The Black Candle

by Catherine Cookson

  ‘They will be delighted to hear it, sir, delighted. And thank you.’

  As John rose to his feet, so did Joseph, and he, too, said, ‘Thank you. Thank you, John. And let me say straight away, I am very grateful, not only for your loyalty but also for your caring.’

  And to this John answered, ‘It’s always been a pleasure to serve you, sir, and I hope it will continue for a long time.’ And on this, with a small inclination of his head, he went out.

  Slowly Joseph walked towards the window and looked out onto the garden where the trees were turning to russet, and he thought, An old people’s home; and immediately his mind went to Bertha.

  Thirteen

  ‘Well, that’s final: you’ll never go back there again. How dare he! Just how dare he openly flaunt public censure and talk of bringing his woman into the house! And then turning it into a boarding house.’

  ‘Apparently, Mother, as Malcolm says, it’s for elderly people, monied people.’

  ‘What else did he say? You were long enough on the telephone.’

  ‘Just that he was angry, Mother; that he couldn’t go into details because he didn’t know them. He had just had a letter from Willie.’

  ‘Well!’ Bridget, seated on the couch, looked at her daughter’s back, where she was standing before the fire, her head bent apparently staring down at it, and she said, ‘That’s final. Oh, yes, that’s final. You must put in for a divorce immediately. You have the grounds staring you in the face.’

  After a moment, and Amy having made no response, her mother demanded, ‘Well, why don’t you say something? Surely you have an opinion on the matter.’

  Amy did not immediately turn round but when she did her slow movement was so different from her usual self-assertive manner, and her voice, too, was without force as she said, ‘Yes, Mammy, I have an opinion, a number of opinions.’

  ‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I’m going to think about it.’

  ‘Think!’ Bridget’s fingers were drumming on the side of the chair. ‘Girl, the time has passed for thinking, it’s for acting.’

  ‘Yes, as you say, Mammy, it’s a time for acting.’ And at this she walked out of the room and took the familiar stairs to her bedroom.

  She had been born in this house, she had been brought up in this house, but oh, how she had come to hate it over the past weeks. The monotony, the dullness, her mother buried in her sorrow. It was odd, but the only time she had shown any evidence of her old self was when she had told her the details of the phone conversation between herself and Malcolm. She could go the whole day and hardly speak. As for having nothing to do, it was as if she hadn’t any properties at all to see to.

  She sat down now on the side of her bed and, like a child, she rocked herself. He was cruel, cruel. He could have taken that woman to the other house…anywhere. But to bring her back into Grove House! It was an insult. But she wouldn’t divorce him. She wouldn’t divorce him.

  Her rocking stopped, and now her joined hands were gripped tightly between her knees. He was all she had in life, all she wanted, had ever wanted, that was the pity of it. If she had only turned her thoughts to other things, people. If she had even concentrated on the children. But he had been right about the children, for each one of them had seemed to take him further away from her. She should have had sense, she should have played a game; other women did. But she could see nothing but him; he was a kind of madness with her. She felt at times she would go mad, like that awful Henrietta. What was she to do? There was nothing she could do, was there? She would be stuck here with her mother until she died.

  Oh! The prospect brought her from the bed. And that could be years ahead, during which time her mother would get older and more taciturn. She wouldn’t be able to stand it…

  Bridget, too, had come upstairs to her room, and she was standing holding a silver-framed photograph of Douglas: ‘My darling,’ she was saying. ‘Oh, my darling, how I miss you. And I’ve forgiven you for deceiving me. But as you thought you were doing something for the best, now you must understand, my dear, that I am about to do something for the best, too. You were mistaken about the character of Joseph Skinner: he is like his father, a bad man, in fact I cannot look at him but I see his father. You always said that Malcolm was more like your brother, but I think you were mistaken there, dear, too. So, please bear with me and try to understand what I’m about to do. I will be with you soon because I cannot bear this life without you.’ She now kissed the photograph and laid it back on the bedside table. Following this, she picked up the phone from the same table and dialled Mr Kemp’s office in Newcastle, and there made an appointment with him for three o’clock that same day.

  ‘Yes, I know what I’m doing, Mr Kemp. You have known me all these years, and have you ever thought that I didn’t know what I was doing?’

  ‘No, Mrs Filmore, I have never thought that; but you have recently suffered a great loss, a heavy bereavement, and I wonder if you might not, after consideration and at a later date…’

  ‘I’ve given you an outline of what I mean to do, Mr Kemp. Now will you please take it down and then you can turn it into your own jargon ready for me to sign at your earliest convenience…please. So we will begin.’

  …And she began:

  ‘On my demise I leave to each of my grandchildren one thousand pounds upon their reaching the age of twenty-one. To my eldest grandson, Malcolm Skinner, I leave ten thousand pounds when he reaches the age of thirty. I leave two hundred pounds to each of my servants…you have their names already, Mr Kemp. And to my daughter, if at my demise she has become divorced from her husband, Joseph Skinner, I leave my entire fortune, but on condition only that she in no way spends any of the money to aid Joseph Skinner, nor under any condition does she return to Grove House. If she violates one or other of these conditions then my entire estate goes into a trust fund…(which I hope you will set up, Mr Kemp). The monies to be distributed wisely for the needs of hospitals and the sick situated in this county. However, if my daughter does not conform to my wishes I will still provide for her in that she may have the use of Meadow House as long as she lives, together with a sum of five hundred pounds a year. But this allowance is hers only as long as she occupies the house.’

  She had stopped speaking for some minutes before Mr Kemp stopped writing, and when he laid his pen down he looked across at this woman whom, following his father, he had served for years. He had never imagined her being vindictive, but this was the most vindictive epistle that he had ever penned. And it was all against Mr Skinner. If anyone was asking his opinion he would have said that what Mr Douglas Filmore had done was what was due to his nephew, whether in or out of law. But definitely he had known from the first that it was against his wife’s wishes. Yet, he could never imagine Mrs Filmore taking this attitude, but taken it she had and so therefore he would have to obey her orders. But it would go so very much against the grain, for in trying to penalise Mr Skinner she was acting against her own daughter. Did she not understand that? He was about to put this to her tactfully, when she said, ‘I know what you’re thinking, Mr Kemp, but I’d thank you at this moment if you kept your opinions to yourself. I may add that my faculties are not impaired. I know what I am doing. Right prevails in the end.’

  He managed to stop himself from adding a quip to that, as his father might have done: ‘And so does spite.’

  Apart from this, he was very surprised at the change that had come about in this woman since her husband had died. Perhaps it was because her husband had thwarted her. Women were queer cattle; he hadn’t really understood them; and now he knew he never would live long enough to learn; not after taking down words that he must transcribe into legal terms and which would hold down a younger woman for the rest of her life, no matter which way she stepped. And it wasn’t likely, being a human being, that she would step away from inheriting a fortune, one such as her mother’s.

  Dear! Dear! He sometimes wished he had taken up a profes
sion that would have given him the opportunity to view humanity through a misted glass.

  Fourteen

  Joseph stood by the bed and looked down at Liz. She was dressed for the operating theatre and her face was bright as she looked up at him and said, ‘You’ve really got a lift in?’

  ‘Yes, and it works by electricity; and also, near it, a chute to take trays et cetera to the first floor.’

  ‘Really? That’s marvellous. It sounds exciting.’

  ‘Well, it certainly is to your mother. She’s been up and down it like a sweep’s brush.’

  Her face lost its smile now as she said, ‘It’s a pity there have been no applicants for the shop.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time.’

  ‘She was telling me how she enjoys Bertha. A kindred spirit, she called her.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they get on like a house on fire. Bertha says she wouldn’t mind taking over the outdoor beer shop herself, and your mother says she wouldn’t mind doing an exchange tomorrow, because she’s always wanted to have a few hens and ducks. And I tell them, all right, they can make the exchange whenever they like, but to stop jabbering about it.’

  She pulled back the sleeve of her theatre gown and put out her hand to him, and when he took it between his own, she asked quietly; ‘Have you heard anything yet, I mean, from the solicitor?’

  ‘Yes, from mine, but he doesn’t seem to be making much headway with hers. I got on to Mr Kemp myself and he said as soon as his client made up her mind, he would let me know. But it doesn’t matter, dear. We’ve accepted the situation; it doesn’t matter a fig to me: you’re coming home with me, everything’s ready for you. The doctor promised me you’ll be there for Christmas, and the staff are looking forward to meeting you, as are the family.’

  When she closed her eyes he shook the hand within his, saying, ‘I am not just saying that.’ Although at the bottom of his heart he knew he was just saying that, because they all wouldn’t have been human if they hadn’t raised their eyebrows, or let their tongues wag about the situation. The only one he could really rely on to accept it wholly was John. But he wasn’t going to worry; they, the rest, would all fall into place through time, and when they got to know Liz, they would love her; they couldn’t help but do so.

  She looked at him now, saying, ‘You do know, dear, that this is a case of touch and go…well, what I mean to say is, I may be able to get some use back into them through time and exercise; on the other hand, it may mean I’ll be like this for good.’

  He bent over her now and, squeezing her hand further, he said, ‘Either way, my love, either way, we’ll be together.’

  He stood aside as three nurses and a porter came in smiling, and one of the nurses, her voice very hearty, said, ‘I’m sick and tired of pushing you down that passage. Well, I’ve gone on strike so I’m handing over to Percy here. Anyway, you’ve got all the men running after you, so come on, don’t lie there, hoist yourself onto this trolley.’

  As the breezy nurse was speaking, the other two and the porter lifted Liz bodily on to the trolley, then put a blanket over her, and now, her head back on the low pillow, she looked up at Joseph and said, ‘Until tonight, dear,’ and he answered, ‘Until tonight. I’ll be waiting.’

  ‘By! Some folks are lucky,’ the talkative nurse said; ‘I wonder when my turn’ll come,’ to which the porter quipped, ‘Any minute, dear, any minute. Just say the word.’

  Joseph walked some distance behind the trolley until it disappeared into a lift; and there he stood, seemingly lost, for some minutes. Even as he walked away and passed the waiting room, he had the strong desire to go in and sit down and wait until she came out of the theatre. Yet, not knowing how long that would be and also remembering he had an appointment at four o’clock with a client to view a house, he told himself he would phone at about five and hope to have a word with her doctor; then he would go home, have a quick bite to eat and be back for seven o’clock…

  As it was, he returned to the hospital at a quarter to seven. Generally, there would already be a number of people sitting in the waiting room. He would not join them, but would stand in the corridor together with one or two other men. But tonight he did not reach the corridor, for he was beckoned to the reception desk, and there the nurse on duty, who had come to know him well and always had a cheery word for him, greeted him with, ‘Mr Skinner, will you please go’—she pointed across the hall—‘down that corridor. It’s the second door. The doctor would like to see you.’

  He stared at her, but she was avoiding his gaze; she was writing something in a book. Of a sudden his feet felt as if they were glued to the floor, and he had to make an effort to move away from the desk and the sight of the top of her starched cap.

  He knocked on the second door and a voice said, ‘Come in.’

  When he entered the room he saw the usual doctor and the surgeon, but the latter was no longer in his white coat, he was dressed as if for the street. They were both standing and must have been in close conversation, but they turned and looked at him. Then Doctor Armitage said, ‘Oh. Oh, hello, Mr Skinner. Do come in. Would you like to take a seat?’

  ‘No, thank you. What’s the matter?’

  The two men exchanged a quick glance; then it was the surgeon who spoke, and he said, ‘I’m terribly, terribly sorry about the news I have to give you. We…we could do nothing. It was so sudden; yet…yet not unexpected.’

  ‘What…was…unexpected?’ He found he had to push one word after another out from his mouth.

  ‘Well, she knew the risk but she didn’t want to alarm you or her mother. But strangely, the particular risk we were afraid of didn’t happen. What I mean is, the operation went through successfully. We were delighted. But then she began to bleed, her pulmonary system…her veins were very thin. She had told me she was subject to frequent nose bleedings, and when this happens it often points to a weakened pulmonary system. Everything possible that could be done was done, I assure you, but we couldn’t stop the bleeding. It seemed that a whole length of vein broke down altogether.’

  Joseph didn’t speak but he took a step to the side and sat down on the seat that had previously been offered to him. If either of these men had asked him what he felt at that moment he could have answered truthfully: nothing, nothing at all; he could have been as dead as she was.

  When a hand pushed a small glass towards his face and a voice said as if from a distance, ‘Drink this, Mr Skinner,’ obediently he took the glass and drank it. It was sweet tasting, that is until it got down his throat and then it seemed to burn like whisky.

  He blinked now as he looked from one to the other, and when Doctor Armitage said, ‘What did you say, Mr Skinner?’ he said to the face hovering in front of him, ‘She always said it wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Did she? You mean…?’ The doctor’s voice was cut off abruptly by the surgeon saying, ‘She was a very nice woman.’ And as Joseph looked up at him he repeated to himself, Yes, she was a very nice woman. She was a lovely woman, a lovely girl. She was or had been someone who could love him and let him go. She had said that to him only last week, ‘I love you, but if circumstances were such that you found you must go back, then I could let you go.’ But now she was gone. No! No! She couldn’t be. Life wouldn’t do this to him. He wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t like his father. Aren’t you? Aren’t you? There was a voice coming from the back of his head and it kept saying just that: Aren’t you? Aren’t you? He had left his wife and taken a mistress, and what were you intent on doing? You left Amy and took up with Liz.

  Now he was yelling back at the voice, But there’s all the difference in the world; I never treated Amy badly and she’s a difficult person, Amy. Very difficult, and spiteful like her mother has become, for she would rather have seen that house go to Malcolm. Oh, yes, to Malcolm. I didn’t count. I was just Joe Skinner, Lily’s bastard son.

  Now the voice had changed and it was saying, ‘Put your head well between your knees. That’s it. That’s it.’ Then another
voice said, ‘Breathe deeply. Try to take deep breaths.’

  Then another voice said, ‘Ring for the sister; he should lie down for a time. The mother reacted in the same way; she’s in the side ward now.’

  Janet was in the side ward, they were saying. What was the matter with him? Pull yourself together. Pull yourself together.

  He put his head back and looked from one man to the other, saying, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m all right now. It…It was silly.’

  ‘Not silly at all. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Shock takes us like that at times. But I think you should rest here for a time before…You came by car? Well, I don’t think you should drive home. Perhaps you would like to join Mrs Dunn?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I would.’

  At this point the sister entered the room and the doctor asked her to take Mr Skinner along to the side ward where Mrs Dunn was resting.

  As if in a slight daze he heard himself thanking the doctors, but at the same time asking himself what he had to thank them for; they had let her die. No! No! Pull yourself together.

  He was walking along the corridor now. Sister had taken hold of his arm, yet he felt there was no need for that, he could walk straight enough. Then he was in the side room and there was Janet lying on a narrow bed, her face streaming with tears and at the sight of him she held out her arms to him, saying, ‘Oh, Joe! Joe.’

  When the door closed on them they had their arms about each other, and now his face was as wet as hers, and when he heard himself sobbing, he told himself it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter; he had to cry or his head would explode.

  When they had released each other Janet said, ‘What am I going to do without her? She was my life, Joe, my life. She was all I lived for. And you, you loved her. I know you loved her and you were right for her. From the first minute I saw you, I knew you were right for her. I can’t believe it, Joe. I can’t believe it.’