The Wingless Bird

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Don’t be silly, Reginald; you could be sent into battle. You call that being cushioned?’

  ‘Mama, there can be years when a soldier doesn’t fire a gun, either in anger or because he’s ordered to. There can be years between wars.’

  ‘Not if we have to go by Nessy’s views. We had a letter from her yesterday. She’s talking of coming back to England to stay. Can you imagine that? She who bragged at Christmas that she would willingly go to the guillotine for France. But from her letters she seems to have changed her tone, especially during these last few months.’

  ‘Well yes, I know how things stand, Mama. But to get back to Charles. I would advise you both to go gently, because if you don’t and he marries her and you don’t accept her, you’ve seen the last of him; and none of us would like that, would we?’

  ‘You’re not much comfort, Reginald. I thought you would have been the first to say the whole situation is ridiculous, a novelette situation, as I see it. And just imagine what the staff would think if he marries that girl. Talk about putting ideas into servants’ heads. Just think of those two in the kitchen. Dixon is quiet enough but Morley is very pert and she’s only sixteen. As for Steele, she’s already an old maid at twenty-five, but that doesn’t stop her running after Powell, the under-gardener, and he years younger.’

  Reginald was laughing at his mother now, saying, ‘How do you know all this, Mother?’ Then he added, ‘Oh, Mary, our Mrs Mitcham; she has her ears to the keyholes.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Reginald. She does her duty, and keeps her eyes open. It’s her business.’

  ‘And as I said, Mama, her ears to keyholes. Charles and I caught her once when we had the Pitmans here staying and they were arguing.’

  ‘You never did! Anyway, as I said, what is the staff going to think should this unfortunate thing come about?’

  ‘Well, what I say, Mama, is damn the staff, in this case, anyway.’

  ‘Reginald!’ The Colonel was on his feet. ‘Remember to whom you are speaking.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mama.’ Reginald inclined his head towards his mother. ‘And look; let me think about this, and I’ll have to have a talk with Charles. Not that I can see it will do much good, because if he’s made his mind up that’ll be that. But then there is another side to it: that young lady, as I remember, seemed to have a will of her own, and I fear that if she felt she wasn’t wanted or was considered less than suitable for a well-loved member of this house, then who knows, she might turn him down. And then what?’

  ‘You think that’s a possibility?’

  ‘Yes, just. She was a very independent person, if I remember rightly, and although she denied being a suffragette she had opinions on women’s rights. Now if you’ll both excuse me I’ll slip upstairs. Mitcham’s setting a tray up for me. And I’d like to have a bath. I’ll be down later.’

  As Reginald went from the room, the Colonel looked at his wife and said quietly, ‘You’ve got a fight on your hands, my dear, and on two fronts I’d say.’ He hadn’t said ‘we have a fight on our hands’ but ‘you have a fight on your hands, my dear.’

  It was just on twelve o’clock. The brothers were sitting at the far end of the billiard room, Reginald slumped in a big leather chair, Charles seated on the edge of a similar one.

  They had been talking for almost an hour when Reginald yawned and Charles said, ‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you up. But you understand, Reg, come what may, I’m going through with this because, you know, I’ve had the idea that I would never really fall in love. I’ve seen you with one girl after another, seemingly enjoying all facets of their company; but it never happened like that in my association with them. And until I met Agnes I’d never really felt at home with women. But with her I not only fell in love, but her very presence is home to me. I suppose it will sound silly to you but I want to be with her every minute. I can’t see life without her.’

  Reginald pulled himself up in the chair as he said, ‘It’s hit you hard, Charlie boy, hasn’t it? You know something? I understand her effect on you. And it’s no use saying at this stage you’ve got to make your choice; you’ve already done that. But what about her? Has…has she accepted you?’

  Charles gave a short laugh as he got to his feet, saying, ‘Yes and no, because without my explaining anything she seems to know exactly how she will be received at this end. And that, I must confess, worries me, because she has a very proud and independent spirit. I feel that if only Mama would have, I mean would meet her and…’

  Raising his hand in a warning gesture, Reginald said, ‘Now, now; don’t bank your hopes on that, Charlie. You know Mama, everyone in their place and a place for everyone. Mama, the sweet dear person that she is, has never moved out of the last century; and Father’s with her pretty much of the way too. But as for Mama, she’s got your Agnes dubbed in her mind as a shop-girl, and that’s almost equivalent to Gladys in the scullery or, at best, Janie Dixon. So, you’ve got to face up to something, Charlie: if you marry, I can’t see there’ll ever be an entrée here for your wife.’

  ‘Well, I’ll have to put up with that.’

  ‘And the estrangement of yourself from the family?’

  Charles paused before he answered, ‘That an’ all. Oh, that will hurt me, but it won’t make any difference between us, will it, Reg?’

  ‘Not a tick, Charlie. Not a tick. But then there’s Henry, the son of God.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think Henry will be stiff-necked.’

  ‘Nor do I, no, nor do I.’

  ‘So that only leaves Mama and Father.’

  ‘Yes, and the Combeses, and the Hammonds, and of course the Pickerings. Oh, you know you’ll get the name of doing the dirty on Isobel.’

  ‘That’s absolute nonsense. I’ve told you before, Reg, I’ve never had any idea of marrying Isobel; and I don’t think she’s had any ideas in my direction either.’

  ‘Oh, now, now; don’t close your eyes to Isobel’s requirements. All right, she’s horsy, but, you know, horses breed.’ He grinned at his brother.

  The mention of horses brought Elaine into Charles’ mind and he said, ‘And, of course, there’s Elaine. I’d be very sorry if Elaine were to turn snooty.’

  ‘Oh, you never know with Elaine: that’s what you’ll have to find out. And’—Reginald now laughed outright—‘there’s Nessy. I wonder what Nessy will think.’

  ‘Well, we’ll soon find out about that. I understand she’s coming over; it seems she might want to settle here.’

  ‘Yes, so Father said. Look, Charlie, I’ve got the feeling that Mama might persuade Father to show himself down there, hoping that his very presence will intimidate Agnes.’

  ‘Well, I could assure Mama Agnes won’t be intimidated by Father; but his presence and manner might strengthen that independent spirit and make my job much harder and longer…You’re not leaving until tomorrow afternoon, are you?’

  ‘I’m getting the twelve o’clock train.’

  ‘Look, Reg’—Charles moved a step forward—‘you’re going from Newcastle station. It’s only a short cab ride to the shop. Would you drop in and tell her that you’re with us?’

  ‘Oh, no, laddie. No. I’ve already told Mama that I just couldn’t go there.’

  ‘She knows you, Reg.’

  ‘She doesn’t. We’ve only met the once.’

  ‘You got on well together. I felt you liked her.’

  Reginald turned away now and walked by the side of the billiard table, and there, reaching over, he grabbed a white ball and sent it skimming towards the far cushion, then watched as it rebounded from various cushions before slowly rolling to a stop. Then swinging round, he said, ‘What good would it do? If she’s as independent as you say, I can’t see my presence and my chit-chat altering her opinion of the feeling at this end.’

  They were staring at each other now, then Charles said, ‘I understand. I’m sorry I asked. Forget about it,’ and he turned abruptly and walked down the room. Before he reached the door, however, Reg
inald called after him, ‘Leave it till the morning.’ But as Charles pulled the door open he said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  When the door closed Reginald looked down onto the billiard table and, grabbing at the same ball, he threw it with such force towards an end pocket that it bounced up onto the wooden frame and fell to the floor. And when, a second later, he picked it up, he looked at the hand that was gripping it and muttered, ‘Hell’s flames!’

  Agnes was in the sweet factory, standing to the side of Tommy Grant as he poured sugar into the big iron pan, but she was speaking to Robbie Felton, saying, ‘Tommy will show you all that has to be done. It’s merely the lifting of the sacks from the storeroom and these pans.’ She moved her hand along the table on which there were three large copper pans. ‘Just doing the heavy work at first. But if you want to learn…well, Tommy’s the one to show you. Anyway, you could take it until there’s a vacancy on the quay. It’s up to you. As you see, there isn’t a very large staff.’ She smiled at him. ‘Only Tommy here knows everything that you might want to learn about sweet-making. And Betty there’—she inclined her head—‘and Doris, they are expert wrappers, none better.’ She smiled at them too and, unlike Robbie, they returned her smile.

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘Well, if you look at it that way, whatever you do is going to lack interest and…’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ll take it. Thanks. When do I start?’

  ‘Well, you’ll want to get settled in first; you could start on Monday. Is that all right with you, Tommy?’ She turned to the old man, and the answer she got was a grunt.

  ‘Well then, that’s that.’ She was about to turn away when the far door of the building opened and all work was stopped for a moment as five pairs of eyes looked at the tall army officer standing there. And when he said, ‘Oh, I…I was told you were here. I called at the shop,’ then began to walk down the middle of the factory towards her, she too moved forward to meet him.

  ‘I hope I’m not intruding?’

  ‘No. No, not at all.’

  When they met there was a moment of embarrassed silence—the girls had not resumed work, neither had Tommy Grant; as for Robbie, the look he was bestowing on the officer was almost a glare—and Agnes tactfully broke the silence, aiming to be amusing as she said, ‘Have you come after a position?’

  Reginald threw back his head and laughed; then, turning about to look at the two staring girls, their hands still for once, he nodded towards them as he said, ‘I could at that. Yes, I could be after employment. It all depends on what you pay.’

  There was a high giggle from Betty and Doris, but still that stiff stare from Robbie and a look of enquiry on Tommy Grant’s face. And it was to him that she turned first and said, ‘This is Tommy. Mr Tommy Grant, Captain Farrier. He has managed our little factory for the last fifty years.’

  ‘Indeed. Indeed. How d’you do, Tommy?’

  Tommy rubbed his hand quickly on his trouser leg before thrusting it out towards the captain, saying, ‘Pretty well, sir. Pretty well for me age.’

  But there was a definite hesitation in Agnes’ voice now as she said, ‘This is my brother-in-law, Mr Robbie Felton.’

  There was the same hesitation in Robbie’s putting his hand out to this officer as there had been to Charles. But when it was shaken firmly his expression relaxed a little. And when Agnes said to him, ‘Will you tell Jessie, Robbie, that I’ll be up shortly?’ he merely nodded.

  Looking at Reginald, she said, ‘Would you come this way?’ And he, nodding from one to the other, said, ‘Goodbye,’ and followed her.

  ‘We’ll go in the back way.’

  When she went to open the staircase door his hand shot out and pulled it forward; and as she mounted the stairs he turned and closed it. She was about to lead him into the sitting room when Alice came hurrying towards them, saying, ‘Oh, I didn’t know; it was Maggie who directed…’

  ‘It’s all right, Mother. This is Captain Farrier. My mother, Captain.’

  They all went into the sitting room now and when her mother started again, ‘I’ll speak to that girl, I will,’ Agnes said, ‘Mother, it’s all right. Don’t worry. The Captain enjoyed his visit to the factory. He’s thinking about applying for a post when his time in the army is up. Isn’t that so, Captain?’

  ‘Yes. Yes.’ He smiled widely at Alice.

  ‘Would you like a drink, sir? Tea or coffee?’

  ‘Nothing for me, thank you. I haven’t very long to stay; I’ve only been on a short leave. I’m catching the twelve o’clock train.’ He looked at his watch to see it was eleven o’clock. Then he added, ‘But thank you, all the same.’

  ‘Then another time…another time?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, indeed.’

  Alice took two steps back before turning and going quickly from the room; and now Agnes said, ‘Do sit down.’

  He had been holding his cap in his hand all this while, and now he laid it on a chair before taking his seat at the other end of the couch, after which they sat looking at each other for a moment before she said, ‘The correct phrase is, I think: And to what do I owe the honour of your visit, sir?’

  His lips were pressed tight for a moment before he smiled at her, saying, ‘I wonder if there’ll ever be an occasion sprung on you that you’ll not take in your stride, or be unable to sum up.’

  ‘Many, I expect.’ Her face was unsmiling. ‘But it is so evident what yours is. While pleading for Charles, you are also warning me off. Is that not so?’

  ‘Not altogether. I have no need to bring a plea for Charlie. Charlie can do his own pleading. He is the most stubborn individual on God’s earth as you may find out, but I must be honest about the latter part of your statement. It would be no use being otherwise with you. My people are…well, rather old-fashioned. I would say very old-fashioned. As Charlie and I both know, they are still living in the last century: their moral values; their ideas of behaviour. What’s right in one section of society can be termed wrong in another. They still believe in God-given privileges. You understand?’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, I understand. And because I understand, I know that if I were to marry Charles he would be cut off from his people and all that he has been brought up to expect from life.’

  ‘Well, not quite. Yes; may be cut off from some but never from me or, I’m sure, from our other brother, Henry. And as for Charlie missing his way of life, do you know he was due to go up to Oxford? He had turned down flat the idea of the army, but then to everyone’s amazement he turned down Oxford too. He said he wanted to travel, and he did an’ all, on a very low key: France, Italy, Germany. He was away nearly two years, and when he returned he said he was going to write about old places, castles, halls, manors, and the life that went on in them. And that’s what he’s done ever since, and is happy in it. And I know it’s afforded him an experience he wouldn’t have otherwise had because he’s met all types of people.’

  There was a quirk on her lips as she said, ‘That, I should imagine, his parents would consider anything but advantageous because, among the types he has met, there are some they would feel to be quite out of his class. Isn’t that so?’

  He turned his head away while shaking it and he didn’t answer for a moment; then he said, ‘Well, I’ve tried to explain the way they have been brought up, the way they have lived. They have a small clique of friends, mostly ex-army, some from India, and they, I must confess, are the worst when it comes to defining class, for they’ve been used to being waited on hand and foot. Oh dear!’ He was smiling at her now as he put out his hand and placed it on hers. ‘It’s the way things are, my dear. It’ll change, but it will be a slow process, I’m afraid. But I’m not here to put my parents’ point of view, I’m here to say that if you love Charlie well enough, deeply enough, then you must ignore all the obstacles that might be put in your way. Some you will hardly recognise, they’ll be so subtle. I think they are the worst. But you are a thinking person, very clear-headed, at least that is my
judgment of you on this, only our second meeting.’

  He was still holding her hand when he hitched himself along the couch and closer to her and, his deep brown eyes now tight on hers, he asked quietly, ‘Do you really love Charlie…really love him?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I really do love him.’

  There was a slight pause after he lifted her hand to his lips before he said, ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world, my dear.’ And then he rose abruptly, saying, ‘I must be off. I…I mustn’t miss that train or I’ll be court-martialled.’ As she made to accompany him he put up his hand and said, ‘Don’t come, please. Stay where you are. I can find my way out. It’s a door on the opposite side of the corridor on the right.’ He picked up his cap from the chair, went down the room but turned at the door and bowed slightly towards her. Then he was gone.

  When she sat down again on the couch it was as if she had been pushed there, for she was lying now with her head back and looking upwards; she was experiencing the most odd feeling. She knew she had been subjected to the charm of a man who was used to dealing with women, the practised charm of one of his class. Charles had charm but it wasn’t so polished as his brother’s. She lifted her good hand and looked at it. It was the first time any man had kissed her hand. That kind of thing only happened in theatre plays and always by men like him, handsome, strikingly handsome.

  She sat up straight and she looked round the room. What had he thought of this place? But more so, what had he thought of the introductions in the factory? She had done that on purpose. She could have easily turned and walked him out of the place. But she had to expose the lowliness of her position and the people who were her daily companions, and there had to be Robbie Felton there. But just as Charles had done, so he had acted towards them as if he were meeting one of his own kind…the mark of a gentleman of his class.