‘Yes, I’m back.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘Well, he looks much the same as always, except that he seems to be thinner. But he says his weight has kept steady over the last month or so. And Matron says if he gives himself another three months he should be well enough to come out.’
‘That’s good. That’s good.’
‘How has she been?’ Agnes looked down to the baby lying in the bassinet, sucking away at a dum teat, and she said, ‘Hello there, Betty Alice. Have you been a good girl?’
‘She’s always a good girl.’ Alice was now putting the kettle on. ‘You could do with a cup of tea?’
‘Yes; yes, I could. Where’s Jessie?’
‘She’s gone to his place with him. His mother sent word round that another of the tribe was for embarkation. I think it’s the Mike one; Willie and James, so I am given to understand, are already knocking hell out of the Germans, as Mrs Felton sees their role in France. And Jessie says she’ll have a job to stop Robbie following suit. He’s been worrying in case he gets a white feather. It’ll be the navy for him or a tramp steamer. And the Germans are not particular if they sink a battleship or one carrying food. And she’s got this on her mind all the time. It’s a wonder her milk doesn’t sour the bairn; it’s a well known fact that worry puts acid into it.’
‘I’ll go and change my dress while the kettle’s boiling.’ Agnes walked slowly out of the kitchen, her step heavy as if she had become very tired. And she was tired, mentally and physically she was tired. Now that she was in complete charge of the business, every moment of her time seemed to be taken up with it. Because of the war, trade had almost doubled in the tobacconist’s and the sweet department. It was a strange fact, but there were more women customers than men in the tobacconist’s, and there were more men entering the sweetshop wanting not quarter-pounds of chocolates but whole boxes of them. Last Christmas they had made ten batches of sugar mice and almost as many of the chickens. As she had said to her mother last night, the income from the business had been steady for years, but now it was galloping, and she was hard put to keep up the demands in either shop. And what would she have done without Jessie’s help, and yes, Robbie’s too?
It was strange how life cut out the pattern to fit into unexpected curves and corners. And look how her mother’s attitude had changed towards Jessie, who could claim no blood tie with her. They really were like mother and daughter as they had never been before. And her mother adored the baby, although she still alluded to her father as ‘him’ and never gave him his Christian name. But it was amazing how that marriage, between two apparent opposites, had turned out, for they couldn’t hide their happiness in each other any more than she and Charles could theirs.
She did not immediately change her dress but sat down on the edge of the bed and asked herself why she wanted to lay her head down on the pillow and cry. Charles was getting better and in three months’ time they would be married. Or would they? When sitting by the river that day, he had suggested a special licence for Jessie and Robbie, so what was there to stop her from getting a special licence immediately he came home? But he wanted Reg as best man; he was so very fond of Reg. Was Reg as fond of him? Yes, she supposed so, for he spent a great deal of time with him whilst on his last furlough.
Reg. She often thought of him out there, fighting in that terrible war. And the war had seemed to change him. His gaiety had become subdued. She had watched him as he sat at the far side of Charles’ bed, and at times he appeared to be far away. Charles had noticed this too and had remarked on it when he’d had her to himself.
‘It’s no picnic out there,’ he had said. ‘In fact it must be pretty hellish, because he won’t talk about it. He shies away from even mentioning the conditions they live under. The only thing he let slip, and it spoke volumes, was when he cursed the generals. Bloody generals, he said, plying their coloured pencils safely behind the lines.’
She looked around the bedroom. Could she bring Charles back to this room? There was no way she was going to turn her mother out of her room. And then Matron had said he shouldn’t live in the town; and so, what about the business?
She leant forward and rested her elbow on the bedside table and allowed her head to droop onto her hands; and she stayed like this for quite some time. When she straightened her back she nodded towards the wardrobe as if it had been waiting for an answer to the question, and she murmured aloud, ‘Yes, that’s what I could do. Robbie’s a decent fellow at heart and he took to working in the factory.’ And she recalled that he laughed when she had named the boiled-sweet room a factory, and in protest she had said to him and tersely, ‘We manufacture something, we manufacture sweets. It is a factory.’ And he had apologised in his own rough way. Yes, if he didn’t join up within the next few months she would put it to them both that he would run…the factory and learn to deal with the wholesale side, while Jessie, under their mother’s direction, would help in the shops. Of course, that would be when she moved out, in which case they would take up their residences here, and the house across the yard could once again be let.
She rose from the bed. That was settled; at least as far as she could settle anything at this stage.
Two
‘This is very comfortable. I know what Charlie means when he talks about this room.’
Reginald was sitting on the couch, his legs stretched out, his gaze centred on the blazing fire. When he turned and looked at Agnes pouring tea from the silver teapot, he let his gaze linger on her for some time before he said, ‘This time tomorrow, you will have definitely joined the family. Are you afraid?’
She had put the teapot on the stand but her hand was still on the handle as she returned his look, saying, ‘Afraid? Why should I be? Or should I be?’
‘It was a silly thing to say, especially knowing you. But I can tell you Charlie is. He’s frightened that something will happen at the last minute to prevent your coming together. Have you really any idea how he feels about you? Oh, that’s another silly thing to say. Anyway, he thought it best that he didn’t come along, as he’s gathering his strength for tomorrow.’
‘You’re sure he’s all right? I mean…no relapse?’
‘Oh, no, no, nothing like that. I can assure you he wouldn’t have stayed in the house had our parents been there. But yesterday, Father took Mama off to Harrogate in that crazy car. You’ve never seen anything like it. The car’s all right; it’s how Banks drives it. To see him careering along the road you would think he was in France dodging a German column. He treats it like a child would a toy. I’m sure it is a toy to him. I spoke to Father about him just before they left and’—he laughed here—‘his answer was, “Banks is all right. Steady as a rock.” Anyway, I’ve persuaded Charlie to stay put. I told him I had to make sure arrangements are all right with the other party in this business.’ He pulled a face at her. Had she got the times right? He had the ring.
‘Here, drink your tea.’
He took the cup from her, saying nothing further whilst he sipped at it, but when she handed him the plate of scones he said with boyish eagerness, ‘Oh, yes, yes, I’ll have one of those, perhaps two.’
He had two, and another cup of tea; and then he sat slumped back, his legs still stretched out in relaxed silence now, which she did not break but looked at him from where she was sitting to the side of the couch. He had changed. He was still handsome but his face had taken on a gaunt look. The blue shadow of his latest shave emphasised the greyness of the rest of his skin. His body had been thin before; now the only name she could put to it was lean.
She actually started when he said, ‘You’re looking at me and thinking, How changed he is, aren’t you? He used to be a good-looking bloke. What’s happened to him?’ And before she had time either to admit or to deny her thoughts, he drew his legs upwards and his body from the back of the couch and, resting his elbows on his knees, he looked down towards his feet as he growled out, ‘Bloody war.’ Then, his head swinging to the
side and his voice hardly changing, he said, ‘I’m not going to apologise, because to you I don’t have to.’ Then he went on, ‘And it is a bloody war. This is my second furlough. Every time I step from that boat I want to scream at the complacency I see around me. No-one knows what’s happening over there, except, of course, those in Whitehall. Oh, they know all right, they know. And Kitchener knew before he went. He told them it’ll go on for three years at least. But did they believe him? Would they take any notice? You know, Agnes, I come from a long line of fighters, six generations of fighters, all army men. Shooting to kill and seeing men die is part of the training for every man that wears a uniform; but what goes on out there isn’t ordinary killing, it isn’t even slaughterhouse killing, it’s massacre. It’s…’
He suddenly screwed up his eyes so tightly they were lost deep in their sockets; then, thrusting out his arm, he caught her hands, saying, ‘Oh my God! What am I talking about? I’m sorry, Agnes, so sorry. Don’t take any notice. I’m—’ He suddenly stood up, still holding her hands, and he was so close to her that she couldn’t rise and, looking down into her face, he said, ‘Yes, what am I about to say? I apologise. I’m so, so sorry. Please, Agnes, don’t look so pained.’
‘I’m…I’m not pained, Reg, except for you.’
He let go of her hands, swung round and went and stood in front of the fire, his head bowed towards the mantelpiece, his hands lifted and gripping the edge of it, and he said, ‘This is one thing I’ll never forgive myself for. What in the name of God has come over me?’
She rose slowly from the chair and, going to him, she put her hand on his shoulder, saying softly, ‘Please don’t apologise to me, Reg. I understand. And let me say I’m so glad you can talk to me in such a way. And I’ll always feel special because you have done so.’
He did not turn towards her but muttered, ‘I have to be away.’
‘You’ll do no such thing.’ She had stepped back from him, her voice brisk now. ‘Mother’s cooking a meal and she’s set her heart on your eating it. Now, look; come and sit down and I’ll get you a drink, something stronger than tea. Do you take water with your whisky?’
He turned to her now, a wry smile on his face as he said, ‘Yes, Agnes, I take water with my whisky.’
‘Well, sit yourself down again. I’ll be back in a minute.’
She had no sooner left him than he was again gripping the edge of the mantelpiece, and now he muttered aloud, ‘God Almighty! What’s come over you? You’ve got to get away from here, from the whole lot, and over there again.’
He started when her voice said, ‘Here, drink this. And don’t stand so near the fire, you’ll singe your trousers.’ And she handed him the glass, adding, ‘Now sit yourself down. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. You’ll eat in the kitchen, and if you don’t like that you know what you can do.’
‘Agnes.’
‘Yes? What is it?’
‘It’s very good of you, but I feel I should get back to Charlie.’
‘You’ll get back to Charles after you’ve had a bite to eat. You can leave immediately afterwards. So sit down. Another hour is going to make very little difference. And I’m doing exactly what Charles would want me to do, I know that. I’ll be back presently.’
As she entered the kitchen Jessie was about to leave. She was carrying the bassinet that was padded with ruched silk and she said, ‘I’ll take her across for the time being; he won’t want the smell of nappies accompanying his dinner.’
‘He wouldn’t mind. I’ll see you later.’
Alice said, ‘How does the table look?’
‘Splendid. He wouldn’t see better at the Hall.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on that. Do you think that’s a good wine?’ She pointed to the bottle at the end of the table, and Agnes answered, ‘Good, bad or indifferent, he’ll like it, or he’ll say he does.’
‘He looks thinner.’
‘Yes, he does a bit.’
‘Does he talk about over there?’
Agnes paused a moment before she said, ‘Not much. They don’t, you know, so I understand.’
‘I keep thinking about Johnny Temple. He was so eager to get away from the shoe shop and across there, and now he’ll stay there for good. That’s three in that family gone, all her sons. There’s four lasses left, but what are lasses to a mother who has had sons…? Well you had better go in and tell him to come and get it. I’m feeling a bit nervous. I wonder if he’ll like it.’
‘Who wouldn’t like roast lamb and suet pudding and fresh vegetables and an apple pie to follow, and the way you cook them?’ She smiled at her mother and watched her head wag in pleasure at the compliments; then she went out and into the sitting room. But she had no sooner stepped into the room than she felt surprise when Reginald did not immediately get to his feet as was his and Charles’ wont whenever a woman entered the room. But as she approached the couch quietly she knew the reason. He was fast asleep, his legs stretched out again. His body was slumped in the corner of the couch and he was breathing steadily, and she stood looking down on him. He was a handsome man. It was no wonder, as Charles said, the women swarmed round him; and yet he had never known him to become strongly attached to any one of them. When they clung too tightly he would become irritated by them. There had been one recently in Newcastle who had caused him a lot of trouble because she happened to be married to one of his friends.
She was about to put her hand out and touch his shoulder when she stopped. No; she would let him sleep; he must be in need of it to have dropped off like that. Perhaps that large whisky had helped. The dinner wouldn’t spoil, they could keep it hot.
She had the urge to lift his legs up onto the couch and put a rug over him, but she resisted, for that would surely waken him.
Quietly she left the room and went into the kitchen again, and she sighed as she looked at the table and said to her mother, ‘He’s dead asleep.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, he’s dead asleep.’
‘And you’re not going to waken him?’
‘Well, what do you think? He must be needing it to fall so fast asleep when he’s out visiting.’
‘Oh, well.’ Alice sighed. ‘And the table looked so bonny. Anyway’—she smiled—‘there’s no reason why we shouldn’t eat. I’ll put his back in the oven and put a cover on it so it won’t dry up. How long do you think he’s likely to sleep? Oh, well, if he doesn’t wake up, I’d give him an hour; no more, because he was going to see Charles, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, you have a point there.’
‘Anyway, let’s eat, and if he suddenly comes in here, I’ll say we close at seven o’clock, sir, sorry.’ They exchanged smiles before Alice turned and took out from the oven a side dish on which there was a sizzling shoulder of lamb. ‘That’s something I’ll never get over till the day I die,’ she said, ‘us closing the shops at seven o’clock. That’ll make him turn in his grave, if nothing else does.’
‘Oh, Mother.’ Agnes restrained herself from laughing at this woman who was so changed, she surprised her almost every day…
Reginald slept for an hour and fifteen minutes and could not believe that he had been asleep at all. He apologised so much that Agnes shouted at him, ‘Shut up, for God’s sake, and eat that meal, then get on your legs and get back to Charles, else we’ll have him here looking for you.’
When he protested that he mustn’t stay to have a meal, both women almost attacked him; in fact, Alice pushed him back onto the couch, saying, ‘You’re not leaving here until you eat that. I haven’t spent half of the day cooking it for it to be left.’
When, half an hour later, he stood dressed for the road, his tunic buttoned, his hair brushed and cap in hand at the door of the sitting room, he said quietly, ‘I’ll remember this evening for as long as I live.’ Then after a long pause, during which they stared at each other, he asked a strange question, ‘Do you know any part of the Thirty-second Psalm, Agnes?’
‘No, I’m afraid
I don’t. I only know the popular one that everyone knows, the Twenty-third Psalm: “The Lord Is My Shepherd”.’
‘There’s a chap in our unit who seems able to recite every psalm in the book. He’s amazing. I never realised the beauty of them. Some of the lines stick in my mind, particularly three at the end of one verse. They go something like this:
‘Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt encompass me about with songs of deliverance.
‘And that’s what you have been to me, tonight, Agnes, my hiding place.’ At this, he leant forward and kissed her; then he stood back and they remained looking at each other until he said, ‘I will see you in the morning at eleven o’clock. Don’t come downstairs, please.’ And with this, he turned and went from the room.
After a few moments Agnes walked steadily up the room back to the couch, and she had to bend her body as if her joints were stiff before she could sit down. And then, her hands joined tightly in front of her, she sat staring into the fire.
Three
They had been married for three hours. They were leaning from the window of the compartment looking at the small group standing around the carriage door. There was her mother with tears in her eyes, Jessie holding the baby and, to her side, Robbie; Miss Belle and Miss Rene were there—somebody had to stay back and look after the shop—and on the fringe and standing apart from them all was Reg; and except for him, they were all talking, telling the happy couple to enjoy themselves and not to be surprised if a brake trip was arranged and they all sprang a visit on them, at which remark Charles said, ‘You do if you dare!’
But Reg still said nothing; he just looked at them, his lips smiling, though with no light of laughter in his eyes.
The train moved, they all waved; but once they were out of sight Charles closed the window, then, gently drawing her down onto the seat beside him, he put his arms about her and laid his head on her shoulder and in a low voice he said, ‘It’s happened. It’s actually happened, you’re mine. At last, at last, you’re mine. Tell me again, dear, that you love me and that all this is true.’
The Wingless Bird Page 27