The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  As he closed his eyes his thoughts took him back to seeing himself standing by the bedside of his dying father, whose last words were, ‘Remember, Will, everything in life must be paid for.’ And yes, his father had certainly paid, through a crippling and lingering disease, a very high price for what he had called the natural sin of infidelity.

  Four

  ‘Have you not found out yet how the land lies?’

  ‘Father.’ Lionel closed his eyes for a moment and brought his jaws tightly together before he said slowly, ‘What do you want me to do? Go to the other one and say, what’s her share in all this?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. You could put it over in a diplomatic way, because she seems to be the working end of the pair. She seems to make the money and your dear Victoria to spend it, if her dress is anything to go by, which to my mind points to the fact she must have the bigger share in the whole concern. You know, the maids here would turn out better dressed than the other one, flat as a pancake and utterly colourless. Look at her at the last do: not a frill or a bit of ruching to be seen on her anywhere. Putty coloured she was from head to foot, while the other one was decked out like a duchess. Well, it speaks for itself, doesn’t it? Have you ever spoken about money to her?’

  ‘Yes, once, and her answer was to laugh and say, “Well, you must know I’m just a poor girl.”’

  ‘Poor girl! They were brothers, weren’t they, the two fathers?’

  ‘Yes. But it seems her father died when she was quite young; and from the little I can gather they were all living together at the time, the two brothers and their families.’

  ‘Families, you say? Are there any more besides the two women?’

  ‘No. No, they were the only children.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is you should do something before the marriage. You’ve got two weeks.’

  ‘What do you expect me to do, Father? Go and ask her if she’s going to bring a dowry with her? If anything would turn her from the idea of marriage it would be that, I should imagine.’

  At this William Filmore turned from where he had been standing near the library table and walked to the end of the room and stood looking out into the deepening twilight of the wet April day. The library was situated at the end of the house and its windows faced across a wide yard to a row of large stone buildings; and looking towards them, he asked, ‘Is Doug ready?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s likely still over there chipping away. He enjoys being a tradesman,’ Lionel answered, to be surprised by his father’s response when he swung round from the window and hissed, ‘It would be something to your credit if you went and joined him in being a tradesman. At least he’s keeping himself and handing a bit into the house at the same time. And it’s an art he’s following, not bloody blacking and candles. And that’s something you want to do as soon as possible, get rid of that blacking factory and the candles and put it into more property where it’s already sprinkled along by the river, so I understand.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me, Father, what I’m going to do; I’m no blasted fool.’

  William Filmore now walked slowly back down the room, saying, ‘No; you’re no blasted fool, not in some ways; but in others you’re an idiot. Tell me, do you like the girl? I mean, not just like her, want her? Are you for her?’

  Lionel did not immediately answer; he ran his hand back over his well pomaded hair, then he said, ‘She’s very likeable…and desirable.’

  And it was also some seconds before his father, who was staring hard at him now, said, ‘Liking and desirable isn’t going to be enough. There’s going to be no more of that Lizzie Porter business, I hope. Have you made it plain with her?’ for himself now to be surprised by Lionel’s answer, who, being further piqued, leaned on the library table and with doubled fist beat out each word: ‘Yes! Yes! Yes! I’ve told you before.’

  His father’s tone was comparatively calm as he replied, ‘Well, it’s nice to be reassured. What time is it?’ He turned and looked towards the mantelpiece on which stood an ornate French gilt clock presided over, as it were, by the posed lady on its head, and he remarked, ‘In an hour’s time Alan and Minnie and their five daughters will, as usual, be the first to arrive.’ He gave a dry laugh now as he said, ‘There’s a bevy for you, a nestful of pure chicks and not a cock in sight.’ But Lionel was already going out of the door and so he called after him, ‘See that Doug’s ready,’ after which he lowered himself into the chair, pulled out a large red silk handkerchief from the side pocket of his heavily embroidered jacket and mopped his perspiring face and so somewhat smothered the words, which were, ‘God in heaven! There’ll be some skitting this night. We’ve reached the depths when the house has got to be saved by a blacking factory. Of all the trades in the world, and most of them can be found in this area, she has to have a blacking factory. Not a brush or comb-maker, or a dyer’s, or a cutler’s, or a tanner’s, or a chain maker’s, or a calico printer’s, and nothing so ladylike as lacemaking, but it has to be a bloody blacking factory. And every one of his friends at the ball here tonight and supposedly celebrating the coming event in a fortnight’s time will be smirking, the women behind their fans, the men as they toast the happy couple repeatedly with champagne, or port, or whisky, or rum, or highly laced punch, or sherry. Oh yes, there’ll be such a choice, but by two o’clock tomorrow morning there’ll be no difference to their bloody fuddled minds; nor to my own…nor to my own.’

  Among the close friends at the ball were Pat Maybrook, his wife Ann, and their three sons, David, Norman and Albert, each of these being accompanied by a young lady, David by his fiancée. The Maybrooks’ business was the lucrative one of brewers.

  Then there was Arthur Porter, his wife Kitty, his son Peter and the notorious daughter Elizabeth. Porter was in the respectable business of shipping.

  The Wright family consisted of Stephen, his wife Rosie, and three sons, John, Amos and James, all confirmed bachelors and so unattended by ladies. Then there were the Forresters: Alan, his wife Minnie, and their five daughters, the latter all well into their twenties: Jane the eldest at twenty-nine, and, down the line, Mary, Alice, Freda and Sarah at twenty-two. They were merry girls; at least, they presented a merry front; and they were unescorted except for their parents. However, they knew there would always be John, Amos and James Wright whom they could fall back on. Just as John, Amos and James, in their turn, never bothered about escorts, knowing that they would and could pick from the Forrester lasses. And the Wright men being merry souls, there was always a great deal of chaff and laughter whenever the two families met up.

  Among the rest of the guests were those invited under the heading of strong acquaintances, men and wives who attended the hunt. They might be farmers, but so-called ‘gentlemen’ ones.

  Altogether, the future groom’s guests came to fifty, the future bride’s merely nine: Andrew Kemp, Bridget’s solicitor, his wife Jane, and their son Richard, himself a solicitor; William Bennett, Bridget’s accountant, his wife Nell, daughter Nancy and son Jeff; and lastly Bridget’s agent, Arthur Fathers and his son Philip. Mrs Fathers was rather unwell.

  As was usual the guests had been assembled for about an hour before supper was announced; and as the table in the large dining room could accommodate only twenty-two people, the innovation of smaller tables, each seating four to six people set around the main board, had been resorted to. That this arrangement proved difficult for the serving of the meal went unnoticed as the hired and liveried waiters were practised in their work and no catastrophe occurred, much to the annoyance of James Bright, the butler-cum-footman-cum-valet and anything else that was required of him in this establishment; and with only four females under him, the housekeeper, Mrs Matilda Pillman, the cook, Rose Jackson, and Kate Swift and Mary Carstairs, who did whatever was required of them, from assisting the cook to mending their own uniforms and even washing them at times when the laundress couldn’t cope with what was required of her in one day of hiring.

  Nevertheless,
the cook and the three women had, for the previous week, worked almost eighteen hours a day preparing for the great do and determining that the supper spread was going to be something that would be talked about for some time afterwards, even if it were thought to be but a prelude to the banquets that would become a regular feature in this house once Mr Lionel was married to the beautiful and rich Miss Mordaunt.

  They knew that, as engagements went, this one had been a whirlwind affair, for Mr Lionel had known her for less than a year and had been engaged to her for a matter of months only. But there, the sooner the better, for this house would come alive again, and not before time.

  Where the master had got the money from to engage these titivated lackeys and the band of four players, besides all that wine and spirits, the Lord only knew; because they had been lucky to get their half-pay wages last Christmas.

  However, to attend to present and future matters: they would all keep their eyes on the leftovers because that lot had arrived in a covered cart, in which Jack Johnson, the yard man, had said were three large wicker baskets, empty ones. And for what did waiters want to carry three big empty wicker baskets along with them, eh?

  But now, as the noise and the laughter proclaimed, the guests were leaving the dining room, the ladies making for the toilet room one way, the gentlemen to a similar room the other way, and, as Kate Swift remarked the while wrinkling her nose, there’d be some cleaning up in the morning in that department, if she knew anything. And not only in the men’s room either, for from her experience some of the female gentry weren’t as clean as pigs. But let them all away now to that dining room and then make sure what was left on those tables would find its way back to the kitchen…

  The carpets had been taken up in the hall and from the long drawing room, and Jimmy Fawcett and Ron Yarrow, the two stablemen, had waxed and bumpered the floor until it shone like glass, so much so that some people were finding it a little dangerous to walk over, especially those ladies wearing the new-fashioned spider heels. But once the dancing started those who could not claim to be dancers of any merit found it easy to glide to the beat of the music, even, in some instances, against it, all, however, with very great enjoyment, as the laughter, chatter and noise proclaimed.

  They had danced mazurkas, minuets, the more boisterous lancers, and then an uproarious attempt at a Scottish reel. There followed a natural and appreciated interval during which more drink and dishes of light sweetmeats were handed round; and more visits made to the ladies’ room, and to the gentlemen’s, but with less delicacy now than before, for by this time most of the faces were flushed and many stomachs distended.

  It was when the leader of the quartet announced that his gentlemen were about to render a waltz by the famous Austrian composer Johann Strauss that Lionel led his future bride onto the floor; and once again Douglas came to Bridget, who was sitting in a cane chair in an alcove near the last window in the drawing-room part of the temporary ballroom. Smiling, he bowed to her, saying, ‘Dare I ask you to give me the pleasure of again treading on your toes?’

  Bridget now laughed outright; then answering in the same vein, she said, ‘Sir, I regret I must deprive you of that pleasure, for I have need of my feet. But I would consider it a favour if you would sit with me for a while and we could continue the conversation that the last interval so abruptly interrupted.’

  He, too, laughed outright when, pulling a chair forward from the open doors of the conservatory leading out of the drawing room, he went to place it next to hers but found it wouldn’t fit. And when it protruded almost onto the floor he pushed it to one side; then, impulsively taking her hand, he said, ‘Come on. Come this way,’ and she found herself being drawn round a giggling, waltzing couple and into the conservatory.

  The long, narrow, glass-covered room, unlike the main rooms that were lit by gas chandeliers, was illuminated by a number of oil lamps dotted here and there amid the plants, ferns and other greenery that decorated the slatted shelves.

  At the far end, from which the sound of giggles and laughter was coming, was a group of chattering elderly ladies, all furiously fanning themselves; and so, still holding her hand he muttered, ‘We won’t join that company, but’—he pointed—‘there’s a seat behind here.’ And the next moment he had drawn her behind an enormous potted palm.

  She could just make out a long wooden bench, and when they both dropped onto it she peered at him, then put her head back and once again gave way to a burst of laughter.

  This had been a most surprising evening. From early morning she had been dreading it. She had woken early with a most uneasy feeling on her. In any case it would have highlighted, as it were, the nearness of the impending separation from Victoria, for they had been like sisters, loving, caring sisters, and so she would be feeling unhappy; but there was something else worrying her, something on which she couldn’t put a finger. Perhaps it was the haste that surrounded this whole business; he had seemed to sweep Victoria off her feet. But then Victoria was only too pleased to be swept off her feet. Her love for this man was, in a way, painful to watch; it was a love, she did not doubt, that would be enduring. She was, in a way, utterly besotted with him. But was he besotted with her? And this she had continually asked herself until she had to admit that she believed he was in love with her. But to what extent?

  Much against her will she had let Victoria persuade her to buy a new ball gown, but she had held out firmly against pinks, blues and greens and plumped for a pale grey; although the style wasn’t one she would have chosen, as it had a low neckline and even exposed some part of her shoulders, and a skirt which she had considered to be much too voluminous but which she found was quite flat compared with the gowns of most of the ladies present, both young and old. Her changed appearance, she realised, had been a surprise to the head of the household, but still William Filmore’s welcome had not been effusive, although it could be said to have been polite: whereas Victoria’s hand was kissed, hers was shaken and only by the tips of her fingers.

  But since finding herself, at dinner, seated next to Douglas Filmore, she had, in a strange way, begun to enjoy herself, for she found that this young man had a quiet sense of humour, and it wasn’t without a caustic streak when pointing out some foible of one or other of the guests. She had noticed, too, he did not drink much at dinner: not one of his three wine glasses had been refilled.

  She’d had a number of dances during the evening, three being with the young man sitting next to her and one with his brother. Lionel, she found, was a much better dancer than Douglas, but not as entertaining a partner. Conversation, too, had been spasmodic and made up of little more than two-syllable words: Was she enjoying herself?

  Yes, thank you.

  Would she miss Victoria very much?

  Of course.

  Would she continue to live at Meadow House?

  Just for part of the time, when she wanted to attend to business.

  Did she prefer the South Shields house?

  Yes, she preferred the South Shields house.

  Was it necessary to have two houses to carry on the businesses?

  She completed a number of dance steps before answering this question while looking him in the face: Yes, she did consider it necessary.

  Why?

  And to this she had given the simple answer: Because my father thought it necessary…

  ‘What are you laughing at? Come on, tell me.’

  Before answering him, she took a lace-edged handkerchief from her beaded vanity bag and dabbed her eyes with it; then she said, ‘Because it’s the first time I’ve been pulled behind a palm by a young man.’

  Now his head, too, was back and their laughter joined, and as his ebbed away he, in turn, peered at her in the dim light, saying, ‘You know, you’re as refreshing as spring water.’

  She did not blush, nor did she come out with some meaningless platitude of denial, but what she did say and quite seriously was, ‘You are a very kind man, different from your brother and your f
ather.’

  Nor did he make any protest against this statement; instead, he confirmed it by saying, ‘Oh yes, I’m well aware of that. I’ve always been well aware of it, as far as I can remember: I didn’t look like Lionel, I didn’t act like Lionel, I had none of Lionel’s graces. I was, compared with his stature, only half a man. Yet, you know, this never worried me because I didn’t want to be like Lionel, or like my father. And, looking back down our family tree, there was no one of them that I wanted to be like. I was an oddity. Yet I knew I liked what I was. Do you think that sounds like the essence of arrogance?’

  She shook her head slightly, then said, ‘No. It’s good to recognise what you are.’

  ‘You recognised what you were a long time ago, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well’—she looked away from him and into the palm leaves and the strips of light coming through them. The music had stopped now but the chatter and laughter was louder—‘I can’t say that I went in for self-analysis; I just knew what I wanted to do; but more so I knew what I didn’t want to do, and that was spend my time in dressing up and sitting for hours in someone else’s drawing room indulging in small chat and gossip, or going into serious debate on the changing fashions, whether your waist should be pushed up under your bust or dragged down onto the top of your hips, all depending, of course, on the tightness of your corsets.’

  She now thrust her hand over her mouth and bent forward to still her gurgling, while he once again allowed his head to fall back, though making little sound with his laughter even while his body was shaking, because now they were aware of others coming into the conservatory.