‘You must give me two minutes’ start, two full minutes,’ Bridget was calling as she held two fingers up to them, and somebody cried, ‘All right, teacher; two full minutes from…now!’
Daniel watched Bridget running from the room, and someone rushed to the door and shouted after her, ‘Put out the lights as you go.’ And her voice came back crying, ‘Right.’
The timekeeper was continuing now; a hundred and sixteen, a hundred and seventeen, a hundred and eighteen, a hundred and nineteen; then on a loud yell, ‘Two minutes! Away! Away!’
Like a pack of hounds after a fox they rushed from the room into the darkness of the hall. There were squeals and shouts and yells, and a voice above the rest crying, ‘Once you get into the “tin” no talking, mind. Don’t give it away; make it last.’
Everybody seemed to be making for the stairs, and Daniel himself was groping towards them when he felt a hand clutch his, and he recognised the owner of the hand by the feel of a large dress ring, an outsize ring. It was a pert little miss who had been after him all evening. He disengaged himself tactfully from the hand and made for the passage near the stairs. There was a large cloakroom to the left, where the gentlemen had left their coats, and opposite to it a door in the stair panelling. This had been open when he arrived and a light was on in some sort of room behind it. His host, too, had noticed it and had put out the light and shut the door, which fitted into the panelling and became part of the wall.
It was a place she might make for. He moved noiselessly on the thick carpet until he touched the end wall; then, his head close to the panelling, he listened. But he heard no sound of smothered giggles, but what did come to him was a recognised scent. As a Christmas gift he had bought her a bottle of perfume; it was of an exclusive make and had a distinctive smell . When she had come downstairs into the drawing room earlier this evening he had been pleased she was wearing it. This house was full of the smell of perfume. All the girls were using perfume, but not this particular kind. This was a perfume well known to him; it was his mother’s favourite scent. He could have picked this perfume out of a hundred others.
A frantic urgency filled him now as his hand groped over the panelling trying to trace a knob, or a catch. When his prodding fingers came in contact with a raise in the wood he pressed it, and as he felt the door open his excitement mounted.
Gripping the edge of the door with his hand, he stepped tentatively forward into the blackness, but before he closed it behind him he put out his other hand and moved it in a wide half circle. It did not come in contact with anything until it was stretched straight out to the right of him, and then his fingers touched a face. He now pulled the door gently closed and, easing forward, raised his hand upwards above the face to the hair; then, sweeping his other arm into space to make sure that no-one else had got into the ‘tin’ before him, he whispered, ‘Bridget.’
There was no giggle, no laughter, no response whatsoever except the trembling of her body. He had both hands on her shoulders now, and again he whispered, ‘Bridget.’ But the only reply he got came through his hands: her whole body was shivering.
When he put his arms about her and pressed her to him the shiver passed into his body and they stood in trembling awareness until he whispered, ‘You know, don’t you?’ and to this her cheek made answer against his, and when his mouth found hers she answered its fierceness and they clung and swayed together in the blackness.
Not until there was a rapid sound of muffled feet above their heads did their lips part, and then Bridget, gasping for breath as if at the end of a race, buried her mouth against his neck, and he turned his face into her hair and moved it back and forward as if intent on losing himself in its depths.
‘Oh, Bridget, Bridget!’ His mouth was moving over her ear now, murmuring her name. While outside the door there were giggles and laughter and high squeals as bodies bumped in the blackness. When the door clicked open and a hand came groping around them they were standing apart, but when the huddle of bodies pressed them into the corner she was once more held tightly to him.
The game came to an end with more squeals and yells and the lights going on, and everybody describing where they had searched; most of them saying they had been sure Bridget had made for the attic.
‘Fancy you going under the stairs, Bridget.’ someone said.
‘I thought of under the stairs when I was up in the attic,’ said Ivy. ‘I thought to myself: she would never come up here, this is the obvious place; Bridget would choose something so simple that nobody else would think of.’
On and on the chatter went, while Bridget sat at one side of the room and Daniel at the other, and when their searching eyes met it was as if they had been newly born and nothing had ever happened to them before tonight, when they had come alive in the dark.
Chapter Seven
The stranger came and stood by his side and, pointing down the hill to where row after row of new houses could be seen and the foundations of many more laid, he said, ‘That’s a different scene from what it used to be, lad. I remember that place when it was a ghost town, or a ghost village. Pit village it was. Stood empty and gaping for years, the houses did, and then after the war they got going. Brave new world and all that. Afore your time, I suppose. They were goin’ to break eggs with a big stick, but then came the slump. Well, I suppose it’s no use puttin’ houses up when there’s no-one to pay the rent. But things are lookin’ up; oh aye, things are lookin’ up.’ The stranger nodded at him, then went casually on his way as if they would meet again and continue this one-sided conversation.
They were strange, these northern people, Daniel decided. Harsh, argumentative, bumptious, loquacious, narrow-minded, yet kindly, all-embracing, like that old man walking away there…coming up and speaking to him as if he had known him all his life, then walking away without saying goodbye. Yes, they were strange…And beautiful, and wonderful, and exciting…Would she never come?
For three-quarters of an hour he had stood here and the wind was finding its way through his fleece-lined overcoat, through his suit, and his fine woollen shirt and vest. For three days now he had stood at this same spot waiting for her, and if she didn’t come today he would phone and tell her he was coming to the house. That should bring her out.
He was feeling desperate, ready to do anything. He had been playing with the idea all day of going and confronting Peter, telling him that he loved Bridget and she him…And she him? She had never said she loved him. But what need was there for words? Hadn’t she told him all he wanted to know in that cupboard in the dark? But he had been unable to get near her since.
Peter had turned up at the party at the last minute, and they had all gone home together, and on the journey they had been quiet. Peter, too, had been quiet. Their quietness had been the outcome of guilt, and love, and worry about the future, while Peter’s quietness had presumably been because his mother had again spoiled another evening for him.
For three days following the party he had not had one minute alone with her. Always there was Catherine or Aunt Katie near her. And in the evenings there was always Peter. He hadn’t been able to stand it; and so he had taken his leave of them, presumably to visit his friend Carruthers in Kent. But he couldn’t go. He couldn’t put so much distance between them.
The following day he had phoned the house, and by luck it was Bridget who answered the phone, and he told her that he was still at the Manor and that he must see her alone. He told her he would wait for her at the end of the Manor road around two o’clock each day until she came, and to this she had said softly, ‘Don’t, Daniel; it’s no use,’ and had added quickly, ‘And a Happy New Year to you too.’ From this he guessed there was someone in the hall. She had then said goodbye and rung off. And this was the third day of waiting.
He looked at his watch, which said a quarter to three. He would give her another fifteen minutes, then he’d go to the phone. They weren’t to know where he was ringing from. He could enquire after his great-grandmother; and he would tell
them he had business to do with regards to the house and was coming back north tomorrow and would look them up.
When the car came towards him and he saw her through the windscreen he didn’t believe it was true, and so he stood perfectly still until she drew up opposite him. Then, as if he had been shot from the grass verge, he sprang across the road and opened the door and took the seat beside her. She did not look at him but kept her eyes fixed on her two hands, which were on the wheel, until he put his hand over one of hers, when she turned her face towards him, her blue eyes strange to him because they were full of deep sadness, and she said softly, ‘Oh, Daniel, we mustn’t; it’s wrong.’
‘No, Bridget. No. It can’t be. Look, drive to the house along here.’
‘I can’t stay; they expect me back for tea.’
‘Well, that isn’t until nearly five. I want you to see the house. Really I do. Come on.’
She put in the clutch and set the car in motion and within five minutes they were going up the tree-covered drive and on to the grass-covered shingle in front of the house.
When she stopped the car she bent forward and gazed up at the huge stone pile; she still looked upwards as Daniel opened the door and helped her to alight.
‘It’s so big,’ she said. ‘I never thought of it like this.’
‘Come on round the back and meet the Robsons.’
‘Oh no! No, Daniel; I don’t want to see them.’
‘They’re nice, you’ll like them. Come on. I told them I may be bringing a friend.’
In the kitchen he introduced her to Willie and Maggie and they shook hands with her, both saying the same thing, ‘We’re very pleased to meet you, miss.’ And they sounded pleased. And she smiled at them, and after a moment said haltingly, ‘I know all about this house. My…my Great-Aunt Katie used to work here—in…in this very kitchen, I suppose.’
‘Yes, indeed. Indeed.’ Maggie nodded at her. ‘But it would be more comfortable in those days, miss. At that time, I understand, they had twenty or more servants in the house. Just fancy, twenty or more.’
‘And Aunt Katie was the lowest of them all,’ she said, ‘being the scullery maid.’
‘Well, we all have to start somewhere, miss, and she didn’t stay a scullery maid for long, did she?’ Willie asked and answered his own question, which was followed by an awkward silence until Maggie said, ‘Well, sir, I suppose you want to show the young lady the house, and by that time I’ll have a cup of tea ready for you and a bite to eat along in the sitting room. Will that be all right?’
‘Fine, thanks, Maggie.’
When Daniel led Bridget along the dim corridor she whispered to him, ‘I won’t be able to stay that long; I mustn’t be too late,’ and he whispered back, ‘You just need to take a cup of tea, just to please them.’ Then he opened the door and she was in the hall, and, as he himself had done when he first saw this place, she stopped and gazed about her. After a while she brought her eyes to him, saying under her breath, ‘I’ve always seen this hall as a place of brightness; even when Aunt Katie’s told me it was dingy, dirty even, when she last saw it, I still had a particular kind of picture in my mind of dark wood and shining glass and silver.’
‘It could be bright again,’ he said; ‘it just needs cleaning and redecorating.’
He led her into the drawing room, and then into the dining room and the library; he showed her the little parlour, the gunroom, and all the small offices that seemed necessary to an establishment of this kind; then slowly, side by side, they mounted the stairs and when they reached the gallery he stopped.
Again Bridget gazed around her. This was the place, she was sure, from where her Aunt Katie had watched the dancers on the night of the ball, and it would be behind those faded curtains that she hid and went to sleep; and it would be behind there that he found her. Her eyes moved from the windows to the other side of the gallery and to a row of heavy-framed portraits, and slowly she walked towards the end one and gazed at it for a moment before turning to Daniel and saying, on a high surprised note, ‘It’s you!’
‘I hope not. But there’s no getting away from the fact I’m remarkably like him. But, as I’ve said before, I don’t take it as a compliment.’
‘But it’s so striking, the likeness. I can see now why Aunt Katie was troubled the first time she saw you, and why she’s afr…’ She stopped, and turned to face the picture again, and he caught at her arm, saying, ‘What? Why she’s what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But you were going to say something. You were going to say “why she’s afraid”, weren’t you?’
‘No, Daniel.’
‘But you were. And I’ve sensed something too.’
‘Daniel, don’t talk about it, please. Come along, show me the rest. I can’t stay long, I’ve told you.’
He looked at her hard before turning away and saying, ‘All the rooms are very much the same on this floor, except two. I’ll show you his first. I meant to show you him himself if you had been able to come that morning, you remember? But now I’m glad you didn’t see him.’
He pushed open the door and entered the room first; then, turning, he looked towards the four-poster bed, the coverlet neat, the pillows lying flat, no sign of the terrible grotesque figure that had lain there for years, except the end of the leather strap that was still attached to the bedpost, its length hidden by the back of the bed. He moved towards the bedhead and picked up the strap and looked at it as he said, ‘He was bedridden for twenty years and paralysed all down one side, and for part of that time his one good arm was held by this strap in case he did someone an injury. He looked the most terrible sight I’ve ever seen, or ever likely to see. He was a bad man, yet since his funeral I’ve been wondering if his sentence didn’t outdo his misdeeds. I hadn’t a scrap of sympathy for him, not even when I saw him dropped into the grave, but since I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. Each day I see him clearly—not as I saw him lying in this bed, but as a young man, like I am, looking like I do, and I am wondering more and more how it all began, this twist in him. You know, it’s odd, Bridget—’ he looked into her face, ‘but these last few days when I’ve been wandering round the house, killing time, I’ve felt him near me. Every time I mounted to the gallery I felt that picture speaking to me, as if he were trying to tell me he had another side to him, and yet I have only to go into my great-grandmother’s room and I see him as an evil man. He acted evilly towards her; he acted evilly towards…Aunt Katie. When I look at him through their eyes I see him as wholly bad; but even so, I ask myself, did he deserve this and for so long?’ He weighed the strap in his hand, then let it fall back into place behind the bed, and when Bridget shivered he said, ‘You’re cold; take my coat.’
‘No, no; I’m not that kind of cold.’ She put out her hand protestingly. ‘Don’t take it off, Daniel, because I won’t wear it.’
He did not press her, but led the way out of the room and down the wide corridor and into another room. ‘This,’ he said, ‘was her room. His wife’s.’
‘Oh, this is different. This has been a nice room.’
‘She made it nice. She, too, lived alone here for years. From what I can gather, it used to be his room when he was a young man, and theirs when they were first married.’
She walked towards the bed and, bending over it, touched the faded silk coverlet, and as she did so he said, ‘Can you imagine them living year after year in this house, in these two rooms, and never seeing each other? Do you know, they never saw each other’s faces for over thirty years, and he had hurt her so much that I think she must have prayed daily that he would die. You know, that’s what I mean when I said to you it isn’t only the working-class that suffer.’
She looked into his eyes for a moment; then her lids dropped as she murmured, ‘You wouldn’t have to argue that point very long for me to agree with you.’
‘Bridget.’ With a swift movement his arms were about her, and when she tried to press him away he held her closer a
nd, his face hovering over hers, he said, ‘When did you know?’
She closed her eyes tightly and moved her head from side to side, but she did not answer him.
‘Bridget, tell me. I want to know. From our first meeting? I know I did. Bridget, you love me. Say you love me.’
When she still did not answer, his lips sought hers; but her hand came between them, and now, her eyes wide, she pleaded, ‘Please, please, Daniel, don’t. It’s no use; it can lead nowhere.’
‘What do you mean, it can lead nowhere? It’s got to; it must, it must. You don’t know how I feel about you, Bridget. I’m…I’m all burned up inside, racing. I’ve never felt like this before in my life, but I know now this is what I’ve been waiting for. This is the answer to everything; it’s given meaning to living, the lot. Oh, how can I explain. I want to say so much…’
‘Daniel! Daniel!’ Again she closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t go on. Look, let me sit down.’ She turned her head from him and looked towards the edge of the bed, and still with his arms about her they sat down, and she tried to disengage herself, saying, ‘Hold my hand, Daniel. Just hold my hand and let me talk.’
Their hands linked tight, she looked down on them and, keeping her gaze on them, she began to talk. ‘It…it doesn’t matter what I feel, Daniel, I’m going to marry Peter…Now…now listen.’ She shook her hands within his grip. ‘Listen to me. Listen to me…The other night was a moment of madness. It…it was the party; everyone being silly, and the wine and…and the darkness…’
‘It was no such thing, Bridget. You know it and I know it.’ His voice came flat and sounded strangely unemotional at this moment.
She lifted her face up to his and looked deep into his eyes, and her mouth opened and shut as if she were gasping for air. Then, swallowing hard, she went on, ‘We’re a happy family, Daniel. At least we were. We are all very close, so close that what happens to one affects us all. It’s always been like that. Aunt Katie adores Mother, and Mother adores Aunt Katie; and Dad adores Mother; and they all adore me.’ Her chin dropped on to her breast now as she ended, ‘That, I suppose, is the trouble, the way they feel about me. So I couldn’t do anything to hurt them, not if it meant me being unhappy all my days…’
Katie Mulholland Page 51