more…
He now walked slowly around the perimeter of the grounds and came by way of the drive to the house again. Maggie had the meal ready and he sat down at the kitchen table, and when she said, ‘It’s no place, sir, to put you down to eat in the kitchen,’ he answered, ‘Oh, please don’t worry. I’m very grateful to be offered a meal at all. As to eating in the kitchen, I’m perfectly used to that at home.’
Daniel had never eaten a meal in a kitchen in his life until earlier on this day. His mother would have been horrified at the bare suggestion, and the servants certainly wouldn’t have welcomed his presence in the kitchen. It said a great deal for his charm of manner that both Maggie and Willie believed him…
It was as he sat in the little sitting room along the passage—the room which had once be
en Mrs Davis’—drinking a cup of coffee and listening to Maggie now recounting some of the things Fanny Croft had told her, that the screams came to him. They were muffled, but they startled him, and Maggie said, ‘Oh, that’s nothing, sir. Take no notice. He’s not in pain or anything, it’s just badness, and because he can’t get loose to throw things. He’s reached the Mulholland patch again.’
‘The Mulholland patch?’ Daniel’s brow gathered into a question and Maggie said, ‘Every now and again he gets on about her and never stops for hours. It’s a wonder, I say to Willie, that she doesn’t hear him. Perhaps she does. A hate like his is bound to travel.’
‘Well, where she is I don’t suppose it’ll hurt her.’ Daniel smiled quietly.
‘Oh, she’s not dead, sir.’
‘She’s not?’ Daniel’s eyes were wide now and he put his cup down and said again, ‘She’s not? The Mulholland woman—I mean, whatever her name is, she’s not dead?’
‘Well, she wasn’t up till lately, a few months ago, and I’ve seen nothing in the Gazette about her going, and she was so noted that they’d ’ave done a piece on her; but I should imagine her time’s running out because she’s an age.’
‘She lives near?’
‘In Shields, sir—Westoe way, I think…Yes, it would be Westoe ’cos all the people with money live there.’
As a louder scream came to them Maggie rose, saying, ‘Would you excuse me, sir, he might need help; he’s likely changing him.’
Daniel got to his feet, and when Maggie had gone from the room he remained staring at the door. The Mulholland patch. Here was the other side of the picture, this Katie Mulholland, and he was related to her…She was his great-grandmother.
Slowly he turned and looked down into the fire. Would it be possible to see her? Would it?
Chapter Two
The following morning saw Daniel once more riding along in the broken-down taxi, his mind a confused whirl of gossip and legend. He was learning much from the voluble Fred Bateman about the history and career of Katie Mulholland or, as he had discovered her true name to be, Mrs Fraenkel.
Fred loved a yarn and he loved an audience, and he knew he had found one in the young American, so he scraped the barrel of his mind for all the titbits he could remember about Katie Mulholland.
They came at last to a line of white railings fronting a large house, and Daniel got out of the car and walked slowly across the pavement, through the iron gate and up the long pathway to the front door. As he pressed the button he heard someone laughing inside the house, and a voice calling, ‘It’s all right, I’ll go.’
There came to him the sound of running steps and then the door was pulled open and standing before him was a young girl. She was of medium height, with dark blue eyes rimmed with short thick lashes. Her mouth was full shaped and wide, and the nose between these two features looked too small in comparison; but what struck him instantly was that she was a silver blonde. He had seen silver blondes back home. His cousin, Renée, had her hair bleached to silver blonde, but this girl’s hair had a natural look, and according to the times it was old-fashioned, for it wasn’t short cut but piled high on the back of her head in twisted plaits. As his mouth opened to speak, her voice came at him, conveying thinly suppressed laughter. ‘Look,’ she said, dropping her head to one side, ‘it’s no use starting, you’re just wasting your breath. I have all the books I need, from encyclopaedias downwards. Nor am I interested in the tea towel you’re giving away with the pair of sheets, nor the blanket that will last me a lifetime, so, as I’ve said, don’t waste your breath. I’m sorry, very sorry, but you’re the third one already who’s been here today and it’s not dinner time yet. We don’t stick ‘No circulars, no hawkers’ on the gate because we know you’ve got to live, but there’s a limit. Do you…?’ Her voice had become slower over the last few seconds and now it trailed away and her top lip moved upwards from her teeth as she murmured now in a horrified tone, ‘Oh Lord, you’re not selling anything?’
‘No.’ He shook his head and tried his hardest not to burst out laughing.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry. You wanted to see someone…my father?’
‘No. At least’—he was still trying not to laugh outright—‘I just came to enquire if Mrs Fraenkel lives here.’
‘Oh yes, yes, she does.’
‘Oh, really! Then I wonder if it would be possible for me to see her?’
‘Oh yes, yes. Come in.’
‘Will you excuse me while I tell my taxi driver not to wait.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
When, a minute or so later, he again walked up the path the girl was no longer at the door but he could see her in the hallway talking to another woman, and when he reached the door they both came towards him, and the other woman looked at him hard before she said softly, ‘You want to see Mrs Fraenkel?’
‘Yes, if that is possible.’
‘May I ask what your business is?’
‘Well…’ He looked down at his hat in his hands and pulled on the brim as he said, ‘It’s a long, long story, but I think she is my great-grandmother.’
‘Your great…!’ The woman and the girl exchanged quick glances. Then the woman, looking at him again, said softly, ‘Your name is?’
‘Daniel Rosier.’
‘Rosier?’
‘Yes, Rosier. I’m Daniel the Third.’
Again there was an exchange of glances, and the older woman, her face unsmiling now, said, ‘Will you come in, please?’ She turned and walked back into the hall while the girl held the door open and closed it behind him when he entered the house.
The hall was small in comparison to the one he had left such a short while ago, but, with its white paint and rose-coloured carpet mounting up the stairs, it was as different from Greenwall Manor as the top of a skyscraper was from a dungeon, and this impression was carried farther still when, following the woman, he entered a large, beautifully furnished room; and after only a fleeting impression the thought came to him that there were pieces here which would make his mother’s mouth water, for she was in the process of ‘collecting things from the old country’.
‘Will you take a seat?’
‘Thank you.’ He sat down in an armchair, and the girl and the woman sat to the side of him on a large couch. They sat close together and they stared at him silently until he became embarrassed by their scrutiny, for their faces were unsmiling, and the older woman’s expression was a troubled one. It was she who now spoke, saying, ‘I’m Mrs Mulholland, Mrs Fraenkel’s great-niece; this is my daughter, Bridget.’
He smiled from one to the other, and now the young woman’s eyes showed a slight twinkle as she turned towards her mother, saying, ‘I thought he was a salesman; I was seeing him off.’
‘Oh dear!’ A rippling movement passed over Catherine’s face; then, her expression solemn again, she said, ‘Why have you come now, Mr Rosier? Have you just found out about the relationship?’
‘You could say that. In fact only a matter of hours ago. And it’s only a few weeks since we—that is, my father—found out he had any relatives at all in England. My grandfather died and my father found some letters. These had apparently been written by his grandmother, Mrs Rosier, of Greenwall Manor.’
‘She is still alive?’
‘No, she died about two years ago; but, as I said, we knew nothing about it until just recently.’
‘And…and Mr Rosier?’
Now Daniel looked down for a second, and when he brought his eyes again to those of the woman sitting opposite he said, ‘He is still alive. I could add unfortunately, because he is a terrible wreck, both in mind and body.’
‘Oh!’ There was a silence between them for a while. Then Catherine, getting to her feet and joining her hands together, walked to the hearthrug, and from there she turned and looked at him again, saying, ‘I don’t know how I’m going to put this, Mr Rosier, but your great-grandfather brought sorrow and shame on to my Aunt Katie in a number of ways. I don�
�t know how she will receive you.’
‘I understand—I understand perfectly what you mean.’ He was thinking of the baby who grew up to be his grandmother. ‘But…but that doesn’t alter the fact that she is my great-grandmother.’
‘How did you find out about her?’
‘The couple who are looking after my great-grandfather, they told me what they knew.’ He omitted to mention the man in the four-poster screaming out the name of Mulholland.
‘It would likely be a one-sided version,’ said Catherine stiffly, then went on, ‘She is ninety-two, Mr Rosier; and although she has all her faculties and can still get about quite well, the past at times comes flooding over her. If you knew all her history you would know that at intervals during her life she has known great trouble, and she has always been misrepresented, always.’ She paused; then shaking her head, added, ‘I don’t really know what to do about this, Mr Rosier, quite candidly, I don’t. Could I ask you to wait until my husband comes in and we could talk it over…I mean whether you are to see her or not?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.’
‘You see…It is awful for me to have to say this, but…but if your name hadn’t been Rosier I am sure she would have been quite over the moon to know she has a great-grandson…quite over the moon.’
‘Let’s hope she’ll be so yet.’
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘Yes; thank you. That would be very nice.’
‘Bridget, perhaps you’d show Mr Rosier round the garden while I see Nellie.’
Daniel was quick to notice that Bridget showed no enthusiasm to act as his escort, but when she opened the French windows and stepped out on to the stone-flagged terrace he followed her.
‘It’s pretty,’ he said.
She made no answer to this and continued down the three shallow steps to the path that led between some formal rose-beds.
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