Love and Mary Ann

by Catherine Cookson

  When she reached the bottom of the steps Corny was halfway down the street. She scampered after him and, pulling up breathlessly by his side, exclaimed, ‘Oh, Corny! Oh, you didn’t mean that, did you?’

  Corny did not answer. He was striding along, his arms moving as if he was on a route march.

  Mary Ann tried again. Walking and running alternately, she looked up at him and said, ‘You’ll have to go and see her…your granny. She’s in a bad temper, that’s why she said you hadn’t to go back. Will you go and see her? Will you, Corny?’

  When there was still no answer to her plea, she said with a touch of indignation, ‘Everybody was doing everything for the best, and, as Mrs McBride said, they were lovely clothes, and it will be a long time before you can buy things like them, and—’

  He had stopped so abruptly that she went on for a few steps before she realised he had come to a halt. When she went back to him he looked down on her and with his mouth grim, yet trembling slightly, he said, ‘Then if Aa can’t buy ’em Aa’ll hev to dee withoot, won’t Aa? An’ that’s just what Aa’ll dee. An’ Aa’ll tell ya somethin’ else when Aa’m on. She didn’t want me to hev ’em no more’n Aa did mesel.’

  ‘What! Your granny?’

  ‘Aye, me granny. That was aall a put-on show ’cos she didn’t want to upset yer ma. Aa knaa, Aa knaa me granny, Aa knaa her inside oot. An’ Aa knaa she knaas how Aa felt, for aall her life she’s never had nowt else but second-hand, aye, an’ third-hand things. Me ma says she’s never had a new rag since the day she was born…Well, that’s not gonna happen to me. If Aa can’t buy ’em new, then Aa’ll dee withoot. Ye can tell that to yer Mister God-Almighty. Ye can an’ aall.’

  As Mary Ann stared up into the tight, angry face she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry for Mrs McBride, who had never had a new thing in her life; she wanted to cry for Corny, who was determined not to start on the same road. She wanted to cry because of the feeling she had for Corny. It wasn’t like the feeling she had had the other day, all vague and misty, it was a firm feeling, solid, and it was taking up a large space dead-centre of her chest, and it made her say very quietly, ‘Well, I don’t care what you wear.’

  Corny stared at her for some time before swinging away and saying, ‘Aw! Go on back home.’

  But Mary Ann didn’t go back home, she continued to walk by Corny’s side in the direction of the ferry. It was she who was setting him home now. It was a silent journey until just before they came to the ferry landing, when Corny, looking straight ahead and as if he was continuing the conversation said, ‘Ye divn’t mind round here, round these quarters, but ye’d soon turn yer nose up if Aa showed up at your place like this.’

  ‘I wouldn’t. No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Aw well, yer needn’t worry.’ He moved his head in a flinging motion from side to side.

  ‘I’m not worrying at all. But I wouldn’t mind, I wouldn’t.’ She felt that she had to convince him that she wouldn’t mind, yet somewhere in the back regions of her head she knew that she would mind. Not for herself—if there was only to be Corny and herself she wouldn’t mind—but she would mind others seeing him.

  The first time she had walked in the street with him she knew she was ashamed of people seeing him with her, but now she was only ashamed of people seeing him so poorly put on.

  ‘Ye can’t come any farther.’

  She realised this, as they had reached the ticket office, and she looked up at him sadly, waiting for him to say something. But all he said was a muttered, ‘So long.’ Yet the quiet, subdued tone told her that in a way he was thanking her for her championship.

  When he got his ticket and moved away from the box office without again looking at her, she cried after him loudly, ‘Corny! I’ll…I’ll expect you on Sunday.’

  Corny did not pause in his walk, he went on towards the ferry where it was waiting to cross the Tyne, and the waters of the river were not so deep and wide as the gulf between them. Mary Ann became acutely aware of this as she watched his gangling figure disappear, and for a moment she hated the circumstances that separated them. She wished, oh, she wished with a deep longing, that she lived once again in the attic in Mulhattans’ Hall, and then it wouldn’t have mattered what Corny wore, she could have talked to him every day in the streets and nobody would have raised an eyebrow.

  When she could no longer see him she turned away and walked slowly back to Burton Street. She was sad with a new kind of sadness. It was a different sadness to that which she experienced when her ma and da weren’t all right; this sadness was a more private feeling, she couldn’t work it out with herself. She did not know that she was paying the first instalment on the price that is attached to rising socially. Not only were you expected to say mother and father instead of ma and da. Not only were you expected to speak grammatically in everything you said. Not only were you expected to say you were going to the bathroom when you were really going to the lavatory. But there were the big issues, like forgetting the people you once knew just because they dressed differently and talked differently. Dimly Mary Ann became aware that of all the things entailed by a rise in position the one that concerned people affected her most, and in the depth of her subconscious, unknown to herself, a revolt began, a revolt against everything and everybody who would try to turn her from…her ain folk.

  Chapter Eleven: The Night Before the Party

  It had been a hectic week for Lizzie. Cleaning and polishing from the top to the bottom of the house and baking in preparation for the great day, her hands and feet had been busy from morning until night. Her mind, too, had been busy, and it was not completely at rest.

  Mike and she were all right again—she thanked God for that, oh she did—but there had been the rather distressing business of Corny and the clothes on Wednesday which had upset her more than a little. She had felt ashamed of her attitude towards the boy, yet at the same time being glad that he wouldn’t be turning up at the party, with or without the clothes. He was over-big and too near to being what Lizzie considered a youth for Mary Ann to shower her first outgoing affection on; besides, he was a rough kind of lad. Yet in spite of all this, some part of Lizzie’s heart was drawn to the boy, for she recognised in him traits that were in Mike, pride and stubbornness, and she had thought that he could be her son more than Michael was. Then, too, there was the business of the looming court case. Like Mike she was sick at heart to think that their little bit of savings might have to go to people like the Johnsons. And last, but certainly not least, was the business of Tony. She just could not understand Tony. And as she stood at the table filling the boat-shaped tins with spoonfuls of cake mixture, she brought the subject up again with Mike.

  Mary Ann, almost sick with excitement—at least Lizzie imagined it was excitement that had caused the tummy upset—was in bed and asleep, and Michael was in the front room doing his homework. They had the kitchen to themselves. Pausing with the spoon in her hand, Lizzie looked at Mike, where he sat by the fire reading a farming journal, and asked, ‘Haven’t you any idea at all about Tony?’

  ‘No…No,’ said Mike again. But he did not lift his eyes from the magazine as he spoke. Most of the day a thought had troubled Mike, and he said to himself again now, ‘Oh, away, he would have more sense than to take umbrage at that.’

  ‘Well, I think his attitude is very odd and I think, Mike, it’s your business to find out what the trouble is.’

  ‘Hold your hand a minute, Liz. Who am I to go barging up to him and ask why he hasn’t been in? The door’s open for him; if he doesn’t want to come in that’s his business.’

  As Lizzie was about to make further comment Mike held up his hand and said, ‘Sh! Somebody’s coming up the yard.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ Lizzie had leaned towards the window, and now, turning her head swiftly, she whispered, ‘It’s Ben.’

  ‘Ben?’ Mike was on his feet. Ben had never been to the farmhouse door since they came here. Ben’s world centred around the house on the hill and i
ts master. Mike went quickly to the back door and a few minutes later he re-entered the kitchen with Ben at his side.

  Looking kindly at the old man and trying to hide the surprise she felt at his visit, Lizzie said, ‘Come away in, Ben. It is nice to see you.’

  ‘Surprised?’ Ben’s voice held its usual gruff note.

  Before Lizzie could attempt to lie pleasantly Mike said, ‘Here, take a seat, Ben.’

  ‘Thank you all the same, Mr Shaughnessy, but I won’t be staying more than a minute.’ Ben always addressed Mike as Mister Shaughnessy and so drew from Mike in return a definite respect and liking.

  ‘Well, even if you’re only going to stay a minute, now that you’re here you can take a seat. And perhaps a glass of cider or home-made wine? Lizzie’s a dab hand at making home-made wine. I’m sorry I’ve nothing in the way of a drop of hard to offer you.’ Mike smiled ruefully at the old man, attempting to put him at his ease, and Ben, in return, moved his parchment skin in what was for him a smile as he answered, ‘Thank you all the same. It’s very kind of you but I’ll have to be getting back. I just wanted to have a word with you.’ He looked from one to the other of them, then added, ‘A word with you both.’

  When he paused, Mike put in quietly, ‘Go ahead then. Go ahead, Ben.’

  ‘It’s about Master Tony. He’s aiming to leave. He could do it any minute, just go off. He’s been getting his things together in a quiet way all this week, and if he goes’—Lizzie watched the muscles of the old man’s face twitch as he finished—‘it’ll break the master.’

  ‘But why?’ Lizzie sat down, and she repeated, ‘But why? Why should he want to leave? What’s happened, Ben?’

  Ben now seemed reluctant to go on. He lowered his head and moved it from side to side before saying, ‘The master and he had a few words the other morning. It was from then.’

  ‘What was it over, Ben?’ Mike’s voice was quiet.

  Ben raised his eyes now and looked at Mike, and his lips trembled and his words came stumbling as he said, ‘It’s a…it’s a very delicate subject, Mr Shaughnessy.’

  ‘Let’s hear it, Ben.’

  ‘Well, it’s this way.’ Ben was turning his gaze towards Lizzie at the moment her eyes were being attracted by a dark form entering the courtyard. She was on her feet in a second and, stepping away from the view of the window, whispered hoarsely, ‘It’s him…Mr Lord.’

  At the mention of his master’s name Ben started as if he I had been shot, and Mike said quickly, ‘You can slip out the front way—he’ll never know you’ve been here. Come on.’ As Ben moved across the kitchen there came a sharp rap on the back door. The sound seemed to halt him and, looking at Mike, he said flatly, ‘I’m too old to scurry and I don’t like running away, not even from him.’ He again gave Mike what he considered a smile, and Mike, nodding in approval, said, ‘I’ll let him in.’ When Mr Lord entered the kitchen Ben was supporting himself with his hand on the edge of the table, and on the sight of his servant his head went up and he exclaimed in a high, disapproving tone, ‘Well! You’ve strayed, haven’t you? What are you doing here?’

  Ben’s tone was as curt as his master’s as he replied, ‘I’m visiting…I’m visiting my friends. Find fault with that if you can.’

  ‘Since when did you start going out visiting?’

  ‘Since I decided it was high time I took a bit of regular leave. I’ve hardly been across the door for years and I’m tired of my own company.’

  ‘You’re lying. Go on, get up to the house and I’ll talk to you later.’

  Ben moved slowly across the kitchen, and when he was level with Mr Lord he straightened his bent shoulders and looked him full in the face, but what remark he was about to make was checked by his master barking at him, ‘And you mind your own business. You’re an interfering old busybody, as fussy as an old fishwife. You cause more trouble than enough. Go on, get yourself up to the house.’

  Ben’s face tightened and his wrinkled chin became a knobbly mat as he declared stoutly, ‘You’ll go too far one of these days and you’ll get a surprise. I’ll not only go up, I’ll go out…I’ll clear out.’

  ‘Huh! I wish to heaven you would carry out your threat. Go on, you’re only wasting time.’ This last was accompanied by a deprecating wave of the hand.

  Lizzie listened to this angry exchange between the two old men with her hand on her throat. She felt consumed with sorrow for Ben…poor, faithful Ben. On the other hand that exchange almost made Mike laugh. These two had been together so long that they would be like limbless men if the one lost the other. He moved now towards Ben, saying quietly, ‘I’ll let you out, Ben. Look us up any night, you’re always welcome.’

  The huh! that escaped from Mr Lord on hearing this invitation sent them on their way to the back door, where Mike took leave of Ben by patting him on the back and whispering, ‘I’ll slip in in the morning, Ben, and have a word with you.’

  The old man nodded and seemed thankful for the suggestion, and for a moment Mike watched him shambling across the yard before returning to the kitchen.

  Mr Lord was seated on a stiff-backed chair, which seemed to suit his present attitude, for no sooner had Mike entered the room than he demanded, ‘Well, what was he after?’

  ‘After? What would he be after? As he said, he had just dropped in to see us.’

  ‘Don’t stall, Shaughnessy. He had come down here to talk about Tony, hadn’t he? Well, hadn’t he?’ He now turned his gaze on Lizzie and went on, ‘He had come to tell you that the boy was making plans to go off without letting me know, and he must be stopped. Well now, I’ll tell you something.’ His eyes were on Mike again. ‘Let him go, do nothing to stop him. I don’t care if I never set eyes on him again.’

  His voice had risen and was so full of anger that Lizzie, remembering what his fury had done to him three years ago and the disastrous heart attack that followed, cried, ‘Stop now. You don’t mean that, Mr Lord…Let me make you a drink.’

  ‘I do mean it, Mrs Shaughnessy. That boy is a fool. I should have recognised it in the beginning. He’s his grandmother over again—empty-headed, stupid, wilful…’

  ‘Now, sir’—this was Mike speaking quietly—‘you know that isn’t true. If it’s true of him, then it’s true of you, for you’re as alike as two peas.’

  ‘Don’t start that again, Shaughnessy. He’s got no more of me in him than you have. And I’m telling you’—his voice was even higher now—‘he’ll not get a farthing, not one brass farthing of mine. I’ll leave it to a dog’s home…cat’s home…rest home for old horses, anything but people…never a penny to him. I swear it. I do…I do.’

  ‘Mr Lord…’ Lizzie was standing close by the old man’s side as she said, ‘I’m going to get you a drink. Will you have a cup of strong coffee?’

  Looking up at her, Mr Lord swallowed twice, then took in a shivering breath before saying in an absolutely changed tone, ‘Thank you, Mrs Shaughnessy, yes, I’d like a cup of coffee.’ He glanced towards Mike now and in the form of a polite request he asked him, ‘Would you mind going to the car? There’s a flask in the right-hand pocket. I always carry a little…a little brandy with me.’

  After one quick glance at his master, Mike hurried out, and Mr Lord, with his hand pressed tightly under his ribs, looked at Lizzie again and asked quietly, ‘Did your husband tell you of the conversation we had the other morning regarding…regarding Mary Ann’s future?’

  Lizzie’s eyes widened just a fraction and she shook her head.

  ‘Well, that’s what all the trouble is about.’

  ‘Trouble?’ As Lizzie repeated the word a wave of fear sped through her. Somehow she had known all the time that this business was wrapped up with Mary Ann. But she couldn’t understand Mike knowing about it and not mentioning it to her, or, as was usual when the old man showed more than a little interest in Mary Ann’s future, going off the deep end about it.

  Mr Lord took in another deep breath before he said, and softer still now, ‘I though
t he might have told you.’

  At that moment Mike came hurrying into the kitchen, a flask in his hand, and going straight to the dresser and taking a glass from the rack he poured out a generous measure of the brandy and handed it to his master, who took it without a word and sipped at it slowly for a few moments. ‘You didn’t tell your wife,’ he said, ‘what we discussed the other morning, Shaughnessy?’

  Mike flashed a quick look at Lizzie’s back. ‘No, sir,’ he replied, ‘I didn’t think there was any need.’

  ‘Well, she had better know as it concerns her. It concerns us all. As I’ve just told her, it’s the cause of all the trouble.’ He took another sip of the brandy and, looking down into the glass where he had rested it on the corner of the table, he said, ‘Perhaps I was a bit too hasty after all, but I thought the boy still had an interest in that Johnson girl. I told him I was going down that morning to tell them they must vacate the cottage as soon as possible to make way for another man coming in, and he told me I couldn’t do it, it was cold-blooded.’

  ‘And so it would have been,’ Mike’s voice was stiff.

  Mr Lord continued to look down into the remains of the brandy in the glass as he went on, ‘Johnson was engaged weekly, I owe him nothing but a week’s wages. I was going to be generous and give him a month’s pay in lieu of notice but even that didn’t suit my socialistic-minded grandson, and one word led to another. And then, I’m afraid, I lost my temper and I told him that if he saw that girl again I would put the family out on the road. I also told him what I told you that particular morning.’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ Mike was not addressing Mr Lord, he was groaning aloud, and, looking at his employer square, he said bluntly, ‘Well, sir, I thought you would have had more sense.’

  Lizzie clutched the front of her dress and waited for Mr Lord’s response, and when it came it surprised her, for there was no lightning change of tone. ‘Yes, Shaughnessy, I should have thought so myself. But there, it was done, and if I had told him he mustn’t marry for five years because I had a rich widow lined up for him he could not have reacted in a worse manner.’