The Solace of Sin

by Catherine Cookson

  She shook her head. ‘Only that he somehow found his way through.’

  ‘It would have taken a desperate man to get along that road on that night; everyone is agreed on that, Mrs Stapleton.’

  She wanted to say to him, But he was a desperate man, yet deep in her heart she felt that his desperation wouldn’t have guided him to safety in that storm.

  ‘Mr Charlton’s men are going to do another scouring tomorrow. You never know, there might just be some nook or cranny that we’ve missed…Well, goodnight, Mrs Stapleton. I’ll look in again tomorrow if we have any news.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ said Constance; ‘and…and thank you.’

  Within a minute or so of the sergeant’s leaving the house Sean came in, and Peter with him.

  ‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ said Sean, ‘I just don’t. It’s a mystery to me. There’s not an inch of the countryside surrounding the place that we haven’t tramped over an’ poked into. All I can think is that he got to the river and fell in and was carried down. But then he would have come up against the boulders dotted here and there.’

  ‘They say there’re deep crevices in the river bed in places,’ put in Hannah quietly, and he nodded at her as he answered, ‘Aye, I know. But that’s a long shot, the river. He would never have reached the river in the first place. It’s in the opposite direction, anyway, to what he would have taken when he left the car.’ He now said wearily, ‘I’ll be gettin’ down. Goodnight to you, Mrs Stapleton.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr O’Connor; and thank you for all you’ve done.’

  ‘’Tis nothin’; ’tis nothin’.’ He smiled at her, then left, repeating the words to himself now. ‘’Tis nothin’; ’tis nothin’. And it would be nothin’ if that devil were to be found whole and unmarked wherever he is lying.’

  As he made his way across the yard Vincent emerged from the workshop doorway. It was as if he had been waiting for him, and he called in a loud voice, ‘And they didn’t find the body in the woodshed either.’

  Sean stopped in his tracks, then slowly approached his son, saying, ‘Vin. Vin, give over torturing yourself.’

  ‘I’ve no need to do that; there are plenty only too ready and willing to do that for me.’

  They stared at each other; then Vin said, ‘Who sent them down here?’

  ‘In the name of God! man, they’re lookin’ in every nook and cranny; it was likely just a thought of the sergeant’s.’

  ‘Just a thought? Do you forget that Dickenson was the man who came and collected me before? Do you forget that there’s not a calf dropped, or a woman pregnant in this valley, but within hours it’s been mulled over in every cottage and farmhouse? Tom Collins saw me walking with her one day across the hills: they knew that her husband’s visits were few and far between; they don’t need to be told how to put two and two together: “He did a fellow in for one woman”—I can hear them saying it now—“so what’s to stop him doing it again?”‘

  ‘Vin, look. Come here, boy.’ Although only half his son’s size, Sean grabbed his arm and led him back into the workshop and, closing the door, he leant against it and said, ‘Tell me from your own lips, an’ I’ll believe every word you say. Exactly what did you do when I pushed you out of the door a few nights gone?’

  Vincent’s jaws worked, the bones showing beneath the stretched skin. He looked straight at his father, and remained silent a moment before he said stiltedly, ‘I reached the end of the terrace. I was dazed. I stepped off it and made my way towards the hill. Then I asked myself what I was doing going down at your bidding, so I turned back. But I didn’t go onto the terrace again in case I’d be seen, so I kept below the wall. The pain in my shoulder was giving me gyp and my head was beginning to swim again, so I sat down on a boulder and dropped my head onto my arms. Then I heard the door open and I saw him leaving. I wanted to go after him but I still felt swimmy, and I knew I was glad I was in that condition, for I kept saying to myself, Let him go. Let him go. Then I found myself on my feet and I was on the terrace again going in the direction he had gone, and when I rounded the house I saw him down below playing a torch. Then the car lights went on, and I knew that by the time I got down the hill he’d be gone. But I didn’t want to go down, I didn’t want to meet up with him. Then the lights disappeared and I thought he had backed round the bend, although I couldn’t remember seeing the lights move. I was dazed. At one period I thought I heard you shouting, then I made my way back to the terrace and went into the room, and as soon as Constance saw me she started to cry…scream. That’s all there is to it…And you don’t believe a word of it?’

  ‘Aye, I do. I do, Vin; it’s only I’m thinkin’, where in the name of God did he get to? He must have put the lights on, then off again when he couldn’t get the car started. How long do you think the lights were on?’

  ‘I’ve no idea; it’s all vague.’

  ‘Did you hear him trying to start up the engine?’

  ‘I think I did, but I’m not sure. The wind was howling.’

  ‘He could still have been sitting in the car, then, when you came back to the house?’

  ‘For all I know, yes.’

  ‘Do you think he could have made it to the road?’

  ‘It’s a mile to the road; I can’t see how he could have done it in that blizzard.’

  ‘Then have you any ideas at all?’

  ‘No more than you have.’

  ‘God Almighty! It’s a mystery, if ever there was one. You know, it’s my opinion he’s sunk into the snow somewhere, into a ditch of snow, not necessarily here. He likely started to shank it—a big-headed type like him would think nothin’ was impossible—and, instead of keepin’ to the road, he wandered off down the slopes towards Wark, or Simonburn, for that matter.’ Then shaking his head slowly at his son, he said, ‘I’m sorry, boy, I’m sorry. I take your word; afore God, I take your word.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ said Vincent heavily. ‘You’d like to, but you can’t. You’ll not be convinced until he’s found, and without a mark on him.’

  ‘Aw, boy! Boy!’ Sean turned and groped at the handle of the door and went out, and Vincent sat down slowly in front of his bench and put his head in his hands.

  Eleven

  On the following Tuesday morning Sergeant Dickenson paid his third visit to the house and, coming straight to the point, he said, ‘There’s no sign of your husband at all, Mrs Stapleton. The men have been as far as the river, although it’s agreed that under the circumstances it’s unlikely he would ever get that far. Still, they went. Also police officers have been to your bungalow. From what they gather, your husband was last seen there late on Thursday afternoon. The next-door neighbour said he came in and went out almost immediately again, and she says there has been no-one near the house since. You can’t tell us anything that might help us further, can you, Mrs Stapleton?’ He looked hard at her, and she looked back at him, saying, ‘No. I’m sorry. If I could think of anything I would tell you. All I know I’ve already explained to you.’

  ‘Oh, well. Good day to you,’ he said; ‘and I’ll be keeping in touch.’ …

  And he did keep in touch. He came back at half-past three that afternoon, accompanied by Sean. Before speaking to her he looked at her closely. ‘We’ve found your husband, Mrs Stapleton,’ he said.

  Involuntarily her hand went up to her throat and she wetted her lips as she waited.

  ‘The news that he was missing on the fells in the snowstorm appeared in the papers, and this morning we had a phone message from a man in Durham who had just seen a report of the affair. He told us that on the night in question, Thursday, the fifth, he gave a lift to a man on the road just below Woodpark. He was in a state of exhaustion and said he had been wandering about for over two hours. He said his name was Stapleton. The man, he said, asked him if he would take him to Quilter Street, and since he was on his way to Newcastle he said he would. He said Mr Stapleton knocked on the door of number eighteen and a young girl, whom he took to be the man
’s daughter, ushered him in.’ Here the inspector paused before going on. ‘Acting on this information, Mrs Stapleton, we went to the house and there we found your husband. He said he had been in bed for some days because he had caught a chill from exposure. He’—the sergeant moved his head, first one way and then the other—‘he said that he hadn’t read the report of his being missing, nor had he heard it on the radio or television. He said he had felt too ill over the past few days to concern himself about anything.’

  As Constance lowered herself slowly onto a chair near the table, Sean went to her and, putting his hand on her shoulder, said, ‘Well, now! Well, now! Isn’t that splendid news?’ and Constance looked at him and made a small motion with her head. Then the sergeant was speaking again. His voice showing slight embarrassment, he said, ‘That’s…that’s all we can do about the matter, Mrs Stapleton. As far as we’re concerned it’s…it’s closed.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, sergeant. And thank you again for the trouble you’ve taken.’

  The sergeant inclined his head, then left, followed by Sean who, from the door, said quickly to Constance, ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

  Neither man spoke until they reached the end of the terrace, and then Sean said, ‘Good news indeed; at least, in one way I suppose it is.’ He and the sergeant now exchanged understanding glances. Then, bowing his head, Sean said, ‘He wouldn’t have been the first man to have been hanged on suspicion, now would he, Bill?’ and the sergeant answered, ‘No, Sean, no. Indeed he wouldn’t. I’m glad it’s all cleared up. Can you believe me?’

  ‘Yes; indeed I can, Bill. Indeed I can. But at the same time I don’t think it’s any good news that fellow’s alive. He’s a swine of the first water, if you ask me. You should have seen that room as I saw it, and her, after he had finished with her. If I’d been big enough and strong enough meself, God knows what I might have done, because the desire was there all right.’

  ‘I can quite believe you, Sean, for from the little I saw of him I took him to be a nasty piece of work all round. The piece he’s got there, which that man took to be his daughter, well! If ever I saw one, she’s one, and a dirty-mouthed one at that. Do you know what she said to me as I left?’

  ‘I could think of many things,’ said Sean.

  ‘“Is his missis sweating?” were her words. That’s what she said. She’s a dirty little bitch. But he deserves no better.’ The sergeant didn’t repeat the remainder of the sentence: ’Cos she thought her boyfriend had put another notch in his gun. He had no desire to stir trouble up in the O’Connor household; they’d had their share.

  ‘They tell me he’s a writer,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘So I understand. He made a splash a few years ago, then sank to the bottom, as most of them do with heads the size of his.’

  ‘Where’s his son?’ asked the sergeant now, and Sean said, ‘He was still lookin’, the last I saw of him. He’s a nice boy, him. Takes after her.’

  ‘That’s something to be thankful for, anyway. Well, I’ll be off.’ After stepping down from the end of the terrace he paused; then looking back up at Sean, he said, ‘It’s many years since I was up this way, Sean, and I hope it’s many years before you see me again. When I come, it usually means trouble, and I don’t wish that on you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you mind. Don’t you mind,’ said Sean in his warm embracing way. ‘Break the spell by payin’ us a visit one Sunday afternoon in the spring. I can promise you a good home-made tea, right down to the butter and, as you know, you’ll not find better views in the world than from these hills.’

  ‘I’ll take you at your word, Sean. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, Bill. And…and as you’re passin’ through the yard tell the women to put a move on an’ get up here, either one of them. You’ll do that?’

  ‘Yes, Sean. Goodbye.’

  When Sean re-entered the room, it was to see Constance sitting exactly as he had left her. Going to her, he said, ‘Come on up to the fire; you’re sitting so far away you’ll freeze. One of them is comin’ up and you’ll have a cup of tea together and a nice natter an’ you’ll feel better. And the boy should be back any minute now. I’ll go out and find him meself if he doesn’t show up within the next half-hour. Now there’s nothing in the world to worry about.’

  He continued to jabber as, with his hand on her elbow, he helped her to her feet and led her to the couch; and when she sat down she looked at him and, the whole of her face trembling, she said, ‘The cruelty of people. He stayed there knowing…knowing that people would be searching, frozen to…to the bone; wet and…and weary.’ Her voice broke and the tears now welled slowly from her eyes.

  ‘There now, there now. Don’t start to cry again; you know you’ll only make yourself ill.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m…I’m all right. I won’t cry like that again. But…but the cruelty of him. You know’—she put her hand out and gripped his—‘he…he had heard about Vin but not…not from me, down in one of the bars. He would know that I would think’—she bowed her head—‘that…that you all would think…’

  ‘There now, there now. It’s all over.’

  ‘He did it purposely. The cruelty of it. He could have gone on…kept it up.’

  ‘No, no, he couldn’t; somebody was bound to have seen him.’

  ‘You…you don’t know him, Mr O’Connor. He once wrote a story not unlike what has recently happened.’

  ‘There now, there now. Don’t distress yourself any further. Anyway, his plot didn’t work.’

  ‘It did, it did.’ She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. ‘It worked all right, because I really thought Vin had done something to him. Vin knows this and he’ll never forget it.’

  ‘Well, take comfort.’ Sean’s voice was very low now. ‘You’re not the only one who thought that; we all did. Vin doesn’t love easily, and there’s a deep possessive streak in his nature. It’s a raw kind of streak that you sometimes find among the men reared in this valley. Yet, as you know, there isn’t a drop of Northumbrian blood in him; Hannah’s as pure Irish as meself. My family goes back to the day of dot, pure Irish every man jack of them. But there’s Vin. He looks neither like me nor Hannah, and his nature, if anything, follows that of Florence, but mainly he seems part of the very land he lives on, blunt, raw and compelling, yet as the seasons, beautiful in their turn, for there’s a depth of kindness and compassion in him. How else would he have been the stay of us all down there? Because you know, Mrs Stapleton, I’ve never kept me family, I’ve only bred them. I’m a lazy, indolent creature, and capable of only two good things, love and loyalty; and then the loyalty, you might say could be questioned when you think what I’ve subjected Florence to. Yet I’ve been loyal to her in me way because she has what love there’s in me. Aw’—he shook his head—‘why am I talkin’ like this to you? Psst! Here’s someone. Psst!’ He lifted his chin. ‘Somebody’s comin’. Now dry your eyes. Come on, dry your eyes…Ah!’ He turned from her. ‘It’s you, Florence. I’m just tellin’ Mrs Stapleton it’s a good cup of tea and a crack she needs.’

  Florence took off her coat and put it over a chair, before walking towards the fire and looking down at Constance. But she did not say anything to her; instead she spoke to Sean. ‘Michael said Peter was up by the burn. He’s gone to fetch him. When you go down will you tell Hannah not to forget to take the dish out of the oven, or it’ll be kizzened up to carbon.’

  ‘I’ll do that, I’ll do that, Florence. Well, I’ll be off. I’ll be seeing you.’ He bent down to Constance, and he smiled at her while patting her shoulder, and again he said, ‘I’ll be seein’ you.’

  ‘Yes, Sean.’ …

  When Sean reached his own yard he did not go immediately into the house to deliver Florence’s message, but went across to the workshop, and as he pushed the door open he called, ‘Are you there, Vin?’

  Vincent was bending over the bench pressing the neck of a kangaro
o against a buffer polisher, and his father said, ‘Did you see Bill Dickenson?’

  ‘Yes, I saw Bill Dickenson,’ said Vincent.

  ‘And he told you?’

  ‘Yes, he told me,’ said Vincent flatly.

  ‘Dirty swine that, isn’t he? I don’t mean Bill.’

  ‘No, I know who you mean.’

  ‘She says he did it on purpose.’

  Vincent turned slowly to look towards his father and he said flatly, ‘Does she, now?’

  ‘Oh, boy! Boy!’ Sean tossed his head. ‘Don’t take that attitude.’

  Vincent’s voice seemed to bounce off the wooden beams of the workshop as he yelled, ‘What in hell’s flames attitude would you have me take? To sit down and smile at all of you in turn, and say, “Yes, human nature being what it is, I understand that you always suspected me of repeating meself…” God! There wasn’t one of you, from Mother downwards. Except perhaps Barney—and he doesn’t know yet, does he? The others haven’t yet told him the news about his big brother’s past life. Not one of you but thought I had polished him off. And now, because you find him alive and laughing at his little joke, you expect me to act as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ Sean now shouted back. ‘I can’t answer for the others, whatever they thought in their hearts, but me, yes, I did think you’d done it. If you had seen yourself going towards him, seen how you looked—’

  ‘No matter how I looked, I had no intention of killing him. Yes, perhaps if there would have been no consequence to it I may have, and that’s speaking the truth, but I’ve suffered the consequences of one such act and I’m not such a damn fool, so stark staring mad, as to go through it again. I tell you, I had no intention of even laying a hand on him; I wouldn’t have let myself, just in case. Like you, I would have seen he got out. All I wanted to do was to protect her…and to take the carving from him…whole.’