The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  Strange how people changed. After Bridget had lost her daughter to him her whole interest became centred on Henrietta: it was Henrietta this and Henrietta that; Henrietta was doing marvellously at school, and on one parent’s night she had danced with Douglas and there had been great fun in the school hall…And Henrietta had so enjoyed her holiday in the Lake District…And Henrietta had a sense of humour; she came out with very funny things at times. Henrietta. Henrietta.

  But the applause had dwindled away as Henrietta’s body developed, and was heard of no more after Henrietta had attacked a pupil, tearing at her face before felling her to the ground. There had been talk of the parents bringing charges for damages, but the matter had been settled privately. He never did know how much Bridget had paid for that particular tantrum.

  For a long time now, this obsession to be near him had embarrassed him, to say the least, for she had taken to pawing him. Although he admitted it was a childlike gesture, as if she were stroking a favourite doll or a puppy, nevertheless the attention was coming from a grown woman, and a very large grown woman at that.

  ‘What’s…the…matter…with…you? Got…a pain?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Joseph answered, looking towards his foot, while Douglas rose from the end of the couch and, taking hold of Henrietta’s arm, he said, ‘Come on…Joseph’s tired…Anyway, it’ll soon be dinner time…Go down and see…what the girls…are doing…They are still decorating the tree.’

  Like a petulant child she now shook off Douglas’s hand and stamped towards the door and went out, leaving it open.

  Douglas slowly walked towards it, closed it, then returned to the couch and, after sitting down again, he looked at Joseph, saying, ‘She’s becoming a handful.’

  ‘Becoming? She’s been that for a long time now, Douglas. I don’t know how you and Bridget put up with her.’

  ‘I don’t. It’s Bridget who has her most of the time. And she’s glad, I know, to get out to business these days and leave her to Nellie. What we’d do without her, I don’t know. She can handle her. She’s almost as big as Henrietta, and she stands no nonsense. It’s odd, but it’s always on Nellie’s day off, or at the weekend, that she makes tracks here for you.’ He sighed again; then, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, he allowed his hands to hang slackly between them, and from this position which, to Joseph, appeared to touch on despair, he said, ‘I don’t know where it’s going to end. I used to look forward to when I could retire and spend long peaceful days with Bridget, but now’—he turned his head towards Joseph—‘now there is Henrietta, the great intrusion. You know, Joseph, I’m like my daughter or she’s like me; we are a pair in that we only want to be with the person who belongs to us. What’s happened between you two, Joseph?’

  Joseph was startled. He hadn’t thought that the tension, or, to give it its real name, the rift, that had arisen between Amy and him had been detected at all by her parents, because they didn’t visit them that often.

  However, he didn’t give the usual and stupid answer by asking a question, such as, ‘What do you mean?’ but said, ‘I’ve never felt I belonged to anyone, Douglas. Right from a child I sensed there was a mystery about me, and so I accepted the feeling as part of my nature. Yet, right from when she was a child, Amy tried to possess me—that is the word, possess—and in a way I accepted it, right up till when we were married, because then I hadn’t thought about it as possession, I just gave it the name of love. But from shortly after we were married I knew that I had something to contend with, and it became more evident after each child was born, because she became jealous of her children.’

  ‘Oh, Joseph! What are you saying?’

  ‘I am saying…I am telling you the truth, Douglas, because I’ve always spoken the truth to you. I’ve always felt that you understood me and I you. Inside we think alike; we could be brothers, not uncle and nephew, and I repeat what I said: Amy is jealous of her family because they take up my time, they take up my attention, and they take up the love that she thinks should be entirely hers. And when she finally said no more children and—’ he now looked towards the fire as he ended, ‘no more of that, because that, in spite of what I promised, would in the end lead to children, the rift began.

  ‘You see, Douglas, and I must say this to you, your daughter’s idea of love is not like yours or Bridget’s. Your love for each other is so patent that neither of you has been able to hide the passion of it, not even to this day. But there is no passion in Amy. There is what she terms love, but her love doesn’t include the essence that should exist between a husband and wife. Do I need explain further?’

  ‘Dear God! Dear God!’ Douglas rose to his feet and went to the fireplace, where he stood looking down on the blazing coals, and like that he muttered, ‘I’m grieved, Joseph. I’m grieved to the heart for both of you. She’s my daughter and I love her, but I have an equal affection for you, not as a brother, as you said, but as if you were my son, for you came into our household as a baby and my interest in you grew with the years; but I had to keep it under cover, and you know the reason why.’

  ‘What was the reason?’ The sharp question caused them both to look towards the door to see Bridget entering; and Douglas realised that he couldn’t have shut the door properly or they would have heard it open. But he answered her, saying quickly, ‘The reason why the prices of houses are shooting up.’

  ‘Well, what do you imagine the reason to be?’

  When he rose but then stood as if thinking up an answer, Joseph put in, ‘Profiteers, those people who made a mint during the war and bought up good-class houses for a song.’

  ‘Well, well! Don’t forget we bought a number; but of course not large ones, and we paid a fair price. Anyway, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Pretty much the same. I think I like being a semi-invalid and being made a fuss of.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can imagine how you like being a semi-invalid.’ She did not, however, add, ‘And being made a fuss of,’ but said to Douglas, ‘The bell will be going for dinner shortly; you’d better come and tidy up.’

  ‘I don’t need to tidy up; I’ve got a shirt and collar on, woman.’

  ‘And a suit that you wore in the workshop this morning. So, come along.’ And she caught hold of his arm, casting a glance back at Joseph as she said, ‘Do you think you’ll be downstairs tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, definitely; even if I have to slide down the banister.’

  ‘That’s an idea. That’s an idea.’ Douglas laughed as he allowed Bridget to lead him from the room.

  When the sneck clicked, so indicating that the door was closed this time, Joseph leant back on the couch, closed his eyes and asked himself if Douglas would tell Bridget what had really passed between them. He doubted it, for if Douglas could keep the knowledge to himself for twenty years that his brother was a murderer in order to prevent others being hurt, then he wasn’t going to hurt his wife by telling her that her daughter was actually a failure as a wife. Anyway, he also doubted if she would believe him…

  It was quite late the same evening before he had the chance to have a private word with John, who spoke first: ‘It’s been a very busy day, sir,’ he said, ‘but I must tell you the ladies were delighted and not a little astonished at the gifts. The box of fruit looked beautiful and the flowers equally so, and I chose a large box of assorted chocolates. I have rarely seen so much pleasure expressed over gifts. I think it was the surprise as much as anything. They sent their very kind enquiries to you. And a very interesting point, sir, which was put over by the daughter in quite a humorous way, but one which I’m sorry I can’t emulate for you. Anyway, she told me that the boys who caused your fall came the following day to enquire if you had been really hurt, but that her mother had scared them to death by saying you had died in hospital and they would have the policemen after them shortly. She herself had had to reassure them, and the way in which she had done so was expressed by the mother in mock sternness; her silly daughter, she said, had then to
reward them for causing your distress by giving them an orange and a handful of nuts each. She seems of a very pleasant disposition, the daughter, sir.’

  Joseph laughed as he said, ‘Poor little beggars. I bet they were scared.’

  ‘Yes, I understand one burst out crying and said his ma would skelp the lugs off him.’

  Their laughter joined now, and John ended the conversation by saying more soberly, ‘I enjoyed my visit, sir. I felt indeed like Father Christmas, and they both looked like children who had opened their Christmas stockings…’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Joseph soberly. ‘That’s nice.’

  Christmas Day started early, the girls running from one room to another, saying, ‘Thank you, thank you,’ for what were merely trivial items, such as articles for their toilet, books, and of course boxes of chocolates. The real presents wouldn’t be given out until mid-morning, when the family, together with the staff, would gather round the tree.

  It was about half past ten when Kitty and Bertha dashed into his room, only to come to a dead stop, their hands across their mouths for a moment as they saw their father getting into his shirt. ‘Why can’t you knock? You hare-brained individuals,’ he cried at them as his head appeared through the shirt opening. ‘And what do you want?’

  It was Kitty who ran towards him and, grabbing the tail of his shirt, said, ‘We’ve come to tuck you in,’ and when Bertha joined her sister in tucking his shirt into his trousers, he turned to see John standing at the dressing-room door, his mouth wide with laughter and calling to him, ‘You won’t need any assistance from me, sir.’

  ‘I’d be glad, John, if you’d help me to get rid of these pests.’

  ‘John wouldn’t get rid of us, he’s too fond of us,’ Bertha shouted and, nodding towards John, informed her father, ‘I’m going to marry him when I grow up, aren’t I, John?’

  ‘Well, miss, it’s something we’ll have to go into; and I’m afraid it would have to be a long, long engagement.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Oh, say twenty years at least.’

  At this Bertha wagged her hand, saying, ‘You’ll be an old man then, as old as Daddy,’ which brought forth a helpless remonstrance from Joseph: ‘Huh! Huh! Get yourselves out, both of you!’ he commanded.

  ‘We’ve come to help you downstairs.’

  He turned Kitty about and thrust her towards the door, saying, ‘I don’t need your help, miss. Get away with you.’

  As the door banged behind them he looked towards it and for a moment he knew a feeling of deep happiness. He had a loving family, right from Malcolm down to Bertha…And yes; yes, there was good in Malcolm. He might be selfish, but then he had shown himself to be capable of caring. He recalled two years ago when his son was sixteen and Rover, their fourteen-year-old dog, was dying. It had been Malcolm who had sat up two nights in the stable with him, and that dog had died with his head on Malcolm’s thigh. And then what had happened? The boy himself had buried the dog, and afterwards had disappeared for a whole day; and when he did return, he had a furious row with his twin, because Willie had said to him he wasn’t the only one who cared for Rover. Yes, there was good in Malcolm. His mind suddenly giving him lines from Shakespeare, he muttered:

  Finds tongues in trees,

  Books in the running brooks,

  Sermons in stones,

  And good in everything.

  Well, he would question that last bit, good in everything or everyone…for there had been very little good in his father. And yet—he was again questioning, as he had just done with regard to Malcolm—what about his mistress? He had loved her, a woman much older than himself and of no particular attraction, so he understood. Life was strange.

  There had been a great deal of hilarity round the tree: first, the indoor servants were given their Christmas boxes, and whether they were gloves, stockings, handkerchiefs or ties, there was an envelope with each, and in it a gift of money according to their rank in the household. Add to these the six outside men, Ron Yarrow, the head yard man, the gardeners Harry Talbot and James Lombard, the apprentice boy Ben Wallace, then the farmhand Sam Jones and his assistant Davey Pollard. These latter two worked under William, who had plumped for farming rather than, like his brother, university. Without exception, they would declare that the Skinners were a very good family to work for, even though they all knew that behind the master stood the wealthy Mr and Mrs Filmore, and that it was Mr Filmore who really owned the place. Nevertheless they worked for the Skinners.

  Then came the family presents. There was much laughter from the young people when their father had given their mother a gold fob watch and in return she had given him a gold wrist watch; they had all yelled, ‘Surprise! Surprise!’

  Bridget received a diamond brooch from Douglas, and she gave him a ruby-studded tiepin and a number of books, mostly pictorial, showing the works of famous painters and sculptors.

  The girls’ presents ranged through hats, dresses, skin coats, slippers, and lingerie and lots of accessories; but Henrietta’s seemed to fall within the latter category only, and this did not please her, so that she showed how she was feeling when Bertha opened her present from Joseph and in delight held up a winter coat, fur hat and gloves to match: she retreated to a corner where she sat sulking.

  When Jonathan unpacked the long box to discover a much used violin case with a violin inside, his eyes filled with tears. He had already shown promise of becoming an exceptionally good instrumentalist, and although this was not, of course, a Stradivarius, he knew instantly it was of great value, and before he even picked it up he went and threw his arms around first Bridget, and then Douglas.

  Towards the end of the present-giving, however, it was noted that the twins had had no exceptional gift, no gold watches, no tiepins; socks, ties and handkerchiefs, yes, but nothing exciting.

  It was when there had come a slight lull on the gathering that Douglas, looking at his grandsons, said, ‘Well, you two, your presents are outside. You wouldn’t expect us to bring them in, would you?’

  At this there was a stir: although the twins remained quiet while looking questioningly at their parents and then at their grandparents, the girls were already running down the drawing room, crying, ‘What are they? What are they?’

  A minute later all the youngsters were outside, with the elders gathering around the doorway and the servants at the long windows, there to see Malcolm standing beside a two-seater car, while William stood gazing at the horse that John, with a wide grin on his face, was holding.

  As if of one mind they both turned towards the house now and slowly shook their heads from side to side. It was in this movement that they showed, as they seldom did, that they were from the same seed, for their actions were simultaneous; even the expression on their faces held the same look of surprise and gratitude.

  The girls were now shouting to each of them in turn, ‘Get in!’ or ‘Get on it!’ And in answer, William put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself onto the saddle, while Malcolm jumped into the car; but when he switched on the ignition, the roar of the engine made the horse toss its head nervously and stamp forward and William to swing round on the saddle, crying, ‘Turn that damn thing off, you idiot!’

  When order was restored the twins, again as if of one mind, left their respective Christmas boxes and hurried towards the groups standing in the doorway and, as if the car and the horse were of the same sex, expressed their thanks: ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, Grandpa. She’s wonderful. She’s wonderful!’ only for Douglas to say, ‘Don’t thank me, it was your father.’

  ‘Really? Oh, Dad!’

  When they both grabbed his hand, Joseph shouted, ‘Watch out! you pair of idiots, you’ll have me on my back again.’

  And so ended the Christmas present-giving.

  There was more chaffing when Malcolm, pushing his brother, exclaimed, ‘You go and put your nag in the stable; I want to try out my baby,’ and the diversion created by their pushing at each other and running
from the hall seemed itself to create a new one, for Henrietta, who was now standing to the side of Joseph, exclaimed in her loudest form of articulation, ‘I…would…like…a…car!’ And when, amid soothing remarks from Bridget and laughing exclamations from the girls, she happened to look towards Bertha, who too was laughing, and she read her lips as she said to Kitty, ‘As you say, lass, that would be the day, Henrietta in a car,’ her body seemed to leap past Bridget, and when she grabbed the little woman by the shoulders she almost lifted her from the floor as she screeched, ‘Yes! Me…in…a…car…In…a…car! I could…You old ha…ha…hag.’

  As Douglas grabbed hold of Henrietta’s arms, Joseph’s hands came out and slapped her face so hard that the force of it sent her staggering back, her body jangling and a hand clasping at her cheek like a child who had been chastised.

  There was a momentary silence before Joseph, turning his back on Henrietta, put out his arm and guided the definitely startled old woman towards the drawing room, to be followed by the rest, except Bridget who, standing in front of Henrietta, said quietly, ‘Come upstairs and rest. The excitement’s been too much for you.’

  ‘No! No!’

  Bridget’s voice and expression now changing, she said emphatically, ‘Yes! Yes! And this minute!’

  Again like a chastised child, Henrietta did as she was bidden, but definitely under protest, for her arms, legs and head were now all in a highly agitated state.

  In the drawing room Alice was saying to Bertha, ‘Did she hurt you?’

  ‘No, no, lass; and it was my own fault, I should have watched my tongue.’