The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘Joseph Carter. ’Tis a plain name, a kind that one remembers. Well now, while you finish up that toast’—she pointed to the plate now—‘I’ll go and turn your clothes on the boiler…’

  She turned his clothes on the boiler. She washed up her crocks in a tin dish that was standing in a shallow, brown-glazed stone sink. Then she sat opposite him and regaled him with more history of her life and that of her husband’s, from the time when this house was the toll house and her father-in-law the toll keeper. But when she married Willie and her family began to arrive, he built on two rooms to the side. So now she had three bedrooms, where one was all she needed. But she was kept busy with fourteen hens, twelve ducks, six geese and a gander, besides four pigs, two in litter.

  When, at half past four in the afternoon it was raining as hard as ever and the twilight seemed to have deepened, she looked out of the door and exclaimed, ‘Lad, if you make for Gateshead in that, you’re goin’ to get wetter than when you came; and what’s more, there’s not a light on the road until you come to the big house. The first one will be The Grove and I shouldn’t imagine they’ll bother with the light on the outside gates. There will be on the Thompsons’, but that’s a good step further on. Then you’ve got some way to go to get into the town. So, lad, what about it? You’re welcome to stay the night, more than welcome.’

  He did not hesitate in his acceptance of her offer; he couldn’t face the thought of being wet through again, nor groping his way along dark roads, only to be lost yet again. But what was more, he felt comfortable here, and she had blotted out his own thoughts and the reason that had brought him to this part in the first place.

  She was saying now, ‘The bed in the room above this won’t be damp because the chimney runs up by the wall. But it’s not big, you can hardly swing a cat in it. Still, I don’t suppose that’ll trouble you.’ Then she put in, ‘By the way, I’ve never asked you what’s your trade?’

  What was his trade? Could he say, ‘I was about to go up to university in a few days time, but now I don’t know’? What he said was, ‘I…I haven’t really made up my mind. I would like to teach.’

  ‘Oh well, if you can afford to wait to make up your mind, that’s all right. Your people must be well off.’

  ‘They are dead.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Where d’you live, and who with?’

  ‘I…I’ve been living with friends. My home is in South Shields.’

  ‘My! You’ve come a step out of your way, lad, haven’t you?’

  He had got used to the habit of her head being poked towards him, and here it was once again as she said, ‘I’m a nosy parker, that’s what you’re thinkin’, isn’t it, I’m a nosy parker?’

  ‘No, not at all, not at all. I’m thinking you’re a very kind lady.’

  ‘Aw, well, that’s nice of you, lad. But to tell you the truth, the good turn I’ve done is nothing to what you’ve done to me, because I don’t mind admitting I get lonely at times. And on a laugh she pointed to the kettle, saying, ‘I can’t get Charlie to answer me back.’

  They were both laughing together again; and so it went on until she showed him up the stairs to the narrow room that could hold only a single iron bed, a wooden chest, and a chair, and then she pointed to a frayed hand-worked text above the bed and, leaning forward, he read,

  ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters

  And hope to get a baker’s shop back’.

  Once more their laughter joined and she said, ‘I’ve left it there. This was my lad’s room. Well, he went to Australia, as I told you, but I don’t know whether he got his baker’s shop because he never sends me any of his bread.’ For a full moment the smile left her face; then she said, ‘Goodnight, lad. You’ll sleep well.’

  He did sleep well, and was woken in the morning with a cup of strong tea and his clothes laid ready on the one chair. When, later in the kitchen, he sat down to a breakfast of two eggs and two thick slices of ham reposing on pieces of fried bread, he ate it all.

  Before he left she took him out the back way and showed him her smallholding, from which she derived a livelihood; then she was standing at the gate with him looking up to the sky and saying, ‘By! That sun’s got a nerve to come out after yesterday, hasn’t he?’

  He made no rejoinder to this, but he took both her hands in his and shook them gently, as he said, ‘These last hours will stay with me for a long time, Mrs Hanratty, and as I promised you, I shall come back and see you; because you won’t take payment for your kindness, I’ll always feel in your debt, and that’s the only way I’ll be able to repay you.’

  The little woman now made no reply, but her head kept nodding, and as he walked away from her down the road he knew that her eyes were still on him, as was the weight of her loneliness, caused mostly, he thought, by the neglect of her family. Life was strange. Some people were deprived of love, others were surrounded by it. He himself had been surrounded by it and he had accepted it as normal, even at times being irritated by it and its demands.

  He had been walking smartly for about twenty minutes along a road that lay between open farmland; but abruptly the landscape changed, for to the left of him began grounds bordered by railings, some lying drunkenly on the brushwood, while spiderly trees struggled up between the branches of larger ones. He now felt the beat of his heart quicken as he realised that he was nearing the house he had come purposely to see.

  It was some distance further before he came to the iron gates. One was open, permanently so, because he noted that the grass was growing high into the filigreed ironwork. He stood, his hand gripping the cold edge of the other gate. The drive ahead disappeared into the darkness of overgrown trees. He turned his head to the right to where stood the lodge. That, too, was set among long grass and was definitely uninhabited.

  Should he walk up that drive and to the house? What then could he say? ‘Can I see my real father, please?’

  Huh! Did he want to see his real father who, by all accounts, was a no-good reprobate?

  It was on this thought that he turned away and walked along by a stone wall. Here, too, there was evidence of neglect, for some of the top copings were lying where they had fallen on the verge of the road. Further along, the wall ended abruptly, and there again were two iron gates; but both of these were wide open, and the drive that went through them showed it was used and he could see clearly for some good way along it. Would he be able to catch a glimpse of the house from the far end?

  He wasn’t really aware that the thought had urged him forward, until he was brought to a stop by the beginning of another stone wall running at right angles away from him and there, beyond the wall, he saw a great stretch of well-kept garden and in the far distance a figure bending over. It was a woman; she had her back to him. Then, when the figure straightened up and turned in his direction, even from this distance he knew now he was looking at a girl…the girl, the one whom Mrs Hanratty had said was wrong in the head, and who, yes, if it was she, would be his half-sister. The thought made his whole body quiver.

  He had stepped over a narrow ditch and was walking between neat rows of vegetables, and he was more than halfway towards her when she moved, not backwards away from him but towards him.

  He was the first to stop. He was now standing to the side of a row of cabbages and she had come to a halt about three yards distance, and he was simply astonished by the look of her. She was tall and her head was without covering and her auburn hair was in two plaits, the one hanging over her shoulder almost reaching her waist. But it was her face he was concentrating on. It was so beautiful that he told himself she must be normal; this couldn’t be the daughter who was considered mental.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  When she made no reply he thought, with further amazement, it must be her. He was about to speak again, to say that he was sorry that he had disturbed her, when she opened her mouth wide and let out a sound. It wasn’t a scream nor yet a cry, yet it was high and the only way he could translate it was by t
he word, ‘Wong’. When she emitted it again she turned her head to the side and in the direction of a long greenhouse. And now he saw a man come hurriedly out of it and towards them, and at his approach she began to wave her arms and her head wagged, and she made a number of, to him, unintelligible sounds. But the man seemed to understand her, for he now nodded his head at her, saying, ‘Yes. Yes. All right, Miss Henrietta. All right.’ Then, approaching Joseph and with his back to the young girl, he said, ‘You needn’t be scared: she’s all right, she’s only deaf.’

  ‘I’m not scared.’

  ‘You’re early.’

  Joseph’s eyes widened and he made a small movement with his head; then the man said, ‘How did you get here? Did you walk from the town? Because you’re not from round about, are you?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not from round about.’

  The man now stepped back a space and looked him up and down, saying, ‘You’re not the usual sort that answers for the job, an’ you don’t look as if you’ll be much use at liftin’ or helpin’ either, and it stated that plainly in the paper. Where’ve you come from?’

  He could answer this; he said, ‘I’ve…I’ve spent the night with Mrs Hanratty.’

  ‘Oh, old Bertha. Oh, well, why didn’t you say? She put you on to it, did she?’ He laughed now and made a movement with his hand as if he were about to punch Joseph on the shoulder as he said, ‘I bet you couldn’t get a word in. She’s better than the News of the World, but she’s a good sort. I haven’t seen her for some time. How is she?’

  ‘She seems very well.’

  Now the man narrowed his eyes as he said, ‘Are you related? You’re not her grandson from Australia, are you?’

  ‘No. No, I’m not.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s a pity. She just lives to hear or see one of ’em. Lonely she is, but with a heart of gold. Well, then, I think you had better come and see Mr Bright, ’cos you’ll be workin’ with him. By the way, I’m Ron Yarrow.’ He now turned to the girl who had moved to his side and, his mouth forming the words slowly and widely, he said, ‘New fella for to help your grandpa.’

  The girl now glanced at Joseph, then turned back to Ron Yarrow, who laughed and mouthed the words, ‘Don’t…go…by…looks, Miss Henrietta. He’s…young…an’…likely…as…strong…as…a…bull.’

  The girl smiled at him and shook her head, and now she was mouthing words which sounded to Joseph like, ‘Fairy tin bule,’ causing Ron Yarrow to laugh again and to look towards Joseph and explain, ‘She says you’re a very thin bull. But come on.’

  When Joseph made no move, Ron Yarrow said, ‘What’s the matter? You’re not frightened of her, are you?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  ‘Well then, come on.’

  While sitting in the kitchen last night with Mrs Hanratty he thought he had stepped into a dream; now he imagined he must be continuing it, and when he moved it was as if he were being pulled forward, for he kept telling himself he must not go into that house, because he didn’t know what his reactions would be if he saw the man.

  He was following Ron now past two further greenhouses, both in a very bad state of repair; then through an arched way in a high wall and so into a big yard, lined on one side with horse boxes, a barn and other buildings. And they were halfway across it when Ron Yarrow stopped and, turning to Joseph, looked him up and down, saying, ‘You’re well put on, lad, an’ you don’t speak the local twang. You must be hard set for a job to take this on,’ then he let out a slow breath, and concluded, ‘Well, you’re here, so you’d better see what you’re in for afore you skip out the gate quicker than you came in.’ And at this he hurried forward, opened the door, and entered the kitchen; and when Joseph, following him, remained on the threshold, he turned and almost barked at him, ‘Well, come in! There’s nobody goin’ to bite you.’

  Rose Jackson, who was now well into her sixties, was sitting on a high stool before the kitchen table chopping vegetables: her plump hand holding a sharp-pointed knife that was dicing a carrot with machine precision. But she stopped in the process and looked at Ron Yarrow as he, pointing to Joseph, said, ‘This is another one of ’em, cook. He’s not half as old as the last one, and not half as big either, but beggars can’t be choosers.’

  He now turned to address the other occupant of the kitchen, Katie Swift. The years were piled on her, too, and he said, ‘You’d better go and get Mr Bright, that’s if he’s finished with the first clean-up. Is Minnie up there with him?’

  ‘Yes; he’s got to have help of some sort.’ She was looking at Joseph as she spoke. ‘And Minnie would welcome the devil if he’d offer to give a hand.’

  As Joseph watched Katie Swift walk up the kitchen he was overcome by a feeling of panic and he turned to the man and said hurriedly, ‘I don’t think…you see…well, it should happen that…’

  Rose Jackson slid her plump body off the stool, looked at him and said quietly, ‘Give it a try, lad. They’re in hard straits up there. It’s fifteen shillings a week and your grub. That’s a good wage, I can tell you, an’ more than can be afforded. But they’re desperate for help. He’s not a bad fellow when you get to know him. A bit fractious at times, does a bit of yellin’, but his bark’s worse than his bite, and he’s at the end of his days. It’s just to relieve Mr Bright an’ keep the master clean an’ turn him, an’ things like that.’

  Joseph stared at her. The woman was talking about the man who was really his grandfather and she was pleading with him, and when he wet his lips and swallowed deeply, she said, ‘Have a cup of tea an’ take a seat.’ She pointed to a settle, which stood in a similar position to the one in Mrs Hanratty’s kitchen but was twice as long, and as if he were a child he obeyed her.

  Sitting on the settle, he now watched her brew the tea, all the while talking to the man who had brought him in, and as he listened to them it was only their voices that registered, not what they were saying, because his mind was racing ahead. If he were to stay here…If he were, then what would he say to Mr Douglas and the missis? And there was Amy. They would be home on Monday or Tuesday. If he were to tell them he was staying here he would have to tell them the reason why, that he now knew who he was. No, he couldn’t do that: that would cause more trouble and he had promised his mother not to divulge what she had told him. He couldn’t tell them. But what he must do is go back and collect some clothes and leave a letter. But what would he say? Where could he say he had gone? Not to university, because when he didn’t turn up there, somebody would likely enquire why. No; he would tell them that he felt he had to get away for a time; and then he would write to the university and say…what would he say to them? He was ill and would come up later? Because if the man upstairs was so old and near his end, there would be no need for him to stay, would there? And he could leave then and resume his life.

  Don’t talk so damned silly, man!…He almost spoke the words aloud. Resume what life? His life would never be the same again. He would never be the same again. This part of the dream he had stepped into was stark reality. Whatever happened now would change his life forever. He knew that, and even before he met the servant called Bright or the old man, his grandfather, who was near death, he knew he would stay here.

  ‘Drink it up while it’s hot.’

  He had just taken a sip of the tea when he saw the gardener man go quickly down the room to meet an elderly man who had just come in the far door, and after a low and hurried conversation they came towards him, where he was now standing awaiting them.

  James Bright stared at the tall young man who was staring back at him, and he did not speak immediately, for he was racking his brains as to where he had seen him before or someone like him. Over the years he had had a lot of young men through his hands and this one reminded him of someone he had known in the past. So it was a moment before he spoke, when he asked Joseph, ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Joseph Carter.’

  ‘Are you from these parts?’

  ‘Yon side of Gateshead.�
�� Well, that was true, Shields was yon side of Gateshead, although quite some way.

  ‘Have you been in this kind of work before?’

  ‘I…I don’t know what kind of work is expected of me.’

  ‘You would see the advert?’

  It was Ron who now put in in a low voice, ‘He just heard of the post from Mrs Hanratty. He’s a friend of hers.’

  ‘Oh. Oh.’ Bright nodded, then added, ‘Well, you had better come along and see what your duties are. By the way, what kind of work have you been doing?’

  Joseph swallowed deeply, then said, ‘Sort of clerical, but I wanted a change.’

  ‘Clerical?’ Bright’s heavy eyebrows moved upwards; then he sighed before saying, ‘Well, come along.’

  When Joseph entered the hall his steps slowed for a moment as he gazed about him. Two shafts of sunlight from the tall windows, one each side of a huge oak door, streamed across a carpet and partly up the panelled walls, seeming to show up and emphasise the shabbiness of the rest of this large room. He now slowly climbed the stairs, slowly because he was keeping in time with Bright’s step.

  On the landing Joseph again paused as his eyes took in the gallery and the two broad corridors going off. It was as they entered the left one that a door halfway along opened and a woman came out. Her step, too, was slow. She was wearing what looked like a loose dressing gown. Her hair looked slightly tousled, and she stopped at their approach and drew the collar of her garment closer round her neck. Then she was looking at the tall young man as Bright explained his presence. But she didn’t speak to him, nor did Joseph utter a word.

  So this was the cousin Victoria. She was still, in a way, beautiful, but it was a dim, faded beauty, like the reflection of her daughter’s through a mist.

  As they walked on Bright said under his breath, ‘That is the mistress. She hasn’t been well of late…fine lady.’ Then he pushed open a door and entered a room. But Joseph did not immediately follow him: he not only paused, he came to a standstill on the threshold. He was looking into a large room and right opposite to him was a huge four-poster bed. There were no drapes on it except at the head and these were of some heavy faded material, and in the bed was a figure, the body half propped up against a pile of pillows. The rest of the room seemed cluttered with furniture, large and small. But what hit him forcibly after the sight of the old man was the odour that emanated from the room. It was hot and thick with a body smell.