It was half-past ten the same evening and Catherine and Tom were alone in the drawing room. They were standing facing each other in front of the couch, and Tom, his face stern now, where it had been broad with laughter and jokes all day, said, ‘I just don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.’
‘Why do you think he’s stuck out all day? Not because of us, or Aunt Katie; he was waiting for her coming back. He sat there making conversation all night just waiting, waiting.’
‘But Bridget…does she know?’
‘Yes, she knows. Haven’t you noticed how she’s changed since Christmas? And even before that she was all tensed up, high wires, laughing too much, singing too loudly. She was never like that before, and never with Peter; she’s always been serious-minded.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Tom rubbed his hands over his face. Then, after a moment of consideration, he exclaimed, ‘But he said he had a girl somewhere, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, of course. Don’t be so be stupid, Tom. She was the girl he was meaning. I fully expected him to tell you her name at any minute. I felt he was just waiting for a lead in. You know Aunt Katie has always said that old Rosier was an utterly ruthless man. Well, now I’m thinking that he might have passed some of it down, because as the day’s worn on I’ve had the feeling that Daniel will stop at nothing to get her. It got stronger with each hour he sat there.’
Tom dropped heavily down on to the couch and, putting his elbows on his knees, he stared towards the fire, and after a short silence he asked, ‘Would you mind him if Peter wasn’t on the scene?’
‘I don’t know, Tom. I’ve asked myself that question already. One thing is I couldn’t bear the thought of her going to America.’
‘But would you mind him having her?’
Catherine closed her eyes. ‘I don’t dislike him, Tom—you can’t dislike him, he’s so attractive and kindly; yet underneath I’m seeing him all the time as Aunt Katie sees him now, as a chip off the old block. Anyway there’s Peter, and Peter’s gone through enough, God knows, without this hitting him…And she loves Peter, I know she does, Tom. I think what she feels for Daniel is a sort of…of fascination. No girl could help but feel otherwise if she was with him for long, because he’s got everything in his favour—looks, manner, voice, the lot. But she loves Peter.’
‘Well, if she loves Peter she’ll marry him.’ Tom’s voice was flat now.
‘She mightn’t get the chance.’
‘What do you mean?’ He jerked his head round to her as she walked behind the couch towards the door, and she replied, ‘I just don’t know what I mean, Tom.’ She had paused and was looking over her shoulder. ‘Only I’ve got the feeling, as Aunt Katie has had since shortly after he came here, that if something isn’t done there’s going to be trouble. I think you should give Peter the tip.’
‘What!’ Tom got to his feet. ‘Tell Peter that Daniel’s after her? Oh, lass, have sense. Do you want to cause ructions?’
‘Well, there’ll be more ructions, I’m warning you, if he doesn’t get cracking, and soon. And I mean soon.’
‘You mean, them get married right away?’
‘As soon as ever possible.’
‘But…but his mother isn’t cold yet.’
‘That’s nothing but old-fashioned twaddle. You talk to him, tell him plainly what’s happened. You could tell him that she’s not really aware of it. That’s a lie, but it’ll ease his mind. And advise him to go ahead and suggest a special licence. Now look, Tom…’ She turned right round now and walked a few steps towards him again. ‘If you don’t want Peter to be left on the rocks and broken up, because that’s how he’ll be, and if you don’t want us to lose her altogether, because all this talk of him staying teaching here is, to my mind, a lot of eyewash, and if you don’t want Aunt Katie to die before her time, then you’ll do what I say. This way there’s only going to be one hurt, and that’s him; the other way there are all of us, and our whole family life will be broken up, because what would we be like, dear…’ Her voice dropped now, ‘Just imagine what we’d be like with her and Aunt Katie gone. They are such a part of us that nothing would ever be the same again.’
Tom stared at her; then he watched her turn slowly away and walk out of the room, and when the door closed on her he still stood looking at it. She had said ‘part of us’ when she meant ‘part of me’. He loved Bridget, but he was always aware that she wasn’t his. He was very, very fond of Aunt Katie, but, he faced it, not to the extent that Catherine was. Catherine and Aunt Katie were like mother and daughter. If both Bridget and Aunt Katie were gone he would survive because he would have Catherine; and, after all, Catherine was all he wanted from life. But with her it was different; she needed them both to complete her happiness. The hurt, that over the years he had covered with a joke and a laugh, brought his head down to his chest and his teeth clamping on his lower lip.
Chapter Nine
The letter came on Wednesday morning. Nellie had brought the mail into the breakfast room, as usual, and left it on the sideboard. Catherine, sorting through it, held the particular letter in her hand. It was addressed to ‘Miss Bridget Mulholland, Loreto, 18 Tree Drive, Westoe, South Shields’. She recognised the writing. The letter was still in her hand when she heard Bridget’s voice calling from the stairway, saying, ‘Mother, have you seen a blue notebook?’
She paused only a second before thrusting the letter into the pocket of her flowered overall and going to the door. ‘What sort of a notebook dear?’ Her voice cracked on the words and she put her hand over her mouth and cleared her throat.
‘A school book, you know.’
‘Was it a particular one?’
‘Yes, I was checking it last night when Peter came round. I don’t know where I’ve put it.’
‘Oh well, look in the office; I cleared up a number of papers and things and pushed them in there.’
As Bridget went into the office Catherine put her hand in her pocket again. What had she done? Oh, what had she done? Well, she could give it to her at lunchtime, saying that it came by the second post. But first she must talk it over with Aunt Katie. But oh, dear God, she felt awful, awful…
A few minutes after Bridget had left for school Catherine went upstairs and taking the letter from her pocket she held it out towards Katie, who was sitting propped up in bed finishing her breakfast, and said quietly, ‘There’s a letter for her from him. I’ve…I’ve held it back. I feel awful, terrible.’
Katie took the letter from Catherine’s hand and gazed at it. She gazed at it a long while before she said quietly, ‘Steam it open, and we’ll know then if we’ve been right or wrong.’
‘Oh, Aunt Katie!’
‘It’s the only way, Catherine. Do it carefully so that if we’re wrong it can be stuck back. If we’re right, then you must burn it.’
Catherine bowed her head deeply on to her chest as she said, ‘This is awful. I feel terrible about it…terrible.’
‘I know, dear, I know. I feel dreadful myself…Do…do you think Peter spoke to her last night?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure he did, but she’s said nothing so far. But then there was no time this morning as she was late getting up. I…I think’—her head bowed again—‘I think she had been crying last night; her face was swollen.’
‘Well, far better she cry now, Catherine, than cry for the remainder of her life.’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. But, you know, I’m finding that I can’t look her in the face. Since Sunday I’ve felt that I’m deceiving her in not letting on he was here.’
‘Open the letter, Catherine,’ said Katie, quietly now, ‘and find out if she’s been deceiving you…’
Catherine steamed open the letter in the kitchen while Nellie was working upstairs, and on taking out the single sheet of paper she screwed her eyes up and closed them immediately she read the heading, ‘Darling, darling, Bridget.’ Then, looking at it again, she read, ‘You’ll know now I waited until late on Sunday evening for you. I was d
etermined to see you if only for a moment. Talk about a day in hell. There they sat willing me miles away. I felt it every moment, but I stuck it out. And you didn’t come. Can you guess how I felt? On the way back I made up my mind to come down on Monday and tell them the truth—the truth that I can’t live without you and I don’t intend doing so; but in the cold light of Monday morning the fact that any such action of mine might finish Great-Grandmother prevented me, because I know if anything happened to her through me you would never forgive me.
‘Still thinking along these lines, darling, I am quite willing to wait until she goes, if you’ll only make the situation clear to Peter. Don’t think I’m not sorry for him, I am; he’s a nice fellow. But I love you so, Bridget, and were he a thousand times nicer I’d willingly see you dead before he’d have you.’
Catherine turned the sheet of paper over and continued reading.
‘I have so much I want to say to you, I am full of plans. Do you know what I’m thinking? The Manor would make a first-rate private school. What about that? It’s a great idea, isn’t it? You and me running it…Yes, marm. No, marm. I’d be your most willing pupil, dearest Bridget.
‘Bridget, Bridget, come to me. Please, I beseech you, don’t make me do anything silly. I don’t want to hurt anyone, believe me. I’m considering them as much as you are, and I can stand anything as long as I see you. As you know, I’m due back in Cambridge on Friday. I’ll be at the house on Thursday, and I’ll wait for you as before. I know you can’t get along until after school, but come then, please, please.
‘You remember my tirade about adoring—well, I have succumbed and joined the rest. I adore you, Bridget, adore you, adore you. Your Daniel.’
‘Oh, dear God! Dear, dear God!’
When she took the letter upstairs and Aunt Katie had read it they both looked at each other but did not speak. They had no words with which to condemn their beloved Bridget or to condone their action, but in Catherine’s heart she was saying now, ‘Oh, I wish, I wish it could be possible,’ and something like a faint echo of it was in Katie’s also; but it was only faint because she was remembering the saying about the rotten apple contaminating the rest of the barrel. And it wasn’t to be imagined that Daniel the Third had escaped the taint of the Rosiers.
Three more letters were to be steamed open. The first arrived the following week, and it did not begin ‘Darling, darling Bridget’, but started abruptly, ‘How can you do this, Bridget? I could never imagine your being hard or callous, but you are being both. I’m in hell. Don’t do this to us. I waited until ten o’clock on that road. I was for coming down the next morning and shaking the life out of you, but where would I do it? At your school, or in the street? If I hadn’t had to return here on Friday I would surely have come to the house and blown the whole thing up. I am still angry at you for being so stubborn. I only asked you to meet me, to see me, so that we could talk; that was all. I promised you faithfully I wouldn’t do anything rash, I just asked to see you.
‘I’ll take back what I demanded in my last letter, that you explain the situation to Peter. You can have it all your own way, but I must see you, or at least hear from you. I feel utterly frustrated because I cannot get away for the next two weekends. Write to me, Bridget. I beseech you, write to me…’
Catherine could read no more. She crushed the letter up in her fists and thrust it into the fire; then gave a great start as the door opened and Tom entered the room.
Looking at her face, Tom came to her quickly, saying, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
Catherine shook her head and wetted her lips again and again before she could say, ‘Nothing; I just felt faint.’
‘It’s all this damned business. I wish it was over. I always looked forward to her wedding, I could see it as a great day; but this hurry-scurry…What’s puzzling me now is she seems eager to hurry it up, almost as much as Peter is.’
Making no comment on this, Catherine turned and looked towards the fire, to the black twisted blob resting near the top bar…God forgive her for what she was doing, for she could never forgive herself. And should Tom ever find out about this particular side of the business…well!
There were no letters from Cambridge during the next week, but, the following week the other two arrived; and then on the Saturday morning Daniel himself came to the house.
Nellie opened the door, her face one broad beam until she saw who was standing there, and after letting out a long-drawn ‘O-oh!’ her mouth dropped into a gape.
‘Hello, Nellie.’
‘Hello, Mr Rosier.’
‘Well, aren’t you going to let me in?’
‘Oh yes, sir. Yes, sir.’ She stood aside and pulled the door wide, and when he entered the hall and he heard no movement, either upstairs or down, he turned to her and said, ‘Where is everybody?’
Nellie looked up at Mr Rosier. His face looked pinched with the cold, he looked thinner somehow. Eeh, this was awful; she wished the missus was back. There was going to be high jinks, if she knew anything. There was something fishy going on, the missus telling her not to let on to Miss Bridget about him being here that Sunday…Funny, that was. ‘They’re all out, sir,’ she said. ‘That is, except ma’am—Mrs Fraenkel.’
‘Oh well, I don’t suppose they’ll be long. Is Mrs Fraenkel upstairs?’
‘Yes, she’s upstairs.’ Nellie raised her hand to the stairs, at the same time stepping back in the direction of the kitchen, and before he had taken his coat off she had scurried through the door. He looked towards it. What was the matter with Nellie? She was acting strangely. She knew something—most servants did. Had Bridget had the courage to speak out? His face lightened and he made for the stairs and took them two at a time, and when he reached Katie’s door he paused only a moment before knocking. But there was a longer pause before her voice came to him, saying, ‘Come in.’
Immediately he opened the door he saw the shock registered on her face, and when he walked quickly to the window, where she was sitting propped up in a chair, her agitation increased.
‘Aren’t you well, Great-Grandmother?’
Her lips moved in a pathetic fashion, denoting her age, before she said, ‘I’m…I’m all right, Daniel. I…I haven’t been too well lately, but…but I’m all right now.’
He pulled up a seat to her side and, after looking at her closely for a moment, said, ‘You look very beautiful today. That is a lovely gown you’re wearing.’
Katie looked down towards her lap where her fingers were twitching one against the other, and her hands began to smooth the folds in the blue woollen dress; the dress that she hadn’t worn for many a long day, the dress that she knew was much too young for her. ‘I…I used to fill this dress at one time’—she nodded down at her hands—‘but it hangs on me like a sack now.’
‘Nonsense. Nonsense.’
He felt that they were both parrying, but about what he wasn’t sure.
‘They’re all out,’ he said now. ‘The house is very quiet and empty downstairs.’
‘Yes, yes, they’re all out.’ She drew in a long breath and leant her head back against the cushion on the top of the chair, and now, as she looked at him, her gaze was steady and her voice firm as she said, ‘I wish you hadn’t come today, Daniel.’
He didn’t answer her for a time, and then, in a low tone, he asked, ‘Why do you wish that?’
‘What time is it?’ She turned her head slightly towards the mantelpiece as he looked at his watch and said, ‘Two minutes after half-past eleven to be correct.’ When he lifted his gaze to her she was staring fixedly at her hands and she kept her attention on them for a time before she said, ‘They should all be back shortly. Bridget was married at eleven o’clock, Daniel.’
Katie did not raise her eyes to his face. From under her lowered lids she could see his legs and his body up to his waist, and no part of him had moved. He had not jumped up and upset his chair. He was not screaming abuse at her, but even so her heart was thumping as if it would
leap from her breast. When the silence became unbearable she slowly lifted her head, and there was his face staring at her like the face of his great-grandfather the night she had thrown the candlestick at him. His dark complexion was grey and white, his eyes were pieces of shining pitch, there was a great silence about him; it was a force pressing against her, pushing her down the years to that room at the top of No. 14 Crane Street. It was a silence that only a Rosier could maintain. She put her two hands underneath her breast to try to still the thumping against her ribs. If…if he didn’t speak she would die, she would have a heart attack, and she didn’t want to die at this moment, not before she saw Bridget again…Bridget married.
When at last he spoke it was not of Bridget, nor was his voice harsh, yet it held a quality that pierced her through more than any recrimination could have done. ‘You hate me, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Oh no, Daniel; no! No! I don’t hate you.’
‘You hate me. You have manoeuvred all this because you hate me.’
‘I don’t, I don’t, Daniel.’ Her breath was coming in small gasps.
‘You planned all this.’ His voice had a painful level tone to it. ‘You knew I loved her and you planned this for revenge because of him. You made me pay for what he did.’
‘No! No, Daniel.’
‘Yes! And you’ve made her pay too, because she loves me; with every fibre of her being she loves me. I know that. But she didn’t want to hurt you, or Catherine, or Tom. I didn’t want to hurt you either because you are old; but you’re not old inside, are you, Great-Grandmother? You’re still young and suffering under the hands of my great-grandfather. That’s how you feel, isn’t it? And so you did this to pay him out.’
Katie Mulholland Page 53