‘Mary Ann.’
‘Yes?’ She brought her attention quickly back to him.
‘I want you to come here every day until I’m up again, even if they only let you stay a short time. I want you to keep your eyes and ears open, and tell me all you see and hear.’
‘But what about?’
‘Everything, everybody.’
Something about this request, or was it a demand, hurt her. She felt that she could jabber about people but not tell tales, and what she was being asked to do was a form of tale-telling, and she imagined that if her da knew he would raise the roof. Well, her good sense told her, her da mustn’t know. She wasn’t going to carry tales about Tony, but she’d tell Mr Lord little things, just to keep him quiet.
Once again she was coming into her own, her mind was working along the old lines. The fact that they were friends was smoothing away all her fears. Now, without reasoning, she could see a way out. She did not give way to the old bargaining thought, ‘If I do this for him, he’ll do something for me da,’ but it was there in her mind, making her alert once more. But the feeling was separate from the protective one that was filling her now. She smiled at the old man and very gently put out her hand, and with the tips of her fingers touched the raised blue veins on his.
The hand had scarcely touched the old man’s before it was buried within his palms, and he had once more edged himself up from the pillow. And now there was a deep note of urgency in his voice as he whispered, ‘Listen, Mary Ann, I want you to—’
The door opened and the big, smiling nurse stalked in.
‘Ah, there you are. You’ve had your nice little talk. And on the bed! Well, well. But come along now.’
Eeh! Mary Ann’s attention was drawn from the nurse back to Mr Lord. Eeh! He had sworn worse than her da. It was the first time she had ever heard Mr Lord swear. His face looked black again, as if he was in one of his old tempers, but strangely enough he didn’t go for the nurse as she had expected him to, he just lay back on the pillows and when she said, ‘Ta-ra,’ and did not even amend it quickly by saying, ‘Goodbye,’ he made no effort to check her by word or look.
She was escorted out of the room as if her visit had just been an ordinary one, and she knew, oh, she knew very positively that her visit had been no ordinary one.
Her legs had wings, and they took her out of the house and down the hill, into the road and up the farm path in a jiffy, and as she hurled herself into the farm kitchen crying, ‘Ma! Ma!’ she was brought to a dead stop, for there, and as if they were all waiting for her, was not only her ma, but her da, their Michael—and Tony. Never had she seen them altogether in the house except at mealtimes and at night. It was her ma who stepped towards her and, quickly, voicing her anxiety, asked, ‘How did you get on?’
Mary Ann’s eyes left her mother and touched over the other three. They did not rest on her da particularly, although of them all she felt most his keenness to know what had happened. And the look on his face told her that this was the time for real diplomacy, or as she put it, keeping her mouth shut. If she wasn’t to make any slips she had to be careful, so looking at her mother again she answered, ‘All right,’ then walked past them all to the table.
Lizzie turned and followed her, and sitting down opposite to her pressed her face forward and said, ‘But what did he say, child? Tell us.’
Once again she looked at the faces about her, and after scratching her nose, and searching assiduously for her hanky, remarked, ‘Oh, nothing.’
Lizzie sat back tight against the chair back and repeated, ‘Nothing?’
Mary Ann now moved her finger around a little bundle of crumbs on the table, then exclaimed, ‘Well, just about the farm and things.’
Into the hush that followed this evident lie burst Mike’s laugh. It was deep and loud, but not his nice laugh, and it startled them all. Mary Ann looked sharply up at him, then back to her mother, who was looking at him, too. Then, much to Mary Ann’s surprise, she heard her ma’s laugh join her da’s, but it was an uneasy laugh, and even their Michael’s face was showing signs of a laugh. Only Tony’s countenance remained the same.
Then her da, taking no notice of anybody, not even herself, and with his laugh still ringing, buttoned up his coat and marched out of the kitchen. It was as if he had gone daft, as if they had all gone daft—except Tony.
Mary Ann had made seven visits to the sickroom. At eleven o’clock every morning she had been ushered in and exactly ten minutes later she was ushered out. She always returned straight home, and after her third visit Lizzie ceased to question her but would say something like, ‘Do you want a drink?’ or ‘Have you had anything?’ to which the answer was invariably, ‘Yes please,’ or ‘No, I’ve had nothing.’
Her da, after his queer laughing bout, had started to look at her funnily, and after her second visit he had stood at the farthest point of the kitchen and, staring at her while making small movements with his head, had said, softly, and did she detect with bitterness, ‘So it’s starting again. After all this, it’s starting again.’ Her ma had said sharply, ‘Mike!’ and he had gone into the scullery saying, ‘No, by God! It won’t, not if I know it. No more bargaining for this bloke.’
She had not been able to understand fully the gist of his remarks, but she knew that it had to do with herself and Mr Lord. And now, preparing herself for her morning visit, she wished from the bottom of her heart that she wasn’t going. Not that she didn’t like visiting Mr Lord—she admitted to herself, she loved it—but her da didn’t like her going. She knew that, yet she also knew that it was for his good that she was going…for all their goods.
As she crossed the yard she saw her da and Tony up in the loft. She did not hail them, but walked sedately up the hill to the house. As usual Ben let her in, and as usual took her up to the door, where, as on every occasion, he cautioned her with the same words, ‘Mind you be careful.’ The nurse, too, nearly always greeted her in the same way and informed her as to the length of her visit. But following on these the visit did not follow its usual pattern, for hardly had the door closed on her this morning, and even before she had time to say, ‘Hallo,’ Mr Lord, sitting up much straighter today, said, ‘Go and get your father.’
Her brows shot up as she exclaimed, ‘Eh?’
Mr Lord’s eyes closed, and he muttered, ‘If you use that term again…We went into that yesterday, remember?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘You heard what I said, go and get him.’
Mary Ann did not linger. She passed the astonished nurse at the bottom of the stairs and Ben in the kitchen, and was out of the door before he could check her flight. And such was her haste that the poor old man was positively sure in his mind that she had at last achieved the death of his master, which, owing to her capers, he had from time to time foretold to himself.
Yelling at the top of her voice she raced across the yard: ‘Da! Da!’ Then coming to a halt at the ladder leading to the loft, she stared up into Mike’s questioning face and answered his abrupt ‘What is it?’ with ‘You’re wanted.’
‘Who wants me?’
‘Mr Lord.’
She saw him turn his face away, and she knew he was looking at Tony. Then through the aperture she saw Tony’s legs. They had turned away from her da. The next minute Mike was standing by her side, and he looked down at her and said abruptly, ‘What did he say?’
‘That’s all. I just got into the room and he said, “Go and get your da.” That’s all.’
Mike turned from her, saying sharply, ‘You stay where you are.’ He dusted down his trousers, lifted his coat from a nail, gave it a brief shake and put it on while crossing the yard. His mouth was grim and his body tight, as he showed himself to Ben and briefly explained his presence there.
Without any questioning, for he had a respect for this big, one-handed fellow, Ben led the way upstairs. But before they reached the landing their glances met sharply as Mr Lord’s voice came to them crying, ‘Get out woman and
leave me alone! I’ll see who I like, and when I like. Get out!’
The door opened before they reached it and the nurse flounced out, no longer smiling. She paused for a moment to say something to Mike, then, changing her mind, passed him with only a jerk of her head.
Mike entered the room and slowly closed the door, his eye on the knob as he did so. Then he turned, and across the room looked straight at Mr Lord.
Mr Lord said nothing, but with a gesture indicated that he take a seat. Heavily, Mike covered the distance to the bed, then swivelling a chair round he sat down and faced the old man and waited for him to speak.
‘Well, Shaughnessy?’
‘Well, Sir?’ Mike’s voice was not harsh, for in spite of himself he was touched by the frailty of the old man. He saw that he was much changed, better of course than when he had last beheld him, but he could not see him ever again being as he was once, a virile, steely, strong old man. He had a sapped look that touched Mike and forced him to say, ‘I hope you are feeling better, Sir.’
‘I’m well enough.’ Mr Lord examined his hands now as they lay palms down on the cover, as if he was looking at them for confirmation of his own remark. Then he surprised Mike utterly with his next words. ‘Loneliness is a dreadful thing, Shaughnessy. I don’t suppose you’ve ever experienced loneliness?’
After a moment of staring at the white, downcast head, Mike moved his hand hard down one side of his face, then said, ‘I’ve had me share, Sir. I was brought up in a workhouse. Perhaps you didn’t know that.’
Mr Lord raised his eyes without moving his head. ‘No, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. And yet because of that I feel you’ll understand me a little now. You may not have done so before. You thought I would like to take the child, didn’t you, to estrange her from you? Well’—his eyes dropped again, and now both his hands began to move in a sliding movement back and forward over the cover—‘perhaps you were right, perhaps I was doing just that, but she was the only person I ever met who wasn’t afraid of me. She talked to me.’ He made a little sound in his throat that could have been the shadow of a laugh, as he added, ‘At times I found her more than my equal, even my superior. But I am beating about the bush, I’m misleading you. I didn’t bring you here to talk about her. She’s yours, and she’ll always remain yours—money and possessions cannot buy her. I’ve always envied you, I suppose I always will, but that’s finished. I want your advice about another matter.’
Into Mike’s heart had come a great feeling of easement. He did not speak, but waited for the old man to go on. He watched him lie back, join his hands together, the fingers linked tightly; he watched his thin, blue lips move in and out with the mobility of the aged; but when his eyes came up there was no weakness in their penetrating stare, and his voice, too, was strong as he asked, ‘Do you believe he is my grandson?’
Without hesitation Mike replied, ‘Yes, Sir, I do.’
‘Give me a reason.’
Mike now gave a little quirk of a smile, as he replied, ‘Well, his temper for one thing.’
Mr Lord’s eyelids drooped and he asked, ‘Is that the only thing?’
‘No, Sir; he’s got the look of you. I knew there was something about him from the first, and I couldn’t place it. It puzzled me. I suppose I would have noticed it if you both hadn’t—’ He stopped.
Mr Lord’s eyes were on him again, tight, and he demanded, ‘Yes, if we both hadn’t what?’
Mike moved restlessly on the chair before saying, ‘Well, you know how things were, Sir, you both went for each other, from the start.’
‘Yes, we did.’ It was a softly spoken admission. ‘What’s your opinion of him? Now don’t make excuses for him in any way. This is a private conversation, nothing that you say will be referred to again. I want your honest opinion of him.’
‘He’s a good boy.’ Mike said this without any hesitation. ‘I liked him from the start. But he was brought up by a woman and it’s twisted his outlook. It’ll take some changing.’
‘Why did he come here in the first place?’
‘I think you’d better ask him that yourself, Sir; he can give you better answers than I can.’
The old man moved from side to side in the bed. He pulled at the cover, tugged at the buttons of his nightshirt, then reached to a side table and took a drink from a glass. When he had replaced the glass he said, ‘It’s my money he’s after, not the farm. That’s small fry—it’s the shipyard.’
Mike’s lips pursed and he shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Sir. He can fend for himself all right, and he’s as independent as they come. No, I don’t think it’s that. Perhaps he’s got your own complaint, perhaps that’s what brought him here—loneliness, wanting to belong to somebody. He won’t admit it, who would? but I think that’s the real reason, I do.’
‘What am I going to do, Shaughnessy?’
Perhaps for the first time in his life Mike was at a loss. The old man, the old devil, was appealing to him, Mike Shaughnessy, asking him what he should do, waiting for his advice. He found himself leaning forward, and his feeling came over in his voice as he said, ‘Do what you want to do, Sir, in your heart. Recognise him.’
This suggestion seemed to agitate the old man, and he muttered, ‘But it could all be a fluke, this resemblance. He could have belonged to—’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t you think that she would have told me if she knew she was bearing my child?’
Before Mike could answer the old man pressed himself back amongst the pillows, and, raising his hand as if to check any comment, went on, ‘No, no, she wouldn’t. She would have done it to spite me. She did it to spite me. Yes. Yes, she was capable of that.’ His eyes looked into Mike’s now. ‘Women are cruel—cruel.’
The room was quiet. Mr Lord was lying now as if he was dozing, and Mike did nothing to disturb him. He felt that the old man had momentarily gone back into the past, and as the silence went on he thought: ‘God! What a life he’s had. Give me mine any day, workhouse an’ all. And I had Liz, I’ve got Liz, and the other one.’ It was strange, but he knew that in his mind he did not think of Michael, he did not think of his son, yet the old man before him had craved, he knew, all his life for a son.
He was startled by Mr Lord’s voice, and his sudden change in manner, almost an alertness, as he sat up and said, ‘What’s he paying you?’
‘Paying me?’ Mike was puzzled.
‘For board?’
Now Mike did smile. ‘I think he pays Lizzie three pounds a week.’
‘Three pounds! Not enough—not enough these days. I’d charge him four, perhaps five, he’s got to know the value of money.’
It was all Mike could do not to give vent to a roar. He wanted to put out his hand and touch the old man’s shoulder. He had come into this room thinking it was his job that could be the topic of conversation and feeling already a dismissed man, not, he had told himself, that he cared a damn, for he had already applied for two other jobs. And now the matter of his work had not been mentioned, the matter of his lapse had not been mentioned and he couldn’t see even a heart attack blotting that out from the old man’s mind. He stood up and said, softly, ‘Would you like to see him, Sir?’
‘No, no!’ Mr Lord became agitated. ‘I don’t want to see him. I don’t want him here. I was only thinking, that’s all, just thinking. You’re to say nothing, nothing about this whatever, do you hear? I wouldn’t have brought you here…’
‘It’s quite all right, Sir, don’t worry.’ Mike’s voice was soothing. ‘I won’t say a word. I just thought—’
‘Say nothing, nothing. I don’t want to see him.’
‘But what if he should go? He’s talking about it, Sir.’
For a moment the old man looked startled, then with a return of his old, truculent manner, he exclaimed, ‘Then let him go. Let him go. There’s nobody stopping him.’ Mr Lord now waved his hand as if in dismissal.
‘Goodbye, Sir.’ Mike turned and made for the door, but before he opened it, Mr Lord’s voice stop
ped him, ‘Shaughnessy!’ Mike turned again towards the bed.
‘About the farm, and your work. The accounts, I mean. The buying and selling, I’ve found it too much—too much. You’ll have to take that on.’ The pale blue eyes peered at Mike across the distance, and he demanded. ‘All right?’
On a great sigh of relief that Mike could hardly suppress, he nodded his head once, and said firmly, ‘All right, Sir.’ And without another word he went out, down the stairs, across the hall, through the kitchen—with a nod to Ben, and out onto the hill almost as quickly as Mary Ann had done a short time earlier. Below him the farm lay bathed in sunshine. The accounts—the buying and selling. He was manager now without a doubt. He had not, until this moment, realised just how fearful he had been of losing this job, the job on which he was merely a probationer, and now, with the few words, the old man had passed the management, the complete management, to him. Even if he acknowledged Tony to be his grandson that would make no difference—the old man was always as good as his word, give him his due. His shoulders back, he marched down the hill, across the yard and up to his house, and going into the kitchen he went straight to Lizzie and to her astonishment grabbed her with his one arm and kissed her on the lips. So fierce was the kiss, yet so full of relief, that Lizzie, without a word, began to cry. Whatever had happened, everything was all right with her man.
Three weeks had passed since her da had gone to see Mr Lord, and everything was lovely, or nearly so. Anyway, joy of joys, the farm was her da’s, or as nearly so as made no odds. Her da now did all the books, he sat in the office at nights, and he went to the market and sold the cows, and if anybody came to the farm on any business whatever it was to see Mr Shaughnessy—Mr Shaughnessy, Sir. Yes, that’s how they addressed her da now, Mr Shaughnessy, Sir. And joy on top of joy, she wasn’t going back to Jarrow School. That humiliation had been lifted from her life the day after her da’s visit to Mr Lord, for her da had picked her up in his arm and pushed her onto his shoulder and galloped her round the kitchen, then had set her on the table and said, ‘You’re going to a good school, me girl. Do you hear that?’ He had pushed his finger into her chest. ‘And it’s me that’s sending you there. Do you hear that? She had wanted to jump and yell her joy, but her ma had gone into the scullery, and she saw that she was crying. So now, in a very short time, she’d be going to this posh school. But she’d travel home every night. She had been to see it only last week, it had been closed for the holidays but had, nevertheless, been very impressive. She had told Mr Lord all about it as he sat before the big window in his drawing room, smothered up with rugs.
The Devil and Mary Ann Page 22