He was suddenly pushed to one side by the opening of the door and Fred’s coming in, and as he stumbled back Fred said in feigned surprise, ‘Oh, I’m very sorry, sir. Did I overbalance you?’
‘You’ll never overbalance me, lad,’ Joe said, glaring at him, and his mother put in, ‘No; you won’t overbalance the big-head, the upstart that he is, and he’s one if ever I saw one: wouldn’t give his own kith and kin a chance to earn a livin’,’ which succeeded in riling Joe further, and he rounded on her, saying, ‘He’s had every chance to earn a livin’; but he’s like you, Ma, he’s bone lazy. All he wants is a way to make easy money, and he can’t learn there’s no way to do it.’
He pulled the door wide again to go out, but he hadn’t reached the step before Fred had sprung after him and was now growling under his breath, ‘Oh, but there is, lad; there’s an easy way to do it. The bairn’s come, hasn’t it? And it would potch the big event. Oh, aye, it would potch the big event if he wasn’t made to co-oper…’
Joe had him pinned against the stanchion of the door now, his two hands on the lapels of the jacket had dragged them together, and he was hissing, ‘You do! Do that an’ I’ll do for you. D’you hear? As true as I’m standin’ here I’ll do for you.’
As he let go of the coat Fred coughed and choked for a moment; then he, in his turn, hissed at him, ‘You can’t frighten me. You never could and you never will.’
‘Well, brother, just you try it on. That’s all I’m sayin’ to you, just you try it on.’ And with this he swung about and marched down the short street, past Mrs McLoughlin, who lived two doors away and was talking to Florrie Burns from the end house. They both looked at him; then, as if in afterthought, Mrs McLoughlin said, ‘Nice night, Joe.’
He made no answer to this, not even to cast a glance in her direction, for he knew within the next half-hour everybody in the place would know that the Skinner lads had been at it again.
He had to traverse the whole of Honeybee Place and pass the factory before he could get on the horse bus that would take him to the outskirts of Birtley.
He usually walked the mile and a half distance between the factory and his home, but tonight he couldn’t get home quickly enough, not only to see Lily, but also the child. It was her child, yet to all intents and purposes he would be its father from now on. And it was a happy child, it gurgled up at him when he held it, it rarely cried, except when it was hungry. And its mother was happy, yes, its mother was happy. He had made her happy; and she loved him. Strange that, but she did, and she had told him so. Life was good except for…oh, yes, there was always an except, for his mother was a mean woman and Fred had her nature. But by God, if he as much as went near that man!…Anyway he, being who he was, could deny the whole affair and have him up for blackmail and perhaps imprisoned. Then where would their happiness go? Lily would be bowed down with shame, as she had been on the day she had been paid off with a bag of five sovereigns. Odd, but he had never used that money, nor had he let her; it was still in the bag in the bottom of the tin box.
Yet if the man should pay up, that, in a way for him and Lily, would be worse than exposure. It might save Lily’s face but his own feelings would be such that he really would want to do for Fred, not just threaten him.
He pushed open the back gate and walked up his own backyard, past the water tap, the coalhouse and the closet, and the wash-house, then through the kitchen door into a cosy room in which the fire was burning brightly in a blackleaded stove that had a boiler at one side and an oven at the other; and on the table, spread on a check cloth, were set the implements of a meal for two. But, stooping over a small clothes rack on which she was hanging napkins, was a big-made, fat, tousled-haired woman, and she greeted him with, ‘Oh, there you are then. The water’s boilin’, there’s enough left for your wash; but I had to save it for you, for she’s been at the nappies again.’ She thumbed up towards the ceiling. ‘I’ve never known anybody so keen on washin’ nappies out. ’Tisn’t healthy, I’ve told her. I used to let mine dry on them, the piddle was good for their skin.’
He laughed at her as he said, ‘Yes, I bet it was, Mary; and for the sores an’ all.’
‘Never a sore did they have, not one of mine. A bit skinned in their forks, or on their backsides. ’Tis good for the complexion, is pee. Did you know that? Oh, aye; it’s a known thing that rich ladies wash their faces in it.’
He flapped a hand towards her as he made for the far door that led into a passage which gave entrance to a sitting room and from which a flight of steep stairs led upwards, with Mary’s voice following him, crying, ‘You know what you’ll get if you go up there with them boots on! She’s just got off her hands an’ knees scrubbin’ that lino.’
He stopped and quickly undid the round, thick leather laces of his heavy boots. Then, stepping out of them, he bounded up the stairs and onto the narrow landing; and there, pushing open one of the two doors, he paused for just a second at the sight of the beautiful girl kneeling by the wooden cradle. She had her face turned to him: it was smiling a welcome. Tiptoeing across to her, he said, ‘Hello, there.’
‘Hello.’
He looked down on the child, saying now, ‘Is he all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, fine. He was a bit whingey this mornin’, but I took him out for a walk in the fields to get some fresh air, but only after I’d fought Mary off, mind. She was bundlin’ blankets on me; she said the child would get its death an’ it shouldn’t have fresh air on its face for three months. Where do they hear such things?’
‘Oh, in their own country, across the watter, as they call it, they’re full of superstitions an’ weird sayings an’ tales. And there’s so many of them now. Since the famine over there they’ve flooded the country, and you’d think it was mostly this North-East section. Still, if we’ve got to go by her they’re a warm-hearted, helpful lot.’
‘Oh yes; I don’t know what I would have done without her.’
No; and he didn’t either. The night the child was about to come he had been frantic. The midwife they had booked from Gateshead Fell was as drunk as a noodle, and it took Mary to push her out the door, literally with her toe in the woman’s backside. And she had taken over and brought the yelling boy into this world. He would never forget the weird feeling when she had first put the red boiled-looking piece of flesh into his arms. It had been like a wave of heat from one of the kilns. It had not only swept through him, but had enveloped him like a cloud for some moments, during which he could not even make out the tiny figure he was holding.
‘I’ll carry him down. Will you bring the cradle, Joe? I’m sorry you’ve got to go through this pantomime every night. If I left him downstairs in the cradle she would have it on the fender and the child kizzened up afore I knew where I was. I don’t know how six of hers have survived.’
‘Nor me.’ He was following her out of the room now, the cradle under his arm. ‘Likely they were either only parboiled, or just toasted.’
They were laughing together when they entered the kitchen, to be greeted by Mary, saying, ‘That child will grow up with rickets if nothin’ else. Stuck up in that room that’s like an iceberg most of the day. Well, I must be off. ’Tis himself that’ll be raisin’ Cain because his bite’s not bein’ put into his mouth. One stone of taties I’ve peeled this day; they’re in the pot now bein’ chased by a rabbit.’ She put her head back and let out a bellow of a laugh, in which both Joe and Lily joined.
The latch of the kitchen door was in her hand when she said, ‘’Tis a happy family you are. And you’ll go on being happy if you keep it low. But once you get past the two, love, as they say, goes up the flue, and from then on ’tis the bones of life you chew.’
When the door closed on her they looked at each other and their exchanged glances held embarrassment, until she put her hand out and laid it lightly on his coat sleeve, saying softly, ‘It won’t be like that, Joe. I promise you, it won’t be like that, not on my part anyway.’
He went to take her
in his arms, but then shook his head vigorously, saying, ‘I’m mucky; let me get a wash.’
And he had his wash in the scullery, kneeling on the stone floor over a tin bath of hot water. Then he had the full meal of meat pudding, potatoes, and turnip, followed by two cups of tea and a large buttered scone.
While she was nursing the baby, after the table had been cleared and she had washed up the crocks, they would sit before the fire and talk for a while. Then presently, he would turn to the table and either plough his way through an English lesson given to him by the teacher from the Unitarian night class that was held in the Mechanics Hall, or go over books of figures he had brought from the Works. And then it would be supper time, followed by bed.
On Sundays they would take the horse-bus to the outskirts of the town, and from there would walk the moor.
With the arrival of the baby three weeks ago the routine changed. The evenings now centred around the child. But tonight he somewhat surprised her by saying, ‘I’ve got to go out for a while. It’s to do with an order.’
‘Is it in the town?’
He hesitated before saying, ‘Yon side of Gateshead Fell.’
She said, ‘Are you goin’ to get the train?’
He laughed, then said, ‘By the time I walk to the station I could be almost in Newcastle, never mind Gateshead Fell.’
‘But it’s quite a distance, and you’ve been on your feet all day.’
He put his hand on the mass of her shining auburn hair, and he looked into her large greenish eyes as he said softly, ‘All the love words you could say to me wouldn’t touch me like what you’ve just come out with…you’ve been standin’ on your feet all day. Nobody in me life has ever worried about me standin’ on me feet, or, years ago, if they were frozen when I went about barefoot; and I’ve been droppin’ on me feet after sixteen hours of goin’ from one thing to another. But you’re advisin’ me to take the train to ease me feet. Oh, Lily.’ He leaned forward now and his lips were gentle on hers. And when the tears came into her eyes, in a raised tone, he said to her, ‘Why must you always cry when I say…well, a civil word?’
‘Because…because you’re such a good man, and I’m lucky. Oh yes, I’m a lucky girl. Life’s like a dream in this lovely little house. What am I sayin’, little? Four rooms and a backyard and all in it ours.’
‘Well, I’ll promise you this, lass, before I’m finished there’ll be eight rooms, and we’ll have a closet inside, aye, and a piano in the front room.’
She fell against him laughing now, and he held her tightly. Then, as he pressed her away, he said, ‘You can laugh, but I’m a man of me word. You’ll see.’
She watched him take his second best cap and jacket from off the concertinaed clothes rack that was nailed to the wall to the right of the door, and she wanted to say to him, ‘I’ll be happy in two rooms in one of the rows as long as you’re with me, Joe,’ but she refrained because it would bring him back to protest that she would never land up anywhere in Honeybee Place again.
After he had gone out of the door with a warm backward glance towards her, she sat down by the side of the cradle and looked at the child lying peacefully asleep, and her face reflected her sober thoughts: Would he grow up to look like him? Perhaps. Yes, perhaps. Yet, no matter how she tried, she could not visualise the face of the man who had fathered her child. She could see the outline of him, the way he stood, the way he held his head, always a little on the side as if in enquiry. She could hear his laugh, a deep laugh, in a way a thick heavy laugh. Her mind couldn’t explain what feelings it created in her. But his face continued to be a blank. Yet the memory of him lingered, seeming to scorn her for this new love, this real love. Yet, she had never spoken the word love to him.
The child, now opening its eyes, seemed to stare at her for a moment, then gave a little grizzling cry and she reacted by picking it up and, unbuttoning her blouse, holding it to her breast; then she sat back in the chair while experiencing a wonderful feeling of contentment and fulfilment…
Joe was worried, for he knew that if his brother was hard pushed to follow his twin pursuits of drink and horses he would resort to anything to get the wherewithal to satisfy these needs. He had done it on other occasions, so he wouldn’t put it past him from going to that fellow and blackmailing him. No, he wouldn’t. Yet, how was he to do it? He wouldn’t have the nerve to go up to the house, he’d be shown the door right quick. His only hope, as far as he could see, was to waylay the man, and that could only be done when he was riding back from the hunt or from one of his mad races across the moor. And anyway, he reasoned, if he didn’t happen to come across him the night, there would be other nights, other times, because not being at work, he had time to trail the fellow.
He could see no way of stopping him, unless he tipped off Andy Davison about his having potched him. But then, Andy was a bit rough, too rough; he’d likely kick him to death. Oh—he sighed deeply—why was he plagued with a parent like his mother and a brother like Fred? Why couldn’t he be left alone as he was now for once in his life?
Before entering the woodland he hesitated. He had been this far only twice since the day of the blackberry picking, but he knew that the path through it was well used as a horse trail before it opened on to a bridle path that ran past two farms before joining the road leading to estates like the Filmores’ and houses like Miss Mordaunt’s; and it was general news that the day after tomorrow that fellow Filmore was going to marry Miss Mordaunt’s cousin, the beautiful Miss Victoria.
Aye, it was general news an’ all that the gentry had a licence to whore, and they could pick from their maids in their own household or farmers’ daughters, even, if all tales be true, farmers’ wives; but they didn’t generally get down to factory lasses unless they looked like Lily.
Yes, if anywhere, this is where Fred would be lying in wait for this particular rider; and when he found him, wherever he was, he would tell him, and swear on it, that if he approached the man in any way, he himself would go straight to Andy Davison and tell him who had given him away. It was about the only thing that would make him hold his hand; for, just as he had, so Fred had seen some of Andy’s handiwork, and that carried out, too, while he was sober.
He was almost through the wood when he stopped. There was a figure in the distance. He could just glimpse it through the trees. It was a man and he was stooped as if looking on the ground. He moved cautiously forward, but soon realised, by the man’s attire, that he certainly wasn’t Fred, and he was fingering what looked like a piece of stone that was sticking out of the ground.
He stopped some distance from the man, who turned sharply to look at him, then straightened up, and Joe’s first thought was that he was a youth, until the voice belied this by its deep tone, saying, ‘Hello there. You out for a walk?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He moved closer and looked at the stone protruding from the earth, and he said, ‘Can…can I help you to pull it out?’
‘No. No.’ The man laughed now. ‘This is only the tip of it; you know, like an iceberg, there’s quite a big piece in the earth.’
Joe looked puzzled.
‘You interested in stones, sir?’ he said.
‘Well’—there was still laughter in the voice—‘not exactly stones, but stone. I chip away at it, you know.’
‘Oh.’
‘Cut out figures and things.’
‘Oh. Oh, yes, I see, sir, like sculptor men?’
‘Yes. Yes, like sculptor men. And’—he now turned away to look along a gully that was bordered by lumps of stone, and indicating it, he said, ‘There’s a lot of stone there, but most of it’s rubbish. This bit though’—he now turned and motioned towards it with his foot—‘could be useful.’
‘How will you get it out?’
‘Oh, I’ll have help. I’ll have some of the men from the yard.’
Joe did not enquire which yard.
‘This ridge, you know, runs right through the wood. The gully is shallow but the stone must go deep
down along it. I shouldn’t be surprised—’ He seemed now to be talking to himself as he went on, ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if they start quarrying here some day; and yet they are using bricks now for buildings, because they are less expensive, I suppose. But there’s no character in bricks.’ He turned and looked at Joe, and Joe smiled as he said, ‘They give you good shelter, sir.’
Douglas flexed his shoulders in acknowledgement and said, ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right there.’ Then he looked at Joe more intently. ‘Do you live around here?’ he asked.
‘I used to…well, I mean, sir, not so far away. Now I live just outside Birtley…in a brick house.’
Their short laughs intermingled, then Joe said, ‘Well, good evening to you, sir.’
‘Good evening.’
They both inclined their heads; then Joe turned and walked back through the trees, thinking as he went, I should have asked him if he had seen anybody, a fellow, passing; but I suppose that would have sounded funny. He returned to the path and walked on to where it joined the bridle path before turning and making his way back.
The man was still there, but sitting a little further off where the trees had thinned out. He seemed to be perched on a mound of some sort and was looking over the open land edging the wood on that side.
He walked slowly on. He knew he had come out on a fool’s errand; it wasn’t likely that Fred would tackle a man on a road like this. The presence of the man sitting on the ridge was enough for him to realise that there could be others dotted about the wood. It was only by chance that he had first glimpsed the fellow. Had he not been on the alert, looking, he could easily have passed him. And so there could be others about unseen…
The Black Candle Page 10