‘Mike!’ Lizzie’s back was very straight; and Mike turned his face full to her and lifted his hands in a flapping motion, as if wiping away his name, before saying, ‘Look, Liz. There’s neither of them at school any more. They’re no longer bairns! And all right, Sarah’s here, but Sarah deals with animals.’
‘Well, it’s no conversation for the tea table, and I’m not having it. I know where it will lead. We’ll have the stockyard on our plates before many more minutes are over. Likening people to animals!’
‘There’s not a lot of difference that I can see.’ Mike’s voice was suddenly quiet; and there was a tinge of sadness in his tone as he went on, ‘I’ve a sick cow in the barn now. Nobody will have it, nobody will believe that it’s because Brewster’s gone. But from the day she watched him mounting the ramp into that van, she’s gone back…Cows are women…’
‘Mike!’ Lizzie had risen to her feet.
‘All right, you won’t have it.’ Mike had scraped his chair back on the floor and was looking up at her. ‘You won’t have it, but nevertheless it’s true…You know, your mother did everything under God’s sun to prevent you and me coming together, didn’t she? Well, if she had succeeded it would have been a bad thing, a loss to both of us, and you know it. The same thing is happening now and you’re glad. You’re glad, Liz. That’s what hurts me, you’re glad.’
Mike was on his feet now glaring at Lizzie, and she put her fingers to her lips as she stared back at him, muttering, ‘It isn’t true, it isn’t true. You know it isn’t true.’
‘Aw, I know you, Liz. I can read you like a book. Only remember this; you can’t push big houses and money into a heart. A heart’s only made for feeling.’
Mike’s voice had come from deep in his chest on the last words, and they all watched him walking down the long farm kitchen towards the door. And when it closed on him Lizzie turned towards Mary Ann, her voice breaking as she said, ‘He’s blaming me. He’s blaming me for it all! What had I to do with Corny going to America? I had nothing to do with it.’ She was appealing to Mary Ann, seeming to have forgotten Michael and Sarah. ‘You believe that, don’t you?’
Mary Ann got to her feet. She too seemed to have forgotten the couple sitting opposite, their heads bent in embarrassment; and she put her arms about Lizzie as she said, ‘Don’t cry, Mother. Don’t cry. Yes, I believe you. There, there, don’t cry.’ She pressed her mother into her chair again, and going to the teapot, poured her out a fresh cup of tea; and as she handed it to her she said again, ‘There, now, don’t worry. I know you had nothing to do with it.’
But even as she said this, she was thinking along the lines of Mike. She knew her mother was glad and relieved, even happy, at the way things had turned out. She also knew that she must talk to her da before he met Mr Lord, or the place would blow up.
Two
‘How d’you think it’s gone, Mary Ann?’
‘Wonderfully, wonderfully, Len. It was a wonderful wedding.’
‘Aye. Aa feel it was.’
Mary Ann smiled at Len, and her smile was as sincere as her words had been. For to her mind it had been a wonderful wedding, surprisingly wonderful. The nuptial mass had not been ludicrous, as Michael had foretold. In fact, as she had looked at the white-robed Cissie and the unusually spruce Len, she had felt that they were deeply threaded with the spirituality of the moment, as very likely they were. Cissie had even looked pretty. She was detached from all dimness in this moment. Cissie was a bride, and Mary Ann had wanted to cry.
She said to Len, ‘You’ll like Harrogate.’ At the same time she wondered why on earth they had chosen Harrogate. Harrogate was stuffy—snobbish and stuffy. Cissie had said it was because there were things to do; it had a winter season. That was funny, if you came to think about it. The Spanish City in Whitley Bay would be more in their line.
‘You know, Aa wish we weren’t goin’ away…Well, you know what Aa mean.’ Len laughed. ‘Aa mean not so soon like. Aa would uv liked to stay for the dance later on. Aa bet it’s the first time there’s ever been a dance in this old barn. Anyway, for many a long year.’ Len looked along the length of the barn to where Lizzie was supervising the clearing of the tables and added, ‘By, your mother made a splendid turnout, didn’t she? With Cissie’s folk not being up to anything like this, it’s made her feel…well, you know what I mean.’
Mary Ann nodded. Yes, she knew what he meant. As well as all the bought cakes, her mother had cooked nearly all the week for the wedding spread. Hams, tongues…the lot.
‘An’ the old man’s all right at bottom; curses you up hill and down dale one minute, then stands your weddin’ expenses. He’s all right, he is, if you understand him like. Look, there he is now. He’s laughin’. Look, he’s laughin’ with that Mrs Schofield. By, she’s a nice woman, that. She’s got no side, has she?’ He looked at Mary Ann. And she, looking to where Mr Lord was being entertained by Mrs Schofield, nodded before saying, ‘Yes, she’s nice.’
Lettice Schofield was the mother of Mary Ann’s school friend. She had first come to the farm on Mary Ann’s thirteenth birthday, and had since then not infrequently looked them up. Everybody liked Mrs Schofield, but everybody thought her a bit dizzy. Perhaps they liked her for that reason. At least everybody but Mike. Mike didn’t think Mrs Schofield was dizzy, he never had. From that birthday party he had said, ‘There’s depth in that one. All this Mrs Feathering is just a barricade against something.’ And over the last three years there had been times when Mary Ann thought her father was right, and others, when she listened to Mrs Schofield’s light brittle chatter and her high tinkling laugh, when she had been inclined to think with Janice that her mother acted silly, like a girl…and she nearly thirty-four years old. Another thing that made Mary Ann wonder at times about Mrs Schofield was the fact that Mr Lord was always entertained by her, and she knew only too well that Mr Lord could not suffer fools gladly. So, on the whole she was inclined to think that her da’s opinion of Mrs Schofield was correct. But whether she was thinking along the lines of her da, or her friend Janice, there always remained in her a liking for Mrs Schofield, a funny kind of liking, a sort of protective liking. It was a bit crazy when she came to analyse it, for it made her feel as if she were older than the mother of her friend. But the main trend of her thinking at this moment was not on Mrs Schofield, but on Mr Lord, and she thought bitterly as she looked at him, ‘Yes, he can laugh and be amused. He’s got his own way again.’
‘Come on, me lad.’ Mary Ann turned her head to where Mike was pushing his way through the crowd of guests towards Len. Her da stood head and shoulders above everybody in the barn. Dressed in his best, he brought a thrill of pride to Mary Ann, that for a moment obliterated thoughts of Mr Lord.
‘Come on, lad. Do you want to miss that train?’ He beckoned with his one arm above the heads of the gathering, and Len, laughingly jostled from all sides, pushed towards him.
Mary Ann, left alone for a moment in a little island of space, watched Mrs Schofield leave Mr Lord to go and say goodbye to the bride. Then to her consternation she saw Mr Lord rise slowly and come towards her.
It was the first time they had met face to face since his return, which had not been on Tuesday as expected, but yesterday morning, which was Friday, and since then he had, she felt sure, kept out of her way. In fact, out of everybody’s way, until two hours ago when the wedding party had returned from the church. From which time he had allowed himself to be entertained by Mrs Schofield.
Mr Lord was standing close to her now and he looked at her for a long moment before speaking, and then he took the wind completely out of her sails by saying, ‘You’re wrong, you know, Mary Ann.’
As always when stumped, she blinked, but she continued to stare up at him.
‘You have been blaming me for Cornelius’s decision regarding America.’ He always gave Corny his full name when speaking of him. ‘Well, I want you to know I had nothing whatever to do with making up his mind. Oh, yes.’ He raised his hand.
‘I’m not going to deny that I have pointed out the advantages that would attend his taking up a position in America, and I have gone as far as to tell him I could secure him a post. Oh yes, I have done all that. But that was some time ago. More recently, I gave up the idea of trying to persuade him because I realised he was a very determined young man and would not be influenced by me, or anyone else, but would go his way. So I was surprised, as no doubt you were, when his decision was made known to me. He was the last person I expected to see in my office, and our meeting was brief, for in accordance with his character he came straight to the point. He told me what he wanted, and asked some questions…Usually I am the one who asks the questions, and I don’t take kindly to cross-examinations.’ He smiled his tight smile down on her. Then finished abruptly. ‘Cornelius Boyle knows exactly what he wants. I should say he will go far …
‘Now, now, now, Mary Ann, don’t be silly. You’re not going to cry. This is a wedding, remember.’ He took her arm in a firm grip and she allowed him to walk her towards the barn door.
She hated him, she did. Well, he could make all the excuses he liked, but she would never marry Tony just to please him. That was what he was after…Oh, she knew, she knew what his subtle game was. And played so smoothly, you couldn’t get at him.
‘If you start crying everyone will blame me.’
‘I’m not crying.’
‘Very well, you’re not crying, not yet. But if you do start I will get the blame. Especially from your father, because he, too, thinks like you, doesn’t he?’
They had reached the left side corner of the barn when he pulled her to a stop. And looking at her with gentleness that always managed to break her down, he said softly, ‘Whether you believe it or not, Mary Ann, anything I do, I do for your own good. Out of the essence of knowledge garnered through a long and trying life, I can see what is right for you…I know what is right for you, and I want you to have what is right for you…You believe me?’
She was not crying, but her large brown eyes were so misted she couldn’t see his face as she gazed up at him. He had done it again. She hated him no longer. What he said was right. Whatever he did was for her good. If only he would do something for Corny to stop him from going away. Her love gave her courage to say, ‘I like Corny, Mr Lord.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded at her. ‘Yes, of course, you like Cornelius. I know you like Cornelius. Anyone would be blind, or stupid, if he didn’t realise you like him. And go on liking him, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. And you should be proud that he wants to go to America and make a position for himself, so that when…when the time comes, he will have something to offer you. He would have nothing to offer you if he stayed in England.’
‘He was getting on well at the garage. He’s had a rise.’
Mr Lord turned his head with a quick jerk to the side as if he was straining to look up into the sky, and it was into the sky that he sent his words: ‘Had a rise!’ The scorn in them made Mary Ann stiffen, and she made to pull her hand from his grasp when he brought his gaze once more to bear on her and again softened his scathing comment by saying, ‘What is a rise in that work? A few shillings a week! You give Cornelius a year in America and he will be making twice as much as the manager of that garage. Believe me…Well. Well, now.’ He had turned his head quickly towards the gate of the farmhouse, where a car was backing in, and he ended abruptly, ‘No more of this now. Here’s Tony.’
Mr Lord did not go towards his grandson but waited for him to come up to them. And although he kept his gaze fixed on the approaching figure, the expression in his eyes, which could have been taken for pride, was veiled with a mask of impatient arrogance.
Tony was tall and thin. A faint replica of Mr Lord himself. Perhaps he was better-looking than Mr Lord had been at his age. His skin, even in the winter, kept a bronzed tinge as if he had just returned from a southern beach. In some measure, too, he had about him a touch of his grandfather’s aloofness, which at the age of twenty-seven added to his attractiveness.
From a child Mary Ann had been conscious of this attractiveness, and in a childish way had looked upon Tony as hers. She had begun by liking him, then she had loved him. That was until she met Corny. But she still liked Tony very, very much, and was aware of his attraction, as were most of the girls who came into contact with him. His charm and natural ease of manner were part and parcel of his character. But he also had a vile temper, which could rip the charm off him like a skin, to disclose stubbornness and cold arrogance for which one hadn’t to look far to find the source. And it was mainly when he was fighting with that source that these two facets came into evidence.
As Mary Ann watched him approach them now, she said to herself, ‘He’s wild about something.’ She knew Tony as well as she did her da, or ma, or Mr Lord.
‘Hello, there, you’re late. The wedding’s nearly over.’ Mr Lord’s tone was clipped.
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I couldn’t make it. I told you I might be late.’ Tony nodded to his grandfather while looking him straight in the face. He did not look at Mary Ann, although he asked, ‘Where’s Mike?’
Was he mad at her? Why was he pointedly ignoring her? She had done nothing. She said to him, ‘My father’s gone to the house with Len.’ She always gave Mike the title of father when speaking of him in front of Mr Lord.
‘Thanks.’ Still Tony did not turn his gaze on her, not even in a sweeping glance.
As she watched him stride away, she looked up sharply at Mr Lord, saying, ‘He’s wild about something.’
The old man dusted his hands as if they had been soiled, and then he said, ‘Young men are always wild about something. That’s why they are young men. Once they stop being wild they are no longer young men.’
Mary Ann, looking at him for a moment longer, saw that he was not worried about Tony being wild. He was not coldly questioning why his grandson’s manner was so abrupt, and this was unusual. And why he was not questioning was because he already knew.
She looked hard at the old man, who was looking to where Tony was now hurrying across the yard, not towards the farmhouse, but towards the gate that led up to the house on the hill. And she realised, as she had done so many times in the past, that this old man was clever, clever and cunning. He was like the devil himself. He could make you believe in him, in the goodness of his intentions, even while he plotted against you. And, as she had done in the past, she knew that she would hate him at intervals, but during the longer periods, and in spite of everything, she would always love him. And then she asked herself: What could he have done to upset Tony?
Corny arrived at six o’clock in Bert Stanhope’s old car. Bert Stanhope was the chief mechanic in the garage. He was also the leader of the ‘Light Fantastics’, a suitably fantastic name for the four members of his band. For Bert himself was short and stubby, while Joe Ridley was as thin as a rake, and possessed a club foot. Arthur Hunt, on the other hand, was of middle height with muscles straining from his coat sleeves. He had come by these, he proclaimed, through playing the mandolin. Topping them all by a clear head and shoulders was Corny.
Corny now eased his long legs out of the front seat of the car, and after raising his hand quickly in a salute to Mike, who was coming out of the barn, he turned his head in the direction of Bert, to ask, ‘What did you say?’
‘Aa said, “Is that the place we’re doin’ it?”’
‘Yes, that’s the barn.’
‘Coo, lor! It’ll be like the Albert Hall, only barer.’
Joe Ridley, surrounded by what looked like an entire band of wind instruments, remarked caustically, ‘We’ll have to blow wor brains oot to put anything ower in there. The sound’ll all come oot through them slats up top.’
‘You’ll get them blown oot if we don’t put it over, me lad.’
They were all laughing at their leader’s reply when Mike reached them.
‘Hello, there. You all set?’ He looked around the four young men, but addressed himself to Corny.
&
nbsp; ‘Aye. Yes, Mr Shaughnessy.’ Corny had always given Mike his full title, and perhaps this was another reason why Mike was wholeheartedly for him. ‘This is Bert Stanhope. It’s his band, and this is Joe Ridley; and Arthur Hunt.’
Mike nodded with each introduction, then looking at the paraphernalia spread round their feet, he asked seriously, ‘Where are the others?’
‘The others?’ Bert flicked an inquiring and puzzled glance towards Corny before finishing, ‘What others?’
‘Well, with all this lot, I thought it must be the Hallé Orchestra that had come!’
There was more laughter, louder now, as the young fellows picked up the instruments and made for the barn. Corny, about to follow them, was stopped by a light touch on his arm, and Mike, his face serious now, said, ‘I want a word with you.’
‘Now?’ Corny was looking straight at Mike. Their eyes were on a level.
‘No, it needn’t be now. Perhaps when you have an interval.’
‘All right.’ As Corny turned away, Mike said quietly, ‘Mary Ann’s just gone over to the house, if you want to see her.’
Corny did not turn to meet Mike’s gaze now, but answered evenly, ‘They want to start right away. We’re a bit late. I’ll see her later.’
Mike said nothing to this but watched Corny stride towards the barn, before turning and making his way to the house.
And there he banged the back door after him as he went into the scullery. But when he entered the kitchen he stopped just inside the door and looked across to the fireplace where Tony was standing, one foot on the fender, his elbow resting on the mantelpiece and his face set in a stiffness that spoke of inner turmoil.
Life and Mary Ann Page 3