The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  The following morning he was informed that Andy Davison had been interviewed, and that this had taken place in Newcastle Infirmary where he had, last week, undergone an operation for a shattered kneecap. And so the questioning began again.

  As the day wore on, he became not only tired at the unusual pressure of the talking but also very frightened. More so when there came in a man whom he straight away recognised as the one he had talked to in the wood and, looking at him, said gently, ‘Yes; this is the man I spoke to on the night that I found the wounded man.’

  When the policeman said, ‘Thank you, Mr Filmore,’ all Joe could do was gape and repeat the name to himself, ‘Filmore.’ There was a younger son; he had heard tell of him: first; that he was a bit funny; then that was squashed when next he heard the young fellow had been to a University. But the man he had spoken to in the wood had told him he chipped stone; so he was a sculptor. And this was the brother of the other one. Yet he had been a nice gentleman to talk to. He was still nice, at least from his expression, because he’d looked sort of sad when he’d said he recognised him.

  Then the questions started again. What time was it when he had spoken to the gentleman? Where did he go after that?

  He went through the town.

  Which part? Did he go into any public house?

  No.

  Did he speak to anybody he knew?

  No; because he didn’t often go to yon end of Gateshead Fell. But he walked through Low Fell and touched on Fellburn.

  Why had he gone so far?

  His head was bent when he said, and for what seemed the countless time, ‘I was looking for Fred.’

  Why was he looking for Fred? came the question; and again for the countless time, ‘I…I was afraid he might be up to somethin’ that might get him into trouble.’

  What was this something that would get him into trouble? ‘’Twas a private affair. That’s all I’m goin’ to say about that, ’twas a private affair.’

  ‘About which you threatened to do for him?’

  ‘That was only a sayin’.’

  ‘Not as your mother expressed it. And she implies, too, that there was something that you didn’t wish your brother to do. But she herself knew nothing of it. Now it would help you if you would tell us what this matter was.’

  Always at this point he became dumb, stubborn and dumb. He could, of course, say Fred was out to blackmail the real father of his wife’s bairn. But Lily had gone through enough. That was one side of it. But there was another side to it: the bloke had, this very day, married Miss Bridget’s cousin, and it was well known that those two lasses were closer than sisters and that Miss Bridget had always played mother to the other one, so if he opened his mouth, what would happen? That young lass, Victoria, would be in a state. The scandal would ruin the beginning of her married life. As for Miss Bridget, well, there was nothin’ he wouldn’t do for Miss Bridget. She had been the one person in his life who had really been kind to him. He was holding the position he was today through her kindness alone. If her father had been still alive, the managing would have gone to Johnnie McInnes. Although he stood well in the eyes of Mr Carter, he knew everybody would expect Mr Carter to suggest Johnnie McInnes for the job. So, on all accounts, he must keep his mouth shut on this because he owed that to Miss Bridget.

  Anyway, as he saw it, this had nothing to do with Fred’s being polished off. A stab in the neck was likely from some low-down dirty bugger who had it in for him, and perhaps with some justice on his part, Fred having done him down some way…But who was he?

  He was becoming really frightened now.

  Eight

  There was a reason for Bridget’s wishing to go down to Meadow House just two days before the wedding. The excuse she openly gave was that she would like to collect all Victoria’s things and to pack them ready to be sent to her new home.

  Victoria was in the throes of having her wedding apparel adjusted as well as of packing the necessary clothes for her honeymoon. And she had already been made to realise that although dear Bridget was still giving her the dress allowance she wouldn’t be able to indulge it all on herself. And so whatever attire she had kept for use in Meadow House would now likely come in useful, especially in the skilful hands of her dressmaker. She therefore offered no objection to Bridget’s leaving her at this particular time. What is more, she felt it would do Bridget good to get away by herself for a day. She had been very moody of late, not herself at all; and she’d always felt that she preferred Meadow House to this, their home in the country.

  But Bridget had hardly returned to the house and taken off her dustcoat and been hugged by Victoria before she was shocked with the news that Victoria garbled at her.

  ‘My dear, such happenings since you’ve been away; you would never believe; you would think that you had been away for months. Douglas found a man in Brook’s Wood who had been murdered, his throat cut. Did you ever? Did you ever? He dashed back to the house and got the yard men to take a cart; then went with the man to hospital. He had been in the wood…I mean, Douglas had, looking for stones, you know, along that ridge that goes right through…Oh dear me! But the worst is, and I’m sure you’ll be shocked by this, because you’ve spoken of him so often and said he was such a good fellow. I’ve only seen him, myself, a few times but he was nice…’

  It was at this point that Bridget, now in the drawing room, pushed Victoria down into a chair, saying sharply, ‘Stop rattling on like that! Who’s this that I know?’

  ‘The manager. The one you made manager. Joe. You know, he was a kind of protégé of Uncle’s, and yours, yes, and yours. Well, he’s killed his brother. Murdered him.’

  Bridget took a step backwards, her face now looking contorted and her words hardly audible even to herself as she gasped, ‘What are you saying? Joe…? Murdered his brother?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, in the wood, Brook’s Wood. And today, just this afternoon, Douglas had to go and identify him…I don’t mean the brother, I mean, Joe, because he had apparently been talking to him just a while before the deed was done.’

  ‘Never! Never! Joe would never do a thing like that.’

  ‘Well, Joe had, Joe has, at least that’s what everybody’s saying. He was in the wood and Douglas said the police say he can’t give an account of where he went after that…Where are you going?’

  ‘Where do you think I’m going?’ The words were snapped out. ‘I’m going into Gateshead to see Joe. Is that where they took him?’

  ‘I…I don’t know. But…but is it proper?’

  ‘Proper! What are you talking about? He was the manager of my factory. Proper!’ She had almost spat the word at Victoria, who, her lips quivering, almost whimpered, ‘You needn’t take that attitude with me. And…and it’s my wedding eve, you know, and I thought…’

  ‘Don’t remind me! I know it’s your wedding eve.’

  She was already marching into the hall with Victoria following her and muttering under her breath, ‘Why is it…why is it you don’t like him? What is it? What has he ever done to you? You make me unhappy. You know that, Bridget? You make me unhappy.’

  Bridget managed to refrain from retorting, ‘You’ll be more unhappy before you’re finished with that man,’ and found herself wondering if it would not have been better to let her pine away, as she would have done. And yet she might not have, human nature being a force unto itself. She had been worried sick these last days about this very matter, and again she questioned herself what would happen if she were to turn on her now and say, ‘He’s only marrying you because I support him. What do you think of that?’

  Oh, the quicker she got out of the house the better; the quicker tomorrow was over the better…But Joe. Poor Joe.

  ‘You’ve just come in; you can’t go out again like this. I bet you’ve had nothing to eat.’

  Bridget now ignored Victoria and, turning to where Jessie was standing, she said, ‘Tell Danny to get Frank to saddle Hamlet,’ and to Victoria stated, ‘I’m going up to chan
ge.’

  As Bridget ran up the stairs Jessie paused for a moment and, looking at Victoria, said under her breath, ‘She’s heard about Joe then?’

  Victoria nodded.

  And Jessie, too, nodded as she said, ‘Aye, well, I knew that would be her reaction,’ then turned and hurried towards the kitchen.

  Victoria was waiting for Bridget as she came down the stairs again, and there was a petulant note in her voice when she said, ‘I imagined we would have this evening together, my last evening home. You’re not behaving nicely, Bridget. I’m going to miss you as much as you’ll miss me, but I’m taking it like…’

  ‘Be quiet,Victoria!’ The words were low and slow and they silenced Victoria and widened her eyes and parted her lips, and left her standing in not a little amazement, watching the young woman who had been not only a sister but also a mother to her for years, as well as a guardian, a shield, a provider for all that was necessary for an easy pleasant life, walk away from her as if she hated her.

  The policeman behind the counter recognised the woman who talked like a lady but was dressed like a gentleman in riding habit, but he was certainly surprised when she asked further if she could speak to the man who had been brought in for murder.

  ‘Oh. Oh. Well, I’ll have to see…You know the…Mr Skinner?’

  ‘I have known him since he was a child. He is the manager of my factory.’

  ‘Oh…Oh. Well, now, would you like to take a seat, please? I’ll be back in a minute.’

  She did not take the proffered seat, which was a form attached to the wall, but stood looking at two framed posters on the painted brick wall to the side of her, both dealing with men wanted for burglary and offering a reward of twenty pounds for anyone who would give information that would lead to the conviction of the said man.

  A second constable was busying himself turning over the pages of a ledger in between casting furtive glances in her direction. Presently, the first one reappeared, saying, ‘Will you come this way, Miss Mordaunt?’

  She was led along a corridor and into a room; and there was Joe. Immediately she saw that he looked not only older than the last time she had seen him, but also that there was fear expressed in his face. And that was something new, because she had always looked on him as a strong man, both in his opinions and in his attitude to life, for she knew he had fought against the circumstances in which he had been brought up by trying to educate himself.

  There was another policeman in the room, but she turned to the one who had brought her in and asked, ‘May we have a private conversation?’

  The man hesitated, then said, ‘Well, five minutes, miss,’ and both policemen went out and closed the door. But as she looked at it she felt that the officers were not very far away, that they were even standing behind it.

  Looking at Joe pityingly, she shook her head as she said, ‘This is terrible. How has it come about?’

  ‘I…I wish I knew, miss. Dear God! I wish I knew. But…but I can tell you this, it wasn’t by my hand. I never laid a finger on him.’

  ‘I’m…I’m sure you didn’t. But…but have you any idea? Had he enemies?’

  ‘Oh aye, a few. But the one I thought might have done it was a fellow who had been imprisoned for supposed stealin’ when he hadn’t done the job at all. It was…well, it was our Fred. And this fellow always said he would swing for him. But when they found him he was cleared. Oh aye, he was cleared because he was in hospital having an operation.’

  ‘Have you told them where you were that night and what you did?’

  ‘Aye; but it should happen I was in the wood where he was found, and…and what’s more damning, miss, I was talkin’ to a gentleman, Mr Filmore.’

  ‘Mr Filmore?’ There was a note of surprise in her voice, ‘Mr Lionel Filmore?’

  Now she was somewhat surprised at his tone and the stiffening of his body as he said, ‘No, not him. Not him, miss, the younger one. But I didn’t know who he was. He was looking for stones, he said. We stood chatting for a minute, but it was him who found Fred, and he remembered me talkin’ to him. And I ask you, they would put two and two together, wouldn’t they, miss? But—’ He moved a step nearer and, gripping both hands tightly together in front of his chest, he said, ‘Before God and heaven, miss, I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you, Joe, I believe you. But what we’ve got to do now is to find out who did. You must have a solicitor, someone who can defend you.’

  ‘I’ll take a lot of defending, miss, because I can’t name a soul that I spoke to after that man. And what’s more I was so mad at our Fred that I really was out looking for him.’

  ‘You were out looking for him?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Oh, well’—he lowered his head—‘it was a private matter, miss, just atween him and me. He was goin’ to do something that was wrong and I was goin’ to try and stop him.’

  ‘Oh, well now, if you tell that to the police, or I mean your advocate, it might throw new light on the subject.’

  He was looking at her hard now, saying, ‘No, miss; I couldn’t tell what there was atween us, not to save me life, I couldn’t.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘That’s why I can’t tell you, miss, why I can’t, if you know what I mean. Because there’s somebody else could be hurt. Aye, and not only one. But don’t you worry, miss. Thank you, though, for comin’. You can do one thing for me.’

  ‘Anything. Anything, Joe. Oh, and I’ll work to get you free. Oh, yes, yes, I will. But tell me what you want me to do now?’

  ‘Would you go and see Lily? She’s in a state. At least when I left her she was, and she’s got few friends. Her people won’t have anything to do with her, only abuse her. And there’s only Mrs Leary next door.’

  ‘I’ll go straight away and see her tonight. And I’ll tell her you’ll soon be free.’

  ‘No, miss. I mean, don’t build up her hopes. You see, miss, only a few hours before, I had threatened to do practically what has happened. It was at me mother’s. And she told them, the pollis, and that’s what put them on to me.’

  ‘Oh no! Your mother did that?’

  ‘Aye, me mother did that. We never got on, you see. We never hit it off. She’s a bitter woman and she thought a lot of Fred. I didn’t count. And truth to tell, miss, it wasn’t the first time I’d said what I’d do to him if he didn’t behave.’

  As the door opened they both turned and looked at the policeman, and he at them. Thrusting out her hand, she gripped Joe’s, saying, ‘It’ll be all right, Joe. Try not to worry. This thing must be sorted out. I’ll see my solicitor tomorrow; he’ll set things in motion. But I’ll go and see Lily right now.’

  ‘Thank you, miss, thank you. And thank you for comin’.’

  She turned hastily from him, went past the policeman, and to the other who was sitting in the corridor she said, ‘It’s all been a mistake. That man would never kill anyone, particularly his brother. I’ve…I’ve known him since he was a boy, when he started in my father’s factory.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I know, miss, and he’s done well for himself. But…but these things happen, you know, in families.’

  When she turned a look on him as much to say, ‘Don’t be silly!’ he stiffened slightly and it came over in his voice as he said, ‘More so in families, miss, than anywhere else. You’d be surprised.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I would, Constable; I’d be surprised, especially in this case. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, miss. Goodnight.’

  Outside the police station she put her hand in her breeches pocket and brought out a silver coin and handed it to the boy who was holding the reins of her horse. He was surrounded by a number of companions, and when he opened his hand to look at the coin there was a chorus of ‘Ooh! Ooh!’ And as she mounted, the boy, gripping the coin in his hand, said, ‘Hold it any time for you, miss. I’m eleven. I like ’orses, miss. Could do with a job, miss. Could do with a job. Will you remember me, miss? Wi
ll you remember me?’

  About to turn the horse around, she looked down into the thin dirty face and said, ‘Yes, I’ll remember you,’ then as she put the horse into a trot she heard his high voice calling, ‘Me name’s…!’ But the name was lost to her, as she knew the memory of him would be, too; there were so many of them. Joe had been like that boy, willing to work, willing to do anything, and that’s what had increased her liking for him in the first place; even though she was no older than him, it was his eagerness to better himself.

  As the years went on something about him had drawn her irrevocably towards him. However, her inner sense and level-headedness pulled against the attraction and pointed out the impossibility of such an association, and when, following her father’s death, she had, in a way, become his master, that had put paid for all time to such daydreaming. Yet it hadn’t obliterated those that would steal on her in the night.

  Nine

  The bride having no living male relative, the solicitor and family friend, Andrew Kemp, led her to the altar on his arm. This situation was understandable, but not so that of the bridegroom, whose brother was not standing as his best man. James Wright, the eldest of three bachelor brothers, had accepted this honour.

  It could not have gone unnoticed, and it certainly hadn’t gone unquestioned: Why was Douglas not taking on this honour? And Lionel’s answer had been, Well, Douglas looked so young and being only five foot six, and slim with it, he appeared boyish.

  That Douglas was in the church at all was due to his reluctance to continue the bawling match he’d had with his father. He was now sitting in the first pew of those on the right-hand side of the church, and vitally aware that to the left of him, and feeling much the same as himself, was Bridget.

  When he watched Victoria gazing up in adoration at Lionel as he placed the ring on her finger, he actually felt sick. How was it, he asked himself, that she and Bridget could be full cousins? In spite of her beauty and girlish charm Victoria was nothing but a feather-brained girl. And indeed, girl she was in spite of her twenty-two years; and so, he imagined, she would remain. Yet there was Bridget, not much older, but with a mind of her own and a generosity that she concealed and a beauty that she also contrived to hide. If she had bothered to dress as Victoria did she would have outshone her. He was sure of that. Yet, she would be the first to deny she had any looks at all. She might not deny her personality, but where looks were concerned he knew she would scorn the suggestion of beauty. It was as if she imagined once she owned up to the latter she would weaken the former. There was a general understanding that brains and beauty rarely accompanied one another, and that if they did the owners of the assets always became notorious in some way. Perhaps it was because certain members of the ruling class, stemming down from Royalty, had set the pattern.