‘He’s asleep again. Leave him be, let him rest.’ Lizzie moved from the bed as she spoke, and Ruth followed her, leaving Janie and Charlotte standing one on each side.
Janie looked down on the man whose face was contorted with agony. She did not see him as the virile young man she had married, nor yet as the boy she had grown up with, but she saw him as the stranger, dressed as a gentleman, who had confronted her in the boathouse. Not even when he had looked into her eyes and recognized her a moment ago had she glimpsed the old Rory, but had seen him as someone who had transported himself into another world and made that world fit him—and having won that world, so to speak, and being Rory Connor, he was determined to hang on to his winnings.
She was the first to turn away from the bed. She knew she had looked at the face on the pillow for the last time and she could not, even to herself, describe how she felt.
As Charlotte watched her walking towards the door she was amazed that the turmoil in her mind had disappeared; she was feeling no jealousy against this girl now, no hate. Amazingly she was experiencing a feeling of pity for her. As Lizzie had said, put yourself in her place; she was the one who had been rejected.
She bent over Rory now and, the tears blinding her, she gently wiped the sweat from his face, murmuring all the while, ‘Oh my dearest, my dearest.’
When the door opened and Jessie entered she said brokenly, ‘I . . . I won’t be a moment. If the master should wake call me immediately,’ and Jessie whispered, ‘Yes, ma’am,’ and took her seat beside the bed once more.
On the landing she stood for a moment drying her face and endeavouring to overcome the choking sensation that was rising from the anguish in her heart, as it cried, ‘Oh Rory, what am I to do without you? Oh my darling, how am I to go on now? Don’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me.’ Yet as she descended the stairs she knew it was a hopeless cry.
In the hall she showed her surprise when she saw Ruth in her cape and tying on her bonnet. Going to her, she murmured, ‘You’re not leaving? You, you can’t . . .’
Ruth swallowed deeply before she said, ‘Just for . . . for a short while; I’m takin’ Janie back home. And there’s me husband, he’s got to be seen to. He can do nothing with his leg as it is. I’ll be back later in the mornin’.’
‘I’ll call the carriage for you then.’ There was a stiffness in her tone.
‘That would be kind.’
‘But why?’ Charlotte was now looking at Ruth with a deeply puzzled expression. ‘I . . . I should have thought you’d have let Lizzie go back and take care of things . . . Being his mother, you would have—’ she paused as Ruth, nodding at her now, put in quietly, ‘Aye, yes, I know what you’re thinkin’, it’s a mother’s place to be at her son’s side at a time like this. Well, he’ll have his mother with him. For you see, lass, I’m not his mother, ’tis Lizzie.’
‘What!’ The exclamation was soft. ‘Yes, ’tis Lizzie who’s his mother.’
‘But . . . but I don’t understand. He’s never, I mean he’s got such a regard for you, I’m . . .’
‘Aye, it is a bit bewilderin’ and it’s a long story, but put simply, me husband gave Lizzie a child when she was but seventeen. Rory regarded me as his mother for years and when he found out I wasn’t and it was Lizzie who had borne him he turned against her. I’m not surprised that you didn’t know. It’s something very strange in his nature that he should be ashamed of her, for she’s a good woman, and she’s suffered at his hands. I shouldn’t say it at this stage, but to be fair I must; many another would have turned on him as he did on her, but all she did was give him the length of her tongue. Her heart remained the same towards him always. She’s a good woman is Lizzie . . . So there it is, lass, that’s the truth of it. Well, I’ll be away now, but I’ll be back.’
When the door had closed on her Charlotte remained standing. The hall to herself, she looked about it; then in a kind of bewilderment she walked down the step into the office and, sitting behind the desk, she put her forearms on it and patted the leather top gently with her fingers. He had admitted to her the theft of the five pounds; he had told her everything about himself; he had confessed his weaknesses, and boasted of his strength; yet he had kept the matter of his birth to himself as if it were a shameful secret. Why? Why couldn’t he have told her this? She felt a momentary hurt that he should have kept it from her. She had wondered at times at him calling his mother, Ruth. He had appeared very fond of the gentle-voiced, quiet little woman, even proud of her. And yet of the two women she was the lesser in all ways, body, brain, intelligence. She remembered that Rory had once referred to Lizzie as ignorant, and she had replied that she should imagine her ignorance was merely the lack of opportunity for her mind always seemed lively.
It was strange, she thought in this moment, that he could never have realized that all the best in him stemmed from Lizzie—for now she could see he was a replica of her, in bulk, character, obstinacy, bumptiousness . . . loving. Her capacity for loving was even greater than his, for, having been rejected, she had gone on loving.
There came a knock on the door and when she said, ‘Come in,’ it opened and Lizzie stood on the threshold.
‘I was wondering where you were, I couldn’t see you. You mustn’t sit by yourself there broodin’, it’ll do no good. Come on now out of this.’
Like a child obeying a mother, Charlotte rose from the chair and went towards Lizzie. Then standing in front of her, she looked into her eyes and said quietly, ‘I’ve just learned that you’re his mother. Oh, Lizzie. Lizzie.’
‘Aye.’ Lizzie’s head was drooping. ‘I’m his mother an’ he’s always hated the fact, but nevertheless, it was something he could do nowt about. I am what I am, and he was all I had of me own flesh and blood an’ I clung to him; even when he threw me off I clung to him.’
‘Oh, Lizzie, my dear.’ When she put her arms around Lizzie, Lizzie held her tightly against her breast, and neither of them was capable of further words, but they cried together.
It was three days later when Rory died. He was unconscious for the last twelve hours and the final faint words he spoke had been to Charlotte, ‘If it’s a lad, call him after me,’ he murmured.
She didn’t know how she forced herself to whisper, ‘And if it should be a girl?’
He had looked at her for some time before he gasped, ‘I’ll . . . I’ll leave that to you.’
It was odd but she had hoped he would have said, ‘Name her Lizzie,’ for then it would have told her of his own peace of mind, but he said, ’I’ll leave it to you.’ His very last words were, ‘Thank you, my dear . . . for everything.’
Through a thick mist she gazed down on to the face of the man who had brought her to life, who had made her body live, and filled it with new life—his life. She was carrying him inside of her; he wasn’t dead; her Rory would never die.
When she fainted across his inert body they thought for a moment that she had gone with him.
7
Rory’s funeral was such that might have been accorded to a prominent member of the town for the sympathy of the town had been directed towards him through the newspaper reports of how he had been fatally injured in saving his brother from the blazing building, and the likelihood that charges, not only of arson, but of murder or manslaughter as well, would soon be made against local men now being questioned by the police.
No breath of scandal. No mention of former wife reappearing.
Other reports gave the names of the town’s notable citizens who had attended the funeral. Mr Frank Nickle’s name was not on it. Mr Nickle had been called abroad on business.
Two of the Pittie brothers had already been taken into custody. The police were hunting the third. And there were rumours that one of the brothers was implicating others, whose names had not yet been disclosed. Not only the local papers, but those in Newcastle as well carried the story of how there had been attempts to monopolize the river trade, and that Mr Connor’s boats had not only
been set adrift, but also been sunk when they were full of cargo.
The reports made Jimmy’s little boats appear the size of tramp steamers or tea clippers, and himself as a thriving young businessman.
The private carriages had stretched the entire length of the road passing Westoe village and far beyond. The occupants were all male. In fact, the entire cortège was male, with one exception. Mrs Connor was present at her husband’s funeral and what made her presence even more embarrassing to the gentlemen mourners was that it was whispered she was someway gone in pregnancy. She wore a black silk coat and a fashionable hat with widow’s weeds flowing low down at the back but reaching no farther than her chest at the front. She was a remarkable woman really . . . nothing to look at personally, but sort of remarkable, a kind of law unto herself.
Another thing that was remarkable, but only to the occupants of the kitchen, was that John George had been present at the burial, but had not shown his face to condole with them nor had he spoken with Paddy who had struggled to the cemetery on sticks. All except Jimmy said they couldn’t make him out. But then prison changed a man, and likely he was deeply ashamed, and of more than one thing, for was he not now living with another man’s wife?
Poor John George, they said. Yet in all their minds was the faint niggling question, Who was the poorer? John George was alive; Rory, the tough gambling man, was dead.
And this was exactly what had passed through Jimmy’s mind when he had seen John George standing against the wall of an outbuilding in the cemetery.
It happened that as they left the grave-side he had become separated from Charlotte. He’d had to make way for gentlemen who had ranked themselves on each side of her. He could not see his father, and so he walked on alone, weighed down with the pain in his heart and the sense of utter desolation, and wondering how he was going to live through the endless days ahead.
It was as he crossed an intersecting path that he saw in the distance the unmistakable lanky figure of John George. He was standing alone, head bowed, and his very stance seemed to be portraying his own feelings.
Without hesitating, he went towards him; but not until he was almost in front of him did John George raise his head.
For almost a full minute they looked at each other without speaking. Then it was Jimmy who said, ‘I’m glad you came, John George.’
John George swallowed deeply, wet his lips, sniffed, then brought out a handkerchief and rubbed it roughly around his face before mumbling, ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, sorry to the heart.’
‘Aye, I knew you’d feel like that, John George. In spite of everything I knew you’d have it in your heart to forgive him.’
‘Oh, that.’ John George shook his head vigorously, then bowed it again before ending, ‘Oh, that was over and done with a long time ago.’
‘It’s like you to say that, John George. You were always a good chap.’
‘No, not good, just weak, Jimmy. And you know, in a funny sort of way I feel responsible for . . .’
‘No! Don’t be silly, John George.’ Jimmy cut in. ‘Now don’t get that into your head. It’s me, if anybody, who should shoulder the blame for Rory’s going. It’s me. If I hadn’t wanted the damned boatyard he’d be here the day. Aye, he would.’
‘No, no, don’t blame yourself, Jimmy. It was just one of those things. Life’s made up of them when you think about it, isn’t it?’ He paused, then asked softly, ‘How’s she, Miss . . . I mean his wife? How’s she taking it?’
‘Oh, hard, though she’s puttin’ a face on it to outsiders. She was more than fond of him you know.’
‘Aye. Yes, I guessed that. Yet it came as a surprise when I heard they’d married. But I got a bigger surprise when she sought me out. I couldn’t take it in. After all . . . well, you know, doing what I did, and the case and things. I’d imagined she was like her father. You knew about what she did for me, like setting me up?’
‘Yes, John George.’
‘And you didn’t hold it against me for taking it?’
‘Why, no, man. Why, no; I was glad; it showed you held no hard feelings.’
‘Some wouldn’t see it that way. What did they think about it in the kitchen?’
‘Oh, they just thought it was kind of her; they don’t know the true ins and outs of it, John George.’
Again they stared at each other without speaking. Then John George said, ‘Well, they’ll never hear it from me, Jimmy. I’ve never let on to a soul, not even to Maggie.’
‘Thanks, John George. You’re one in a thousand.’
‘No, just soft, I suppose. He used to say I was soft.’
He turned and looked over the headstones in the direction of the grave, but there was no rancour in his words. Then looking at Jimmy again, he said, ‘It’s eased me somewhat, Jimmy, to have a word with you. I hope I’ll see you again.’
‘Me an’ all, John George. Aye, I’d like that. I’ll come up sometime, if you don’t mind.’
‘You’d be more than welcome, Jimmy, more than welcome.’
‘Well, I’ve got to go now, they’ll likely be waiting and I’ll be holding up the carriages. So long, John George.’ Jimmy held out his hand.
John George gripped it. ‘So long, Jimmy.’
They now nodded at each other, then simultaneously turned away, John George in the direction of the grave and Jimmy towards the gates, the carriage and Charlotte, and the coming night, which seemed the first he was about to spend without Rory, for up till now his body had lain in the house.
It was as he crossed the intersecting path again that he saw Stoddard hurrying towards him.
‘Oh, there you are, sir. The mistress was wondering.’
‘I’m sorry. I saw an old friend of . . . of my brother’s. I . . . I had to have a word . . .’
‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’
It was funny to be called sir, he’d never get used to it like Rory had.
They were making their way through small groups of men in order to reach the gates and the carriage beyond when he saw her. Perhaps it was because of the strong contrast in dress that the weirdly garbed figure standing in the shadow of the cypress tree stood out. Both Jimmy and Stoddard looked towards it, and Jimmy almost came to a stop and would once again have diverted had not Stoddard said quietly, ‘The mistress is waiting, sir.’
‘Oh yes, yes.’ Poor Janie. What must she be feeling at this moment? Rory’s wife, his real wife after all was said and done, hidden away like a criminal. But she had come; despite the protests she had come. Her presence would surely cause comment.
So thought Stoddard. But then, as he told himself yet again what he had said to the staff last night, it was a lucky family that hadn’t someone they were ashamed to own because of their oddities. It happened in the highest society, and certainly in the lowest, and you couldn’t blame the master or his folks for not wanting to bring that creature to the fore.
8
They were gathered in the kitchen. Paddy sitting by the fire with his leg propped up on a chair; Ruth sitting opposite to him, a half-made shirt lying on her lap, her hands resting on top of it; Jimmy sitting by the corner of the table, and Lizzie standing by the table to the side of him, while Janie stood at the end of it facing them all.
She was dressed as she had been since she came back; even, within doors she kept the strange hat on her head. She looked from one to the other as she said, ‘You’re blamin’ me for taking it, aren’t you? After the stand I made you think I should have thrown the money back in her face?’
‘No, no.’ They all said it in different ways, shakes of the head, movements of the hands, mutters, but their protests didn’t sound convincing to her, and now, her voice raised, she said, ‘You took from her. It was all right for you to take from her, all of you. And what had she done to you? Nowt.’
‘Nobody’s sayin’ you shouldn’t ’ve taken it, Janie. We’re just sad like that you still feel this way about things.’
She turned and looked at Jimmy, and her
body seemed to slump inside the cloak. She said now flatly, ‘How would any of you have felt, I ask you? Look at yourselves. Would you have acted any differently? And don’t forget, I could have gone to the polis station, I could have said who I was? I could have blown the whole thing into the open, but I didn’t, I kept quiet, I didn’t even go and see me da. I kept out of his way even when I saw him at the funeral. And I won’t see him now, ’cos he’d open his mouth. It would only be natural. But . . . but when she sent for me and . . . and she knew I was going back there, she asked if she could do anything for me and I said aye, yes, she could. I told her, I told her what it was like there. They had nothing or next to nothing. The boats were dropping to bits. It . . . it was she who named the sum. Five hundred, she said, and I didn’t say, yes, aye, or nay.’
‘You mean she gave you five hundred straightaway like that?’ Paddy was peering at her through narrowed lids.
‘No, she gave me a paper. I’ve . . . I’ve got to go to a French bank. She’s puttin’ four hundred and fifty pounds in there; she gave me the rest in sovereigns.’
‘And after that, lass, you still haven’t got a good word in yer belly for her?’
She dropped her eyes from Lizzie’s gaze, then said, ‘I can’t be like you all, fallin’ on her neck.’
‘Nobody’s fell on her neck.’
She turned and looked at Jimmy. ‘No, you didn’t fall on her neck, Jimmy, just into her arms. You were as bad as Rory. I’ve got to say it, it’s funny what money can do, by aye, it is. I wouldn’t ’ve believed it.’
‘Well, you’re not turnin’ your nose up at it, are you, Janie?’
‘No, no, I’m not, Jimmy, but as I look at it now I’m only takin’ what’s due to me, ’cos as things were he would have had to support me. And in the long run it would have cost him more than five hundred pounds ’cos I’m likely to live a long time.’
The Gambling Man Page 29