‘You look tired, lad.’
‘I am tired, Mrs Hanratty.’
‘Finding it too hard down there, are you?’
‘No, not really, because it isn’t hard work, it’s just the constant trotting up and down stairs all day.’
‘What have you actually got to do?’
So as he worked his way through a large meat pudding, which she termed a pot pie, he gave her a rough outline of his duties, and at the end she said, ‘Well, it strikes me it needs two of you or three of you on that job. And what you should have had before you had your dinner was a hot wash down. It would help you to get the smell out of your nose. Anyway, I’ll see to it the morrow night.’
‘Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Hanratty.’
‘No trouble at all, lad, no trouble at all. How long d’you think you’ll stay there, anyway?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps till the old man dies. Bright says the doctor gave him six months to live and that was a year ago. One of his legs is in a dreadful state and he has lost the use of both of them.’
‘Is he paralysed?’
‘I don’t really know. He can use his upper body quite well.’
‘What are the others really like?’
‘Oh, the mistress seems very nice, reserved, but very nice.’
‘And her daughter?’
‘Well, she’s a beautiful girl, really beautiful, but afflicted in a way. Yet, she’s sensible.’
‘Sensible but afflicted.’
‘Oh yes, she’s perfectly all right in her mind. It’s because of her deafness that she cannot speak properly.’
‘’Tis said round about that she fights like a wild beast at times.’
Yes, he could imagine she would, and with reason. Yes, with reason. He now had a vivid mental picture of the man on the horse whipping an imaginary object which the girl knew wasn’t imaginary at all. But what he had to acknowledge was that if that girl was his half-sister and the old bedridden man his grandfather, then that man who, given the chance, would have wielded that whip on his daughter, was his father.
Seven
As Joseph made his way from Mrs Hanratty’s along the darkening road in the mornings and returned there along the darkening road at night, the period with the kind old woman and the sound sleep in the feather tick was but a slight interlude away from the house; in fact, once he entered it it was as if he had never left it.
The cook, eyes still blinking from sleep, would push a mug of strong tea towards him, and Katie and Minnie, usually in the same manner, would say, ‘By! It’s a snifter out there.’ At times Ron and Jimmy would be in the kitchen, each with a mug of tea, and they would nod at him as if he had passed through just a moment ago.
Then there was Mr Bright. On this morning he greeted him with, ‘The master’s had a bad night, with a great deal of pain. I was about to send for the doctor at one stage, but he’s easier now. So, be gentle when you’re handling him,’ only immediately to excuse any insinuation in his words that Joseph had been rough in his handling by adding, ‘But I must admit you are less rough than some others have been.’
After donning the white overall which since the first day he had been given to wear, he went into the bedroom and, approaching the bed, he said, ‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Oh, Carter…what kind…of a morning…is it?’
‘It’s very fresh, sir, nippy.’
‘Well…soon be into November.’ There was a long pause now and then he said, ‘She enjoyed the game yesterday.’
‘I am pleased, sir.’
‘She’s…she’s very quick…don’t you think?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir, she’s very quick to learn.’
‘No…no dead hay…in the…loft, eh?’
Joseph smiled, then said, ‘No, sir; no dead hay in the loft.’ And then the routine began: the changing of the bed, the washing of the face and upper body, the shaving of the bristles. Bright did this on his own, gently lifting one piece of jowled flesh after the other, the razor gliding smoothly over it, and this always brought a look of admiration from Joseph.
Then followed breakfast: first, the master’s to be brought up and given help to eat it, which business, more than any other in the day, seemed to annoy him. Then Bright would go downstairs for his first meal, and when he returned at nine o’clock, Joseph would be allowed to go for his.
But this morning it was almost half past nine when he left the room, and immediately his step slowed as he saw, approaching from the other end of the corridor…the man.
He was dressed in his riding habit, but without his hat. His figure was tall and straight; there was only a slight bulge to his stomach, and his thick fair hair was a little grizzled above the ears. His face looked red, as if in a continual flush, and the skin below the eyes was puffed. Yet, altogether he presented a very handsome man.
They were almost abreast when Lionel suddenly stopped and, his eyes narrowing, he stared at the young man, first into his face, then over the length of him, before his gaze once more rested on his face. His head then moved slightly back and to the side and the action was one of inquiry, as were the words, ‘Who are you?’
What could he say to this? ‘I am your son?’ Yet he did not want to claim kinship with this man.
‘My name is Joseph Carter.’
The tone bore no deference, and this wasn’t lost on Lionel Filmore, for now he cried, ‘Say sir, when you address me! Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I understand.’
‘Don’t you dare use that tone to me, you insolent pup. Where do you come from?’
‘That’s my business.’ He had backed a step from the man now, and Lionel Filmore’s voice was at its loudest as he cried, ‘Your business, indeed! Well, it won’t be your business much longer in this house.’ And now at the top of his voice he yelled, ‘Bright! Bright!’
When the bedroom door opened and Bright appeared in the corridor Lionel Filmore marched towards him, commanding, ‘Get rid of that man!’
‘What, sir?’
‘You heard what I said, get rid of him! He’s insolent.’ He turned and glanced back at the figure who was still standing in the corridor and glaring at him now. Then he cried, ‘Why do you take such scum on?’ and leaving Bright to do his supposed duty, he marched into his father’s bedroom.
Immediately, Bright hurried towards Joseph and gripped his arm and as he shook it he said, ‘Take no notice.’ Now they were both made to turn and look back towards the open door for the old man was yelling, ‘This is still my house! I shall engage whom I like and if there is any dismissing to be done, I will do it.’
‘The fellow was insolent, I tell you. His tone, his manner, everything about him; he refused to address me correctly.’
‘Oh. Oh, did he? And what would you call correctly, Lionel, eh? Address you correctly? I know how I would address you. I know what I would say if—’ There was a gasping for breath here; then the voice, still loud, went on, ‘As I said, I know what I would say if I were addressing you correctly. You understand me, man? You understand me? Anyway, why the honour of this visit so early in the morning?’
There was a pause before Lionel Filmore’s voice came, saying, ‘I want to impress some sense into you.’
‘Oh, is that it? Is that it?’
‘You know what I mean, sir. You have got to sell the rest of the bottom land. We’re in straits.’
There was the sound of a weird throaty laugh in the old man’s voice coming to them now: ‘In straits?’ he was saying sarcastically. ‘Dear, dear! We’re in straits and you have just found that out, when you’ve spent your time sitting on your backside, or hopping from one inferior post to another for years, and you tell me we’re in straits. Get out! Now I say to you, get out!’
‘You’ve got to come to reason, Father. Look, I hate to put pressure on you but I hold the trump card and you know what it is. I’ll have her encased.’
A longer silence ensued; then the old man’s voice, lower now, came to them, sayi
ng, ‘You try that. You make a final bid for that, Lionel, and it’ll be the last bid you’ll make, I promise you. You should know me: it is I who hold the trump card. And then there is Douglas; he holds a bigger trump even than I do. Have you forgotten that? Do you think that if I can be pushed off tomorrow you’ll be safe? You’re a fool. There’s always Douglas. And the hate that you have for so many of us is nothing compared to the hate he has for you.’
‘Huh!’ Lionel’s voice, too, was low now. ‘That doesn’t frighten me. You could do nothing now, either of you. Have you ever thought that I could turn the tables on him? Yes; just think of it. He put up such a good act it was too good to be true. Think of that, Father. And I would, too, I’d fight him to my last breath.’
Joseph and Bright were standing close together staring now towards the far door, and when Lionel Filmore stormed out into the corridor, whatever they expected, it wasn’t that he would pass them without a glance.
Now Bright was hurrying back into the room with Joseph behind him. The old man was lying back on his pillows, his head deep in them. Bright just glanced at him, then hurried to the table and, pouring out a measure of brown liquid from a bottle into a glass, he carried it to the bed, raised his master’s head, put the glass to his lips and tipped it up. Then he stood by the bed waiting. It was some minutes before the old man’s breath became easy and he could say to Bright, ‘Where…where is your mistress?’
‘I…I think she’s still in her room, sir.’
‘Well, go to her, explain…You heard, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, tell her…keep the child close. Tell her…he means business.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Bright moved back from the bed, made a pretence of placing the glass on the table and called Joseph to him; then under his breath, he said, ‘Stay with him. Sit…sit by the bed. I won’t be a minute or so.’
Joseph hadn’t been seated for more than a minute when the old man, turning his head towards him, said, ‘Carter.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Go into the dressing room…bottom drawer under…under riding togs…long box, fetch it. Quick!’
Joseph went quickly. He pulled open the drawer, pushed aside the riding suits that had probably not been worn for a good many years, and disclosed a long mahogany box. He whipped it up and was back to the bed within seconds; then was surprised when the old man said, ‘Go…go into the dressing room. I’ll…I’ll call you.’
William Filmore made an effort to sit up and his bony fingers fumbled at the two catches on the box, and when he lifted the lid it was to disclose two revolvers. Without hesitation he took one out, looked to ascertain if it was loaded, then released the safety catch. Lifting his arm above his head, he wedged the pistol into a deep fold of the heavy brocade curtain where it was drawn together with a thick, silk rope-like cord that was looped over a brass hook protruding from the wall, its ends weighed down with two heavily braided and lead-weighted tassels.
Now, pressing his head well back into the pillows, he held it there for a moment; then again lifting a hand, he adjusted a fold of the curtain so that it covered the dark object. Now he closed the lid of the case, calling as he did so, ‘Carter! Carter!’
When Joseph appeared he thrust the case at him, saying, ‘Put it back quick! Don’t look at it. Do you hear? Don’t look at it. Quick! Quick!’ And as Joseph hurried into the dressing room the voice followed him, saying, ‘Then come back here.’
Hurriedly now, Joseph thrust the box into the place from where he had taken it, pushed the drawer closed, then almost at a run he returned to the room and to the old man’s side. Immediately the old man grabbed at his hand and quietly and huskily said, ‘Don’t say a word to Bright. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Not a word.’
‘I understand, sir.’
The old man let go of Joseph’s hand, lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, his voice still low, he said, ‘What do you think was in that case?’
‘I have no idea, sir.’
The eyes were open again staring at him. ‘Is that the truth?’
‘That is the truth, sir.’
‘No idea at all?’
‘Well—’ Joseph was flustered for a moment; then he said what he had at first actually thought, ‘I imagined, sir, that it might be a bottle; then I realised the case wasn’t quite deep enough.’
‘A bottle?’ A sound now like a laugh came from the old man’s throat before he added, ‘If that had been a bottle it would never have survived all this long in that drawer…in spite of Bright. Carter.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘I…I am not sure of you…you worry me…I don’t know why. I…I thought perhaps…it…could be because you are so different from the other types that Bright brought in to help. But…but I’m not sure. Sometimes I think you could be a young gentleman; then at others…no, no; because there is an earthiness about you that attaches you to people.’
Joseph turned his head now as the door opened and was thankful to see Bright coming back, and when Bright said to him, ‘You had better go down and get your breakfast now, Carter,’ he immediately left the room. But outside in the corridor he did not hurry towards the gallery and the stairs but, turning about, he went to the top end of the corridor where the closet was.
It was a large room holding three compartments and in each was a toilet pail and also a long shelf attached to the wall on which stood a basin and jug, and underneath it a rack on which were hung two towels. In the room itself there was a large dressing table on which were a number of toiletries, together with a silver-backed hand mirror and a number of brushes. There was a long padded stool in front of the dressing table and on this he sat down and, leaning forward, rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands for a moment as he allowed his mind to roam over what had taken place during the last half hour. He did not at first try to recollect what had passed between the father and son in that room, although he knew it was of great significance, but his mind dwelt on the strange request from the old man. What had been in that case? And he had been so secretive about it. If he had taken anything out of it, where could he hope to hide it? His bed was stripped as many as three times in the day. Perhaps they were papers, a late will or something, though surely that would be at his solicitor’s. Oh! He rose to his feet, went out and down the stairs.
Minnie was coming from the drawing room, carrying a scuttleful of ashes in one hand and a basket holding hearth brushes in the other. She paused and, looking at him, she said, ‘This all used to be done, had to be done, afore seven in the mornin’s, but what can you expect in this madhouse? They went at it again, didn’t they?’
When he held out his hand to take a heavy pail from her, she said, ‘It’s all right, lad, but ta all the same,’ then added as she walked on, ‘What was it all about?’
He was tactful in saying, ‘I was in the corridor at the time with Mr Bright.’
He pushed open the kitchen door for her and as she passed through she nodded at him, saying, ‘He’ll kill the missis one of these days; she’ll have another heart attack, you’ll see.’ Then lowering her voice as she went up the kitchen, she added, ‘That’s if Miss Henrietta doesn’t do for him afore that. By, lad, you haven’t seen anything yet. As cook says, she’s like a tiger going for an elephant. Like the picture in one of the old books up in the nursery.’ She had reached the table and as she put the bucket down she looked across at cook and said, ‘You remember that picture, don’t you, cook, about the tiger and the elephant? And the next picture showed you where the tiger was hanging on to the elephant’s throat?’
‘Yes’—cook nodded at her—‘but what about it?’
‘I was only saying to Carter here, if he ever sees Miss Henrietta in action she’d be like that.’
‘God forbid! Oh, aye, God forbid! Because if that happened again it would be the finish of her.’ Then turning to Joseph, she added, ‘Your
breakfast’ll be kizzened up to cork, lad. You’re late.’
‘I’m not very hungry.’
‘You’re never very hungry. I’ve never seen anybody at your age eat less.’ She had gone to the oven and taken out a covered plate. ‘Anyway, the egg’ll be as tough as the top of your boots; the bacon, though, an’ the bread should be all right. Come on, lad.’
Joseph sat at the corner of the table and ate most of what his mother would have termed a kizzened-up disgrace.
The rest of the day was comparatively quiet. In the afternoon the mistress brought her daughter into the bedroom, and they sat close together near the head of the bed and there was little ensuing talk, and certainly no suggestion of playing whist today; at least Joseph did not hear of it, for Bright had ordered him into the dressing room and he himself had followed and closed the door.
The dressing room was as large as an ordinary bedroom. Along two walls were wardrobes reaching almost to the ceiling, and also mahogany tallboys, the drawers of which Joseph soon discovered were amazingly full of different sets of underwear, all neatly arranged. Each tallboy also had a pull-out flap or table on which could be arranged cufflinks, studs, garters and such like accoutrements that were necessary for the dressing of a gentleman.
A long table in the middle of the room was used for pressing clothes. At one end of this was a smaller table on which stood a spirit stove and, resting on top of it, a flatiron. The window at the far end of the room overlooked the drive, and Bright was standing near it now, saying to Joseph as he pointed to a drawer to the side of him: ‘I’ll have you clear that. It’s full of shirts. A lot of them haven’t been used for years; they’ll be stained, likely, with age. I’ll have to see the mistress about them; they could be given away. Then I think we’ll bring some more sheets up from the linen cupboard.’ He suddenly turned and glanced at the window; then going close to it, he looked down, saying under his breath, ‘Pheasants. He’s been enjoying himself.’
The Black Candle Page 37