The Solace of Sin

by Catherine Cookson

  Sean was the first to speak. He jerked up his tousled head, rattled his spoon in the cocoa and cried loudly, too loudly, ‘Aw man, what you gettin’ at now?’

  ‘You all know what I’m getting at.’ With a suddenness that startled them, he rose to his feet and kicked the wooden stool, on which he had been sitting, backwards against the wall. ‘It’s been in your eyes, your actions, and your every word since Davie came yelling into this kitchen: I mustn’t go there because I wasn’t to be trusted; then to be whacked with a lump of wood that knocked the sense out of me.’ His eyes rested on his father, and Sean spluttered, ‘’Twas the only way.’

  ‘The only way for what? To kill me? If that blow had caught me on the side of the chin just a little further up my neck, say here’—he dug his thumb at his jawline—‘it could have finished me. But that wouldn’t have mattered—it would have been poetic justice. But you had prevented me from making the same mistake twice, that’s it, isn’t it? Now you’re all sweating blood because you know you didn’t prevent it, and you know that I waited outside and when he came out I got him. That’s what you think, isn’t it? Go on.’ His voice rang through the kitchen. ‘Have the courage of your convictions: I did it once, so I’ll do it again.’

  ‘Aw, no, Vin.’ Hannah was shaking her head pityingly, and he mimicked her, saying, ‘Aw, yes, Hannah. Aw, yes. And now you’re thinking it’s all so sad, because if she’s getting rid of him in her own way the coast would have been clear for me…if I hadn’t gone and done it again…A…aw!’ He drew the word out. ‘The last two days and the looks in your eyes, and wondering what’s going to happen to you all when I’m gone this time, eh?’ He looked at his father. ‘At least you won’t be short of firewood; the workshop’s full of it. And you’ll have one advantage, electricity, wonderful electricity. You won’t be so badly off during this next spell…which could be for life.’

  ‘That’s unfair, lad, that’s unfair.’ Sean’s head bowed.

  ‘Is it? Look into your heart and you’ll see.’ He moved away from them, hunching up his shoulders. Then at the door leading into the storeroom he turned to them again, his voice low now. ‘And if she was divorced a thousand times over, and I hadn’t done him in, it would be all the same, because as you once remarked, Hannah, in the hearing of the lads who are apt to repeat things unwittingly, there’s all the difference of chalk an’ cheese between her and me. And there you’re right, absolutely right.’

  The silence he left was broken by Hannah suddenly crying, ‘Aw, God in heaven! What’s one to believe, anyway?’ Then bursting into tears, she tore open her coat and lifted her apron up and buried her face in it.

  Sean slowly stirred his cocoa again as he looked up at Florence, and she, unable to meet his gaze, bowed her head and closed her eyes and murmured to herself, ‘If only she had never seen the place’ …

  Vincent’s anger had cooled by the time he reached the top of the hill. Instead of entering the house by way of the terrace, he went in by way of the back door.

  Barney turned from the fire, where he was pushing pieces of wood under the oven, and said brightly, ‘Oh, hello, Vin.’ Barney was the only one in the family who did not know that their Vin had killed a man. Michael and Davie had imparted the news to Joseph on his twelfth birthday and they would do the same to Barney when he was twelve. But as yet the big man was just their Vin; he wasn’t someone to whisper about under the bedclothes and say, ‘I bet he could kill anybody if he liked. He could even kill two at a time by knocking their heads together.’

  ‘There’s a leg of lamb in the oven,’ said Barney, ‘and Hannah’s makin’ Yorkshire pudding.’ He nodded towards a basin on the table. ‘I’m stayin’ up so as to have some.’ The boy looked puzzled when Vincent said to him, ‘Stay where you are,’ then went into the other room and closed the door. He looked at it blankly for a moment. Of course he was staying where he was; Hannah had told him to. He returned to his job of keeping an eye on the cooking meal, and told himself that there was something up with their Vin.

  Constance could not recall having seen Vincent since he had held her in his arms to still her screaming, and now the sight of him brought her body trembling. He stood at the foot of the couch staring at her, and she tried to turn away from his gaze. When he came to her side and asked, ‘How are you feeling?’ she answered, ‘Not very good.’ To that he said, ‘Don’t worry about your face; it’ll be all right…after a time.’

  ‘I’m not worrying about my face.’ She met his gaze now.

  ‘But you’re worrying?’

  Her lashes flickered, and he said, ‘Aren’t you worrying?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I’m worrying.’

  ‘About when they find him?’

  ‘You could say that.’ She was now looking down at her hands.

  ‘Because he might have been strangled or battered to death?’

  Her neck jerked up so quickly that it caused a pain to shoot down her spine and she winced.

  ‘You saw it all in your mind’s eye that night, didn’t you? It was on your face as though in large print. You were thinking then as they’re thinking now’—he jerked his head backwards—‘that it was all for nothing, weren’t you?’

  ‘I…I cannot remember what I thought. I don’t remember much about that night.’

  ‘But you remember that, don’t you?’ His voice was soft yet insistent. ‘Do you remember looking at me with your face full of fear?’

  She looked up at him now and into his eyes. ‘If…if there was fear in my face it was for you, not because of you.’

  He did not speak for some moments, and then he said, still softly, ‘Will you tell me something, truthfully?’

  ‘If I can.’

  There was another pause before he asked, ‘Do you think I’ve killed him?’

  She was too long in answering, and his voice cut across the words that were on her lips. ‘All right, all right,’ he said, ‘don’t strain yourself. But when they find him, I’ll tell you something.’ And with this he turned from her and walked away.

  As he was leaving, at the back door he met Hannah coming in. She clutched at his arm and said, ‘Aw, Vin. Vin;’ but he pulled himself from her hold and went down the hill and into his workshop.

  Ten

  That Sunday a band of volunteers scoured the vicinity of the house. At intervals Constance saw them from the window, looking like flocks of sheep drifting across the snow. This was the third day of the search. Whatever had happened to Jim, he would surely be dead when they found him. She could feel no pity, no sorrow. She didn’t think there would ever be any regret in her for the way of his going; the way of his last goodbye had wiped all pity and compassion from her.

  The weather report now said that there was an early thaw coming. She wished it would come soon. Yet part of her was praying for the freeze to continue, because even after what Vincent had said there was still a doubt in her mind.

  By late afternoon the moving dots had disappeared from the landscape, and Hannah, coming in from the kitchen carrying a large tray laden with tea things, said, ‘This is what we’re needing. I think there’s nothin’ so comforting on earth at any time of the day, or night, as a cup of tea, an’ there’s hardly an hour of the day but one of us somewhere needs comfort.’

  She pulled a chair up to the table on which she had set the tray and began to pour out the tea, talking all the while to Constance, who was sitting on the couch. ‘I suppose it’s the Irish in me that lays a great stock on tea. Next to whisky it is with some, an’ placed well afore it with others. I remember back home many years ago there was an old priest in our village, and he said the next time I broke the fast on a Friday he’d give me the penance of a tealess week. God above! He was a terror. He made no difference between beef and pork. The pig, so to speak, was a great temptation to me on a Friday; the rest of the week we were hardly on noddin’ acquaintance, for then, you know, I didn’t care if I tasted bacon, ham, or cracklin’, but on a Friday I seemed to crave it. It was the obstinac
y in me. Aw’—she turned and laughed at Constance—‘the priests always had a hard job with me. I remember old Father Lafferty saying one day that all the children in the world had been born innocent, except for me. He was a boy, was Father Lafferty. And talkin’ of innocence, did I ever tell you that neat little joke about the young Irish lass who told her mother she had a pain in her stomach, an’ the mother said, “It’s likely an ulster; go and see the doctor,” and away she went and saw the doctor. “Me mother says I’ve got an ulster in me stomach, doctor,” she said, and after the good man had examined her he said back to her, “Away you go home, Bridget, and tell your mother, begod, she was right, it’s an Ulster volunteer you’ve got in your stomach, and within five months he’ll be marching right out of it!”‘ Hannah’s head was back and her mouth wide with laughter. Then she turned to see what effect her joke had had on Constance. Constance’s eyes were bright but her face, as yet, couldn’t move into a smile.

  ‘It’s funny, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, Hannah, very funny.’

  ‘Aw, here.’ Hannah’s face and voice were now sober. ‘Have this cup of tea an’ get that nice bread and butter down you; it’ll do you more good than my blarney. I’m only aimin’ to cheer you up but, begod! it’s not very cheerful I’m feelin’ meself.’

  ‘You’re more than kind, Hannah. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past days.’

  ‘God provides, lass; God provides. I may not go to me duties but I believe that he never deserts us; no matter how low we’ve sunk his spirit speaks to ours. Aw, there I go.’ She shook her head as she seated herself down by the side of the couch with a cup and saucer in her hand. ‘You know, me flesh wants to shake with laughter when I hear meself yapping on about me spirit. The likes of me shouldn’t talk about such things; we should leave it to the learned, and the priests, but’—she moved her head slowly—‘but you know, Mrs Stapleton, underneath the coarse flesh that holds the manner of me class, I feel this thing, this sort of connection with whatever there is, call it spirit, or what you like. In here’—she dug her finger into her chest—‘it isn’t beyond me ken and comprehension; it’s only when I try to put it into words that I feel I can’t understand it, you know?’

  ‘Yes, Hannah, I know.’

  ‘I understand lots of things I can’t put into words. I have feelings about things. I had a feelin’ on New Year’s Eve; it was a strange feelin’. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I know I should have because it was the signal for this, all that’s happened, though God knows I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it, now could I?’

  ‘No, Hannah.’

  Hannah now took a long drink from her cup, and as she replaced it on the saucer she said, ‘I love Vin, Mrs Stapleton. I love him the best of the bunch; perhaps because he was my first, perhaps because he’s got in him a depth not in the others, for he had to bear the brunt of the situation I created right from the beginning, and he did it manfully. He has never said a harsh word to me about it in his life.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone could be harsh with you, Hannah.’

  ‘Aw, why not? Because’—Hannah wagged her finger towards Constance—‘I know meself. Oh, I know meself inside out. Look at me.’ She spread her hand out. ‘Like a bundle of duds; no matter how Florence cuts me frocks out they just look like sacks on me.’ She smiled. ‘You see, I’m easy goin’ an’ lazy by nature and if it wasn’t for Florence keepin’ me up to scratch, aw, I don’t know but I’d sit on me backside all day and let hairs grow out of me ears.’

  ‘Oh! Hannah. Hannah!’

  If only she could laugh. But would she ever again laugh at the O’Connors? Far from making her laugh, Hannah’s efforts made her want to cry, not as she cried the other night, but gently. She had thought last night that if she could just sit and cry gently, it might wash away the sadness that was banked within her.

  There was a sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen and as Peter entered the room Hannah cried, ‘You’re just in time, boy. Are you frozen? You look it. Come away; come away and get yourself warm. There’s a roaring fire an’ a cup of tea. That’s what you want, a cup of tea.’

  Peter came to the fire and held out his hands before he said, ‘Yes, I could do with one, Hannah.’ He did not look at his mother until he was seated on the pouffe at the side of the fire, and then he merely glanced at her and away again as he said, ‘It’s thawing fast. If it keeps up they say the moors should be pretty clear by the morning.’

  Long before it was light, Constance was standing at the window, and when the dawn came up it revealed great patches of black land studded by snow-capped mounds. The hills and mountains beyond were still white, but the flat surround in front of the terrace was one dark mass of waterlogged turf, and as the light grew she strained her eyes to try to spot what might be a shape lying on it. Even when she told herself he wouldn’t be there, she still peered towards the road at the back where she was sure they would find him: deep in a ditch, perhaps, or, if he had wandered onto the fells, at the bottom of a natural snow-filled ditch.

  She shivered as she walked across the room and opened the door softly so as not to wake Peter, but when she reached the top of the stairs she could see the room below illuminated by the fire and she knew that he was already up.

  He was sitting in the big chair to the side of the hearth, and, on seeing her, he rose to his feet.

  ‘How long have you been up?’

  ‘Oh, just an hour or so.’

  She walked to the fire and held her hands down to the blaze, and he came and stood by her side. Putting his arm around her shoulders he pressed her gently to him, saying, ‘It won’t be long now and…and then you’ll know, they’ll all know.’ She turned her eyes towards him, and they stared at each other in the flickering fire. ‘I know all about it,’ he said; ‘and I know you all think Vin finished him off.’

  ‘You knew about…?’

  ‘Yes, Kathy told me. And I hope for Vin’s sake he didn’t do anything that night, yet at the same time…’ He looked away from her before he added, ‘I’m wishing he did.’

  ‘Don’t, Peter, don’t.’

  ‘You like Vin?’

  ‘Peter!’ There was censure in her tone.

  ‘Oh’—he shook his head impatiently—‘I’m not blind. You’ve always thought I was blind, blind to everything. Anyway, if I hadn’t guessed something from your manner I certainly would from his. I like Vin, no matter what he’s done. I’m…I’m not just saying that because of Kathy. Right from the beginning, I’ve thought it’s a man like Vin you want, not a creature like—’ His voice trailed off as she gently pulled herself from him, and he ended harshly, ‘Don’t treat me as if I’m still in short trousers, Mother.’

  ‘Oh, Peter.’ She turned wearily towards him. ‘Don’t you understand this is something I can’t discuss?’

  ‘Well, it’s a pity you can’t.’ Both his manner and his voice were impatient. ‘Things are better aired. What happened the other night’—he pointed his finger towards her face—‘was just the result of you keeping things to yourself—or trying to—putting a face on it…I didn’t mean that as a pun, but it serves to show what I do mean.’

  He walked away from her, saying tersely, ‘I’m going out; I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He did not add, as soon as they find him.

  But the searchers didn’t find the body of Jim Stapleton. It rained heavily all morning and as the day wore on the snow melted like butter near a fire. It was dusk when the police sergeant once more knocked on the door, and when Hannah opened it to him and invited him in, his eyes were drawn to Constance where she stood supporting herself against the edge of the table, and he shook his head before saying, ‘There’s no sign of your husband in the vicinity, Mrs Stapleton. We’ve searched within a mile radius of this house: a full circle we’ve been. He couldn’t possibly have got any further, and as I say, he’s nowhere to be found.’

  Constance’s relief was palpable, but then she wa
s attacked by a new fear as the police inspector said, ‘We were wondering if he might be in one of the outbuildings down at the farm.’ He turned to Hannah. ‘You have a lot of odd places down there; do you think it possible he could have crawled into—?’

  ‘God above, no! What put that idea into your head?’ Hannah’s voice was high, her tone defensive. ‘We use every outhouse every day: coals, wood, feed, hay, the cowshed, Vin’s workshop an’ the wood store next to it, where the seasoned timber is; we’re in and out of every nook and cranny every minute. If he’d been there one of us would have seen him, surely to God.’

  ‘Well’—the sergeant jerked his head to the side—‘in any case I think we’d better have a look round just to satisfy ourselves. We’ll away down now. I’ll call on my way back, Mrs Stapleton.’

  Constance nodded to him and watched him go out and join the men on the terrace, and then she looked at Hannah, and Hannah, her voice even higher now, cried, ‘God Almighty! Who do they think we are? I ask you. Wouldn’t we know if he had crawled into any one of them? And would he go into a dark outhouse with the lights of the windows beckoning him on? Did you ever hear any such thing?’ She looked at Constance for confirmation. Constance said nothing, but slowly made her way to the couch and sat down. Hannah sat opposite and talked intermittently, still in that aggressive high-pitched voice. She talked until the sergeant again knocked on the door; then she jumped up and went to it and said immediately, ‘Well! Well, now?’

  He looked at her hard; then coming into the room he addressed Constance, who was again on her feet, ‘There’s no sign of him down there. I don’t know what to say, Mrs Stapleton. Can you suggest anything?’