The Silent Lady

by Catherine Cookson

  When the girl joined her again, she walked past Bella and straight to the fireplace. There, with excitement, she pointed to the grate, then acted as if she were lighting a fire. Next, she pointed towards the ceiling and, as if somewhat exasperated, Bella said, ‘Look, you can do nothing until tomorrow. That fire eats wood.’

  Again Reenee pointed upwards, and Bella said, ‘Aye, I know there’s plenty of wood up there, but down here that wouldn’t last you a week.’

  Then, facing her and closing her eyes tightly, Reenee put her hand to her throat. It would seem she had to press the words upwards and into her mouth and through her lips as she said, ‘Tonight.’ She then put her hand on her face and bent her head, indicating sleep.

  ‘You want to sleep here tonight?’

  The indication was yes.

  ‘But, woman, there’s not a spare mattress unless Pimple gives you one of his spare pads; although they might find one when they’re out and about today. And look’ – she turned and swept her hand as if she were taking in the whole large room – ‘you’ll catch your death; it would be as bad as lying in the gutter.’

  The girl’s head now drooped on to her chest, then moved slowly from side to side, and Bella’s voice was soft as she said, ‘All right. All right, lass. Come on; we’ll see what we can do. They should be in about six and I’ll set them to work cleaning that stove with emery paper.’

  The head came up sharply and shook at the suggestion, and Reenee pointed to herself, which Bella took to mean that she would clean it. She said, ‘It’ll be some job. But come on. I’m freezing already down here.’

  They were about to pass through the kitchen when suddenly Bella stopped and, catching hold of the girl’s arm, she said, ‘Look; sit yourself down on that chair and I’ll make a cup of tea.’

  Reenee remained perfectly still and she stared at Bella, who, looking into the pale grey eyes, saw in them an expression she could not fathom.

  For a moment she thought the girl was going to cry, but the lids drooped and the eyes were closed. Then she watched her turn round slowly and sit down in the chair she had indicated.

  Bella lifted the heavy pan dextrously from the hob and put it on the side plate. Then she thrust the kettle into the heart of the fire, and all the while she talked.

  ‘If you decide to stay down there, as I said, you’ll need coal. Now, you indicated earlier on when I told you I couldn’t afford to pay you that you would work for your board and keep, so to speak. I can promise you a decent board but I think it’s a very poor keep sleeping down there. However, it’s up to you. But, as I said, that fire eats wood and won’t keep on without coal. So I’ll pay you with a bag of coal each week. How much you use of it each day will be up to you. Now, as regards work.’ She was taking cups and saucers down from the Delft rack and placing them on a tin tray, which stood towards the end of the table and already held a teapot stand. ‘When the yard is finished what d’you think you can do? One thing, I think, is already certain: you don’t want to go out and about, so you’ll be no good going to the market. Anyway, they’d likely chase you in that get-up thinkin’ you were on the pinch again. Oh, I heard about you and takin’ the apple from Mickey Robson’s box. So as far as I can see there’s only housework.’ She was now pouring the hot water into the teapot, in which she had previously placed three large spoonfuls of tea from a wooden caddy that resided on the mantelpiece, as she added, ‘You’ve likely never been used to housework, but on the other hand have you ever been used to clearing up a yard like that one outside? I doubt it, but you did it. It was a case of needs must where the devil drives, I suppose.

  ‘I don’t know how long you’ve been on the road, lass, but you must’ve learnt a bit about work in that time. There, I’ll let it draw a bit. I can’t stand weak tea. D’you take sugar? Anyway, I’ll put two in. You can help yourself to more if you want it; and there’s milk there an’ all. Could you clean this house, d’you think? I mean sweep and dust and polish and things like that, like a housewife does. I did it meself for years until I had to take over the stall when old Ham died. I’ll tell you about him some time.’

  She went to the Delft rack again and took down a plate; then from a cupboard standing to the side she took two large iced buns and put them on the plate; and this she placed before the girl. She poured out a cup of tea, and put it and the milk jug next to the plate. And her surprise was evident as she saw Reenee’s hand go out to the cup but not lift it, just stroke the side of it with her fingertips, then the saucer.

  For the first time, too, Bella noticed that the girl’s fingernails were clean. She decided that she must have scrubbed them well under the tap in the wash-house. But why had she stroked the cup and saucer? She was an odd creature if ever there was one. And she was more surprised now to see the girl turn from the table, stand up and walk towards the wall at the left side of the fireplace, and there point to an ornamental glass rolling pin hanging by a piece of string from a hook. Tapping it, she turned to the table and made the action of rolling it, and Bella cried, in a sort of childish delight because she had translated this action, ‘You mean you can cook?’

  The affirmation was firm.

  ‘Well, that’s good, that is good. All right; sit down and have your bite and then we’ll take it from there. Cooking. Well I never!’

  On this Bella became silent as her thoughts raced and she began to sum up the creature, as she would still think of her. Here she was, wearing a coat and bonnet-cum-hat, which was class stuff; and her shoes, too . . . well, what was left of them . . . had been of the best. Moreover, the few words she spoke weren’t common like. There was no trace of the Cockney or yet of anything like Geordie Joe’s twang, or Welsh, or Scots. She would’ve detected Scots in the voice because hadn’t Ham, or Hamish as was his name, been a Scot to the marrow? Then there was a certain twang – no, not a twang, more a haughty tone like some ladies used when jabberin’ away to each other, when their words sounded as if they were comin’ out of the top of their heads. No, it wasn’t like that. She couldn’t put a name to the way this girl spoke. One thing was sure, it wasn’t common. It wasn’t la-di-da either, but it certainly wasn’t common. Yet she could do all these common things, and now the latest, she could cook. Dear, dear. There was something very strange about her, very strange indeed. And Bella would very much like to get to the bottom of it. Aye, she would that. But who knew? Food and warmth, and that fear she seemed to have of men taken from her, that might loosen her tongue.

  As she said, ‘Get that tea down you, and the bun,’ there was a knock on the front door. She opened it to her two helpers standing there, and straight away she said to them, ‘Did you get it, the tick?’

  ‘Yes.’ Pimple was nodding at her.

  ‘Well, where is it?’

  It was Joe who answered: ‘We’ve got one, Bella; and it’s a good one, a new one. But it won’t be’ – he was going to say ‘delivered’ when she said, ‘Shut up! and come inside,’ and practically hauled the two of them over the step, finishing, ‘You want the street to know? Wipe your feet, then come into the kitchen and let me know the rest.’

  She left them, and in a minute they followed her to the kitchen where they stood like two awkward youngsters near the head of the couch looking at the table, then at Reenee sitting there. She was looking at them, and there was now no fear in her eyes.

  ‘Out with it!’ said Bella sharply. ‘What about this delivery? What’re you talkin’ about?’

  ‘Well, I was in the warehouse. You know, helpin’ to straighten up.’

  ‘Aye,’ Bella cut in now. ‘What were you straightenin’ up this time? Dinner services or chamber pots?’

  The two men laughed. ‘Nothing like that, Bella. Loads of Army boots, old style, and hundreds of tin plates and mugs. They must’ve been clearing out some barracks.’

  ‘It must’ve been on the level an’ all,’ said Bella.

  ‘Oh, aye, this job was on the level. Half his stuff’s on the level, that’s why he gets off
with the other half, I suppose.’

  ‘You’re right there. Well, go on and tell me what happened about the mattress.’

  ‘I put it to one of the fellows what I was on the look-out for like. A damaged one; I said it wouldn’t matter. Well, it was just before I came away, and he called me aside and said there’d be a new one dropped off late when the vans came into the yard.’

  ‘Oh, they’re comin’ tonight, are they?’ said Bella. ‘They haven’t been for a while. What is it this time?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t even guess, Bella. And I’ve no idea of the time; but how they get those horses and vans in there without making much of a rattle at night I’ll never know.’

  ‘Oh, aye, the horses.’ Bella now turned to Reenee. ‘Don’t worry if you hear the jingle of harnesses and horses’ hoofs. You see, they take the horses away for the night and bring them back in the morning, about seven or so. At least most times.

  ‘But anyway, you two, for tonight you’ll have to let her have one of your pallets ’cos she’s goin’ to sleep in the cellar.’

  ‘In the cellar!’ This came on a high note from Joe. ‘It’s like death down there.’

  ‘Yes; that’s why you’re goin’ to the depot for a hundredweight of coal; but you’re not takin’ one of the standard sacks; I’m not payin’ for coal dust, I want roundies. Understand?’

  ‘Aye, Bella.’

  ‘And you, Pimple, bring your pallet round here; I’ll give you the key to the gate. And bring in all the kindling she’s chopped. The wash-house fire’s already on; it’s been goin’ for half the day I should think. And you’ll get your grub when you come back. All right? Stop eyeing the teapot, Joe.’ Bella went to the cupboard in the dresser, bent down and took out two china mugs. After filling them with tea and four teaspoonfuls of sugar each she handed one to each of them. ‘I’m doin’ you an honour, for that’s real good china with its name on the bottom.’

  Joe made pretence of turning his mug over, then said, ‘I’ll empty it first, Bella.’

  The men emptied the large mugs in almost two draughts. Then they were giving her their thanks as she ushered them to the front door where, in a low, changed tone, she said, ‘I know it’s Sunday in the morning and it’s your free day when what you do and where you get to is no business of mine, but I’d like to know if you’ll do something for me.’

  They spoke and nodded together. ‘Anything, Bella. Anything.’

  ‘Well, will you go into that cellar down there and sweep the walls of the cobwebs and help to wash that floor, then see if there’s anything worth mending among that lot of odd pieces and bits of furniture in the corner? Ham left them like that, and I must say I haven’t bothered with them since – too busy. You’ll lose nothing by it.’

  ‘Oh, we’ll do that, Bella. We will.’

  And it was Pimple now who said, in a very quiet voice, ‘She’s no ordinary woman, is she? She’s a sort of a lady.’

  Bella looked at him closely for a moment before she said quietly, ‘Aye, Pimple. I suppose in a way you could say that. She’s a sort of a lady.’

  3

  Bella Morgan wasn’t given to pondering. She had always been too busy looking for a way to fend for herself and go on living, or too tired to think at all. One thing had puzzled her when she had come to this part of London: she had been called Big Bella though she was only five foot two. Likely it was because of her voice: that was big and loud, and she wasn’t afraid to raise it. But during the last month she had been made to ponder on how her existence had changed, been transformed, because this woman or girl or creature, as she had first thought of her, had turned into a sort of companion. But not only had her life, as it were, been changed, so had the lives of Geordie Joe and Pimple Face; not in their main occupations but in themselves. They were cleaner; she could even say they looked smarter, because they had been to Ginnie’s clothes store down the road and rigged themselves out with some respectable fifth-hand gear. Moreover, they washed more often.

  Washed. The word conjured up the first of the two incidents in the past month that had strengthened her interest in the girl, if that was needed. It had had to do with washing.

  It happened on a Tuesday. There had been next to nothing to trade and it had rained all morning, and by two in the afternoon she had got her little helper to clear her stall and had presented him, to his delight, with two boxes of very questionable fruit, from which, nevertheless, she knew he’d make some coppers before the day was out; and she had walked down the now absolutely clean yard. She had never known it to be as clean in her time. As Pimple Face said, ‘You could eat your bread off it.’

  The rain had stopped and when she saw no sight of the girl as she usually would around this time, sitting on the log chopping the previous day’s boxes into kindling, she knew she would be in the wash-house. As she neared it, she noticed the door was closed, which in itself was odd; the door of the wash-house was hardly ever closed except at night. Another thing that took her notice was that the window was covered up from the inside.

  She made her approach quietly and looked at it. A sheet of newspaper was tucked into the frame. But it didn’t actually fit it; there was a good half-inch gap at the side. She put her eye to this, and what came into her line of narrowed vision was a pile of clothing laid across the top of an orange box. There were two petticoats and a pair of fancy bloomers, which she immediately recognised as silk. Real silk. The bloomers had a lace frill, and round the band of the frill were garters, fancy garters, almost an inch deep slotted with ribbon. To the side was that coat. It was half open and she could glimpse the lining, of a light grey colour and the material like lamb’s wool. A pair of stockings was hanging over the top of the box; the legs were a light grey but the feet were almost black, and she could distinctly see that one was badly holed.

  There was the sound of faint splashing. Then the girl came into view: her whole body was bare and she was rubbing herself down with one of the two clean coarse towels Bella had given her only that morning for the boys. She was fascinated by the sight of her. She had a beautiful figure but it was so thin. She watched her now take up a garment she hadn’t noticed. It seemed to be made of fine wool, and when she put it on it covered her like a skin and reached below her knees. It wasn’t a chemise or anything in that line. She had never seen anything like it. It could have been a kind of fine woollen frock if it hadn’t been so clinging. And now what did intrigue her was: when she saw her step into her bloomers she pulled out a little bag that was pinned to the inside of the hem, and she pulled it open by a silken cord at the top, and she put her fingers into it, then closed it again. It was like one of the small dorothy bags Bella had heard that ladies used to take to dances and such dos. They would hold only handkerchiefs and smelling salts and bits like that. When Reenee pulled her bloomers high the bag lay against her flat stomach and did not make a bulge. The first petticoat she put on was a waist one, the second had a bodice and straps, but she had no corsets. Funny that she had no corsets; and she was not even wearing a camisole that would hold her small breasts, but the long woollen garment was so shaped that it held them. At this point Bella had turned quietly away and made a hasty retreat from the yard.

  In the kitchen she sat down in her basket chair. She did not bother to make herself a pot of tea but sat there; and now she did muse, not only muse but kept saying to herself that something should be done about that poor creature. She had come from good people, rich people, oh, yes. She knew finery when she saw it. And then there were the coat and hat. The coat might be mucky now but it had quality still.

  And cap all this with her voice and what had you? Somebody who shouldn’t be around here. Somebody who was off her head; well, not right off her head, but there was something wrong. She could speak, but she didn’t; she seemed afraid to. She was petrified of men. Now that was an odd thing, for in the class she came from she would have met dozens and dozens of men. Had she been married? She didn’t wear a ring but that didn’t signify. Something had h
appened to her, an accident of some kind that had affected part of her brain, because in other ways she was sensible and she took everything in.

  Ah, but then – Bella now moved uneasily in her chair – how could she account for the lady, as presented by her voice and her clothes, working as she had been like a scavenger in that yard for weeks? And now in this very house: look how she had cleaned those rooms upstairs; and, above all, look at her cooking. Somebody somewhere had taught her to cook. She could make a roast, a stew, and she knew how to bake bread.

  Oh – Bella rose to her feet – she wished she could get to the bottom of it all. Nothing had ever before intrigued her like this. What she knew she should do was to go to the authorities, not the local police station, but a big central one, and tell the top brass there all about Reenee, and say somebody must be looking for her somewhere. But what would happen then? They would send men here, and she would be off! Oh, yes, in that coat and hat and her worn-out shoes, and that would be the last she would see of her. And what then? She paused for a long while before she said, ‘I’d miss her. She feels like a . . .’ She couldn’t put the word ‘daughter’ to the girl nor yet ‘friend’, and she wasn’t much of a companion for she hardly ever opened her mouth, except to bring out the odd word, and this would be accompanied by sign language. But there was something about the girl, the woman, that touched Bella in some way. She felt she wanted to put her arms around her and comfort her. Aye, she did . . . as she would a child or someone in trouble. And, oh, aye, that girl was in trouble, or at least had been, in bad trouble . . .