The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  When he imagined ten minutes must have elapsed he began to walk slowly down the street, past the women here and there sitting on their doorsteps, most of them flapping their blouses to attract the air. Generally, no notice seemed to be taken of him, except when a voice would call out, ‘Why, hello Joe! Got lost?’ to which he would answer merely by a look. Even before he reached number twenty-nine he knew it was Lily’s home by the sound of a man’s raucous yelling voice. He couldn’t make out the gist of the man’s words until he was opposite the door, and then they came to him plainly: ‘Begod, you will! I’ve brought you up, worked for you and you’re goin’ to walk out now, are you? So you think. Well, let me tell you, miss, you’ll walk out when I’m ready an’ not afore. Married, you say?’

  A woman’s voice now broke in, saying, ‘Bill! Bill! Stop it! It might be the best thing.’

  ‘Best thing? What d’you mean, woman, best thing?’

  There was a pause, and Joe could only imagine that in the room beyond the half-open door the woman and man were staring at each other. And now the man’s voice came low, not yelling any more but weighed down with threat: ‘By God! If I thought it was right what your ma is tryin’ to say, I’d drag you this minute to the church and Father McShea…Is it true? Answer me, or I’ll throttle you!’

  ‘You lay your hands on me and I’ll…I’ll…’

  When the trembling voice came to Joe he thrust open the door and, staring back into the infuriated face of Bill Whitmore, he said, ‘Aye; you lay your hands on her, just once.’

  ‘What the hell d’you want?…Oh! Oh, not you! A bloody Protestant.’

  ‘Aye, me. A bloody Protestant is intending to marry a bloody Catholic. Now what d’you make of that, big-mouth Bill?’

  ‘You watch it. You watch it else you’ll find your gob split from ear to ear.’

  ‘You’ve always fought with your mouth, Bill; you’re known for fightin’ with your mouth. Wind an’ watter, that’s your make-up. Now listen to me—’ He now turned towards Annie Whitmore, saying, ‘Or perhaps her mother should listen to me. Likely get more sense out of you, missis. But I’m marryin’ Lily, and if she wants to be married as a Catholic it’s all the same to me. Yet, I don’t think she’ll bother. For all I care it could be the Baptists or the Methodists. I’m a man of wide tastes, I have no definite opinion, like parsons I could mention who imagine they know what God wants. But if no one of these seems willin’ then there’s always the Registry Office. So I should imagine within the next couple of weeks or so we should be hitched. But in the meantime she’s goin’ to come along of me an’ stay with me mother, everything above board.’

  Annie Whitmore could find nothing to say; all she seemed capable of doing at the moment was to open and shut her mouth while glancing wearily at her husband. That was until one of the four children in the room, the oldest who looked to be about nine, whimpered, ‘Ma,’ when she turned and screamed at her, ‘Get out of it! Get out of it!’ which caused a scrambling of all four children through a door leading into the other room and some measure of decision from herself, for she turned back to her daughter and said quietly, ‘You set on this?’

  ‘Aye, Ma. Yes; yes, I am.’

  After a moment, the woman, blinking rapidly as she stared at her first-born, whose presence in the house had acted as an irritant since she had married for the second time, said now and still quietly, ‘Well, go on and gather your bits of things an’ get…’ to be interrupted by her husband when he cried at her, ‘You goin’ to let her go like that?’

  She faced him squarely and in a flat but firm voice she answered him: ‘Aye, I’m goin’ to let her go like that, because if her belly’s full, what kind of a life is she goin’ to have here? An’ after all’s said’n done, she’s mine, an’ that bein’ as it is, I’ve got the last word on her.’

  ‘By God, you’ll suffer for this, woman!’

  ‘Well, that’ll be nothin’ new to me, will it, Bill? And, like her, I might take it into me head to say, don’t lay your hands on me. Anyway, that’s in the future.’ She turned now as Lily came out of the bedroom carrying a bundle of clothes in one hand and a long black overall over her other arm and a pair of clogs in her hand.

  For a moment she stood looking at her mother; then she said, ‘Bye, Ma. I’ll see you.’ She now looked towards where Joe was standing in the open doorway, but to reach him she would have to pass her stepfather and he was standing at the end of the table, his hands hanging by his sides but his fists doubled. And when Joe saw her hesitate he stepped forward until he was abreast of the man and, reaching out towards her, he said, ‘Come on. There’s such a thing as overstayin’ your welcome.’

  As Joe pressed her towards the door Bill Whitmore growled, ‘You won’t get off with it, you know. I’ll get you,’ to which Joe reacted by thrusting Lily forward into the street with his flat hand between her shoulders before swinging round to face the enraged man. ‘You try anythin’ on,’ he said. ‘You work at t’other Mordaunt’s factory, don’t you? The candle, isn’t it? Well, I’ve got friends in both fields, the blackin’ and the candle, so I’m warnin’ you. Just remember there’s lots of men round about lookin’ for jobs. An’ what’s more, you can’t rely on Lily’s pay packet any more, so I’d advise you to think afore you strike out in the dark. Any time in the daylight I’ll meet you, coats off, up Ponder’s Lane, or the Lodden. But should anything happen to me in the dark, God help you, in all ways.’ And with this parting shot he turned around and went out, having to pass now through the small crowd of children who had, as usual, gathered to enjoy a row. One of the girls was saying to Lily, ‘You leavin’ ’ome, Lily?’ and she was answering, ‘Yes, Maggie. Yes, I’m leavin’ home.’

  As he walked her away there was quite an audience along the street, and, without looking at her, he said softly, ‘Keep your head up. Don’t let anybody pity you. Never do that. So, keep it well up, and don’t look back at ’em.’

  Five minutes later he pushed open the door of his home and drew Lily into the living room which, in comparison to the one she had left, could be termed a little palace, so bright and clean and comfortable did it look. But the impression of the room was swept away, indeed obliterated by the look on the face of the woman rising from the rocking chair.

  That the chair had been moving vigorously was evident, for it still swung widely when it was relieved of the small woman’s weight.

  That his mother had already been given the message by Fred was also evident. Even so, there was still disbelief showing in her face as she looked from her elder son to this girl standing by his side, then back to her son again.

  She watched him now throw the bundle that he had been carrying onto a kitchen chair, then take the overall and clogs from the girl’s hand and place them by the bundle before saying, ‘This is Lily Whitmore, Ma. I suppose Fred has given you my message?’

  ‘Message?’ The thin lips were sucked in for a moment before they spurted, ‘Rigmarole! Rigmarole! Courtin’. An’ what’ve you brought her here for? She’s one of the Whitmore lot. I know her. I know her. That Catholic scum.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, I’m your mother.’

  ‘Only too well do I know you’re my mother…Ma. Well, let me tell you, Ma, I’m your eldest son and since me dad died when I was seven I’ve been workin’ for this house an’ you…an’ him’—he thrust his finger out towards his brother—‘well, that’s all finished with; Lily an’ me here’s goin’ to be married, an’ we’re settin’ up house on our own.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You heard what I said, Ma, you heard. We’re settin’ up house on our own. There’s goin’ to be no piggin’ in in my life. Now, you’ve just said Lily comes from that Catholic lot; well, the head of the Catholic lot has just told me his daughter’s not goin’ to marry a Protestant, so it would appear it’s a religious battle. But I’ve just settled that half an’ now I’m settlin’ this one, Ma. Do what you like, we’ll be married as
soon as possible. In the meantime, Lily’s stayin’ here. She won’t mind sleepin’ on the saddle over there.’ He indicated a wooden couch-like structure, the seat covered with a thin horsehair pad. ‘But should you decide to make it uncomfortable for her, an’ me an’ all, then we’ll go out and I’ll find a room and…we’ll live in sin’—he poked his head towards her—‘until we can be wed. Look at it this way, Ma: the longer she stays here the longer your pay packet’ll be on the table on a Friday night. But in any case you’ll have to get it into your head, it’ll only be for a week or two at the longest. An’ then your dear boy will have to look after you an’ the house. You’ll have to see that he gets a full week in, though, won’t you, to keep you goin’? But when I’m on, Ma, I’m goin’ to tell you what I’ve thought for a long, long time, and that is, you’ve sat on your backside far too long. You’re forty-one years old and you’ve never been out to do a day’s work for the last twelve years. I’ve got two women in the tin shop and they’re over seventy and they’re still goin’ strong. You had rheumatics early, but it’s never stopped you from slippin’ down to the outdoor beer shop. Oh. Oh. Oh.’ He flapped his hand towards her in unison with his words. ‘Don’t think you’ve hoodwinked me over the years. An’ when you weren’t supposed to have a penny left in the house it didn’t stop you from layin’ your tanner bets, did it?’ He drew in a long slow breath, then bent his head for a moment before saying, ‘I’ve said more than I intended. But anyway it had to come out; it’s been boilin’ in me for years. You never played the game by me, Ma, never. So, I’m startin’ a life of me own.’

  The small woman bristled. ‘Well, you’ve had your say; now we know where we stand. And I’ll tell you where I stand an’ what I think. I think there’s somethin’ fishy behind all this. It’s come too quick; you weren’t courtin’ this time last week. It strikes me as you’re bein’ had in some way.’

  Before he could retort they were all surprised when Lily, almost springing to the chair, grabbed up her belongings, then, turning on the little woman, cried angrily at her, ‘I’ve always said, missis, nothin’ would land me in the workhouse. But I’ll tell you somethin’ now, I’d rather put up with the workhouse than stay another minute with you,’ before turning to Joe and saying, ‘I’ve…I’ve got a friend. She’ll put me up for as long as I want.’

  When he made to protest she shook her head, saying, ‘It’s no good. You wouldn’t get me to stay here if you paid me.’

  And on this well-worn saying his mother yelled, ‘No, but he’ll have to fork out for wherever you go! He’s let himself in for somethin’, I can see that. I’m the first one to smell a rat.’

  Lily had been about to turn away but she paused; then looking over her shoulder at the woman, she said, ‘Well, you would do, missis, bein’ a close relation to one.’

  They were in the street again. She was walking fast and he was by her side, but when the strange noise came from him she stopped and looked at him. His face was slightly contorted, his eyes were wet, and after a moment of gazing at him, she said, ‘I see nowt to laugh at.’

  ‘Oh, Lily. That last shot was a good ’un. I never imagined you to be so quick on the uptake. But you’re gettin’ to be a surprise ’cos I’ve known you as somebody who kept themselves to themselves in the factory, only openin’ your mouth when it was necessary. But…it might be unnatural for me to say this, but it did me heart good to see me ma bein’ met by her match.’

  This brought a little smile from her as she turned away, and she walked on more slowly. And now he asked quietly, ‘Who is this friend?’

  ‘It’s Alice, Alice Quigley.’

  ‘Oh…Alice Quigley. Well, I should imagine Alice’ll put you up because there’s only her and her ma.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure she will, but…but she’ll be surprised, sort of, seein’…well, I mean, when I tell her you want to marry me.’

  ‘Well, as I see it, there’s nothin’ strange in that; a lot of fellas would like to marry you, Lily.’

  They were beyond the buildings now and crossing an open area cut in two by the almost dried-up bed of a stream and which acted as a boundary or buffer between the factory quarter and the better working-class district of the town.

  Being close on five o’clock the area was deserted; everybody would be at their teas, high Sunday tea in most cases. But shortly after six o’clock the place would be thick with strollers. There was a wooden bridge over the stream, and as she went to step on it she stopped and, putting her hand on the weather-beaten post that supported a handrail, she looked down on to the mud-ridged banks before she asked softly, ‘Why are you really doin’ this for me?’

  ‘I’ve…well, I thought I’d already told you, Lily.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you said but I can’t take it in, sort of. Well, why?’

  He now put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face; but he found himself unable to put into words why he was doing this. Could he say, ‘Because I want you?’ which was true enough, he did want her, and he’d wanted her for a long time, all the while imagining her untouched. Now she had been touched; whether just that once or more times, he didn’t know. But, likely, if she had come to him clean his feelings of joy would have been, in a way, unbearable, whereas now his emotions were tempered with a feeling of care.

  It was she who spoke again, in a low voice, saying, ‘You won’t take it out of me when once you’ve got me, will you?’

  He seemed to fling his body from one side of the narrow bridge to the other before he barked at her, ‘What d’you take me for? Is that your opinion of me?’

  She put her hand across her eyes as she muttered, ‘Well, they do, you know. Some of them do.’

  His hands came on her shoulders again, and now the words that were in his mind came tumbling out: ‘I love you, Lily. That’s your answer to why, I just love you. And when it’s born it’ll be as much mine as yours. I promise you that.’ Leaning forward now, he placed his mouth gently on hers, that was all; then he took her hand and they crossed the bridge, his mind repeating his own words, ‘When it’s born it’ll be as much mine as yours.’ Well, he would have to try to keep to his word, wouldn’t he, because it would never be his: male or female it would carry that skunk inside itself.

  Two

  When Bridget Mordaunt dismounted from her horse in the loading bay Mike McGregor, one of the two dray drivers, hurried towards her, saying, ‘Good day to you, Miss Mordaunt. Good day to you. ’Tis a lovely day you’ve taken for riding.’ Then turning his head, he called, ‘You there, Larry? Come and take the miss’s horse. And give him a drink, because it’s sweatin’ he is, the poor beast.’

  Looking at the grey-haired man, dressed in thick moleskin trousers and a blue twill shirt covered with a brown leather waistcoat, she said on a laugh, ‘He’s like his namesake, he has a depressing countenance.’

  The man nodded at her as if he understood who the namesake was, and as he walked across the yard by her side, twice he stopped her in order to point out some trifling innovations of which she was already aware. And she smiled to herself at his delaying tactics, for she was already aware that Danny Green had scooted into the factory at the sight of her to warn old George that Miss Bridget was about to appear. She knew that she was addressed as Miss Mordaunt to her face but known as Miss Bridget among themselves, for that was how they would address her when she had accompanied her father on his visits. And as it was half past four in the afternoon old George was likely in his office, cooling himself with a tankard of frothing beer that one of the lads had been sent out for. But wherever George Fields might be, she knew that the work in the factory would still go on at the same pace and to the same high standard, because Joe would see to that.

  It was Joe who came out of the doorway to greet her, saying, ‘Good afternoon, Miss Mordaunt. ’Tis nice to see you. Splendid weather, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is, Joe. But I thought it would have been a bit too hot for you in here.’

  Before Joe could give
any answer she turned to Mike McGregor, who was now touching his cap as he made to go back across the yard, and she said, ‘Oh, by the way, Mike, how is your daughter?’

  The man’s face brightened and he answered, ‘Never better, miss. Never better. This weather suits her down to the ground. ’Tis the damp and the winter that get at her chest. But she’s been fine these past weeks. Pray God that such weather lasts.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Mike. Yes, indeed. Remember me to her.’

  ‘I will, miss. I will indeed. And thank you.’

  As they went along the narrow passage leading into the factory, Joe said under his breath, ‘I doubt she’ll be bothered much longer with either the damp weather or the winter, miss.’

  ‘As bad as that, Joe?’

  ‘Yes, miss, as bad as that. She’s on twenty-seven and they usually go with the consumption round about that age.’

  She made no reply to this, only made a small motion with her head. Then they were stepping into the factory and, as always, she wondered how on earth these people stood this atmosphere, with the smell, dust and black, black everywhere, day in and day out, from childhood to old age.

  She was walking down between benches occupied mostly by women, some packing the blocks of blacking paste, others dealing with boot-top liquid; still others with heel polish and brown dressing for untanned shoes.

  This part of the factory was comparatively clean; it was the workers in the mixing and boiling shop off the main room who, since she was a girl, had caused her to wonder how the men and women stood up to the work day after day until they died, for few of them were fortunate to reach retirement age, as old George had done.

  She had early learned the ingredients necessary to make the various polishes, but while the names had fascinated her, and she had amazed her father by rattling them off like the alphabet: such as Marseilles soap, potassium carbonate, beeswax and water. Mix and boil together to a paste, then add a little at a time, stirring, stirring, powdered rock candy, powdered gum arabic, and ivory black. Stir until homogeneous, then pour, while still hot, into boxes. She had even sung it to a certain tune, that was until she had taken over the business after her father died, when she realised the amount of labour and sweat being constantly expended by the men and women in making the product—and the dirt, especially when soot was required to be used in some processes.