The Black Candle

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The Black Candle Page 50

by Catherine Cookson


  Douglas rang the bell beside his chair, and when Bridget appeared he did not speak but handed her the paper, his finger pointing to the column.

  After merely glancing at the heading, Bridget said quietly, ‘I…I didn’t want you disturbed further. The papers had a field day.’

  ‘It says she’s in the asylum. Which asylum?’

  ‘The private one.’

  ‘That’s no good. When we discussed this before I told you so. They are right to criticise why she wasn’t put away.’

  ‘She is not mad, Douglas.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Bridget: you, who have so much common sense, to keep believing that she isn’t mad. Like all such, she doesn’t appear mad all the time, and they are the worst. She’s always been dangerous…And the woman, have you heard anything about her, who she is?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’ve heard who she is. She’s the woman in question.’

  ‘Well, how did you find out about her? And how did Henrietta know where to go?’

  ‘I don’t really know. The only thing I can imagine is when Amy was telling me about…about the woman, we were in the conservatory. She could have been looking through that glass door—it’s the only place—because if she had been in the drawing room she wouldn’t have seen us speaking. Because, as usual, she would have been careful.’

  ‘Which proves that she’s wily. When they’re in that mentally affected state they’re always wily. And what is Amy going to do now?’

  ‘Oh, please, Douglas. Don’t agitate yourself. You’ve got to rest. You know what the doctor said…’

  ‘Damn rest! Tell me what Amy is going to do.’

  ‘She…she doesn’t know herself. She is terribly upset.’

  ‘Well, that’s her own damn fault!’

  ‘Oh, Douglas, Douglas.’

  ‘I repeat, Bridget, it’s her own damn fault.’

  ‘All right. All right, dear; but please don’t get agitated.’

  ‘Have you seen Joseph since?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘And by the sound of you, you don’t want to. Well, I would like to have a word with him. So, if you’ll be kind enough, dear, you’ll get that message to him. And don’t look like that, dear; he’s not to blame…well, not all to blame.’

  Bridget went out without answering him; but on the landing she stood and gripped her hands together while she repeated, ‘Not to blame, not all to blame.’ He’s been to blame since the day he was born, and before that. If it hadn’t been for him. Oh! She tossed her head as she went down the stairs, forgetting for the moment that it was she herself who had held the whip of fate, from the time she allowed her girlish emotions to dwell on a working man in a blacking factory.

  It was three weeks later and Liz had become merely another patient in the end bed of a hospital ward; even the fact that Mr Skinner took up every minute of visiting hours with her and he a married man, and not an ordinary married man, but one connected with the Filmores, was hardly mentioned.

  During the first week, memories of the strange Filmore family had been revived, but during the past two they seemed to have receded, so that now little notice was taken of Joseph and his visits, except the fact that he was very concerned for the patient.

  He was now sitting by the bedside holding Liz’s hand and saying, ‘It’s all ready, dear, it’s all arranged. The house looks as it did in the first place, except that I’ve had the sitting room turned into a bedroom, and it’s all furnished’—he pulled a face at her—‘your mother has done the choosing. She’s excited about it. I think she’s glad she’s going to sell the business. As she said, she’s stood on her pins long enough behind that counter and put up with chatter of little cheeky monkeys with their empty bottles.’

  Liz turned her pale, large-eyed face away from him and looked across the ward to the bed opposite and near which two visitors were seated, and she said, ‘And where will you live, Joe?’

  ‘Why, with you, at least most of the time.’

  ‘Have you talked this over?’

  ‘No; but there’s nothing to talk about, it’s understood.’

  She brought her gaze back on him and said gently, ‘It’s understood.’ Then softly and wearily she added, ‘Joseph, you’re tearing yourself and your family apart.’

  ‘Now be quiet. I’m doing no such thing. This would have happened…I mean, we would have gone there to live in any case. You know we would. Have I to remind you again of what you said in the bedroom that day?’

  ‘No. No.’ She moved her head on the pillow. ‘You haven’t got to remind me of anything that happened that day, Joseph.’

  At this he turned his gaze away from her, thinking, Yes; why had he to bring up the happenings of that day, or the harassment that followed, including that business of one of Janet’s customers suggesting her daughter had a case that would skin that madwoman’s guardians of every penny they had? And she had immediately threatened him with a bottle. At one time, this would have caused much laughter, but not now…And Liz had just said he would have to talk the matter over. Yes, he knew that was to come, and part of that would have to be an explanation to his whole family. Their overall manner towards him hadn’t changed but always he seemed to detect the question in all their eyes, asking him why, and to explain. John was the only one he could talk to, come clean with, and it was strange what he had said to him only yesterday: ‘Hang on here, sir. Don’t leave altogether,’ he had urged him; ‘I understand your predicament, but I would still keep a hold here, if I were you. But then, of course, sir, it’s your business.’

  And when he had asked, ‘What about the rest of the staff?’ John’s answer had been, ‘Surprise and disbelief in some quarters, but at bottom they’re all for you, sir. Without exception, they are all for you.’

  Liz was saying now, ‘I’m to have exercise, they tell me.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘And there is the suggestion of an operation some time in the future. It all depends on’—she pulled a face—‘so many things. As the doctor says, they’ll see how things go. Oh, Joe’—her hand jerked in his—‘I get bored lying here. I want to get up and…’ Her voice trailed away and he murmured, ‘I know, dear, I know. Look, dear.’ He leaned closer to her and very quietly said, ‘I’ve put this to you before, but wouldn’t you like to go into a private room?’

  ‘And I’ve put this to you before, too, dear. I’d go daft on my own most of the day. Here, everything is busy, busy. I get bored, as I said, but I think it’s mostly during the night when I can’t sleep. But that’s my own fault. I refuse the pills. But during the day it’s sometimes like going to the pictures, there’s so much happening. Don’t worry, my dear.’ She squeezed his hand now. ‘The time will soon pass. And talking of worrying, it’s you whom I worry about. You must be running from one end of the town to the other most of the time.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m run off my feet in the car. Speaking of the car, I’m going to bring Bertha in to see you for a minute or so on Sunday. She’s asked once or twice. You’ve never met Bertha yet. You’ll like her. She could be your mother’s twin sister: they talk the same language; they’ll get on famously together.’

  ‘I like Bertha already. She must be a sort of foster mother to you.’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good name for her, foster mother. I’m very fond of Bertha.’

  ‘Do you know, Joseph Skinner, you’re in the habit of using that word fond? And it’s misplaced. You say you’re very fond of young Bertha, Kitty, Jonathan, Alice and the twins. You see, I know the order they go in. But what you mean is you love them.’

  He looked into her soft brown eyes as he said, ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right, I love them; but I can add to that, I am very, very fond of you.’

  When the bell rang he looked at his watch, saying, ‘It can’t be: not an hour, surely!’

  ‘Well, there’s always tomorrow. Odd about Sundays here. You can always tell it’s Sunday, everything in the ward seems to change. There’s not so much noise, or so m
uch bustle. I find that very odd. But until tomorrow, dear.’

  He put his lips on hers and she put her arms around his neck; then she watched him step back from the bed. But when, at the end of the ward, he turned and waved, she could only just make him out through the mist in her eyes, and her mother’s words came back at her, not in malice, but as a statement of fact, ‘If that fellow hadn’t slipped outside the shop that day, you wouldn’t be lying there now. God has a funny way of working, I must say.’

  He sensed the trouble as soon as he entered the house. It was written on John’s face as he hurried across the hall towards him, and he didn’t speak until he had taken his hat and coat from him, when he said, ‘Would you come into the study a minute, sir?’

  In some alarm Joseph followed him. Once in the room, John said, ‘The mistress had a phone call this afternoon. Mr Filmore died suddenly after another heart attack.’

  Joseph said nothing, but remained still, and after a moment while he stared at John, he closed his eyes and his mind murmured again and again, Oh, Douglas. No, no! Not quick, like that. And he recalled their last conversation together when his last words to him were, ‘You must do what you think you must, but, at the same time, think about those who are going to be hurt by any decision you might make.’ He knew at this moment that he would never again meet up with such an understanding man, such a good man, as Douglas Filmore. He wanted to sit down, put his head on his arms and cry, but he’d have to go down to the house.

  ‘He was such a good man.’

  He looked at John and nodded and said, ‘Yes. He was a good man, John, a good man.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink before you leave, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you could, please.’

  After John had left the room he did sit down, but he didn’t drop his face onto his arms; he reverted to an action he would use as a boy: in the attic bedroom of the Lodge, when things were troubling him, he would bite on the first knuckle of his thumb quite hard until it hurt…

  It was turned nine o’clock when he reached the house. The blinds were all drawn but he could see there were lights in most of the windows. He was greeted in the hall by Ada Flannigan. Her face was red and swollen, and she said immediately, ‘The mistress and Mrs Skinner are in the study, sir.’

  He nodded at her; then he took off his hat and coat, and brushed his hair back with his hand, before going along the passage. He tapped on the study door before opening it, to be greeted by the hard stares of his wife and her mother.

  On the sight of him, Amy had risen from where she had been sitting beside her mother on the sofa, but she didn’t speak to him, she just held his gaze as he approached. Then, when he reached the couch she walked past him and out of the room.

  He wasn’t surprised at her attitude, but he was by Bridget’s tone as she said, ‘Well, you’ve managed to come.’

  ‘I hadn’t heard the news, Bridget, until I returned home.’

  ‘Oh, you return home sometimes, then.’

  ‘Oh, Bridget, please.’

  ‘Oh, you can change your tone of “please understand me and my situation”. Well, I can say this to you: do you understand me and my situation at this moment? I have lost my beloved husband, my beloved Douglas. My life is finished and you have helped to precipitate it.’

  ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’

  ‘What I am talking about is your actions, your infidelity. If you hadn’t been with your woman, that last incident wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Now, now, Bridget. I must come back on you about that. If you had done your duty, your real duty, by Henrietta, she would have been under restraint years ago, and you know it. Douglas tried, he advised you, but no, you had to have something to control. Oh…Oh’—he raised his hand—‘I know this is not the time to say these things. I don’t want to retaliate, but your attitude leaves me nothing but to try to defend myself, and I must say this: when you lost hold on your daughter you grabbed at Henrietta, because Douglas never wanted her in the house.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare suggest I went against Douglas’s wishes.’

  ‘I am saying it.’ His voice was quiet. ‘I am saying it very plainly, because Douglas loved you so much, not only loved, he worshipped you and would put up with anything in order to please you.’

  He watched her eyelids blinking, her mouth trembling, but no tears came, and her voice was still vibrant as she said, ‘Yes. Yes, he adored me. And I repeat what I said first, you have been the means of my losing him before his time. If it hadn’t been for your last escapade he would have had nothing to excite or aggravate him. But a second heart attack was too much…’

  ‘It wasn’t a second heart attack, Bridget. What you don’t know, what you closed your eyes to, which is another point, is that Douglas had had a number, I don’t know how many, but a number of slight attacks over the past two years. He said as much to me.’

  ‘No! No!’

  ‘But yes, Bridget, yes. He didn’t want to upset you. Anyway, you can confirm it by speaking to his doctor.’

  ‘Well, whichever way, I still blame you for aggravating his situation. He always trusted you…’

  ‘While you mistrusted me, Bridget.’ He saw her swallow deeply before she said, ‘Unfortunately, you always made me aware of the branch from where you sprang.’

  ‘Thank you. But what you seem to forget, Bridget, is that a tree has many branches, and Douglas was an offshoot of that particular tree, and his offshoot was Amy, and we’re all linked. You, in a way, are an outsider, always have been, so you cannot really speak of the feelings and workings of the members of the so-called tree. And I would say that you have been lucky in having the love of Douglas, because, in a way, he showed none of the vices of the main body as my father did, like I do, and my son Malcolm does, and’—he now poked his head towards her—‘his mother does, too.’ Then, lowering his voice, he said, ‘I’m…I’m sorry, Bridget, that we’re talking like this and at this particular time, because you have lost your husband and I have lost the only real man friend I’ve ever had. Douglas meant a great deal to me and I imagined, unlike some other people, he did not hold me in bad esteem.’

  ‘And there, I think he was mistaken.’

  ‘Doubtless you do, Bridget; but it could be better all round if for the next few days we could bury our differences. I would like to help you to see to the affairs of…’

  She broke in sharply, saying, ‘Thank you! But all the affairs have already been dealt with; I do not need any assistance. I have arranged for the funeral to be on Wednesday, and I don’t wish to see you until then, when there will be business to attend to. As from then, I shall no longer be maintaining your household, and it will be up to you if you decide to stay on and act for your son, as you did in the beginning for Douglas and me.’

  The anger that rose in him formed a wave of hate that swelled in his throat. His face turned a deep dark red and for a moment he thought he was going to choke. Then, strangely, it was Douglas’s voice he heard. It was loud in his head, saying, ‘Get away now. Say nothing more. Nothing. Do you hear? Get away.’

  He wasn’t conscious of leaving the room, not of going along the passage to the hall, but he became very conscious of glaring at Amy as she stood within the drawing-room door looking towards him. And he kept his gaze on her as he got into his coat and thrust on his hat. When he imagined she was going to take a step towards him he turned swiftly and opened the door and rushed out, because he knew if she had started on him he wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off her.

  As he got into the car, there flashed through his mind the description of the tree and its branches. His father had murdered a man and he had used physical force on his own daughter; his daughter had used more physical force on a number of people, and she had almost killed one; his grandfather had shot his own son. There was a dangerous vein running through them all and it was strong in him this moment, for he wanted to hit out at something…someone. Looking back
, at least over the last twenty years, he could see himself having been used and manipulated, and now that woman had planned that he would go on being caretaker of his son’s inheritance. Well, be damned if he would! Be damned if he would!

  Eleven

  The funeral was over and he’d had no intention of returning to the house; but at the cemetery gates Mr Andrew Kemp, who was now an elderly man, had approached him, saying, ‘You will be coming back to the house, Mr Skinner?’ And to this Joseph had said, ‘No, I don’t think there is any need.’ But Richard Kemp had smiled and said, ‘I think you’ll find there is a need, Mr Skinner. The will is to be read today, and you should be there.’ They had looked hard at each other for a moment, then Joseph had said, ‘Very well. Very well.’

  So now, here he was sitting in one of the two seats placed near the door. To the side of him was the small staff, and old Sam Benson and his son; in front of him, in two rows of chairs, sat his six children, and in front of them were seated Bridget and Amy. A sofa table fronted them all, and behind it Mr Kemp was seated.

  There were two open folders lying on the table and from one Mr Kemp took up a sheet of parchment paper and began to read. The words were the usual, ‘I, Douglas Filmore, of the…’ Then came the address and the fact that Douglas was in a sound state of mind; after which followed the details of the will. But before actually beginning to read these, Mr Kemp looked at the assembled company, gave a little smile, then began.

 

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